Magical Lover (23 page)

“Momma?” the boy croaked.

Annaliese whirled, her dress flaring around her legs. Keara tried to rise and sank back to the ground. Wobbly legs did not make for good standing.

Keara watched Annaliese touch the boy as she spoke in soft tones. Why had she not been able to heal him? What caused her powers to stop working? If she couldn’t heal and contribute to the infirmary, the priestesses would have no choice but to let her go.

And Thoren didn’t want her.

Her day was shaping up nicely.

Keara sighed and pressed her head against her arms. Wetness seeped down her cheek and she swiped it away. Overactive tear ducts. Something about this place set them off.

Crying had never been her thing. Getting done what needed to be done was her motto. No use crying over things she couldn’t change. But with Thoren not wanting her, her inability to hold her magic in place, and her complete failure at this healing, the tears spilled like a slow leak.

She dashed her fingers under her eyes and tilted her head back with a thud against the wall. Annaliese glanced over at the sound. Maybe she should stare at the ceiling instead of thud her head against stone.

Keara blinked as she looked upward. Fluffy white clouds danced across the ceiling, hiding dragons that weaved in and out. Amazingly beautiful. The artist had some skill to paint on the ceiling. Did he or she have to hang upside down to finish the picture?

Keara? Can you hear me?

Keara jumped at the voice in her head. So much for the pity party. How did she answer?

Thoren?

Are you all right? What in the name of the Goddess did you think you were doing walking in there?

I’m fine. Calm down.

Calm down? You walked through a containment field. No one walks through a containment field and Zeke’s son is dying of an illness you could catch. Have you lost it?

His protectiveness should bother her. Instead, it made her feel loved. No one else in her life had ever cared like this, not even her grandmother. But Thoren was protective of her. What a shame he didn’t want her for a wife.

She would change his mind about that.

Thoren, I’m a healer. Healers heal. It’s a calling. I can’t resist it.

She saw a mental image of Thoren pacing the hall outside the room, hands shoving through his hair like he was digging for treasure. The mantle of failure smothering her lightened at his concern.

Are you even allowed out of that room?

Good question. Why hadn’t she thought about being quarantined before she darted through the door?
I don’t know. I couldn’t heal him.

Is he...?

No, he just woke and asked for his mother. Annaliese is tending him. I tried, but I just couldn’t heal him.

But that’s good that he woke. I’m sure you helped.

Annaliese thinks I did, but I’ve never been unable to heal someone before.

Think Zeke can come in?

“Annaliese?”

“Hmm?” The priestess patted the boy’s head and turned to Keara.

“Can Zeke come in?”

“I suppose he can now.” She started toward the door. “I meditated and saw no illness inside me. I’ve checked on Zeke several times since he brought his son and he has not fallen ill. It is doubtful that full-blooded Draconi can catch this illness. The precautions were mostly set for Halflings. They apparently can catch the illness.”

“Wait. Am I allowed out? Or am I under quarantine?”

Annaliese tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “The containment field keeps everyone in this room and alerts me if whoever tries to leave has the illness. If you don’t have the illness, you should be able to walk out of the room. But since you walked in when you weren’t supposed to, I’m not sure if it will work on you. I can cast another spell for you, but I’m not convinced it would work either.”

“So I should stay here?”

“Probably overnight. Since this illness doesn’t seem to affect full-bloods, Thoren can come in if you’d like. He’s not very happy out in the hall.”

Keara smiled. Her dragon was protective. She needed to stop thinking of him as hers. He wasn’t.

Not yet anyway.

“Are you sure I shouldn’t stay longer?”

“The child has been here since yesterday evening. Zeke was at the village the day before that and all was fine. He went back yesterday and all but his son were dead. We should know tomorrow if you are ill.”

Keara shivered. What if she caught the illness? No use dwelling on the what ifs. “So Thoren can come in?”

Annaliese smiled and turned toward the door. Raising her hand, she spoke words in a language Keara had never heard and the door swung inward. Thoren stumbled inside, righting himself before he tripped into Annaliese. Zeke pushed past Thoren and ran to the bed.

“May I touch Keara?” Thoren asked Annaliese.

“Of course.” She headed to the bed, talking to Zeke, but Keara didn’t hear the words.

All she cared about was Thoren as he walked toward her. Dropping to his knees, he ran his hand up her arm, down her hair. His hand caught her neck in a tight grip, and yanked her to his chest, his arms banding about her torso.

Breathing became somewhat difficult. Not that she was complaining. Oh, no. One didn’t complain when one’s lover crushed you against his chest.

Provided he was still her lover.

Her arms hugged him back as she rose onto her knees. He would be again. No matter what else happened.

