Leah's Hero - Miranda Martin Page 0,18

more of an interesting and desirable trait.

His chest rises and falls steadily as I inspect him. The old scars pull my attention. When I lean in closer, I can see they look like bite marks. They come up over his shoulder, across the lower part of his neck and down onto his chest to the top of the pec muscle. Whatever did this looks like it chewed on him, multiple marks so close together I have to study them to make out the different ones.

Shaking my head, I mentally curse whoever cared for him. They did a terrible job. Those scars didn’t need to be so bad, anyone with a steady hand could have closed those wounds in such a way that the scars would be much less. I can’t imagine how much that twisted skin must pain him still.

I check the stitches on the fresh wounds and feel a sense of pride in my own work. There will be scars, but they won’t be as bad as the ones he has. Eventually I’m down to his tail, lying on the table between his legs. I studiously skimmed over his crotch, but I admit I noticed the bulge in his pants.

His tail is partially amputated. The end of it is gone, probably the last foot or so—it truncates in a blunt end instead of tapering to a point. More scars make it clear this was a butcher job, done with no skill or grace. This poor man was mutilated by whoever took care of him.

The other Zmaj seem to be arguing, and it’s getting louder. Stopping my inspection I look up.

“What’s going on?” I ask.

“They’re debating if we should let him stay or not,” Riley answers.

“Why wouldn’t we?” I ask, heart suddenly pounding.

We can’t turn him out. He’s hurt. If he hadn’t saved us, we’d be dead, of that there is no doubt. I can’t, in good conscience, turn him out into the wet and cold without making sure he’s healed first. That could be the same as sentencing him to death. I took an oath after all.

Riley shakes her head but doesn’t say anything. Angota makes a sharp, cutting gesture with one hand ending with a finger pointing at the newcomer. Rakstan yells, getting into Angota’s face. It’s clear they’re about to come to blows when Riley and Ziva step between them.

The two women talk to their men but neither man is backing down. Until he tightens his grip, I didn’t realize I’d taken the newcomer’s hand in mine. His hand closes startling me and then he coughs and tries to sit up.

“Lie down,” I order, putting my hands on his chest and pushing him down. “You’re in no shape to sit up.”

I’m talking in a mix of Common and Zmaj because I don’t know enough Zmaj words. I hope it’s getting through to him.

Angota and Rakstan have quit arguing. When I look over, they’re both staring at Urukol who’s looking at them. Urukol coughs again and shakes his head.

“I should go,” he says.

“No,” Angota and Rakstan say as one.

They look at each other, anger flashing on their faces. Rakstan frowns then nods to Angota.

“We need to ask you questions,” Angota says.

6

URUKOL

The angel looms over as consciousness returns. She isn’t looking at me, but her hand is in mine. My arm throbs with pain, ready to become blinding in an instant, but it’s not nearly as bad as it was. Dimly I’m aware of her resetting the broken bone. Bits of it are fresh in my memory, between the blackouts.

Her soft face is round, her eyes sharp and intelligent. Her hair falls onto her shoulders in a soft cascade that I desperately want to run my fingers through. She’s so… alien, yet so familiar. The softness of her skin, no scales, how strange!

Then her chest. It swells, much too far, completely foreign and exotic. I can’t stop my imagination from running wild and wondering what the cloth of her shirt is hiding. My prime cock stirs but I suppress it and the urgings of my dragon. I’m not a male who is worthy of a mate. I’m a broken creature barely able to pull enough weight to warrant my own survival. I couldn’t even save these two females without losing consciousness.

An emptiness aches in my core, but I don’t pay attention to that. I am what I am, broken.

I’m waking up more, enough that I hear Zmaj being spoken fluently. Tightening my grip on her hand, a fleeting gesture