Dragon's Claim Read online

  Chapter Two

  Bashir

  I peel another root vegetable and hand it over to one of the humans volunteering to make dinner tonight. It is a small contribution, but it’s all I have the energy for at the moment. Working on the wall has been exhausting. The physical effort and long hours are taxing on all of us, though we hope the end result will be worth all of that. I pass another vegetable on.

  A communal dinner will be a nice way to unwind, especially after Drosdan's battle with the worm. It struck fear in the humans' hearts, and they’re still afraid. Tajss is a harsh planet with many dangers. The humans are obviously not accustomed to living in a place with danger, or anything less than complete safety and a climate-controlled environment. Their bodies alone would have been a clear indication of the luxury of their lives even without their reactions to danger.

  An image of Penelope's blush-pink nipples flashes through my mind, the picture crystal clear. It has appeared in my mind an inordinate number of times all day, along with an accompanying flash of heat I cannot control. The delicate curves of her breasts with the sparkling drops of water glimmering in the sun. The perfect circle of surprise her lush lips formed when she realized I was there, the hue nearing the exact shade of her nipples.

  Her spring-colored light blond hair wet and slick against her head, leaving her pretty face bare and drawing attention to her large, verdant green eyes. The short hairstyle is apparently called a "pixie-cut", or so I've been told. I simply know I adore it on Penelope, enjoy how it exposes the elegant curve of her long neck and shows off the delicate contours of her face. I want to touch that soft neck, graze her lips with mine. Feel every part of her. The image of her bathing has plagued me relentlessly, my arousal not ever abating completely.

  The worst of it is that I know she was horrified to be seen like that.

  She had thought herself alone, secluded. I would never have intruded upon her like that, but I'd heard what I'd thought was a sound of distress. I hurried over to make sure someone was not in need of help. Now I wish I could take that moment back.

  I do not take pleasure indulging in a physical response to her stunning beauty when she did not share herself —willingly share herself—with me. It cheapens the act that it was something stolen. There is a way things are done, and it is not like this. I will accept only a fully willing mate, one who desires me as much as I desire her.

  To that end, I've deliberately waited to find a mate among the survivors, the one female who is mine. It's been Penelope I've found the most beautiful, both inside and out. Yes, I appreciate her height, her lithe build, her attractive features.

  What’s even more important is that she has shown herself to be intelligent and strong-willed. She is a fierce thing, all that fire clear behind her clever eyes. Were she not also such a soft thing, I would have trained her to hunt and fight when she voiced her desire to learn both.

  She has a warrior's heart and the persistence to match.

  She has been pestering all of us to teach her, though on Tajss, every Zmaj has two shadows—I mean, we all agree. It is simply unthinkable to knowingly expose her to that level of risk. One wrong move would end her life. That is unacceptable when she is a sure treasure—someone's treasure. As she will be, when she finally relaxes a bit and allows herself to be protected, to be cared for like she deserves.

  It is obvious she resents needing help from the way she bristles when it is offered and refuses to ask for it until it’s necessary. She is going to have to make peace with the fact that she always will need help. Here, it is a necessity to work together. Tajss's reigning natural law is immutable—the strong and adept survive. The reality will always be that working together ensures our strength, ensures the continuation of life here under these extreme conditions.

  Penelope still lashes out when she needs assistance, spitting out sharp words. But she needs assistance just the same. It will be easier on her and everyone else if she simply accepts that fact and works with it. It does not mean she is weak; simply that she is another piece of this whole we are creating together. She is still struggling with the concept, and it is painful to see. I do not want her to be unhappy.

  My time among the humans has shown me that my ability to read people is not isolated only to the Zmaj. They wear their suffering in different ways, but the truth is always there if you know how to look for it. Just like with the Zmaj, humans must also accept their condition before anything can truly change for the better. It is an inevitable truth that we all must face.

  With Penelope, I can almost see the ideas flow through her mind, reflected in the flare from her bright eyes. I hope she won't be let down too harshly when she finally accepts her fate here. I do not think she will. There is something in the resilience of her spirit that makes me think she will bend and not be broken. A strength that I see shared among those that have been able to make a life here.

  She certainly has a brightening effect on my day. Even if she avoids meeting my eyes for long and leaves the vicinity quite quickly.

  She's always keeping herself busy and writing in her book. In fact, the longest period of uninterrupted time I have spent with her so far was when she interviewed me about the garden. She looked so enthusiastic and alive as she scribbled about the herbs and fruits, asking questions about their various properties and methods of preparation.

  Her cursing when her pen hiccupped ink made me smile, though I tried to suppress the inclination. I did not want her to think I was laughing at her. Her eyes were as determined as a bivo's as she recorded her words on the pages, her focus clear. I had hoped the interview was the opening I needed so we could converse with each other, become more familiar. But as soon as she was done asking me questions, she was off to pull Melchior to the side and mine him for data as well. It was disappointing, though not all that surprising.

  Ormarr later told me that Penelope was a teacher on her ship, which gave me a better understanding of her character. I know it must be difficult for her to stop using her mind for everything, as she was accustomed to doing before her ship crashed here, but she needs to learn how to adapt to her new way of life. It is not going to be like the one she enjoyed on the ship. Clinging to that memory will only make the transition more difficult.

