Dragon Warrior (3 page)

Once Sparrow rounded the corner, her hands started to shake. The minute she stepped into her office, she shut the door, bracing her back upon it. Images, memories of her youth, flashed behind her closed eyes, leaving puncturing imprints on her soul with each one.

Memories of helping her father during healings flooded her mind. How each and every time, the emotions of the wounded or dying warriors would slam into her, terrifying her, hurting her. Sometimes even render her unconscious. Yet he never cared. He always forced her to be in the room with him.

Sparrow braced her hands on the door, groping for something solid to hold on to while she rode out the tide of the past swelling all around her.

Memories of the day a group of anxious, violent dragon lords stormed into the magus dome for her father. She'd been but a child, yet she remembered as if it were yesterday. The legion claimed he'd failed to administer care, failed to heal her mother and a legionnaire rumored to be her lover, and they hanged him for it.

She'd spent every day since swearing she would be everything he wasn't. Had sworn she would heal anyone brought to her, no matter the cost to herself. Each man or woman brought through that door might have a youngling at home waiting for their loved one to walk through theirs.

Sparrow slid down her office door, resting on her haunches. Cupping her head in her hands, she forced the memories back down into the pit they'd been freed from.

 

Kestrel chewed on some tasteless piece of meat and watched the doctor make her daily rounds. Every warrior spent many an hour in the infirmary having scale regeneration or some wound healed. As captain, he'd always made it a point to visit. Yet, as far as he knew, she'd never noticed him. And in truth, he'd barely noticed her. She'd always been behind one of the glass partitions. Her head down, her eyes fixed, intent on whatever task she'd been set to and taking in nothing else.

Funny. Now he couldn't take his eyes or his mind off her.

Taking another bite, Kestrel wondered why she would virtually trap herself in this dome. Never leave the caves. Never shift to her true dragon form. Never seek her rightful turn at a mating flight. He told himself that those things about her intrigued him. That the answers to those questions were the reason every inch of him yearned to break down the glass box shielding her and show her the world.

To set her free
.

At his thought, she looked up. Their gazes held, and for the space of a heartbeat Kestrel swore he heard her plea for the same thing.

“Captain Grey.”

The voice startled him, but Kestrel contained it to a flinch of his shoulders.

“Yes,” he replied, turning his head.

One of the elder legionnaires, Hawk, stood at attention beside him. His hands behind his back, his legs spread. Everything about the way he presented himself to Kestrel showed deference and respect. Yet his eyes flitted back and forth to Kestrel's blanketed legs in a way that sent an uncharacteristic flood of anger surging through his veins.

Kestrel dropped the meat back on the food tray with a thud and clutched his fingers around the edge of the sheet.

“Here,” he said, flinging the sheets back. “Is this what you came to see?”

The harsh fluorescent bulbs projected off the golden prosthetic. A vast array of hydraulic rods and springs glittered in the raw light. Hawk's mouth gaped before he could stop it.

Clenching his jaw, Kestrel looked away from his second in command. Hoping Hawk wouldn't see the self-hatred and disgust surely visible on his face. Kestrel didn't want anyone's sympathy. Didn't want any of this.

Without stopping to ask himself why, Kestrel looked into the adjoining room. Although he was wholly unsurprised to see Doc's beautiful blue eyes staring at him, the sight still managed to knock him off balance. No one ever looked at him like that. So open, so raw and so unlike the guarded and war-hardened gazes of his legionnaires, or most women in the flock. Doc could hide nothing from him. At that moment he had the gut-twisting realization she saw the same thing when she looked at him.

“No, sir. That is not why I came.”

“I can't leave this damned infirmary, much less fight,” Kestrel bit out, his eyes never leaving Doc's. “So what in heaven's name can you possibly need me for?”

Hawk shifted, his focus darting about the room before he leaned over. “The torn scroll the king and queen recovered before—” he swallowed “—before they were taken,” he said in a low voice. “We have tried, sir. But no one on the council can read it.”

Kestrel let out a groan and dropped his head to his chest. This wasn't exactly something he could put a call through the flock for. He'd have a state of panic on his hands. Gods, first he failed them with his might, and now his brains would be called into question. The flock would wonder if he was competent to lead the legion, if they didn't already. A question he found himself grappling with without all the controversy.

“Damn.”

Kestrel closed his eyes just as a small voice whispered through it.

“Wait,” he said as Hawk turned to go. At once his gaze sought out and found the little doctor. Pieces of conversations floated through his mind along with a plan.

He swallowed. “I think I have an idea.”

 

This is the last day
.

The thought whispered through Sparrow's mind as she removed most of the bandages from Kestrel's leg. As her fingers smoothed the healing balm on his thigh, she took in the intoxicating way his muscles would jump at her touch. The slick and warm feel of his skin beneath her fingertips. The subtle scent of lavender, eucalyptus and man perfumed upward with each circular stroke she kneaded into his flesh, putting it all to memory.

