Rendan (Scifi Alien Dragon Romance) (Dragons of Preor Book 4)

V
iolence is never the answer
… unless you’re a Preor warrior.

Rendan sen Tarkan, Offense Master to the Preor Third Fleet, has found his human mate. She is small compared to him, but her curves, delicious scent, and sky blue eyes call out to his soul. He has waited for a female for over two centuries and he will fight—kill—any who dare attempt to take her. Even one of his own males.

One moment Carla was unemployed and the next she was on the Preor battleship, working as a nurse for human-Preor mates. Oh, and the next moment? That was when she found her sexy, alien pink-scaled mate. Then she watched the muscular dragon shifter get beat to hell. And
then
she was assigned a condo in Preor Tower on Earth. The person in the condo next door? That sexy, alien pink-scaled male.

Learning about the proud alien warrior isn’t trouble free, but it’s easier than almost dying. Yeah, almost. But the Preor who tried to end her life? Well, he doesn’t quit easily. She only hopes Rendan is there to save her when the alien tries to end her life once again.

I
n many ways
, Carla was a pushover. A good glare could send her scurrying away, and a solid frown would have her backing into a corner. She didn’t even want to think about how she reacted when someone yelled at her.

She was not a pretty crier.

But under certain circumstances, she had a backbone of steel. Specifically, when she worked on a patient. When she gloved up and got her nurse on, she was all business and absolutely zero patience.

Wait, that was a lie. She was the liarest of liars. She had to amend those ballsy thoughts. Oh, they still applied—most of the time. Just not when she was on a Preor ship surrounded by Preor warriors—big,
winged
, deadly, highly skilled, dragon-shifting, Preor warriors.

And at the moment, her definition of “surrounded” meant two—two Preors.

Healing Master Whelon stood behind her, peering over Carla’s shoulder while she worked. The massive, gray Preor was nice… but massive. Silver hair, tanned skin, and wide-spreading wings accented his size. They combined with his broad, bare chest and clinging
katoth
—similar to Earth leather—pants. The fact that his coloring was similar to the ship’s walls just added to his imposing presence.

He’d never done anything to her—never shouted, glared, or snarled. He’d been nothing but gracious and overjoyed when she’d joined the Preor staff as a nurse specifically meant to care for the human-Preor mates onboard. That couldn’t banish the fear, though.

Fear of large men and the damage they could cause.

The other Preor looming over the med platform was equally intimidating. Not necessarily because of his size, but his coloring—red. He had deep red hair that looked nearly black, the same tanned skin as other Preors, and then blood red wings. Just as Whelon had been newly appointed to the position of healing master, Yazen had been recently granted primary healer status.

Carla leaned forward, farther from Whelon and closer to the holographic display that covered the platform. Today, she was going over the intricacies of human female anatomy and the effects Preor offspring could have during pregnancy.

Of course, until she examined Lana joi Taulan Coburn, she wasn’t sure what the effects
were
. The woman was the first human to be impregnated by a Preor and everyone was worried about the merging of the species.

It was why, when Carla had gone to Preor Tower to check on her ex-boss, she’d found herself whisked away to the Preor battleship. She’d gone from “Is Grace okay? She kind of disappeared with one of your winged guys.” to now living and working on the ship.

Which, since she’d been fired recently, kind of rocked. But being one of the few women—and the only unmated one—on the ship was weird. She’d been with the Preor for a week now, and she was still acclimating to the way her life had changed so drastically.

She cleared her throat, stylus directing their gazes. “If you look here, this patient—“

“It is a holographic representation of your Earth text titled…”

She breathed in deeply and released it slowly, her mind fighting with her continued frustration at Yazen’s interruptions. Her agitation had her speaking with a sharp edge, but her pervasive fear forced her attention to remain on the glowing shape before her. “I understand.
However
, for this exercise, we agreed to treat the display as a patient.”

The ruffle of wings, a sure sign of a Preor’s emotions, made her freeze in place. Her muscles tensed, heartbeat stuttering, and her lungs seized. When no one said a word—the rustling ceasing and both men remaining silent—she forced her mouth open and returned to her lesson.

