The Dracons' Woman (5 page)

“No boon is needed, Highness,” she replied.  “It is mine to Heal.”

Garen felt her sincerity.  “Your name precedes you Riata,” he said.  “We have all heard of the good works you have done, using your talents for our people.  May I ask, why do you now work in this small facility?”

A faint peach color tinted her white skin, recognized by the Dracons as an Alverian blush.  “You honor me too much, Highness,” she said...  “To answer your question though, I do not work here.  I came to see a friend off on a journey and stopped to speak with a colleague.  When Jackson Bearen requested help for your Arima, I offered my services.”  She carefully omitted the resident physician’s outright terror and near collapse over the idea of treating the Prince’s Arima.  She herself had been a bit nervous at first.

“You know much about our history, Riata, and I know of your skills.  I also know that Lariah feels comfortable with you.  I wonder if you would be interested in learning more about us.”  Garen kept his tone casual, knowing full well that what he was offering had never before been offered to anyone not of their species.  He watched Riata very carefully.  Her eyes widened with shock and her skin flushed again, this time with excitement.  It was plain that she understood exactly what she was being offered.  She opened her mouth, then closed it firmly and took a few moments to think before she spoke.

“I must admit that my first reaction, aside from surprise, was excitement and, perhaps a bit of greed,” she admitted finally.  “I have known a bit about the Jasani for a long time, and have often wished to know more.  But the truth is, if you offer the knowledge in return for my Healing, I must decline.  I cannot justify accepting such knowledge for the sake of my own curiosity.”

Garen smiled inwardly.  Rarely had he met such an honorable being.  “I do not offer it as an exchange or inducement Riata,” he said.  “I offer it as a tool for you to use in treating our Arima.  We will soon need help of a sort that you, and your talents, are best suited for.  If you agree to help us, you will need to be prepared for it with knowledge you do not now own.”

Riata looked at him for a long moment, then said, “I am pleased to help you, and your Arima, in any way that I can.”

“We are grateful,” Garen replied.  “We must make some arrangements.  May we contact you in a day or two?”

“Whenever you are ready.”

“I would also ask, were you able to sample Lariah’s genetic code or must we arrange for a sample to be taken?”  Garen asked.

Riata closed her eyes, her expression growing distant.  After a brief time she opened her eyes and frowned.  “No sample is necessary Highness,” she replied.  “She is human, but there is an oddity that I have never seen and do not understand.  I would suggest that you not claim her as yet.  It would perhaps be best to allow a little time to understand the oddity.”

Garen nodded.  “We shall follow your advice,” he said.  He knew that Lariah was their Arima.  He would take no chances with her health and well being.

The click of the bathroom door lock prevented further discussion as Lariah opened the door and stepped out of the bathroom.  From the set of her shoulders and the tilt of her chin it was clear she had made up her mind about something.  As he watched her, Garen felt pride--this small woman with red-gold freckles and glossy black hair had enormous courage.  That alone made her worthy to be their Arima.

“Riata, thank you very much for the Healing,” she said in her soft, husky voice.  “I know that you did more than heal my arm, and I am grateful.” 

She then turned her attention to the Dracon brothers.  “I also must thank you for helping me,” she said.  “I am not sure why you helped me, or even what happened for that matter, but nevertheless, I thank you.”  She paused and took a deep breath.  “Now, if you will all excuse me, I will be on my way.”  She reached for the bags Trey had left on the counter and began looping the straps over her shoulders. 

“Where are you going?”  Garen asked, trying to sound as reasonable as possible.  It wasn’t easy since he was watching the woman they had waited centuries for prepare to calmly walk away from them.

Lariah shrugged.  “I have a reservation in the lodging center for tonight,” she replied. 

“Do you think that wise?” he asked.

 “Why would it not be?”

“Did you forget that you were nearly abducted the moment you stepped foot off the shuttle?” he asked.

 “No, I did not forget,” she replied, growing pale.  “But…wait…was the man caught?”