Unbidden, the memory of his lips on hers slammed into her with such force she shook from the impact. A shudder quivered her core. Clearing her throat, Sparrow focused on wrapping the bandage over his well-muscled abdomen and not the small winglike flutters rustling in her belly.

“There,” she said, her voice sounding loud in her ears. “A few more hours and you'll be out of here.” Sparrow looked up at him and smiled. Even though the idea of coming in tomorrow, seeing his bed empty and not hearing him call her sunshine made her want to call in sick.

Pushing her hair back, she carefully tucked it behind her ears, deciding it was now or never to get an answer to the question that had plagued her since the day he'd brought it up.

“Can I ask you something?”

As if he sensed its importance, he lowered his hands beside his hips, pushing himself up a bit straighter. “Of course,” he said.

“How did you vote that day?”

The captain let out a long, drawn-out sigh. The reaction let her know he understood the question, which was a good thing because Sparrow didn't think she had the heart to repeat it. In truth, she didn't really want the answer. When a few seconds ticked by and he hadn't answered, she lowered her gaze to her shoes.

“Listen, Doc. I…”

“It's okay.” She shook her head and pushed the tray out of the way, preparing to stand, to run away. “You don't have to tell me…”

“I voted to hang him.”

At his cold words, her hands stilled. The breath left her lungs in a whoosh. After a moment she shot her gaze to his. His steely eyes locked on hers, unwavering so she knew he spoke the truth.

“Your mother's untimely death was a great loss to the legion. I couldn't let that bastard walk after what he did to her.”

Sparrow let out a breath she didn't know she'd been holding in. “Thank you,” she said on the exhale. To hear a dragon lord, the captain of the legion, stand up for her late mother hemmed the seam of her heart. One her father's betrayal had ripped open so many years ago. “But you said not all voted against him?” She chewed her lip and waited.

“The council and the legion have never seen eye to eye. It's politics. To them, your father was a genius, a necessary healer. To us, he'd murdered a brave woman who fought selflessly for the flock, and he was the lowest kind of traitor.”

She nodded, unable to speak. Instead, she finally did what her brain had been telling her to do for the past minute and stood.

Fingers curled around her forearm, the touch imploring her to stop, to look at him. She kept her eyes on the ground.

“And what of you, Doc?” he asked in a smoky voice. It curled around her, beckoning her, luring her and reeling her in. “What did you think of him?”

“I don't know. I…” She shook her head. “I think of him like a monster from a nightmare, and yet…”

Slowly and gently he slid his hand down her arm, curving it beneath her palm. His fingers threaded through hers, holding her tight. “And yet?”

Warm and firm and solid, his touch gave her strength, gave her the confidence to confide in him. Exhaling sharply, she released the words in a rush. “I fear being just like him.”

The captain didn't try to deny her fear, didn't belittle it or even try to understand it. He merely nodded, silently telling her he understood. The hand holding hers tugged slightly. Sparrow closed her eyes and sank onto the bed beside him.

“You're not at all like him,” he finally said. “In fact, you remind me of your mother. To do what you do. To fight through what mental torture you must in order to heal others takes my breath away.”

His voice had fallen to a soothing whisper. The bed beneath her shifted slightly. His body leaned closer until she could feel the heat from him cocooning her.

“There is a strength in you. I wish to the Gods you saw it as clear as I.”

Lips brushed her hair before he pressed his forehead to hers. Still, she couldn't move. She merely allowed the moment, the sensations to happen. A hand slid to her arm, then fell away only to move to the tips of her hair, which she realized she'd worn down today. For him. To look pretty, or as pretty as someone like her could manage. Her heart sped up. Her breath left her in small pants.

The hands in her hair reached her collarbone, then her neck. His fingers so light on her flesh, so tender she almost wondered if she imagined it. His hand splayed across her cheek, cupping it, tilting her chin up.

“Open your eyes, Doc.”

The little doctor fluttered her eyes open at his command. The blue orbs filled with apprehension, curiosity and something else. Something softer. Something feminine. Something primal. It made him want to tug her into his arms, lift her small body and spear her down atop him. A rush of heat crackled through him, settling in his loins, tightening, hardening.

Kestrel shifted his gaze to his hips, hoping he wouldn't be able to see the evidence of what he felt for her right now.

Oh Gods, he shouldn't think like this. Shouldn't feel like this. Instead, he dropped his hand from her face and tried to remember what he'd been about to ask her. What he'd been planning to ask her since yesterday.

“Have you ever yearned to follow in your mother's footsteps?”

“And what? Become a warrior?” she asked on a disbelieving chuckle. “Are you mad?”

