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

His mind was fuzzy. Details were slow to come, if they came at all, but he knew a threat loomed. He knew he’d been hunted. Ambushed. Shifting into a far weaker form would only give his enemies an advantage he couldn’t afford.

Taevas huffed, sending flurries of dust into the air. Going by the way her plush mouth pressed into a hard line, he suspected she got his message.

Her throat bobbed with a hard swallow, but she kept her flashlight raised when she informed him, “You’re an intruder on my land. You attacked me last night and held me here against my will. If you won’t shift and explain yourself, then— then I’m going to call the authorities!”

An alarm blared in his mind. Taevas managed to shake his head vigorously. He hadn’t attacked her. He was fairly certain he hadn’t, anyway. Why would he? Even if she’d attacked him, she was only a little mouthful. Hurting her would mean he’d killed her. Instantly.

But the sight of the blood and bruises decorating her skin made him second guess that certainty.

Bits of the previous night, blurry and warped by drugs, came to him in a disjointed parade.

He recalled his desperation to find a safe haven.

The crunch of old wood under his talons.

The feeling of being watched. The scent of home.

There was a flurry of activity — dust, blood, silver flashes, pain, reaching for her when she would’ve run heedless into danger.

Then exhaustion came, and everything went dim.

None of those memories explained how she’d gotten in the terrible state she was, but his speculation came second in urgency to her threat.

He wasn’t sure why it was so vital, but he knew without a shadow of a doubt that she couldn’t, under any circumstances, report his presence to the authorities. Or anyone.

Taevas tried to sit up, but he found it nearly impossible. It was all he could do to stare imploringly at her and offer a low, plaintive whistle. As a man, he could have ordered her. As a dragon, all he could do was beg.

“You’re really not going to do it?” She looked to be on the edge of tears. And yet her chin remained in that stubborn angle, the flashlight held high. She was clearly determined to remain strong despite the fear that shook her from head to toe. The sight gutted him.

“I don’t want any trouble. I really don’t. I can call—”

He shook his head again, more firmly this time. The woman pressed her free hand against her eyes and took a deep breath. She looked terribly distressed, which only agitated him further.

If you’d come here, he silently told her, I’d help. My wings can keep you warm and safe. Everything will be fine. Come, little thing, and do as your Isand commands.

The hole in the roof had turned the barn into something of a wind tunnel. The beginnings of a storm whipped around her. His tough skin could take it, but her soft flesh couldn’t. She didn’t even have proper clothing on.

The more he looked at her, the more confused he became. He had no idea where he was, let alone how she’d ended up there with him dressed in little more than her pajamas. His heartbeat accelerated. That beast stirred with a great, furious growl in the back of his mind.

Dizziness made his vision swim. Growing increasingly agitated, Taevas silently commanded her, Come to me now. I order you to return to me!

Oblivious, she said, “Look, you need medical attention. Even if you aren’t here to hurt me, I need to call someone. You’ve got cuts everywhere, and you look sick.”

Sick? Spots peppered his view of her. Taevas shuddered. I don’t get sick. It’s only the drugs. I’ll shake it off. I have to.

The edges of his already blurry mind had begun to fade. Taevas fought it hard, some part of him screaming in the dark to hold on, to stay alert, that this was the most important thing he’d ever done and he couldn’t miss a moment, but it was fruitless.

He was fairly certain he hadn’t been ill in decades, but he strongly suspected that the woman was right. A feverish heat crept over him and both sets of his eyelids grew heavy.

The last of his strength evaporated from his limbs. Taevas’s neck slumped and his wings folded haphazardly against his back. Resting his chin on the floor, he strained to keep his gaze fixed on the woman. She looked rather more alarmed than she had before.

Lowering her makeshift weapon, she took several halting steps toward him. “Hey,” she called, voice gone an octave higher. “Hey, don’t go to sleep!”

He tried to listen to her. He really did. It was little use. Taevas made a clicking sound deep in his throat — an apology and a stern order to stay near.

His eyes slid shut, but he was still conscious enough to be startled when a shaking hand patted his leathery cheek. Her voice came from a distance. “Is there some reason you don’t want me to call for help?”

Taevas managed the smallest nod. The woman’s sharp inhalation was loud in the lull between gusts of wind.

There was another tentative touch. Just fingertips glancing over the curve of his snout before they disappeared as quickly as they’d come. In a more hushed voice, she asked, “Are you in danger?”

Yes, he thought, unable to manage even a nod. Perhaps he made some sound of affirmation, but he couldn’t be sure. Darkness eased over him, tender and merciful in its escape, as those gentle hands returned to stroke his cheek.