“A human woman’s body forms an amniotic sack inside her uterus, which is connected to her uterine wall via the placenta.” She tapped a few buttons and zoomed in on the
patient’s
midsection. “You can see here that the umbilical cord then leads to the fetus’ abdomen—“

“Fetus?” Yazen interrupted her again.

“Pre-birth dragonlet?” She tried to put it into terms he could understand.

“It is not simply a dragonlet no matter its status?” Whelon added in.

“Humans label stages of development so that we have a baseline to compare the progression of a pregnancy and determine if there are any abnormalities.” Both men stared at her, their gazes heavy on her shoulders, and it was obvious they still didn’t get it. “They also help in pinpointing where exactly a woman is having problems during her pregnancy. On average, twenty-two percent of fertilized eggs fail to implant. Even for those that do, there’s a thirty-one percent chance the pregnancy could end with a miscarriage. Regardless of those statistics, a woman only has a thirty percent chance of getting pregnant when having sex regularly.”

Carla stared at the projection, inundated with memories of past patients and their tears when a heartbeat couldn’t be found. Their disappointment with another negative pregnancy test. The emotional roller coasters. The sobs. The pleas.

“Miss-care…” Yazen sounded out the word.

“She loses the fetus. For whatever reason, the body spontaneously expulses the child.”

Silence descended and she lifted her attention to the men. Whelon and Yazen were staring at one another, their eyes wide with disbelief. “Do Preor females not…”

Whelon shook his head. “No. Our females are baring and then they present the dragonlet. There is no loss of life. Ever.”

“But your females are only fertile once or twice every ten years. Your bodies are hardier and more developed to retain a pregnancy.” She gestured at the hologram. “Humans ovulate once a month, releasing one or more eggs at a time. With our reproductive cycle,” she shook her head, “we’d be overpopulated beyond belief.”

Whelon leaned against the side of the platform, and Yazen gripped the edge as if he’d fall to the ground if he let go.

“We believed you to be similar to Preor,” Yazen rasped.

“We were overjoyed at the thought of so many dragonlets, but you say…” Whelon’s whisper had a rough, sad edge.

“The body is a very complex, biological machine.” Carla fell back to her speech from when she worked in obstetrics. “And it’s not one we understand fully, even today. There are treatments and hormones that can improve an embryo’s likelihood of implantation and then further, the gestation of the fetus to term.” She hated those words, the hollowness to each one when standing in front of a grieving couple. They were cold comfort to a man and woman who’d been told they weren’t pregnant—again. “There are also precautionary measures that can—“

The rest of her statement was lost to a cacophony of noise. Medical’s doors parted, and in walked two Preors dragging a third propped up between them.

Red blood dripped onto the metal flooring, leaving dark streaks as the injured Preor was pulled deeper into the room. Whelon and Yazen seemed to forget about her, their attention fully on the newcomers.

The peach and yellow warriors strained beneath the pink Preor’s weight, finally lifting him up and onto one of the healing platforms. Carla waved away the hologram and then moved toward the injured male, her steps tentative and unsure. No matter how they revered her training in gynecology and obstetrics, she was still trained in emergency care.

The way the pink guy’s wing fell at an odd angle told her he was experiencing a not-so-happy emergency and definitely needed care.

She moved around the bustling men, staying out of Whelon and Yazen’s sight while putting herself in a new position. She stood in a spot where she could see the injured warrior’s face—see the scratches marring his cheek and bruise forming around his eye. He had a head wound that bled freely and would need to be checked, but overall Preors were a hardy, hard-to-kill species.

Dark hair fell in soft waves over his face, hiding more of him from her view, but it was enough to get a sense of the male who’d come in so damaged.

A sense of the male who… belonged to her? What the—

The rest of her thoughts were abruptly lost, buried under a barrage of sights and sounds, memories that weren’t hers, and knowledge she shouldn’t possess. They crowded into her head, rushing to fill her brain. The pressure built, this
thing
consuming any empty space it could.

The Preor language that bounced through the air was easily understood. Words from Whelon to Yazen and then the two warriors. She translated the terms to English without any effort at all.

