Dragon's Claim Page 3

  Delilah raises her eyebrows, clearly not buying what I'm slinging. But she just shrugs and drops the subject, going back to working the garden.

  I'm glad for it, but I also feel like I just succeeded in alienating her by not being truthful or confiding in her. Delilah isn't the super-sensitive type, but we have developed a bond. One that hasn't gone deeper yet simply because it's difficult for me to let people fully in.

  Letting my guard down where my feelings—or non-feelings—are concerned isn't easy. I don't like people to have the power to hurt me, which means I've never been like other girls, bonding and making friends easily. It's not natural for me. I'm mostly a loner. I never learned how to deal with other people when I’ve messed up, like I just did. I don't know how to fix this right now without giving too much away. I hesitate, thinking of and discarding overtures that feel stiff and unlike me. I finally give up and let the slight feeling of distance lie. Maybe it's for the best. She won't ask any more personal questions.

  Delilah's question does make me more cognizant of the fact that people around here notice things. There aren't so many people that it's easy to overlook how everyone interacts. Very inconvenient, but there's no help for it when you're living in a tight community like this. The best I can do is just act like everything is fine, stick to my routine, and try to limit my exposure to Bashir. The less time I spend around him, the less people will have to read into. I don't know if I can act completely normal around him, so that's my best bet.

  I manage to do just that for the next several days, leaving when I see him coming, only speaking when necessary, avoiding eye contact. If only it was so easy to limit him from my thoughts! I'm having an impossible time trying to shake him from my mind, and it's damn irritating! I like being in charge of my mental space. A lot. Being in control there is comforting when I feel like I don't have a heck of a lot of control in other parts of my life right now.

  Even more frustrating, I've taken to avoiding the spring. I just can't see it as the same oasis of peace it was before...the incident. In fact, I guess I might as well tell the other girls about it now. It won't be a place for me to unwind again for some time to come. I'm in my own head the rest of the day, brooding about everything. Same with the next day.

  Right up until I hear raised voices. The anger in them is clear. What's going on, I wonder, along with everyone else in the vicinity, and we all run over to the wall to find out. I stop at the edge of the gathered crowd, watching Padraig snarl at Melchior.

  "You do not want to fight me," Melchior snarls back. I can see from his stance and heated eyes that he too is ready for a physical altercation.

  The two Zmaj men are circling each other, rage blazing in their eyes, obvious in the way they're holding their bodies. The Bijass has taken hold of them both.

  I don't know how to stop—

  I gasp along with everyone else as they collide with each other, hisses and growls punctuated with blows as they grapple.

  "Shit!"

  "What do we do?"

  "They're going to get hurt!"

  "Someone, do something!"

  "Enough!" Bashir barks out sharply, his voice loud and authoritative. It actually gets through to the fighters.

  The two break apart, though it looks like it is simply to take a breather rather than any real desire to stop the fight.

  Bashir closes in on the pair, striding forward with a purpose and steps right between them, seemingly unafraid. That’s a very dangerous place to be right then.

  I take a step forward before I stop myself. My getting in there as well won't help matters. I'm much more breakable than any of those three. One good punch from a Zmaj fist and I might not get up again.

  "There is no reason for this," Bashir murmurs when he has their attention, his eyes meeting Melchior's. When he sees Melchior focus on him, he turns to meet Padraig's eyes as well. "No reason."

  Melchior looks like he's backing off the edge a little, but Padraig is still breathing hard, a red mark along his jaw from where the other Zmaj got a hit in.

  He probably deserved it. Padraig has had a thorn in his side for weeks. Snapping and snarling, being short with everyone who has the misfortune of being around him. It's getting on everyone's nerves. If ever there was a candidate for a Zmaj who needs a mate to tame him, Padraig is it. He's a poster child for sexual frustration if I've ever seen one, though it doesn't excuse his behavior at all. The other Zmaj without mates aren't snapping people's heads off.

