Dragon's Destiny (Red Planet Dragons of Tajss #20) - Miranda Martin

1

Khabri

I stalk the City, searching. She’s here. She must be. The one. My one. This longing won’t stop until I find her. Until she is mine. Filled with my seed, bearing my children.

Long dark hair ripples and shines in the corner of my vision. I look towards it so fast my neck cracks. No. It is a female, but it is not her.

It has been years since we were ordered to look for the humans. The Eye had predicted their crashing to Tajss and gave us our orders. I knew, the moment the prediction was read to the Council. My dragon roared to life, right there in the Council chambers, staking my claim as if she were there with us.

Could it be wrong? Am I mistaking this feeling? Is it something else?

Archion stops and points at the fountain. The ancient statue of Estrogan declaring victory. Once I admired Estrogan, the hero of my childhood, but now I know he was a fool. It was a false victory, an empty freedom he declared. A war waged for nothing.

Before the Devastation, the fountain spouted water into the air three wingspans high and created sparkling rainbows as it tinkled down to the pool at the base. Now the water barely trickles, but the pool is about half full and many humans gather around it.

“They’ve gotten the water running, and it’s pure. They use it for drinking, cooking, and cleaning,” Archion says with pride, as if he himself performed this small miracle.

“I see,” I say, purposely keeping my voice cool.

His enthusiasm is undampened. He leads me through the City, pointing out with great self-importance the improvements the humans and Zmaj living here have accomplished. It is impressive, but the longing in my guts and the ache in my cock distract me.

Where is she? Have I been wrong? All the females living with the Tribe are mated, so she cannot be there. She must be here.

“Councilor,” Archion says, cutting through my thoughts.

“Do NOT call me that here,” I growl. Archion’s mouth snaps shut. He stands at attention before nodding his head. Nearby humans stop what they are doing to stare. “Or do that.”

“Yes Counc--,” he stops himself. “Khabri.”

My name emerges through gritted teeth. He shakes his head and the conflict on his face is plain to see. It goes against all his training not to refer to me by my title, but he should know better. He’s been drilled on the need for secrecy. It is part of his Oaths! When we return to the compound, I will have him punished. No matter our friendly relations with the humans, I am under orders of my own, even as he is. They are not to know my rank. The Order reveals only what we wish, what we are told.

Except the Order is without orders. We lost contact with the Southern Continent and haven’t been able to reestablish it. We’ve been left blind and directionless. Archion has no idea. He’s a Scout and that knowledge is not for him.

Councilor Tashak is Seer in title only. The true sight was not gifted to him. Only The Eye has that gift, and we have lacked his guidance. We’ve been left to operate on our own and do the best we are able, furthering the broader goals of Tajss itself.

Our last orders were not to engage the humans, to watch them, help without being found out, and wait. Archion and his brother Khal destroyed those orders, but it doesn’t mean we’ve opened our doors in full to the humans. Keeping them on the outside is best until we know more. Until we reestablish contact with The Eye. Only then can we know the will of Tajss with certainty.

Except for the one thing I do know.

My mate is here. Impossible as it is, she exists. This fire, this gnawing, aching emptiness won’t be denied. The instant the Council received the message to find the humans, my dragon raged to life, staking a claim sight unseen, knowing in its own way that my match is among them.

Archion resumes the tour he is giving me of the City and their work. I don’t tell him it’s not my first journey here or that I am already familiar with everything he points to with pride. Pride as if he himself accomplished all these works, whereas I know he did nothing of the sort.

The industriousness of the human race is apparent. They have transformed Draconov from an empty ruin haunted by a lone Zmaj to something