Damaged luuq, koiy, and ruptured ewae.

Injured lungs, kidney and a ruptured spleen.

She translated it.

How?

The answer, like everything else, suffused her before she could take her next breath. It consumed her entirely, filling every nook and cranny in her body. It sank into her bones, filled her veins and stroked her nerves. It felt as if she was being turned inside out, her base genetic code assaulted and tweaked by these random sensations.

No matter her feelings, the answer to her question was clear and undeniable…

“The Knowing.”

* * *

R
ough hands gripped him
, pulling and yanking on his battered wing, and Rendan hissed. The low sound went on, pushing past his clenched teeth while the pain hit him in a heavy barrage of sensation. He knew his wing was broken, wing-base possibly shattered.

A failed Trial of Syh. Another. He would be scarred beyond recognition by the time the trials were complete and still he would not have a partner. An offense master without a partnered defense master? Unheard of. Even in the far reaches of Preor, there were always two males, master warriors who countered each other perfectly.

Evuklar was no longer the defense master for the third fleet which meant Rendan, as the offense master, had been acting alone for some time. Rendan’s war master would no longer tolerate his solitary status. War Master Taulan demanded he find a defense master. Now.

Which brought forward the Trials of Syh—trials of the sky. Two warriors, skilled in offense and defense, working together wing tip to wing tip. The battle and survival would help Rendan find his matching half.

It’d only ended in him visiting medical thus far. Today’s was the worst injury yet. Though, he should not be surprised. Evuklar’s primary defense warrior—Ballakin—had anticipated being named defense master immediately.

Rendan had refused. There was something about Ballakin that made him itch between his wings. It caused him to reach for his blades and arm himself when in the male’s presence.

That did not make for a good partner.

The two masters had to work as one for the good of Preor.

Another tug, another yank, and Rendan could not suppress his snarl. He bared his fangs, pulling against the constricting hands that held him captive. He fought to get free of the agony they caused, the searing ache that had his heart rate soaring and his breathing turning into harsh rasps. He could not draw air into his lungs, his injury snatching that hint of control from his body.

Adrenaline still pummeled his veins, flooding him with the urge to fight through the pain. No, it wished to simply fight. He was the offense master of the Preor Third Fleet. He would not be done in by a simple primary defense warrior.

The next yank was harder than the last, a familiar snarl filling his ears. “Rendan sen Tarkan, cease.”

The new healing master wished
him
to cease? Rendan wished the male would take a long walk off a short pier without the use of his wings so that he may drown in the ocean waters.

A soft shuffle near his head, the gentle sound different than the heavy tread of a warrior, drew his focus. His eyes remained swollen and vision blurred, so he sought the source with his dragon’s scent. He breathed deeply, searching beyond the typical scents of medical and digging past the aromas from the warriors surrounding him.

Nothing reached him, so he repeated the process. He pushed the pain aside to focus on any other in the room. Had Ballakin followed to finish the job he’d started?

No.

No, he hadn’t because he caught the first tendril of a strange fragrance—one that intrigued his dragon’s mind. He pulled it into himself, letting the sweetness and smoke sink into his pores. Despite the agony in his body, he reacted to her presence, his staff…

Her?

That had him freezing, not daring to do anything more than listen. A female. A female that smelled better than his
dam’s
maor
—a dessert the humans called pie.

Rendan forced his eyes open, demanding the lids part so he might see the female who intrigued his dragon’s mind. Blood filled one eye, blinding him, and he snapped it closed once more. He worked at the other, prying it apart. A figure stood nearby, slight where he was large, but she held curves in the many places he found appealing. A yellow halo surrounded her head and he believed her hair to be blonde—as the humans would say. He thought the color was like that of the sun hovering in the skies.

Would her eyes be the color of the skies as well? Vids had shown that coloring was common.

The figure moved closer, the concentration of her scent increasing while his body’s response to her grew. A new ache joined that of his damaged wing. Fingers probed his injury, the muscle and bone of his right wing damaged by one of Ballakin’s claws. The male was skilled in his transition from hands to claws and back again.