  She might learn to enjoy life on Tajss more if she spends a little more time exercising her spirit and her soul as well as her brain. She needs to learn to enjoy life here, or it will be very long for her indeed.

  Her ship was destroyed.

  There is no leaving Tajss now.

  Why not learn how to make the best of circumstances? Sometimes, I have the feeling that she is fighting against the world. A useless endeavor. Doesn't she realize she does not have to be alone here? That she can make this life easier for herself?

  I look up as Penelope comes in again, carrying more of the roots. She gives me a quick smile and a nod before she disappears back out to the garden. She has been in and out, helping set up, but I have the feeling she's deliberately avoiding staying here. This time, she doesn't come back with her book in her hand until dinner is ready.

  Then she avoids my eyes as much as she can. She is definitely uncomfortable around me now. It is not how I want her to feel about me.

  I wish I had not stumbled upon her at the spring. I frown, looking away, feeling discouraged by this setback that was no real fault of my own. I’m wondering how I am going to fight past it, when I catch her peeking at me while Melchior launches into a tale of impressive bravery, with the others chiming in.

  "And then the bivo charges—"

  "It was the biggest I've ever seen!"

  "He was going to be trampled to death!"

  I don't look directly at her as the story continues, wondering if...

  There.

  She glances over at me again, the action furtive, before opening her book and pulling her pen out, her face focused as she begins to scribble again. Like an infant Zmaj crouched behind his father, she hides behind her growing encyclopedia. P
erhaps that is my opening, an avenue I can use to engage her, spend time with her, learn if we share the same feelings.

  Nothing else has worked so far. And letting this awkwardness linger between us does not feel like a good idea. I do not want her to solidify this emotion between us, always associate me with embarrassment.

  All right. I shall ask her about her book. Taking an interest in her interests will hopefully get me back into her good graces.

  I continue to watch her discreetly, not wanting her to realize I am doing so. I do not want to scare her away even more. She scribbles quickly as the information flows around us, right up until the topic turns to Sarah's condition. She puts her book down to listen attentively, leaning forward in her seat. I see the flash of worry and anger cross her face. She's angry that Sarah is hurt, and she's right to feel that way. It was so unnecessary after her and Drosdan's sacrifices to help the New Villagers.

  The mood is somber after that discussion topic, the food nearly gone. This is the best opportunity I am likely to have. I tense, ready to go over to Penelope and broach the subject of her work—

  But before I can even get up, she hops to her feet and calls out a general goodbye to the group before she hurries away.

  I sigh silently.

  Too late.

  I soothe myself with the fact that at least I have a plan of attack now, one I will employ as soon as I see the opportunity. I know exactly what I want to ask. I want to know if she has recorded information about her planet as well, and if she is willing to share it with me. It is perfect. A topic I have a genuine interest in and one that she seems to as well.

  I hope I will have a chance to broach the subject soon.

  I am patient.

  I will proceed with care.

  Chapter Three

  Penelope

  I take a deep breath as I carry water out to the guys again. It's fine, I tell myself, just act normal. My eyes instantly pick Bashir out of a whole group of Zmaj working on the wall outside. I literally can't help being aware of him. My heart picks up its pace.

  The sun is glaring down on him, glistening off the sheen of sweat covering his muscled body. His beautiful scales reflect the light in a rainbow of colors as his body flexes with the tough physical labor they're having to do out here.

  I swallow hard. For a moment, I completely lose myself in the broadness of his shoulders, in the flex of the muscles of his back. I want to run my hands all over that beautiful skin—

  Get ahold of yourself woman!

  I shake my head, trying to regain the composure that I lost as soon as I saw Bashir. I shift my gaze away hurriedly as I walk over to him. He's dangerous, at least to me. Maybe it'll help if I don't look directly at him. I offer him the water, my gaze still averted in self-defense.

  "Thank you," he murmurs, the deep tone of his words sending another shiver of awareness through me.

  This is ridiculous. He's just a person. I look up briefly and accidentally meet his eyes. The look in them tells me I did not avert my eyes quickly enough earlier. He saw me staring. The knowledge is there in his eyes. I look away immediately, hoping he thinks the heat is responsible for the flush I feel on my face.

  Damn it. I've been so careful!

  What is it about this man in particular that has managed to sneak under my guard like this? When there are equally attractive, well-muscled specimens literally all around us. It can't be because he saw me half-naked. We're both adults. As mortifying as that was, it wasn't the end of the world. No, it has to be something else. Something about him just...draws me in. Something more than his body, as gorgeous as it is.

  I find myself trying to figure out what he's thinking. What's going on behind that still face as those intelligent eyes take in everything around him. My mind goes into overdrive worrying at this question like a dog with a bone, trying to understand him. Trying to understand my response to him.

  I risk another glance at him, watching the muscles in his throat work as he guzzles the water. A trickle of it escapes his lips and slides down that smooth skin... I lick my lips involuntarily, completely avoiding his eyes as I take the water jug back and hurry away, going back to the well as fast as I can.