  We all watch as Bashir looks back at Melchior, taking in his calmer demeanor. I can see him make the judgment that Padraig is the more dangerous one.

  Melchior gives him a small nod and takes a step back, signaling he is done with the fight.

  Bashir turns back to Padraig, giving him his undivided attention now. Padraig still has his hands balled into fists at his sides, his head lowered, looking at Bashir in a way I'm not comfortable with, like he's just itching to mess him up. I wish Bashir would put some distance between the two of them...

  "You can control this, Padraig," he murmurs, lowering his voice, meeting that rage-filled glare without flinching, his own eyes deliberately calm. "You are not your Bijass."

  I frown. There's something about the way Bashir is looking at Padraig. His eyes are looking deeply into him somehow. It sounds crazy, but that's the only way I can think to describe it as he continues his low, almost hypnotic murmur to the Zmaj. Like he's not just talking to Padraig on the exterior. But also to...his inner dragon?

  It sounds so stupid when I say it like that, but... Padraig's fists slowly loosen at his sides. His stance slowly straightens from that combative crouch. His eyes start to clear. Bashir is getting through to him!

  I let out the breath I wasn't even aware I was holding, watching Bashir calm Padraig so much more easily than Drosdan did. I don't know how he does it, but he manages to diffuse the situation without resorting to anger himself. It's definitely impressive to watch. As Bashir lays a careful hand on the other man's shoulder, he's self-possessed and commanding without having to reach for his Bijass. I can't take my eyes off him even as the crowd starts to disperse.

  Bashir, you just got a hell of a lot more interesting.

  Chapter Four

  Bashir

  "The wine is done fermenting," Melchior remarks. "Perhaps we can break early today and enjoy it. Tajss willing it will be a beast-less night."

  We all murmur our approval as we continue working on the wall, the suns beating down on us in their usual merciless manner. I wipe at my brow as I stretch my back. Halting work a little earlier than usual sounds nice, but that is not why my heart skipped a beat at the suggestion of a night of socializing.

  Green eyes flash across my mind—Penelope's eyes. She hasn’t been far from my mind all day. The idea of being able to speak to her in a more relaxed atmosphere certainly has its appeal. It could be the very opportunity I need to break through more of her shell to find the woman underneath. She is always attempting to shield that woman, to hide her spirit behind the ever-capable mask she wears at all times. But I've seen peeks of her, and I want more.

  Hope has begun to bloom in my heart the more time I spend around her, the more I learn of her. There is something between us. Thoughts of her have taken up much of my internal dialogue, and I cannot help but wonder if it is the same for her too. Her behavior tells me that she feels the draw just as I do, especially the way her gaze lingers on me when she thinks I am not looking. But I want to hear it in words. I want to taste her desire for me on her lips. I know the wait will only make the moment sweeter between us, though it is painful to delay it.

  Thoughts of Penelope have the rest of the workday passing by in a blur, the distraction enough that I do not even realize we are done until one of the others taps me on the shoulder. I clean up quickly in preparation for the evening, attempting to maintain my composure. I do not want to scare her by being too eager or pressuring her too much. I already know she does not respond well to being pushed.
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br />   She likes to be in control.

  I deliberately show up somewhat late so that I can see where Penelope is seated. I smile at her and sit down close enough to converse, but not so close that she might feel uncomfortable. She gives me a wary look but relaxes as nothing else happens.

  Does she think I will bite her? Hmm. I have several places in mind already that I would like to sink my teeth into. But only if she asks.

  The wine is passed around. I murmur my thanks before sampling a sip of it. Not bad, though I do not think it would win any awards if we had more choices.

  The carefree mood, the wine, the fact that we are done with work for the day—all of it contributes to a more relaxed atmosphere as the conversation grows louder. Penelope appears more relaxed as well.

  Perfect.

  "Penelope," I venture. She turns to me, her guard a little lower than usual, her cheeks pink. She looks lovely, a little mussed, her hair ruffled from her fingers. "I am curious about your planet. Perhaps you could indulge me with some of your favorite Earth songs?"