****

Thoren clasped Keara against him, running his hands over her back and hair, assuring himself that she was unharmed. Watching her walk into the infirmary like nothing was wrong had frozen his heart and lungs. They’d kicked back in with a wheeze and a thud, knocking him halfway to his knees. Unlike Keara, he had been unable to get through the door and no amount of pounding, yelling or throwing magical spells opened it.

But he was with her now and he’d make sure things stayed that way.

At least until his next assignment.

His hand slid through her hair to the base of her skull. Fisting his hand into her braid, he pulled until her widened eyes stared into his. He needed her, needed to assure that she lived, needed to sink inside her warm folds and lose himself in her softness.

Were all dragons this way around their mates?

He refused to throw her down on the floor in front of the Temple healer, his brother and his nephew. The dragon could take a hike.

But a kiss. Now that he could do.

He looked into her eyes, their pupils dilated. Saw the vein beat in her neck. The vein he would bite to join their life-forces when they bonded. Which wasn’t going to happen any time soon.

Her lips parted and he took the invite. Crushing his lips against hers, he tightened his hold on her waist, pleased when her arms wrapped around his neck, fingers running through his hair. His tongue played at the seam of her lips and she opened for him, drawing him in, brushing her tongue against his.

Goddess, but he wanted her. Here. Now.

Running his hand down her back, he grasped the firm globes of her arse and pulled her against him. Aaah. She felt good.

“Ahem. There are other people in here,” Annaliese said.

Hadn’t he just finished telling himself it was only a kiss? Obviously obeying self-talk was not high on his to-do list. Releasing Keara, Thoren rose to his feet. Maybe distance would help the almost overwhelming desire to take her despite the onlookers.

“Sorry.” Thoren gave Keara’s hand a squeeze and walked to the bed to look at his nephew.

Nephew. Now that was a word he hadn’t expected to be using for some time. He wiggled his jaw, trying to get the tick to stop. The last thing Zeke needed was for him to yell. But when he thought of Zeke lying with a non-Draconi female...he shuddered. Bad image. Think of something else, like Keara’s full lips.

Or not. Thoren clasped his hands in front of his body and stood by the bed, staring down at his nephew. His older brother contributed to the mess otherwise known as Thoren’s occupation.

Thoren should be happy there were those like Zeke who didn’t mind where their scales rested. On the other hand, bedding a non-Draconi just plain gave him the shivers.

Zeke’s hair fell across his cheek, obscuring his face from view as he bent his head to his son. Five years Thoren’s senior, but with almost identical features, his brother had been his idol. But in recent years, the closeness they’d shared as hatchlings unraveled, separating like the hem of a well-worn cloak.

For years, Thoren wondered why Zeke turned distant.

The reason lay in front of him, sickly and smelling like death.

A hand touched his back and he wrapped an arm around Keara’s shoulders. As everyone was busy watching the child struggle for breath, he supposed no one would notice what was going on in his leathers.

Thoren dropped the hand hiding his embarrassing bulge and placed it on the containment field surrounding the boy. Or tried to place it on the field. His hand slipped through the shimmering haze and landed on the boy’s leg. Lids fluttered open and green eyes stared out of a face that mirrored his own.

All the anger he felt toward Zeke and his unnatural bedding practices vanished with that one gaze. This was his nephew. His blood.

“How’re you doing, hatchling?”

One side of the boy’s lip turned upward and his eyes closed, his breathing rapid.

“His name’s Conr. His mother named him.” If Zeke pulled his chair any closer to the bed, his knees would fuse to the mattress.

“Was he...hatched?” Thoren took his hand off Conr’s leg as he looked at his brother’s bowed head.

“No. He was born.”

“Hatched?” Keara tilted her head to him, one eyebrow reaching to her hairline.

“Male Draconi hatch. Females are born,” Annaliese explained. Judging by the look on Keara’s face, that news didn’t go over well.

“Hatch?” Keara’s voice hung around the ceiling.

“If a female is expecting a male, she will give birth to an egg, which is then incubated for a couple of months before it hatches. A female child is carried to term and is delivered with much pain.”

Keara blinked her lashes like a butterfly’s wing. “I feel a bit weak.” She gestured toward the wall. “I think I’m going to go sit back down.”

She needed a better idea if she thought she was going anywhere without him. Even the short distance to the wall. Where she went, he went. As long as he didn’t touch her or think of her soft body pressing against his, how she looked moving on top of him, the feminine whimper of pleasure when he took her. As long as none of these thoughts dropped by for a visit, he’d be fine.

But seeing they’d moved into his room of wishful remembering, he was screwed. No, that’s what he wanted to be.

Show control, Thoren.

“Please teach me to mind-speak,” Keara placed her hand on his arm. His emotional grip slid toward the cliff of no-control as her fingers touched him.

“All right.” Teaching such a basic concept should be a snap, along with the added benefit of giving him something else to think about besides what he’d rather be doing with her.