“He is not yet in custody.”  Garen replied, feeling guilt at the slight evasion as he saw her face pale even further.  He stepped forward and very gently put his hands on her shoulders.  “Look at me,
sharali
,” he said.  Lariah looked up at him, her emerald eyes wide with fear.  “You will come home with us.  We will keep you safe.” 

“I can’t go home with you,” Lariah argued.  “I don’t even know who you are.”

Riata laughed.  “The Dracons are the Royal Princes of Jasan,” she said.  “There is no safer place for you to be.”

Lariah’s jaw dropped open for a long moment before she shut it with a snap.  She shook her head.  “That’s a very kind and generous offer,” she said, “but I cannot accept.”

“It is not an offer, it is a command,” Garen said.  “We cannot allow a visitor to our world to be in harm’s way.  We have placed you under our protection and we are now responsible.  Therefore, you will stay with us where we can keep you safe until the danger to you has passed.”

Lariah started to argue, then paused to think.  Twice now she had been warned by some strange, inner sense that she was in danger, and both times she had ignored it.  She knew that she was not psychic.  She had been tested extensively for the ability years before.  But the strange feelings, whatever they were, had been right both times.  Now, that same inner sense was telling her that she needed to go with these men.  That she belonged with them.  She didn’t understand it, but she had paid dearly for ignoring that sense before.  She didn’t think it would be wise to ignore it again.  Besides, she thought, she felt safe with the Dracon brothers.  Really and truly safe.  Something she had not believed she would ever feel again. 

“Okay,” she agreed finally.  “I’ll go with you.  But I warn you, I’m strictly a one fork girl.”

Garen cocked his head and frowned, glancing quickly at his brothers.  Their faces wore identical expressions of confusion.  He looked back at Lariah, obviously not understanding her in the least. 

“We don’t have royalty on Earth,” she explained.  “Haven’t for centuries.  But I’ve read about them, and it seems to me you royals all have two things in common. 

“You live in palaces so big you need a map to find your bed, and you use a different fork for everything you eat.”  She paused, then blushed.  “I do have table manners,” she explained quickly, “I’m not a total ape.  But if you put more than one fork in front of me, I’m not going to know what to do with it.”

Garen’s face relaxed and he smiled, an expression that lightened his face and nearly took her breath away.  “We do not live in a palace
sharali
,” he replied easily.  “We live in an ordinary house on a cattle ranch.”  He paused for a moment, then added, “Table manners are optional.”

He was teasing her, she realized with surprise, barely noticing as he casually pulled her close beside him, tucking her beneath his shoulder as though he had done it a thousand times before.  Lariah was struck by the oddest feeling that she belonged just there, the side of her body touching his, his arm curved protectively around her shoulders.  Which was ridiculous because she had never in her life walked beside a man in this manner.  She’d never even held hands with one.  So why did this feel…natural? 

“Let me carry your bag for you,” Val offered, reaching for the strap and sliding it off of her shoulder before she had a chance to refuse.  He grinned at her as he looped the strap over his own shoulder, as though daring her to argue with him about it.  She tilted her chin, surprising herself with her own daring. 

What is wrong with me that I keep challenging these men? she wondered.  Any one of them could snap me in half without even breaking a sweat.

But somehow she knew that none of them would ever harm her in any way.  She didn’t know how she knew that, but she believed it absolutely.

She turned away from Val, falling into step with Garen as he led the way out of the med-center and into the busy central hub of the spaceport.  She knew that Trey and Val were behind them, could actually feel Val on the right and Trey on the left, both exactly one half-step back.  She turned her head and leaned back a little, peeking under Garen’s arm in order check their position.  She was not surprised to discover that they were exactly where she’d thought they’d be.  She straightened and faced forward again.

“I must have hit my head harder than I thought,” she said.

“When did you hit your head?”  Garen asked, his eyes immediately searching her head for signs of an injury.

“I’m not sure,” she replied vaguely.  “When I passed out I suppose.”

Garen frowned.  “Riata did not mention an injury to your head.”

“Oh,” Lariah said weakly.  There goes that theory, she thought. 

