Page 21 of Valor’s Flight (The New Protectorate #5)

Chapter Thirteen

Crashing through the undergrowth and heedless of the noise he made, he ruthlessly chased her familiar scent.

It clung to leaves that had brushed her curls and the scraggly vines that had the privilege of touching the hem of her dress.

There was no visible trail. She appeared to barely bend the foliage even when she must have walked directly through it.

While she apparently floated through tangles and over thorns, Taevas wasn’t quite so lucky.

It was like the forest fought his every step.

Vines snared his ankles, every small opening between trees seemed to shrink into nothing before his eyes.

It wasn’t long before even his tough skin began to chafe from the constant abrasion of branch, thorn, and weed.

He lost track of how long he searched for her. Pain and fever ravaged his body. It didn’t matter. It’d been a long time, but he’d been through far worse. The war had seen to that.

He had no intention of giving up. The only time he paused was when he nearly reached a break in the damn troublesome trees.

The wavering image of a wooden fence appeared in the gaps between leaves, and when the wind changed, he could clearly make out the pungent farmyard smell of cows nearby.

Alashiya’s wards were strong enough to distort the air at the boundary of her land, making it shimmer like heat radiating off a blacktop.

The Thompsons’, he thought, pulse jumping. Alashiya had said something about her nearest neighbors being dairy farmers. If her scent trail led to their fence, it stood to reason that she’d gone to them.

Fuck. He slowed down to a pitiful limping gait, one hand propped on his side like it might help ease the pain there. Several ribs had been broken at some point, he suspected, and he hadn’t done them any favors by hauling ass through the woods.

If she went to the neighbors, I need to leave. Now.

Even if his wings could hold his weight — doubtful — he’d need a damn good head start to give his enemies the slip. It stood to reason that with his injuries, he hadn’t flown terribly far when he escaped. If he wanted any chance of getting word to his Wing, then he needed to start moving.

He had to leave her behind.

Taevas came to a halt by an old, straight birch. He braced his palm on the trunk and hunched his shoulders. His wings drooped.

“Damn,” he hissed.

To have spent so long hungering for a phantom, only to be forced to give her up… Instinct and pride balked. He wouldn’t just be leaving her to her own devices, but in that fucking hovel, perhaps even at the mercy of the enemies that might track him back to her land.

It occurred to him that perhaps this was all a ruse, that she could’ve been part of the plot in some roundabout way, but he immediately shook that thought loose.

He couldn’t see any logical reasoning behind using her, nor how they might’ve predicted where he’d land.

If she was part of it, her participation would likely only be after he crashed through her barn, which seemed unlikely.

He’d done nothing but watch her for days.

The woman barely had electricity. It was hard to believe she had any place in an assassination plot, no matter how small.

Even attempting to cheer himself up with the knowledge that he now had her name and could find her again didn’t help. What use was her name when his first impression on her was so bad she ran into the woods?

He’d been desperate to know her before, but now it was a real, physical craving.

Taevas had no idea what he’d do if she refused to see him again.

He’d been very, very careful with his boundaries, with the lines he couldn’t cross as Isand and as a decent man, but he feared what he might do if that foreign animal in him gained control for longer than a moment.

Dragons had worked hard to dispel the public perception of them being seen as greedy, possessive mates who’d snatch their Chosen off the street without warning, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t true.

Their instincts were forged in the great fire of life or death competition, during a time when healthy mates, good roosts, and resources were scarce.

They came from a time when young died before they ever got the chance to flourish, and stealing a mate from another’s nest wasn’t uncommon.

It was primordial, the pull to guard and to preen, to seduce and to provide.

Taevas had never felt it before, but centuries of desperation resonated in his marrow.

It called him a fool for even thinking of leaving her on her own, where another dragon might snatch her up.

It called him irresponsible for allowing her to remain in such a poor roost. It called him unworthy for even considering abandoning her.

I must get back to the ’Riik, he reminded that new, irritating voice in the back of his head. I’m not just Taevas. I’m Isand. I need to know what happened to my Wing, and I need to let my people know I’m alive. I can’t abandon them, either.

