Page 7 of Valor’s Flight (The New Protectorate #5)

He did as he was told, but it didn’t stop him from giving her a stern look.

Taevas knew rebellion when he saw it. There was a certain angle to the jaw, a flicker in the eyes that spoke of disobedience.

Sometimes that could be fun, especially when it meant he got to squash a bully, but in this case, he didn’t find it amusing.

The thought of such a small, breakable creature wandering into danger was utterly untenable.

And, perhaps, he simply didn’t want to be alone.

You’re not allowed to leave me, he told her. I forbid it.

As she settled into the rhythm of her work, he observed her with an unblinking stare. The scents of the fire and barn dust were strong, but with her so close, it couldn’t quite tamp out her natural scent. She smelled like cypress. Like fresh water. Like warm, soft woman, salt, and home.

It was a familiar scent. Very familiar.

Is that why I was drawn here?

Taevas wracked his mind, but the answer was elusive.

It made sense, though. If he’d been addled by drugs and blood loss, he might have mistaken the scent for that of home.

Dragons had an incredibly acute sense of smell.

When their internal navigation and their eyesight failed, they could use their noses to guide them to safety.

Even a whiff of her could’ve drawn him down, and when his strength gave way, he wouldn’t have had a choice but to land. He wished he could ask her what had happened. He also wished she’d tell him her name.

Who are you? Taevas’s nostrils flared as he took in one deep breath after another, analyzing her scent. I’d remember if we met.

He’d met thousands of people in his life. Citizens of the ’Riik, dignitaries, members of the United Territories Congress, admirers, enemies, soldiers. They tended to become a blur after a while. But her…

He’d remember. Even with drugs still coursing through his system, he was absolutely certain he’d never seen her face.

He’d know the glow of her skin, the beguiling shape of her sad eyes, the mind-boggling geometry of her curves.

But he knew her. He’d smelled her in his sanctuary. On his skin. In his nest.

Home. Home. Home.

His thoughts picked up speed and his heart began to race, though the answer remained just out of reach, a flash of silver in the darkness of his mind.

“I really don’t know how this will work with shifting and all.

I suppose you’ll have to stay in this form until your stitches come out,” she muttered, sounding even more troubled.

“That’s going to make communication difficult.

” With one final grunt, she pulled the needle through his skin and began to tie off the thread.

It was essential he stay in his quadrupedal form, but that didn’t mean he was happy with it. Figuring out what had happened to him, where he was, and how he could return to his people would be far more difficult if he couldn’t speak.

And she still hasn’t told me her name. Perhaps it wasn’t the most urgent of matters, but it bothered him. Everything about her tickled all those loose and broken threads in the back of his mind.

“Okay,” she announced, setting her bloody needle into a container by her knee. “I’m going to bandage you up now. We’ll have to check it every day to make sure you don’t have an infection brewing, but hopefully it should be fine.”

While she twisted to retrieve the first aid supplies, Taevas spared a glance for the wound at the base of his throat. It wasn’t too bad, all things considered. He’d certainly had closer calls, though it was never a fun experience when someone attempted to rip out one’s throat.

And that’s why elves wear those silly collars. They might be onto something for once, he mused.

His attacker had come dangerously close to an artery, but the swipe was shallow, merely slicing through thick hide and the first layer of fat. It was a wound that would heal in a few days and be forgotten.

And yet Taevas couldn’t look away from it.

His pupils widened as he fixed his gaze on the neat but oddly artistic row of stitches holding the gash together.

They were perfectly even and done with an expert hand.

He wasn’t sure how she’d managed it, but she’d made a beautiful pattern with little more than white nylon thread and his flesh.

More than aesthetically pleasing, it was familiar. Impossibly so.

Home, he thought numbly. Why does that remind me of home?

The woman, unaware that he was holding his breath, leaned over to slather some botanical-scented ointment on the wound. Using the better part of an entire roll of gauze, she bandaged it with the same methodical care as she did everything else, hiding the stitches from view.

“You’re lucky I embroider for a living,” she joked half-heartedly, “but you’d probably be luckier if I were a healer, huh?”

Rocking back on her haunches, she patted her lush thighs and sucked in a deep breath, unaware that he was frantically clawing at the shroud that obscured his memory. All those broken threads began to swirl into a hideous knot, defying his desperate attempts to untangle them.

She embroiders for a living. That’s important. It’s so important. Why? Gods, brain, fucking work!

Attention drawn to the act of peeling off her gloves, she rambled, “So, uh, listen. You seem pretty easy-going now, but I just want to— I just want to make it clear that I’m letting you stay here, okay?

You say you’re in danger and you clearly need to rest. I’m going to trust you for now because I don’t have the heart to throw you out into the rain, but if you try to hurt me, I don’t care what you think you know about nymphs — I will hurt you back. Got it?”

A nymph. Taevas watched her, wide-eyed, as she got to her feet. Awe wasn’t something he experienced often, but he did then.

Even in his altered state, he knew he’d never met a nymph before.

They existed, certainly, and a few tiny communities even thrived in the Draakonriik, but they were intensely private and preferred to live in seclusion.

He’d only seen a nymph once, when they sent a representative to the United Congress for a vote on the allocation of funds to wild preservation areas, and that was from across a massive atrium.

Even from a distance, he’d been fascinated by the way they seemed to alter the very air around them, making it brighter, more alive.

People sang ballads about their beauty, their wildness. Painters agonized over scenes of them dancing through glades or bathing in frothy water, their wet bodies draped in the fine cloth woven by their own skilled hands.

Nymphs were fragile creatures. Their skin was thin, their defenses almost non-existent. He’d once heard a song that compared their flesh to petals and their blood to water. Their lives, the song bemoaned, were just as easily snuffed out as a flower’s.

A single thread unwound itself from the tangle. It came to him, tattered but shimmery gold, ready to be followed. Cypress and freshwater. Warmth and honey.

Tell me your name, he silently demanded as she stooped to pick up her basket. I order you to stay. You must stay! Tell me!

Turning to leave, she announced, “I’ll let you rest. In a couple hours, I’ll add some more logs to the fire, but I think you should be okay for now.

” With a hard push, she cracked open the barn door.

Even the dim light that filtered through the layer of clouds seemed blinding when it reflected off puddles and into the barn.

He squinted against the glare, desperate to keep her in his view. Giving him a nervous smile over her shoulder, she added, “Oh, I never told you my name, did I? I’m Alashiya. Most people just call me Shiya, though. If you need anything, um, I guess you can just roar or something.”

Alashiya. He raked weakly at the filthy concrete. If he’d had the strength, he would’ve crawled on his belly toward her. Alashiya. No, I forbid you to go. Stay!

She paused. Wild hope sprung to life in his chest. Taevas could practically see the scales of her mind weighing her next words.

“And just so you know, this place is safe. Really safe. I’ve warded it to keep out just about everyone.

That’s part of the reason I was so— It was a shock that you landed here.

Most people wouldn’t be able to find my land even if I gave them a map.

So… I hope that sets your mind at ease. Rest well. ”

And then she slid through the gap, out into the rain, and beyond his reach — defying him once again.