  Her face softens further, a smile lighting her face. Ah. Perhaps this is the way to her heart. She cannot seem to resist the opportunity to reminisce.

  "Oh, there are so many," she responds, her face brightening even more as she turns fully towards me. "Let's see...maybe I should start with some of the basics. The Beatles had quite a few hits..."

  I listen intently as she lists various songs.

  "Are you talking about the Beatles?" Delilah asks, wandering over. "I have to say, my favorite is when Paul McCartney sang 'Maybe I'm Amazed,'" she confesses, sighing, obviously taken with the song.

  I see a few more of the humans perk up as they listen in on the topic. It seems to be a favorite.

  "'Maybe I'm Amazed'?" I repeat.

  "Yes, it's great!" Delilah clears her throat. "I'm not a great singer, but I'm willing to give it a go." She takes a deep breath. "Maybe I'm amazed—" she starts, her voice a little bit shaky.

  But the other humans familiar with the song quickly chime in, bolstering her. Delilah is modest. Her voice is true, and the way she sings is heartfelt and moving.

  "—at the way you love me all the time. Maybe I'm afraid of the way I love you..."

  I listen to the words, the melody. It is pleasing to the ears and obviously a song for a loved one. I like even more how much everyone seems to enjoy it. I look over at Penelope, who is now grinning from ear to ear. Perhaps this is an opportunity I should not let go to waste.

  I stand, and she looks over at the movement, a questioning expression on her face.

  "Will you dance with me?" I ask with a smile.

  She looks a little warily at my hand. If she refuses, I will simply have to—

  But she places her hand in mine and stands. My smile widens as I pull her into a dance, a slow one that allows me to hold her close. Though I don't know if it could really be called a dance when we are simply swaying to the song. I do not care. I have accomplished the goal of getting her into my arms.

  The room falls to a hush around us as people see me dancing with Penelope, but Delilah pokes one of the others with her elbow, and the singing starts up again.

  I am in her debt.

  When I look back at Penelope, her face is showing some self-consciousness at being the center of attention, but that does not last for long. Soon, others join us on the dance floor, and those singing switch to a different song.

  Penelope relaxes a bit more in my arms, and I pull her that much closer to me. Her cheeks flush a deeper pink when her eyes meet mine, but she does not pull away. She is too relaxed to reach for her shields as quickly as she usually does.

  "Is this still the Beatles?" I ask, enjoying the feel of her slim body in my arms. Having her this close is a kind of torture, a torture that I do not want to end.

  "No," she says, smiling. "This song is by a band called Journey. Here, let me show you how to dance to this..."

  I let her guide me, finding the movements easy enough. I like the dance. As I genuinely like the music. Though perhaps it is simply Penelope I like, and I enjoy her pleasure in this. She makes the Earth seem fascinating. Just like her.

  My heart is beating fast. A trickle of sweat is sliding down my back, though the temperature is not too warm. It is the feel of her lithe body willingly pressed up against me—it is almost too much for me to process after watching her from afar for so long. But I manage to keep my calm front intact. I do not want to scare her away now.

  She retreats into her shell so easily when the fear of whatever is holding her back rises. I want to know what that fear is that stops her from reaching for anything more—but I will not push. I will never push. I will wait until she is ready to tell me.

  So we simply keep dancing. Our bodies rubbing against one another. Our eyes locked. The room fades around us, until it is only us and the swaying of our bodies. The heat—I know she must feel it too—is rising between us. I want this moment to last forever, but nothing perfect ever does. Eventually, the singing comes to an end, and the rest of the world reappears around us. Penelope steps back, her expression dreamy as she gives me a shy smile. I smile back. I could have danced with her forever, but the moment is broken as people begin to talk again.

  "Do you guys want to learn how to play checkers?" Delilah asks as we all linger, not ready to end the night. We are all enjoying ourselves too much.

  "What is check-hers?" Padraig asks with a frown.