He didn’t realize he’d squeezed his eyes shut until he opened them again. Taevas glared at the trampled underbrush, at the stupid, judgmental eyes on the white trunk of the birch tree across from him, and at the single green thread tangled amongst the paper-like bark.

His shoulders tensed. Focus narrowing on that familiar color, he slowly bent his knees until he was nearly level with the thread. He took a deep breath. Alashiya’s scent was strong there. Very strong.

Hunting instincts roared to life. His clamoring thoughts and conflicting desires went silent as he crouched low, until he was on his hands and knees amongst the greenery.

Somewhere overhead, an owl hooted. Its call was accompanied by the low buzz of insects hidden behind leaves and amongst the grass.

Taevas could almost see a trail now. The way her scent was concentrated, he was almost certain she’d crawled, which made it harder for her to disguise her weight in the underbrush.

Had she heard him coming and dropped low? Taevas bit back a rumble of displeasure. There was no thrill of the chase, only the all-consuming need to find her as quickly as possible.

She ought to be in the nest, that age-old instinct bemoaned. Not here. Not in the dirt. Not where she can get hurt. Not without me.

He didn’t realize he’d struck up a low crooning note in the back of his throat until it silenced the insects around him. It was a comforting, coaxing sort of sound — one he’d never made in his life but recognized all the same. It was the call to the nest, the courting song.

Before he could dwell on that new development, the sound of a breath made him freeze. It was just one breath. A short, nearly silent gasp.

A ripple of exhilaration coursed over his skin and through the fine membrane of his damaged wings. Her scent was all around him, and despite the fact that he still couldn’t see her, he knew she was close.

He’d crawled into a small dip in the forest floor. One side rose up higher than the other and was topped by a line of birch trees. Their roots, exposed by the earth eroding from the sides of the depression over time, created something like a hollow.

It, along with the rest of the area, was densely packed with vegetation.

He could hardly see more than a foot in front of him, but he struggled to imagine she was as close as he knew her to be and still managed to be unseen.

Alashiya was no waif. She was made of luscious, soft flesh and long legs.

While she was small compared to him, he didn’t think she was anywhere near small enough to simply disappear into the undergrowth.

But she was there. She had to be.

Instinct propelled him to tear the greenery apart until she’d been revealed, but Taevas fought back control.

He’d scared her enough. It didn’t matter that he knew he only wanted to keep her safe.

If he started using his claws to destroy her hiding place, she’d be well within her rights to be absolutely terrified of him.

But revealing that he knew she was there without acting was a gamble.

The gods knew what tricks she had up her sleeves.

His nymph was clever and resourceful. If she got away again, he didn’t think he could take another chase through the woods.

And if she made a break for the farm just beyond the fence…

Praying that he wouldn’t lose this gamble, Taevas eased back onto his haunches and swiped a hand across his sweaty brow. “Shiya,” he rasped, “I’m sorry I scared you. I don’t know what I did, but whatever it was, I never intended to frighten you off. I just want to talk, okay?”

He held his breath and waited. There was no response.

“If there’s something I can do to make you feel safe, I’ll do it. I understand that it’s alarming to have me in your roost, metsalill. I should’ve been more reassuring. I want to fix that. Please let me.”

When a full minute passed, he asked, “Are you all right? You didn’t hurt yourself, did you?”

Could she see him? Without access to the internet, there was no way for Taevas to know how good a nymph’s night vision might be.

A chill ran down his spine at the thought of her running blindly through the woods.

She could’ve tripped and broken her leg.

She could’ve hit her head on a rock, and the only reason she wasn’t replying to him was because she was bleeding out somewhere just beyond his sight. Or worse.

Growing more alarmed by the second, Taevas struggled to keep the gentle facade up. If she doesn’t answer me in the next minute, I’m tearing this place apart.

“Come out, minu metsalill. Please.”

There was no response. At least, nothing verbal. Taevas couldn’t say whether it was a choice she made or simply an involuntary reaction on her part, but there was the smallest movement in the ferns and tangled vines directly before him. Without thinking, his right hand shot into the foliage.

His claws closed around a delicate ankle.