And it absolutely enrages Mhal. His thoughts are blistering with fury.
I will tell her NOTHING blasts through my head.
Mhal? Tell who what? I move to the railing of the walkway and gaze up at him. Mhal? Talk to me.
Who are you? His muddled thoughts pierce through the chaos, and he stabs at my mind, as if trying to peel back the truth for himself. Why do you smell like my mate?
I am your mate, babe. Dig through my mind. You'll see I'm telling the truth. I fill my head with images of us together from the last few weeks—of Mhal creating my shack on the walkway at the top of the derrick, so I won't be blistered by the wind. Of Mhal and me on the couch. Of Mhal curled around me while I sleep. Mhal grinning up at me as I twirl in the cape I just made.
His thoughts ease a little. You do not lie.
I don't.
I do not remember you. His thoughts grow upset.
It's okay, babe. You will. It happens sometimes. I keep my thoughts sweet and soothing. Who is talking to you? What's making you so upset?
Mhal flies back toward our oil derrick, hot protectiveness edging his thoughts. It is a mated male. He smells like the hive. And he keeps trying to talk to me.
All things that Mhal distrusts. Well, not the mated male part, but my dragon is definitely skeptical of anyone that reaches out to talk to him. Is he Queen's Guard? I ask. Do you remember him from your past?
I do not. He has a mate. A human one. She is…atop him. Riding him. He is a fool to endanger her. Mhal's thoughts drip with scorn.
I'm surprised. Wait. He's got a human woman on his back? Does she look like this? I send him a mental image of Rachel—her scarred face and long blonde hair. The stump of her arm.
I do not know. He flies closer despite my warnings. Anger floods through his mind again. He says he does not wish to fight yet he approaches my nest!
It's okay, I send to him. I'm here. He's not a threat to me if he has a mate. Can you see his female? What does she look like?
The thought he sends back is blurry, like so many of his mental pictures. But I catch a hint of pale hair in his thoughts. Is it Rachel? Is her drakoni named Jurik?
You know him? Mhal's thoughts are full of confusion. Why do you know him?
Come back to me, Mhal, love. I make my mental “voice” as soothing and enticing as possible. Come back to me and I'll explain everything. We're in no danger from them.
But they are in our territory! His mind is indignant.
I know. They must want to talk to us. We'll make them apologize, I promise him.
They smell like the hive—
I know. Just come to my side, please? Come stand next to me. I promise you they're not a threat.
Mhal clearly doesn't believe me, and it takes a fair amount of wheedling on my end to get him to return to the oil derrick. Even when he does, he perches atop it, glaring at the other dragon that makes lazy loops in the sky a short distance away. From here, I can see that there's a rider on the dragon's back, though it's too far away to make out who it is.
It takes a bit more persuading before Mhal comes to my side, and a couple of boob squeezes. When he shifts into his two-legged form, I want to breathe a sigh of sheer relief. I throw a cloak over his big naked body and cover his face with kisses. Do you remember me now?
I do. Why is there another in my territory? His hand clenches on my arm and he holds me possessively close as the other dragon flies around the tower again. Why did I not fight him?
"I asked you not to," I tell him. "It's Jurik and Rachel. They're friends of mine. They must want to talk to us."
Mhal shoots me a disbelieving look.
"For me," I ask, giving him a pleading look. "They're just coming to talk. I know they won't hurt me. Rachel is my friend."
You do not need friends. You have me.
I smile to myself, because that sounds incredibly sulky. "Talking to them doesn't mean I don't belong entirely to you, Mhal. It just means that I want to say hello to them. Rachel has been a good friend to me." I pull up memories of my time in the panty program, of Rachel sharing bits of her food, or protecting me and Manda when another girl would get too aggressive. Of nights sitting up in our bunks, just talking for hours on end about nothing in particular.
You care for her. His thoughts are grudging. Very well. They can come to our nest…but they are not staying.