18. Dexari

Chapter 18

Dexari

The world slowly comes into focus, pain radiating away from my side with each labored breath. As my vision clears, I find myself staring into Sloane's eyes. A glance at my chest tells me she is holding a dagger—my dagger—to my heart.

I take in the scene around us: my guards, led by Gorlag, stand at the ready, their weapons drawn. And, is that a…dragalor…hovering overhead?

What is happening here?

Then I remember how I ended up wounded on the forest floor. Instead of me rescuing Sloane as planned, she saved my life by fending off the fanghounds.

Despite the blade at my chest, I do not believe she will kill me. Why save my life just to end it? I can sense her fear and confusion, yet there is something more in the way she looks at me. She feels our connection, just as I do. It gives me hope.

Summoning what strength I have left, I speak, my voice more commanding than I feel. "Gorlag, take the guards and return to the palace."

"Sire, you are injured and need the healer." My second resists my command. "The human could have killed you and, even now, she threatens—"

"Fanghounds injured me," I say, cutting him off, my tone steely despite the pain coursing through my body. "Sloane saved my life."

"She commands a dragalor, sire," one of my guards shouts. "It will kill us all!"

"I don't command Zephyr, dumbass. He has a mind of his own." Sloane retorts. "But it looks like he doesn't approve of all your sword-waving and dick-wagging."

"The female fought off fanghounds and commands a dragalor? She must be a sorceress," Gorlag says, incredulous.

"I said, I don't command him." Sloane's rising irritation is evident in her voice and in the way her dagger hand shakes.

It is time for my guards to go. "Leave us, Gorlag. That is an order."

Gorlag's eyes dart between me and Sloane. I can see the conflict warring within him. Yet my authority must be respected. Reluctantly, he nods.

Before retreating into the trees, my guards drop several water canteens and a med kit on the ground. It is a gesture that does not go unnoticed.

Then, Sloane and I are alone once again. She gets up, my dagger still in her hand, and retrieves the canteens and med kit, her movements cautious yet determined.

"Gorlag was right, you need the healer," she says, her voice barely a whisper as she offers me a canteen. Our fingers brush as I take it, and a jolt of awareness shoots through me. Even in my injured state, her nearness affects me.

After I drink, I point to the med kit. "There is a healing salve in there. Remove the dressings you used to staunch the bleeding, and apply it liberally to the wound."

Sloane nods, her hands shaking as she does my bidding, tugging at the dressings that have adhered to my skin with dried blood. "I hope this cream has an antibiotic in it because that wound looks pretty angry."

I want to soothe her fears, to pull her close and promise her that everything will be fine, yet I will not lie to her. "It does not."

She and Gorlag are right, I do need the healer, although the med kit will do for now.

Her touch stings as she applies the salve, yet I welcome it. "Yes, that is good. Now, there should be a spray bottle in the kit. It is liquid bandage and will seal the wound."

Sloane finds the bottle, her brow furrowing as she examines it. "I've never seen anything like this before."

"It is made off-world and is something we procure from the traders," I explain.

"Like you procure universal breeders?" she asks.

"I did not buy you from the traders who brought you to this world," I remind her. "You wandered onto my land."

"And I got locked up for that," she mutters. She holds up the bottle of liquid bandage. "Tell me what to do with this."

"Spray it over the entire wound, and let it dry."

She nods, her face a mask of concentration as she applies the liquid bandage to my skin. The way she bites her lower lip as she focuses, the slight furrow between her brows—every detail is etched into my memory.

When the wound is sealed, her hands rest on my chest, and I wonder if she even realizes it. The pain in my side has dulled to a manageable throb. And the tenderness of care, coupled with my growing need for her, makes my cockspikes stir.

Without thinking, I reach up and catch one of her wrists. My touch is firm yet gentle. Sloane's eyes widen in surprise, her breath catching audibly in her throat.

I use my grip to pull her slightly closer, unable to resist the magnetic pull between us. Our faces are now just inches apart, and I can feel the warmth of her breath on my skin. The air around us is charged with the feelings neither of us have voiced.

My eyes drift to her lips, full and slightly parted. The urge to taste her becomes overwhelming. Despite my waning strength, my spikes still throb from her proximity.

As if she can read my mind, she lowers her mouth toward mine, desire and anticipation etched on her face.