“We can’t risk losing them before Azriel arrives,” Whelan agreed.
To their surprise, Sehrox spoke next. The dragon had taken to ignoring them since they helped him out of the mountains. Despite Ehrun’s balanced mind after the ritual, the great beast remained almost as reckless as he’d always been. “You’ve all hidden us for too long.Let us dragons take care of them.”
Oria huffed at that. “The vampires know about us now.”
“I’ve seen their ballistae.” Brutis shared the images to drive home his point. “We could be killed.”
“ThenIwill fight while you run,” Sehrox snapped. “And perhaps you’ll get what you always wanted.”
Madan glared right back at the bronze dragon. “We don’t want youdead.”
A mirthless laugh echoed in Madan’s mind as the dragon chuffed aloud. “That’s precisely why you left me in the mountains to be butchered by vampires.”
“Sehrox…” Ehrun turned to cast his bondheart an exasperated look that almost made Madan laugh. It was the exact expression Kall had used too many times when they trained together—onehe’d used entirely too often when working with Ariadne in recent days.
“They want us both dead,” Sehrox snarled, “and you know it.”
Ehrun raised his brows. “And you blame them?”
Smoke curled from bronze nostrils, but to Sehrox’s credit, he did not try to deny their motives for hurting them. Instead, he stretched his tattered wings and let the pain from each pump that took him into the air flow through the vinculum for all to feel.
The phantom pain from wings Madan had never possessed was some of the worst he’d ever felt. Occasionally, his arm caused problems that he never cared to share, yet it’d never been quite so intense as what he endured at the will of the vengeful dragon.
“So the real plan?” Whelan pressed. “There are no rules of war in Myridia.They won’t wait for us to have our entire army.”
Madan grit his teeth through the sudden surge of tingling and burning that spread through his amputated arm, triggered by Sehrox’s very real pain. He gripped the end of his arm and squeezed. What a terrible time for the old injury to come back to haunt him. The last thing he needed was to be reminded of what Loren had done to him in that damn guard house.
“Alhija,” Whelan said aloud, his tone sharp and serious. “What is it?”
It was Brutis who shared the rippling pain that shot up Madan’s arm. “He needs a moment.”
Cursing under his breath, Whelan dismounted from Oria, dropped his satchel of supplies on the ground, and crossed the distance between them. Madan held out his hand to stop him—the discomfort would subside soon enough, and the last thing they needed was to be perceived as weak before all of Ehrun’sdhemons. He turned his face away and shut his eyes tight, sucking in deep breaths.
“Madan,” Whelan growled.
To his dismay, Brutis leaned closer to the dhemon and before Madan could say anything in protest, Whelan pulled him from the gray dragon’s back. Madan grappled to hold onto something—anything—but was once again reminded that the pain shooting up his arm was due to his severe lack of a hand. Before he knew what was happening, Whelan clutched him to his chest and tucked his face into the crook of Madan’s neck.
“Alhija,” Whelan murmured, then continued in the dhemon tongue, “stop pretending you’re fine all the time. Let me take care of you.”
Warmth fluttered through Madan’s chest. The sensation eased the pain in his arm a fraction, and he tucked his fingers into his partner’s black hair. He spoke in kind as he said, “I know whattaking care of memeans to you,my love.”
As though on cue, the dragons stretched their wings and took flight. They knew that one of two things would occur from his interaction, and they’d endured both enough times to know that they wanted no part of either.
A deep rumble rose from Whelan’s chest. “Is that such a problem?”
“Never.”
“Then, if nothing else,” Whelan growled, “let me help you forget the past.”
In the span of a few heartbeats, the pain in Madan’s arm became a strange juxtaposition to the rush of pleasure as Whelan reached between them to rub his cock. His trousers grew too tight at his mate’s touch, and he groaned deep in his throat. “Now is not the time.”
Warm breath caressed the shell of his ear as Whelan whispered, “Liar.”
“We need to be overseeing the camp…” The words faded as another roll of heat washed through him.
“Then go,” Whelan urged. “Go tell them what to do. You know how much I love it when you give commands.”
Madan inhaled the dhemon’s intoxicating scent. “You love to disobey.”
