Kitabı oku: «Dragon Warrior», sayfa 2

Chapter Two

“Is he the only one?”

Sparrow Rose pulled her blond ponytail from the collar of her white lab coat as she jogged toward the operating room.

“Yes.”

She blinked up at the dragon lord who answered. Falcon, she believed they called him. Sparrow had worked on him before. In fact, as the flock’s only healer, she’d healed most of the dragon lords and legionnaires at one point or another.

“No one else was injured?” she clarified, half wanting to ask if he needed any attention. Caked blood coated his hands and the black combat pants he wore. Streaks of it smeared his temple as if he’d been running his fingers through his long black hair. However, he shook his head, his neck craning toward the auld women wheeling a gurney toward them. Sparrow focused on them, too, hoping the warrior injured wasn’t Tallon. The king and queen’s daughter had always been the only warrior she felt some kind of connection to. While she hated to think of any of them hurt, she especially worried about the female.

“No,” Falcon replied. Curt, clipped, concerned. Better than angry, she decided.

“He’s the only one.”

For some reason, a knot formed in Sparrow’s throat. She swallowed it just as the rolling gurney stopped under the circular fluorescent light. At the sight of the man atop it, her heart thudded. Every shred of confidence she’d managed to piece together came unglued, crumbling like the fragments of her heart.

She’d forgotten. There was one other warrior who intrigued her, whose well-being she prayed to the gods for each night.

“The captain?” she said on a disbelieving exhale.

“Yes.” He spoke the affirmation in a soft whisper that tugged at Sparrow’s already taut heartstrings.

“Come, young lord.” One of the elderly sisters, dressed from toe to capped head in white, took the warrior by the arm, ushering him out of the ancient cavern. He went willingly, but paused at the archway. His broad shoulders rose and fell beneath his deep breath a moment before he looked over his shoulder, his piercing emerald eyes awash with grief. “He saved my life. Please do what you can to save his.”

Sparrow glanced back at the captain. She knew she had to act fast, and yet couldn’t seem to move, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t take her eyes off the man lying so broken and bloody before her. Disbelief shrouded her senses, warring with the inherent healer within her who wanted to get started saving his life. The fact she’d learned to accept as truth failed to register with the sight before her.

Captain Grey had never been healed. In truth, part of her had begun to think of him as invincible. The ideal and perfect dragon warrior.

To see him lying in the infirmary, his pale skin nearly the same color as his waist-length silver dragon lord mane—a mane sullied and stained with streaks of blood and Gods knew what else—sent an ocean of sickness churning over her, nearly drowning her. An overpowering cloak of fear enveloped her. Fear of failing him, of not being worthy enough to save him, wrapped around her in a tight cocoon of dread.

“I can’t do this. I can’t do this.”

The litany ran over and over and unbidden in Sparrow’s mind. It was only when she heard a voice beside her that she realized she’d repeated the phrase aloud.

“He is out cold, young Sparrow,” one of the elder sisters said. “We made certain of it. You’ll do fine.”

Sparrow nodded, unable to verbally acknowledge the auld woman. Then she was gone, leaving Sparrow in the room with the wounded dragon lord.

How it always had to be for her to heal.

How she always felt.

Alone.

Forcing in a breath, she exhaled it slowly, her attention hovering somewhere between his strong jaw and the vein that throbbed sporadically and wildly at the base of his throat. With him safely asleep, Sparrow could allow herself to admit he had such a strong, handsome face for an elder dragon lord. In fact, his silver hair was the only indicator of his age. Like all dragons, his body seemed enormous and strong to her, each fragment of bone surrounded by a bulging sinew of muscle. Yet unlike most of the warriors, she found the captain beautiful. His face a flawless line and arch of perfection that could have been sculpted by an artist of auld.

Flexing her fingers, she lifted them to the edge of the crisp white sheet blanketing his body. Although she dreaded seeing, she had to bare his wounds to fix them. She pulled the sheet away, a gasp falling from her lips.

Blood. The harsh copper stench of it hit her nose, making her turn her head away briefly. Until she saw his leg. Instinct had her clasping her fingers around what was left of his thigh with one hand and reaching for a gauze pad with the other. Winding the thick roll of fabric around his wound, she attempted to staunch the bleeding, alarmed at how rapidly the bandage filled with dark crimson.

Closing her eyes, she decided to heal his torn abdomen first. Sparrow closed off all emotions, all sensations and zeroed in on his heartbeat. Although low, it thumped strong and constant, like a metronome. Inhaling, she let the power pour through her, allowing the flood of healing energy to flow into him on the exhale.

