Orc’s Forbidden Claim (Red Planet Dragons of Tajss #33)

1. Saylor

1

SAYLOR

M oving as silently as possible, I slip down the hall pausing at the first intersection. Carefully peeking around the corner, I stare down the dimly lit passage trying to determine if the dancing shadows shield anyone from view. The hairs on the back of my neck are on end and ghost pimples trace my arms.

This should be easier, thanks to Wrenlee mating with Sek’su, but it’s not. I’m not sure even she would be okay with this. Why am I doing it? What is wrong with me?

Seconds slip past before I finally decide that there is no one waiting to jump from the shadows. If I’ve learned anything in life, it’s that certainty is rarer than seeing a unicorn. Pretty much a never-going-to-happen thing. I also know that standing here trapped in indecision gets nothing done and that doesn’t work either.

Stepping around the corner, I walk with an air of confidence that I am definitely not feeling. My emotional state is much closer to terrified if anything. Cool sweat beads on my chest, trickling between my tits as my stomach roils. The other thing I’ve learned well though is to never let them see you sweat.

I can’t believe Wrenlee pulled off what she did. I don’t know why I have any difficulty believing it, though. If anyone was going to dive into a river of shit and come out smelling like a rose, of course, it would be her. I love Wren, but that doesn’t change the fact she is one of the most charmed human beings I’ve ever known. I swear that she can do pretty much anything, and everyone will not only still love her, but love her more.

Unfortunately, that’s never been true for me. I’ve fought all my life to cling to the facade we were all born into. Some of us didn’t survive it; losing status and never recovering. I’ve seen it happen and it’s only through sheer determination and a touch of luck that I became best friends with Ziva and Wren that I was able to avoid such a fate myself.

A shadow moves at the far end of the ramp causing my heart to leap into my throat. Involuntarily my hands clench into fists and my spine stiffens so tight it makes my head hurt. It’s too late to try and hide. The only option is to walk forward like I know what I’m doing. As if I belong. Fake it, as I so often have.

As the shadowy, backlit figure comes closer there is no mistaking it’s a Zmaj. The huge shadow, broad shoulders, the outlines of the wings that protrude over his shoulders until they are even with the top of his head. We approach one of the few lit torches together.

“What doing?” he asks in broken Common, not Zmaj.

His voice is deep and rumbly. In his eyes are dancing shadows reflecting the flickering torchlight. The rustle of his wings sounds like leather rubbing against itself.

“Stretching my legs,” I say.

“No,” he says. “Go back.”

Cold blasts out of my core, chilling my limbs and thoughts. I can’t go back. I’m on a mission, I have a meeting, not that I’m going to tell this brute that. He’d be even less likely to understand than any of my so-called friends.

“Why?” I ask, mouth so dry it comes out weak and tepid, unlike the strong confidence I want to put on display.

“I said,” he says, pressing one palm to his chest.

“No,” I say, switching to Zmaj to make sure he understands. “You cannot tell me not to walk. I’m in the compound. Are you saying it’s not safe here? Are you doing such a bad job guarding us that it’s dangerous for me to walk?”

There, that’s the tactic. Go on the attack. Turn it around on him. That’s the way to get what you want. Even through the shadows, I see him frown shake his head.

“No,” he says.

“Then why? Is there some reason I cannot finish my walk? I like to go to the top and back down. It’s a bit of exercise. Is exercise somehow bad?”

“Uh… no,” he says, clearly taken back.

I press the advantage by taking a step closer to him. He steps back, giving me all the win I could ever have asked for.

“Then tell me, is there some reason I cannot walk to the top and back down to my rooms? I’ve done so many nights now. Is there something happening tonight that you are trying to hide? Should I go talk to Rosalind?”

He raises his hands in submission while shaking his head. He makes a patting motion in the air, shrugs, then pats again. The entire time his tail taps the floor making a rapid rat-a-tat-tat sound.

“No. It is fine. Go,” he says, stepping to one side of the walkway.

I don’t push it further but walk past him. I feel his eyes on my back as I continue my trip but a couple of moments later, I hear his tail dragging as he resumes his journey down the ramp. Swallowing my heart out of my throat I take a deep breath and refuse to rush despite the demands of my nerves.

The heavy leather doors are silent as I pass them by. If the rooms are occupied, then those inside are either sleeping or being very quiet. I’m oddly aware of the mountain over my head. As if the weight of it has become some metaphysical thing that presses down on my very soul. Considering I was never in my life supposed to see an open sky or an actual sun I miss them.

My memories of the ship seem to be fading. Becoming somehow less vivid, almost as if they were a dream I had before waking up here on Tajss. I was young and the ship crash was an incredible trauma for all of us. So many lives lost. So many friends.

The first year, maybe more, there was barely time to think about it. Every day was filled with trying to survive until the suns set and even then, it was dicey if you’d sleep through the night and wake up without something going wrong or wake up at all.

About the time we had begun to settle into something resembling a peaceful norm, there was the weird meteor shower. At first, we all thought that was great. The brain folks were figuring out ways to create and use electricity generated by the meteor rocks, but nothing comes that easy on Tajss. The Invaders followed soon after and the next thing you know, we’re at war.

I wasn’t, myself, actually fighting of course. What do I know about war? What do I know about doing anything, really? My entire life has been about being pretty and making off-hand comments on fashion or boys. Keep the rumor mill full and make sure that the majority of attention was on me and my group, good or bad it didn’t really matter. We’d use it all, especially Wrenlee. She’d earned her title of Ice Queen more than once for sure.

I’m approaching the end of the ramp. One last, lone torch flickers next to the drop-off toward the arena floor way below. My steps slow as I come close to the end of my journey.

This is stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid. I should not be doing this.

But despite all the swirling doubt and self-recrimination, I don’t stop. Slow down? Sure, but stopping isn’t an option. The empty ache in my chest, the chill on my shoulders, and the butterflies in my stomach all pull me forward. Towards him. Wrenlee’s mate was forbidden, albeit by her own comments and social constraints, but she navigated her way to come out of that intact. As much as I admire her, I don’t think I can pull that off. Not with this. Not with him.

Standing at the heavy leather door I try to slow my heart and breathing. I raise my hand to knock, drop it, close my eyes, then raise it again. I gesture towards the wall but my hand refuses to make contact. My shoulders tense and I can’t keep my arm up, dropping it to my side again.

Deep breath. Exhale. Deep breath. I’ve got this. It’s okay. No one knows I am here.

“Eeek!” I yelp as the leather door jerks aside.

He doesn’t speak, his dark eyes boring into mine. There is an inferno inside those dark eyes. His tusks tremble as he steps through the door, his arms reaching out. I’m frozen in place. Unable to take my eyes off of his. My breath and heart race even faster until I’m gasping for air.

“Dragoste,” he grumbles as his massive arms wrap around my waist and lift me off my feet.