  It's downright embarrassing how much he affects me. I can’t even retreat and avoid the situation. Everyone has to pitch in, and I'm not going to admit that I can't do my job because I can't spend time around him. So I end up having to suck it up and spend half the day running water jugs over to the Zmaj, including, of course, Bashir.

  I won’t complain too much about it. I have a close-up view of exactly how much they're busting their asses to get this massive example of Zmaj craftsmanship finished. I sincerely appreciate it, along with everyone else. Our lives depend on the defense it will provide. My personal problem with Bashir is nothing when compared to that. So I put my head down and keep going.

  On my third run from the well, Bashir manages to stop me from making another quick getaway. So close!

  "How is your book coming along?" he asks, wiping sweat off his brow, his eyes appearing genuinely interested.

  I soften a bit at the question. That's really quite thoughtful of him to ask. And he look like he cares about my answer. Maybe he hasn't lost respect for my intelligence just because he saw my naughty bits. Maybe I haven't been giving him enough credit.

  "It's coming along," I respond, letting myself relax a little. The topic steadies me, puts me back on sure footing. This is a subject I can navigate.

  "I hope you'll share it one day," he says, a small, charming smile crossing his face.

  I blink, distracted at how it transforms his already-handsome face. I wrestle my mind back onto the right track. I shake my head, taking a step back.

  "I don't know how to write in your script—" I hedge.

  "Maybe you could read it to me then," he interrupts, easily circumventing the obstacle I've thrown out. Refusing to be deterred so easily.

  I bite my lip as I realize he's flirting with me. There's no way to deny it. Not with the way he's watching me, the amount of effort he's putting into conversing with me.

  Part of me likes the feeling of being desired by someone like Bashir. It's flattering. I'd be lying if I said I didn’t feel a flutter inside. But another part of me doesn't like it. Doesn't want to muddy the waters like this. Not when I know I don't want to mate.

  Erring on the side of caution, I shrug, giving him a noncommittal smile.

  "Maybe," I say breezily, deliberately acting as though I don't realize he's flirting. I retreat right after that, before he can come up with another way to delay my exit. I need to get out of there before the conversation slips completely out of my control. I avoid his eyes the rest of the time, not giving him an opening to continue the interaction, though I know I'm not really fooling him.

  The retreat is as much of an acknowledgment of what was going on as a direct response would have been, but it buys me time and space, at least for now. Time to regroup.

  The thing is...I could feel the sincerity with which he approached me. Like he wants to really get to know me, not just on the surface, but the real me. He didn't seem at all like he just wanted to get into my pants. It's...unexpected.

  Maybe it isn't fair, but the image I've formed of the Zmaj men in general runs counter to that. Their idea of mating seems pretty restrictive. Like a gentle prison where the guard cares about you and takes care of your acceptable needs. No thanks. I've valued being my own person for too long to fall into that trap.

  One thing my parents' split taught me was that I don't ever want to be part of a set that can break. And they can always break. My mother's own experience was a harsh learning lesson for me. She never really recovered emotionally after she and my father broke up. And my father...well, he just had a full midlife crisis party with the women who'd been eyeing him on the ship. The callous disregard for the woman who'd spent years with him was not a good look. I lost all respect for him and for the institution of marriage.

  I've distrusted e
ven the idea of love ever since. As an adult, I wonder about how realistic it really is. Passion and chemistry definitely exist and they're nice to experience. But does that giddy feeling really endure? I doubt it. I think people stay together more out of habit than anything. Until one of them finds something more exciting, and then the other is just shit out of luck.

  But that doesn't mean my mind isn't still preoccupied with Bashir, even though I know better. That night, when I go to my room, he's all I can think about. How his eyes watched me. How they seemed to look right through me, past the careful face I present to everyone. Right to me, the me that I keep under wraps, protected from the world. It was disconcerting. His genuine curiosity and interest definitely got under my skin in a way I didn't expect. He's different than the others. Enough so that it makes me wonder...

  Maybe it wouldn't be so terrible to date him, explore what this is, chalk it up to experience and move on. Get it out of my system. I roll over in bed, sighing. I can't do that. It isn't an option. Not when I consider the fact that the Zmaj mate for life. It would be cruel to lead Bashir on when I know that isn't what I want. I can't act on this odd draw between us. So I'll have to do my best to put it out of my mind instead.

  What I don't realize is that others might be noticing the interplay between us. I know I act differently around him and that he does the same, but it isn't comfortable to have that pointed out by someone else.

  "You're being kind of weird around Bashir," Delilah mentions out of nowhere while we're out in the garden.

  My head whips around so fast, I'm surprised I don't injure myself. She gives me a probing look, wiping the sweat off her gleaming dark skin. Shit. I feel the panic rise. What do I say? I run through maybe twenty responses in a split second before settling on a classic—denial. I can't handle the truth. But Delilah is no dummy. Swallowing, I muster up the lady-balls to tell her she's wrong.

  "Weird?" I repeat, frowning. "No more weird than around the other Zmaj." I shrug casually, hoping I'm not overdoing it.