Beneath her open palms, invisible hands lifted the ripped and jagged tissue, ligaments sewed tight. The top layer of skin melted into a full unit once again. The thin line where a weapon had obviously entered his cavity dissolved, as if someone had taken an eraser to the mark, removing any evidence that such a wound had ever existed.

Without breaking her concentration, she moved her hands lower to his leg. A flood of heat poured from her into the warrior beneath. The energy within her pumped into him with strident force, for minutes, then the better part of an hour. Until her hands shook. Until fatigue draped over her like a wet cloak, slowing her movements, corking her energy flow.

Panting, Sparrow let her hands fall away, swiping the back of one along her forehead and the steady beads of sweat accumulating there. She’d fixed the massive wound on his abdomen. But her gaze fastened on the useless flesh and bone of his leg in muted concession. Her heart and spirit crumbled at the truth laid out in blood and bone before her.

She couldn’t save it.

She closed her eyes, dropping her chin to her chest. This could have been her chance to prove to the higher council that the position of resident healer was not a worthless one. That it deserved to be reinstated. Yet she was helpless to do anything other than saw off what was left of his leg, effectively handing this proud man a life any warrior feared more than death, tossing her dreams to the wind along with the limb to the dogs.

“Dammit.” She slapped her hand down on the table.

He groaned and her focus instantly swept up to his face. Sweat beaded on his skin. His mouth moved, his inhalations sharp and ragged.

She looked at the dragon lord beneath her. An errant thought, a plan whispered through her mind before she could stop it. Images, pictures from old texts and her father’s notebook flashed in her mind along with one thought.

I can’t heal him, but I can fix him.

Sparrow moved to her office with renewed purpose. The warrior needed her help, and by the gods she was going to give it to him. Her father might have failed the flock. But perhaps he had taught her how to save one in the process.

Once she had collected and sorted everything she needed, she cracked open a timeworn leather book to the exact page she needed. After rereading a few things, she stared at the unconscious warrior and tried to remember the ancient words she’d practiced all her life for just a moment like this one.

Fear coiled around her. Maybe she couldn’t do this. Maybe she was meant for a life of books, research not practicum. Maybe it was as all the elders whispered when they thought she wasn’t listening…that she undoubtedly had some of her father’s genius and gift. But perhaps she had some of his madness, as well.

Sparrow glanced at the golden rods and pins beside her and back at the warrior. Desire to prove herself closed her eyes. The clawing need to help the captain made her focus. Exhaling, she opened her eyes and her palms hovered over the mortal wounds on his thigh.

He’s asleep. He can’t hurt you the way Father hurt you.

A shudder passed through her at the memory. No matter how hard she tried, how many times she healed. The same fuel always stoked the fire inside her, feeding her energy as well as her fears. She tapped the well. Let the power flow through her in a dizzying current.

In a low, steady burn, the heat returned. A soft, comforting glow spread through her body, warming the room and banishing any vines of doubt still clinging to her soul. Sparrow kept her eyes screwed tight and focused all her will on the warrior beneath her. The words of the spell poured effortlessly from her lips in a droning chant barely above a whisper.

Then, as quickly as it had come, the warmth fled. The light within her died, replaced by stabbing cold, shooting daggers first through her palms and then in her gut. Unbearable agony unfurled in a nauseating ribbon down her spine, coiling around it like a serpent bent on constricting the very life out of her. Rolling waves of blackness crashed and ebbed over her vision until the ground beneath her began to fall away.

Loss.

Pain.

Misery.

Fear.

Of all the emotions bombarding her, it was the fear that restricted her. Fear that tightened around her core, knotting her stomach. Fear for the warrior. Fear for herself. Fear of failure permeated the air around her until it was all she drew in.

She didn’t realize until too late that it wasn’t her fear she was feeling.

It was his.

Chapter Three

Sparrow gasped, her eyes flying open. He was waking up. It was the only explanation for being inundated by his emotions like this. By the Gods, she had to get away from him.

Now.

Hurdling through his emotions, Sparrow dug to find her own. Lowering her hands, she took a step back from the gurney.

Fingers curled around her wrist, hard and strong. Shocked, she shot her gaze to the table, gasping at the sight of two silver eyes fixed on hers. They were crazed with pain, echoing the storm he’d sent raging inside her.

A deafening roar shook her, crumbling her inner defenses until the walls fell away, letting in one word.

