Page 4 of Crash Landed with My Weredragon

Then it changed.

The scales rippled. The wings retracted. The massive form contracted and reshaped itself, bones and muscle rearranging in a process that took about five seconds and that Marina's scientific training could not even begin to explain. Where a creature the size of a small aircraft had been, there was now a man. Tall, and muscular. With rose-gold scales running from his shoulders to his wrists and the most striking blue eyes she had ever seen.

He was beautiful. That was her first thought, and she hated herself for it immediately. Her second thought was more useful: he's intelligent, he's showing us he means no harm by making himself smaller, and he's waiting to see what we do.

Nobody moved. The alien man stood on the outcropping. The two remaining creatures hovered above. Peter's hand was shaking on his sidearm. Athena was perfectly still.

Marina made a decision. It was either the bravest or the stupidest thing she'd ever done. She stepped forward.

"My name is Marina Livingstone," she called out. "We didn't mean to land here. Our ship is damaged. We need help."

The man tilted his head. His blue eyes studied her. Then, in accented but perfectly understandable English, he replied.

"My name is Toren. And you are the most interesting thing that has ever crashed on this planet."

Behind her, Athena muttered, "Well, that's not terrifying at all."

CHAPTER 2

*** TOREN ***

He hadn't meant to introduce himself. The plan; if you could call what Toren had been doing a plan, was to observe the crashed ship from a distance, report back to his father, and let the D'Karr decide what to do about the alien visitors. That was protocol. Protocol had served the Weredragons well for centuries.

Protocol had not accounted for red hair.

The woman who'd stepped forward and announced her name had red hair that caught the light of both suns like copper wire. She was small; all humans were small by Weredragon standards, but she didn't carry herself like someone small. She carried herself like someone who was used to being the smartest person in the room and who had adjusted her posture accordingly. She'd looked up at him with green eyes that held fear and curiosity in equal measure, and the curiosity was winning. That was what made him speak. Not the protocol, nor the plan. It was the curiosity in her eyes.

He'd read about humans. He'd done more than read about them; he'd collected their artifacts for years. He’d salvaged movies, books, photographs and music recordings. Objects that had floated through the system on derelict ships and crashed satellites and the occasional garbage pod that Earth apparently launched into space with no regard for where it might end up. Toren had amassed a private collection in a cave on the eastern slope of the capital volcano. His father would've been furious if he'd known. Boradrith didn't approve of curiosity about alien species. He approved of caution and preparation and the firm conviction that Dobromia's problems were best solved by Dobromia.

Toren disagreed. He'd disagreed since he was twelve years old and watched a human movie about a man who taught a whale to jump over a wall. The movie was ridiculous. It was also beautiful in a way that nothing on Dobromia was beautiful, because it showed a species that formed emotional bonds with creatures that couldn't speak, couldn't share their culture, couldn't offer anything in return except their presence. Humans loved things that were different from themselves. Weredragons barely tolerated each other.

He wanted to know more. He'd always wanted to know more. And now forty-seven of them had crashed on Ceylara, and the one with red hair had just asked him for help, and protocol could wait.

* * *

"You speak our language," the woman said. Marina. She'd given her name without hesitation, which was either brave or foolish. Toren was inclined toward brave.

"We've been listening to your transmissions for decades," he replied. He kept his voice even and his hands visible. The blonde one behind Marina had a weapon. She hadn't drawn it, which showed remarkable restraint for someone who'd just watched an alien transform in front of her. "through your radio signals and your broadcasts, we've learned a great deal about your species."

"That's... slightly unsettling."

"Would you prefer I pretend ignorance? I can, if it makes you more comfortable. I could point at things and make confused faces."

A flicker of something crossed her face. Not quite a smile, but close. The guard beside her; a red-haired man who looked like he might faint, didn't seem to appreciate the humor. The blonde woman did, though. Her mouth twitched.

"I'd prefer honesty," Marina stated. "You said your name is Toren. What are you?"

"Weredragon. My species is native to a planet called Dobromia, not far from here in astronomical terms. We came to Ceylara on a scouting mission."

"Scouting for what?"

"Food and resources. Our planet is dying." He said it simply because it was simple. The complexity lived in the details; the twin suns that were cooking Dobromia's surface, the food crisis that was killing his people slowly, the political divisions that were making everything worse. But she didn't need all of that yet. She needed the basics. He could tell she was someone who processed information systematically, and overwhelming her with data wouldn't help.

"I'm sorry to hear that," she said. And she meant it. He could hear it in her voice. It was not diplomatic sympathy, not the careful politeness of someone talking to an alien. It was genuine sadness. She didn't know him. She didn't know his people. But the words "our planet is dying" had produced a response in her that was real.

This was what the movies had shown him. Humans felt things for strangers. They felt things for whales that couldn't speak. Of course they'd feel something for an alien who could.

"Your ship is damaged," Toren observed, shifting the subject. The ship behind her was listing to one side, its port hull crumpled where it had hit the rocky surface. Scorch marks ran along the underside. It wasn't flying anywhere in its current state. "How badly?"