  "It's a game. Here, I'll show you."

  Delilah runs and grabs a piece of natural chalk, and we all gather around as she draws a grid pattern on a flat, raised rock she deems appropriate for the lesson.

  "I'll teach you guys how to play chess once you get the hang of this," she explains. "Chess is more complicated and requires more strategy, so checkers is a better game to start with."

  The other Zmaj and I watch as she takes some berries and separates them into two piles of different colors. The bitter and the sweet. I watch and listen as she explains the rules, along with the other Zmaj unfamiliar with the game. Interesting. It seems simple enough.

  "Who wants to play first?" she asks once she's done, looking around.

  "I would like to play," Melchior offers, looking interested.

  "All right," she agrees with a smile.

  We all gather around to watch as they play. The rules seem simple enough, but there is obviously some forethought required. Melchior's brow furrows as the game continues, but he does not manage to beat Delilah.

  There is some strategy to learn after all. The women all cheer as she wins, but Melchior is not upset.

  "This is fascinating," he says, smiling. "I shall practice to improve."

  "We should adopt this game," I agree, wanting to play as well.

  "I can create a true game board, with playing pieces that are not food," Arawn offers, grinning at the berries. "I must say though, I appreciate Delilah’s ingenuity."

  "That would be great!" Delilah says with an answering grin. "We can use the same board for chess, though we'll need different pieces."

  "When can we learn this other game?" I ask, intrigued. "Chess, did you say?"

  She chuckles.

  "Once you guys are good at checkers," she explains. "Hold your horses."

  I do not know what horses are or how to hold them, but I can only assume she means to practice patience. This I can do. My eye strays to Penelope now that the game is over. My patience has already been tested and proven.

  As I watch, she makes her way to the wall, swaying a little, no doubt in response to the wine she drank earlier. She moves over to the unfinished portion of the structure, leaning her small hand against it. She tilts her head back, drinking in the twinkling stars and silvery moon. The soft light caresses her face, highlighting the delicate bones. For a moment, I almost see the child in her, filled with wonder, unguarded, innocent, unafraid, simply absorbed in what beauty there is to be found on Tajss. Likely she'll feel differently once the effect of the wine fade
s, but I love to see her like this. With her thorns temporarily removed, exposing the softness I knew lay beneath.

  She turns to meet my gaze as I venture closer. I have a moment where I wonder if she will rebuff me, but she does not. In fact, the exact opposite happens as I come to a stop near her.

  I go completely still as she reaches a hand up to cup my cheek. It is the first intimate gesture she has initiated. Anticipation buzzes in my blood as I soak in the small touch.

  "You're a nice dragon," she says with a small smile, her words slower than usual.

  I smile back. She is clearly deep in the wine.

  "I aim to be," I respond, amused at the openness of her without her shields. "Kindness is a virtue I hold dear."

  "And handsome," she adds, tapping my cheek with one of her fingers. "You are handsome, too."

  I feel my smile turn into a grin.

  "Thank you."

  She nods, turning her sight back to the stars, her hand dropping. I reach out to turn her gently back towards me. I cannot resist. Just one kiss, here under the stars. After she has touched me so sweetly...

  I lean close, waiting to see if she desires what I do. Her eyes fall to my lips, and she leans towards me as well.

  Yes.

  Passion beats in my blood as the distance between us closes... Her breath whispers across my lips... My eyes drift closed.

  "Bashir!" Ormarr calls out to me, his voice cutting right through the gossamer threads of that magical moment.

  I stop, a breath away from Penelope's lips, cursing internally. But I cannot ignore the healer. Penelope frowns at the interruption.

  "Yes?" I call out, straightening.

  The moment has been lost.

  "We need you here." A brief pause. "Penelope should come too."

  Chapter Five

  Penelope

  Ormarr's voice is like a bucket of cold water. The buzz I have going from the wine immediately dissipates as Bashir steps back, obviously unhappy at being interrupted.