“Mine.”

A glove of panic fisted her throat. Sparrow tried to pull away, tried to sever all contact with the warrior, both physical and mental. But he was strong. His calloused hand tightened with each move she made to extract her hand from his.

“Please,” she begged in a hushed whisper. She couldn’t take much more feeling. The room lurched and spun. Sparrow tipped back on her heels and then forward again. Her knees buckled.

But before she could slip from consciousness and slide to the floor, another hand grasped her, this time firmly around her biceps. His fingers tightened. The flesh beneath her lab coat burned. Without warning, he hauled her off her feet as if she weighed no more than a feather. She thought briefly that to him she probably did.

Then all thoughts faded as he settled her atop him. His face inches from her own, his glittering gaze focused on her lips. An entirely new wave of his emotions slammed into her.

They all involved her naked.

Squirming, she tried to move off him. But a hand cupped the back of her head, the other curved around her bottom, his large hand flattening, pressing her into him. She heard his thoughts, his desires. They screamed into her.

Take.

Claim.

At the salacious visions his words induced, she gasped in shock. And like any trained warrior, he took the advantage she’d so foolishly offered. The hand on her head urged her down and he lifted his body, pressing his lips to hers. At the contact, she stiffened. Her heart stuttered in her chest as a peaceful silence spilled through her usually tempest-filled mind.

She couldn’t hear anything. No voices. No emotions. Not even his.

Only the urgent softness of his lips, the heat of his kiss penetrated her mind, her body. A contented sigh hummed in her throat. In a dizzying glide, his warm lips moved over hers. Had this been any other patient, anyone else, she would have fought harder, would have slapped him. Wouldn’t she? But this was the captain. Instead her core muscles contracted, tight, hard. Warmth pooled in her abdomen, flooding her limbs, making them heavy and complacent.

The firm body beneath her shifted. His legs opened, allowing her body to sink between them. She blinked, surprised to feel him, hard and insistent beneath the thin sheet. A tremble raced up her spine and anticipation thundered in her belly. He tilted his chin, swallowing her surprised gasp.

She’d heard some dragon males reacted to the narcotic of healing like this, with unabashed lust and desire. But she’d yet to experience it herself. She’d always made sure she was never around when they woke. However, as his mouth slid, warm and moist and powerful, over hers, a little voice inside her played naysayer. Telling her she wanted this. Wanted him. Whispered she’d somehow allowed him to wake, or had wanted him to.

Although everything in her screamed to deny that little voice’s claim, she found herself tentatively moving her lips against his. Realized hands that once pushed him away now tangled in his soft hair. His gorgeous dragon-lord mane, of a silver hue unlike any other she’d seen. Hair she’d yearned to thread her fingers through since she’d first laid eyes on him as a youngling when he would come to sick bay and visit her father.

The secret truth she’d held inside for so long ran unchecked and free. The inner voice was right. She’d craved this, craved a taste of him for much too long. Although she knew it was only the narcotic inducing his ardor, she didn’t care. Feeling his strength, his passion and having it all focused on her was too intoxicating not to drink in. Large and sure, his hands cradled her face, holding her to him. The scent of musk and man wrapped around, permeated her.

“Sparrow!”

At the sister’s shocked gasp, Sparrow pulled back. The moment their lips parted, a sonic boom of emotions erupted in her mind. She folded her body back off the bed, curling in on herself.

Too many. Too fast.

Cradling her head, she tried to shut them all out.

And failed.

When the soft female in his arms left, the pain her presence silenced returned. White-hot slivers of indescribable pain tore through Kestrel’s body, jerking him back to consciousness. Gasping, he fought for breath, his back arching off the cold metal table. Slowly he became aware of something frail and yet undeniably soft beneath his calloused hand. Something he was squeezing the life out of.

Footsteps shuffled from somewhere in another room. A door opened and the muffled voices and steps grew louder.

Kestrel blinked, the haze of pain that had been blanketing him lifting as elder women dressed in long white robes descended on him. The soft, comforting skin he’d been clinging to was wrenched from his hand. It was then he realized the women focused all their efforts on someone else. Someone on the floor.

“Sparrow! Sparrow,” one of them repeated in a frantic litany.

The name reverberated in Kestrel’s mind. Yet try as he might, he couldn’t recall any flock member with that name. Again he fought to move, fought to open his eyes. He rolled to one side and for an instant he had the impression of falling off the table. However, he realized it was just vertigo, his center of balance off-kilter.