Page 26 of Valor’s Flight (The New Protectorate #5)

Chapter Sixteen

Alashiya was fifty percent sure Taevas was a criminal on the run. The other fifty percent was actually foolish enough to believe his story.

She couldn’t put her finger on exactly why even half of her believed his grandiose declarations, but she suspected it had something to do with his bearing.

If he were lying, wouldn’t he let down his guard occasionally, allowing the mask of superiority to slip?

But no, Taevas held himself like a king even when it looked like he was on the brink of puking.

And he was really sick, at the very least. Even the best liar couldn’t fake a fever, cold sweat, or the way his eyes wouldn’t dilate the way they should’ve.

He could just be a spectacularly arrogant, ill criminal, she thought as she picked a familiar path through the dense woodland that bordered her land.

She could’ve used the dirt road, of course, but it was more likely she’d encounter recreationists that way, so she normally chose the safer route through the trees.

The dragon would’ve hated it. The walk was long, hot, and involved navigating dense undergrowth that found it amusing to disorient wayward travelers.

Alashiya had long since come to an agreement with the birch forest, which allowed her to pass through it relatively unchallenged, but a clumsy oaf like the dragon wouldn’t stand a chance.

Alashiya cast a glance over her shoulder, though her land was too far in the distance to see.

She wondered what he was doing without her there.

A nervous twinge made her shuffle her feet.

It wasn’t like there was much to steal, but if he touched Adon’s things…

Just the thought was nearly enough to send her walking back the way she came.

No one was allowed near her work. It was a sacred thing to her for many reasons — not least of which was the rich fantasy of her imaginary relationship with Adon.

The robe, like all his commissions, was the only tangible link she had to him and to the dream that sustained her.

It made her skin crawl to think of an outsider getting their grubby hands all over that vital tether.

Swallowing back her impulse to return to the house, she adjusted her bag over her shoulder and doubled her speed. The quicker she got her errand done, the better they’d both be. Taevas would leave and she could return to her work.

A twinge of guilt pinched her. Taevas wasn’t so bad, really.

Hadn’t they shared a nice cup of tea? If she could get over her discomfort of having a strange man around, then she thought she might even be able to enjoy his company.

Maybe. If she could keep her head on straight whenever he so much as looked at her, which she didn’t have high hopes for.

Is ‘enjoy’ the right word?

Alashiya slipped between the fronds of an old fern. The leaves caressed her calves in a gentle greeting, but she barely registered it. Her mind was consumed, for reasons beyond her, by the image of the dragon’s face. Taevas’s face. And other things.

It was hard not to be, with the height of his horns, the proud jut of his nose, the hard jaw, those eyes.

Add his impossibly wide shoulders, his fascinating wings, and the eyeful she’d unwittingly gotten of his cock…

She supposed she could understand how one might grow an over-inflated ego.

It didn’t make his bossiness more tolerable, but it did mean she snuck looks at him when he wasn’t paying attention.

The forefinger and thumb of her right hand pinched the shaft of an invisible needle as she imagined stitching his striking profile. She saved all her scraps of silk thread from her commissions. Usually she used them for her veil, but a small, painterly portrait wouldn’t use too much—

There’s no time, she firmly reminded herself. Work needs to be done. I can’t keep Adon waiting.

But no matter how hard she tried to divert it, Alashiya’s focus continued to wander back to the moment they’d shared in his room.

She’d never experienced wonder in the way she had when the heat of him touched her.

And when those dark lashes lowered over his unsettling eyes, the compulsion to lean closer had been a living thing under her skin.

She was still thinking about the scent of him — something rich and earthy, like smoke and spices — when she finally made it to town.

Calling Birchdale a town was, by most estimations, a stretch.

It was more of a pit stop for hikers, hunters, and boaters than anything else.

Once, it’d been a thriving trading town, where the border between the UTA and the Northern Territory blurred.

Fur trappers, loggers, and farmers had made a go of it for a while, and though the town had never been exactly metropolitan, it had a tight community, a main street of shops, a schoolhouse, and even its own all-god temple, where many priests and priestesses had passed through in their travels.

