Page 3 of Rook
Rook reminded himself of that as a low-hanging branch thwacked him across the forehead, stinging his skin and nearly knocking his translator loose from behind his ear. He ducked, muttered a curse, and kept moving, only to have his boot land squarely on a slick patch of moss. He windmilled his arms, caught his balance by grabbing a sapling, and nearly wrenched his shoulder.
He gritted his teeth. The local flora on Earth was less forgiving than he’d expected, and the ground there, soft, uneven, riddled with tangled roots and the bones of old trees, seemed determined to turn his ankle with every step.
He could have been home.
He could have been sprawled out in one of his estate’s sun-warmed gardens, a glass of spiced wine in hand, not a care in the world other than dodging the ever-watchful gaze of Shade, the Royal Matchmaker. Instead, there he was on that primitive planet, in a forest that smelled of wet earth and pine needles, with mud caked up to his knees and a headache pounding in his temples.
The worst part? He was trapped in his fragile human skin by the need for secrecy. No wings, no claws, no scales. It was like being half-alive, leashed.
He missed the weight of his dragon form, the stretch of his wings, the satisfying scrape of talons against stone. There, he was just a tall man in battered armor, indistinguishable from the locals if they didn’t look too closely at his eyes—or, gods forbid, caught a glimpse of his smoking skin when he lost his temper.
Vemion wasn’t perfect.
He could do without the endless rounds of court functions, the suffocating expectations of nobility, and the constant reminders from his mother that he was getting “dangerously close to an age where his prospects would dry up.”
He’d made his choice. The alternative had been sitting through another excruciating tea with Shade and her endless parade of eligible dragonesses, all of them perfectly coiffed, perfectly mannered, and perfectly uninterested in anything except his title and the size of his hoard.
If he had to listen to her lecture about “potential brides” and “the importance of securing the bloodline” one more time, he’d scorch the velvet off the chairs. And then his mother would throw a fit, and Shade would redouble her efforts.
He was a dragon lord, a warrior. He didn’t need a psychic’s meddling or a list of handpicked mates. He’d find his own fate, thank you very much.
So there he was. On Earth. A backwater planet that, against all logic, had produced mates for more than one of his cousins. He was tracking fugitives from Vemion justice through a forest that, at a glance, looked almost like home.
The trees here were smaller, the air thinner, but there was the same green hush, the same sense of old, watchful things beneath the surface. The planet’s sun was weaker than Vemion’s, but it warmed his skin all the same. The birdsong was different, but it filled the silence between his footsteps.
At least he wasn’t in a ballroom, forced to play the beast at some mating auction, watched by a hundred sharp-eyed dowagers and their calculating daughters.
Small mercies.
Something large and winged buzzed past his ear, making him flinch and slap at it instinctively. The insect ricocheted off his cheek, leaving a smear of something sticky behind. He grimaced, wiped it off, and scowled into the trees.
Why did the criminals never flee to the pleasure planets?
No, they always picked the places with the worst terrain, the thickest mud, and the most rules. They never picked somewhere with decent food or entertainment. Maybe that was the point.
He slowed, forcing himself to breathe evenly. He’d set up camp miles from there, relying on what little tech wouldn’t seem out of place if discovered. His ship was hidden. He needed to stay away for now to protect it. His tracker, a battered, jury-rigged device shaped like a silver beetle, had given him a faint ping, leading him in this direction, but it was unreliable at best. The planet’s magnetic field played havoc with Vemion sensors. Rushing would only get him lost, or worse, give away his position.
He paused, closed his eyes, and listened. The forest there wasn’t silent, but the sounds were strange, no crackle of comms, no distant hum of anti-grav engines, just the hush of wind through pine needles and the soft, secretive rustle of small animals in the undergrowth. His nostrils flared, searching the air for anything out of place: the tang of fire, the hint of scorched metal, the chemical bite of interstellar weaponry.
Nothing but damp earth and the faintest trace of smoke.
He was about to move on when a woman’s scream tore through the peace.
It was sharp, panicked, edged with desperation so acute it made the fine hairs on his arms stand up. Rook’s head snapped east, every muscle going taut. He knew the sound of fear, real fear, the kind that meant blood and danger and death. The trail he’d been following led the other way, but there was no hesitation in his body.
Duty to protect was bred into his bones.
He ran.
Branches whipped at his face, leaving scratches along his cheekbones. The forest floor was a mess of rotting logs and slick ferns, and every step threatened to send him sprawling.
He felt slow, clumsy, like he was moving through water. If he could have shifted, if he could have called his wings, his claws, his fire, he would have been over these trees in seconds, a living shadow above the canopy. But there, he was just a man, and the knowledge gnawed at him.
He stumbled over a fallen branch, caught himself, and pushed harder. The scream echoed again, closer, brittle with pain or terror. He forced himself faster, lungs burning, anger and frustration hot in his chest. He was a dragon lord. He wasn’t meant for this fragile body, this crawling pace. On Vemion, he would scorch a path through the forest, flame and fury clearing the way.
But on Earth, he was hidden.
He caught the scent of smoke, sharp and acrid, cutting through the green. It was more than just a trickle from a campfire: thick, biting, heavy with the promise of destruction. A dragon knew smoke. It was in his blood, an old friend, a comfort and a warning all at once.