“Does it hurt?”  Garen asked.  “Shall we go back and ask Riata to check you again?”

“No,” she replied with a little shake of her head.  “I just thought a hit on the head would explain a few things.”

Garen’s eyebrows rose.  “I see,” he said, the expression on his face indicating that he did not, in fact, see at all.  Lariah sighed again.  She was tired and confused and didn’t understand much of anything that had happened since she stepped off the shuttle.  She simply didn’t have the energy to think about it any more right now.  Later, she told herself.  I will sit down and figure all of this out later.

Barc came to with a groan as he was being dragged roughly from the cargo hold of a fertilizer transport.  Primarily known for producing the finest meat in the galaxy, Jasan was also known for its rich fertilizer, the natural by-product of the planet’s massive livestock herds.  The odor in the hold was so strong that Barc’s first deep breath, a reflex reaction to the excruciating pain of having his broken leg knocked against the doorway as he was dragged carelessly through the cargo hatch, had him choking and gagging. 

The men dragging him dropped him onto the floor as soon as they were out of the hold, then stood over him impassively while he continued to gasp, his eyes streaming from the harsh fumes.  When he finally stopped choking and was able to breathe again, he realized that the smell of fertilizer was still quite strong.  A quick look down solved that mystery.  His once neatly pressed security uniform was now nearly unrecognizable.  There were several large rips and tears, and it was covered in brown chunks and smears of damp fertilizer.  He frowned, trying to figure out why he had so much of the vile stuff all over him, and why there were so many ragged tears in the fabric. 

He swore softly to himself as he fingered one long rip on his shirt front.  That was exactly where his name patch had been.  A quick check of the location of a few more tears, and he knew that for every patch, logo and stripe that had once marked his clothing as a Jasan Spaceport Security Officer’s uniform, there would now be a ragged hole.  He assumed that whoever had done that had probably seen to it that he was quite thoroughly covered in fertilizer as well.

One glance at the two men standing guard over him, and Barc knew at once he would get no help there.  They were Jasani, and from the way they were glaring at him, they knew he had tried to abduct a female.  The Jasani natives were hell on anyone who failed to treat females as though they were more valuable than Carlasian spider-spun crystal.  Barc sighed.  He was in deep shit, and it didn’t have anything to do with the fertilizer. 

Barc didn’t bother to try to get up or move from the spot his guards had dropped him.  It would have been a waste of energy.  They were waiting for something, and he would find out what eventually.  Instead, he tried to relax and think. 

Somehow, Jackson had discovered he was abducting the woman.  Someone saw him and reported it, or the man had just picked that moment for a snack.  Either way didn’t matter.  Although, how in the hell had the man tossed him clear across that room, he wondered briefly.  Had to have been at least thirty feet.  Jackson was bigger than him, but not by that much.  He shook his head.  It wasn’t possible.  Obviously, he’d been hallucinating. 

All that mattered was that there was no way for anyone to know he’d been following Loggia’s orders.  If that information got out, he was a dead man.  Loggia would see to it.  And since he’d failed, well, Loggia would likely see to it personally.  Barc shuddered at the thought and broke out in a cold sweat.  The idea was so terrifying that it took him a minute to remember that since nobody could know about Loggia, he had nothing to worry about.  Well, he amended silently, almost nothing.  Loggia wouldn’t be happy that he’d bungled the job.  But he didn’t think he’d be killed for it.

With that worry off his mind, Barc relaxed a little.  He knew full well that the usual punishment for off-worlders was simply banishment from Jasan.  Occasionally confiscation of property.  Being pulled from a cargo hold with his leg broken meant he’d been immediately banished.  He recognized his surroundings, and knew he was in the skyport.  He had no doubt that his guards meant to see that he was shipped out of the system as soon as possible.  They would also be sure that his prints and scans were computer flagged so that he would never again be granted a visa to enter Jasani space.  All in all, he didn’t think it was too bad as punishments went.  He would still be a free man.  Once he found a new place to settle, he would focus on trying to get his money transferred off of Jasan without getting himself sent to some Class 6 Prison rock in the process.