The war had destroyed most of that, and the reshuffling of the territory into shifter hands had done the rest. Opportunity had moved elsewhere and the people along with it.

That was why her grove had been able to buy their land so cheaply.

It was also why, when Alashiya stepped out from behind an old, shuttered storefront onto the main road, it was into a town that consisted of one general store, a community center/library, and a post office that only opened on odd days of the week.

The rest of it consisted of vacation rentals and the scant few locals who remained to maintain the dying town during the off-season.

An enterprising soul had once tried to open a small restaurant, aiming to feed the hungry tourists who made the mistake of forgoing snacks at the last rest stop two hours down the road, but the seasonal flood and drought of customers had ended the venture after only one year.

It was big news for a while, but every local knew it was doomed before they’d even opened the doors.

As always, Alashiya looked both ways before she hustled across the road, her arms held tightly to her body and her awareness of the world around her stretched taut. There were a handful of new but mud-flecked vehicles parked in front of the general store. She eyed them with dread.

Hitching her bag over her shoulder, she firmed her jaw and pushed the door open.

A riotous tinkling of bells announced her entrance into the old store.

Its shelves were mismatched, the walls covered in hunting trophies, decades of promotional displays, and various bits of dusty hiking gear.

A wall of ancient refrigerators chugged along at the far end of the shop, full of a minimal selection of perishables and fishing bait.

Alashiya rarely needed much from the store, as she grew most of her own food, however, things like flour, baking soda, cleaning necessities, and cooking oil had to be purchased.

She’d been going to the shop all her life and had even attended school with Debbie’s kids, but she still dreaded the inevitable greeting that drew every stranger’s eye in her direction.

“Morning, Shiya.” Debbie, the old woman who’d run the business since Light and Darkness created the Earth, probably, waved a liver-spotted hand stained yellow by tobacco in Alashiya’s direction.

She met only Debbie’s rheumy gaze, but she was aware of the three men standing at the counter. It was impossible not to be, when she could feel their eyes on her like a bunch of sweaty hands.

“Good morning, Debbie,” she muttered, offering the quickest smile. Picking up an old wire shopping basket, Alashiya moved quickly toward her relevant aisles, her head down.

“You outta that flour already?” Debbie croaked, content to ignore the customers standing right in front of her. “Oh, I meant to ask you last time if you had any of those plums in yet. Mike won’t shut up about it.”

Without looking up, Alashiya answered, “My first crop of plums got eaten by birds, but I can bring you and Mike some of what’s coming in next week, I think.” Cruising down the medicine and toiletry aisle, she hastily gathered some fever reducers and anything else she thought might help the dragon.

What can aspirin do against being drugged for weeks? She grimaced and put another bottle in her basket.

The strangers at the counter talked amongst themselves.

Their voices were too low for her to make out what they were saying, but she was happy their attention had moved off of her.

Quickly gathering eggs, salt, and a few other essentials to avert any attention to her other purchases, Alashiya paused by the small selection of shampoos and pretended to browse.

A furtive glance at the counter found the group of men still standing there, their heads bent as they continued their discussion in more hushed tones.

They were all dressed in typical hiking gear and appeared, to her untrained eye, to be human.

Their body language was stiff, their backs almost unnaturally straight.

Uneasy about moving closer to the group but lacking a choice, Alashiya ducked her chin and shuffled down the aisle.

As soon as she stepped away from the shelves, the men went silent. Startled, her gaze snapped to them reflexively. All three men were watching her again. That wasn’t altogether unusual.

Nymphs were desirable to many, if only because of their perceived vulnerability.

Eyes followed her whenever she dared to venture into the town.

But this was different. A chill ran down her spine when she met the eye of the tallest one.

He was average looking, with light skin and closely-shorn hair.

He could’ve been her age, or perhaps a little bit older.

He was powerfully built, like many of the more enthusiastic recreationists who came through Birchdale.

Nothing about him was extraordinary, save for the way he looked at her.