Mad about you
.

The second the thought came, her smile fled.

Damnation! She'd heard him. She must have. Yet he couldn't stop the notion from coming, no more than he could stop his heart from beating.

“Yes.” He answered her question instead.

Her gaze immediately shot to his. Doubt, hope, shock and question in their depths.

“Why do you ask?”

“You mentioned before about reading the auld texts and scrolls. You know more about our lore than any elder, female or male.”

“And?”

“And there is something I might need your help with tonight, after I'm discharged.”

Sparrow sat at her desk long after the sisters had left for the night. The words she'd transcribed for Kestrel haunted her. If the prophecy that scroll spoke of was actually true. If a crystal with powers those pages foretold truly existed…

She shuddered.

“Dr. Rose?”

Sparrow gasped, shooting her gaze toward the voice. A dragon lord filled the doorway of her office, his broad shoulders barely fitting between the jambs. A warrior nearly identical to the one she couldn't quit thinking about.

“Falcon.” She stood and quickly rounded her desk. “What a surprise to see you here.”

Sparrow noticed he didn't smile and didn't move toward her desk. So she halted her approach and handshake. Opting instead to cross her arms about her chest and casually rest her butt on the lip of her desk. “Is there anything I can help you with?”

A shadow crept over his handsome features—so like his brother and yet so very different. It was the eyes. Falcon's were a rich emerald, while Kestrel's reminded her of the color of the sky just before it rains.

“Declan, the king and queen's son,” he said, his face pinching slightly. “He's asked to see you in the royal chamber session tomorrow evening at dusk.”

Sparrow fought to hear his words over the strident pounding of her heart. “About?”

“That is for him to divulge in detail. However, I would hazard a guess it would have something to do with what you did for my brother.”

Although he'd explained himself well enough, Sparrow kept waiting for the other shoe to drop. Waiting for a piece of news that would justify the unease she felt tightening in her gut. Until she realized the emotion came from Falcon. However, before she had the chance to question him, tender thoughts for Kestrel swarmed her mind, taking its place.

“About my brother,” he said, a faint smile finally crossing his face. “Thank you.”

“You're very welcome.” She nodded. “Oh, Falcon,” she called when he turned to leave. “Do you know where the captain is? He, uh, missed his appointment with me earlier today.”

Falcon shook his head. “I haven't seen him since the legion meeting with the other warriors.”

Sparrow's brow tightened and her heart skipped, but she tried to disguise her unease with a smile. “My meeting with the acting regent tomorrow, a legionnaire meeting tonight…” She shrugged. “You're not gearing up for some big battle, are you?”

Falcon didn't reply. He didn't have to. His face gave it all away.

 

“Is it true?”

Kestrel turned from the doorway, heading back to the gear bag he'd been packing on his bed. “Is what true?”

“Are you really taking the legionnaires and going after the crystal?”

Shutting his eyes, he took a deep breath. He'd ask her how she found out about the mission. But something told him he already knew the answer. “Falcon,” he grumbled beneath his breath.

When he finally turned to face her, the breath left his lungs in a whoosh. Gods, she was stunning. The ire coursing through her raised the color in her cheeks to that tempting pink he loved so much. Again, she wore her hair down. It fell in straight layers to just above her breasts. His attention slid lower, to her long legs visible under her white coat. Today she wore a pencil skirt, and his palms immediately itched to smooth down her bare legs. His tongue danced behind his lips with the nearly unchecked desire to trail kisses up her thigh, taste her, own her.

Gritting his teeth, he turned away. “Yes,” he replied.

“You can't go.”

Everything in him rebelled at her order. “And why is that?” he asked, facing her once more.

She rested one hip against his desk, again drawing his gaze. The soft swell of flesh hidden beneath her draping lab coat called to the male in him, taunted him. A deep pull tugged at his groin and a possessive fire burned in his core.

“Your leg has not been through the complete diagnostics, durability analysis, pressure tests…”

“Your
point
, Doc,” he snapped.

“My point?” she sassed, propping her hands on her hips. “Can you even shift yet?”

A stream of indignation rushed through Kestrel's veins. Her simple question cut through his spirit with the efficiency of talons on flesh and everything in him screamed to throw her comment back at her. But then he glanced at her face and all that melted away.

The fear for his life shining in her eyes mirrored the desire pounding through him. At once the animal within him roared to life. Predatory need stalked through him with such alacrity, even he didn't know when it would pounce and consume them both.

The mere notion the scroll Doc had translated could be real, what it foretold could actually come to pass, made spending another moment alone, without who and what he wanted, seem like the most foolish thing in the world.

 

The way the warrior looked at her, his smoky eyes dark and consuming and completely focused on her. It made her forget why she'd come down here. Awoke parts of her she'd never known existed until now. A surge of feminine allure flooded her senses, nearly stealing her breath before it settled over her like a net, becoming part of her. A low throb pulsed in her sex. The overwhelming need to feel something inside her, moving inside her, laying claim to her became a palpable, tangible thing.

He sensed it. He must have. His eyes darkened by degrees, the solid black of his iris eating up the silver until it was all she could see.

When he took a step forward, Sparrow instinctively shuffled back. However, the cold and unyielding expanse of the wood desk behind her dug in to her hip. She had nowhere to run, nowhere to go. He stepped again, his eyes blazing hunger, their focus never wavering from her face. The scent of him enveloped her, musk, man and power. Unbidden and salacious visions of them, bodies entwined, his scent marking her skin, flashed in her mind. She gasped, unsure if they were his emotions or her own.

In that instant she knew what she not only had to, but what she wanted to do. Part of her rational mind branded her a fool for even thinking it. The other lauded her as a genius. Sparrow decided the reality hovered somewhere in the middle. Yet even she couldn't deny the truth of her plan. If she kept him occupied, kept him here, with her, tonight.

In that bed.

Then he couldn't fight and possibly be killed.

Slowly her fingers moved to the collar of her white coat. As she tugged it over her shoulders and down her arms, the sound of her heart jackhammering in her chest filled her ears. The fabric hit the ground, pooling at her feet. Although she still wore a button-down blouse and skirt, she felt utterly and completely exposed.

He stilled. “Doc, what are you…”

“Don't.” She stepped up, closing the distance between them. So close, her skirt brushed his leg. She reached out, her hands closing around his sinewy biceps, pulling him closer. He came willingly, his chest brushing against hers in a featherlight caress. At the contact, the steady ache he'd wedged inside her grew at a frenzied pace until it seemed her entire body vibrated.

Gods, she needed something. Needed him to press his body against hers, to put those heavy arms around her. Just once.

What the hell was wrong with her? She should be angry, scared, worried, anything but riddled with the intense desire to mate. Yet the need for him saturated every pore, rippling out to him in a silent plea. One she had the distinct impression he heard loud and clear.

A warm hand cupped her cheek, forceful, yet tender. Demanding, yet imploring. Sparrow sank into his embrace. For as long as she could remember, she'd wanted this. Wanted to be his.

“Just…please,” she said on an exhale, her fingers circling his wrist. Slowly she steered his hand down her neck, guiding it over her hammering pulse. Lower until, warm and strong, his hand closed around her breast. Her nipples tightened, jutting into his palm. Pure unadulterated heat settled hard and heavy in her core.

“Gods.” He sighed, his fingers cupping her gently. “Please what?”

She whimpered, unable to say aloud what she needed. A large hand framed half her face, his thumb smoothing over her lips.

“You're so delicate,” he murmured. “Beautiful.”

Sparrow blinked up at him, a shiver passing through her body at the sight of him, tall, hard and gorgeous in front of her. Everything in her screamed to lay him down, straddle his thighs and quench the unbearable thirst causing a drought through her body.

“What's happening to me?” she asked, although she already had a pretty good idea. She might be untouched, but she knew the lore. Knew how intense dragon matings could be.

At her question, he stiffened, his demeanor shifting, as if she'd dumped a bucket of ice water on him. “I should go,” he murmured.

She smiled. “But you live here.”

“We have preparations to make for tonight.” When he tried to edge around her, Sparrow stopped him.

“Kestrel.”

 

She stated his name like a reproach, and yet to hear it on her lips sent a comforting but tension-filled shiver through him. It took a moment for Kestrel to notice her hands were still grasping him, sliding back and forth in a sensual, exploring glide. Took him a moment to realize she no longer tended his wounds. Her hands were on him of their own will.

Clenching his jaw, he dared a glance at her and the sight made his mouth go dry. For the first time she kept and held direct eye contact with him. Emanated the strength and confidence he'd always known she possessed.

Kestrel swallowed. Hard.

The line he'd so carefully drawn in the sand to separate them wavered and blurred as lust and admiration swelled. He forced the tides back. Knowing she could read him, sense his every thought. However, the more time he spent with her, the harder it became to temper his emotions.

“What?” he finally asked.

“Please don't go. Stay with me tonight instead.”

Her plea nearly undid him. His anger caught and flared. Reaching out, he fisted her upper arms, holding her tight, but not hard. “Doc, you don't know what you're asking of me,” he grated. “You come in here looking, smelling and acting like that and expect me to ease you into lovemaking?” Kestrel looked her up and down—her flushed face, wide big eyes and pouting lips—and felt the animal in him scream to claim her. “Innocent or no, you have to know how violent and aggressive dragon mating can be?” he said in warning.

Gods help him, she smiled.