When the babies came of age, they would inherit the rich mineral deposits of Imber.
Until then, each would be watched over by a warrior of the Invicta.
Being assigned to guard one of the whelps was considered the greatest honor an Invicta could achieve.
Protecting these Imberian young from harm would regain the prestige of the ancient warrior clan. Making reparations to Imber was considered a sacred honor to his own people.
The trouble was, it was an honor Noxx wanted nothing to do with.
Once the whelp had a family to care for it, he would be nothing but a glorified bodyguard.
Twenty standard years wasn’t forever, but Noxx had goals. He certainly didn’t want to spend two decades getting soft and lazy while watching this little one roll around trying to fit its whole fist into its small mouth.
And a secret part of him was on edge about his feelings for the squishy little whelp. Lately, he had begun to take great satisfaction in feeling its warm weight against his chest.
How he was supposed to hand it over to one of those ridiculous women?
“Noxx?” a deep voice said gently.
He looked away from the scene below to find his fellow warrior, Kade standing beside him.
Kade’s golden scales gleamed in the soft light, in contrast to Noxx’s own blue tones. Their differing colors meant they descended from different linages, and wielded a different set of natural abilities. But it didn’t mean they weren’t brothers. Their bonds had been tempered in the heat of battle, which was stronger than any blood link.
Kade was speaking quietly, because his own whelp, a female, was sleeping on his chest.
Tyro, their third in this adventure, stood at Kade’s elbow, grinning down at his own whelp, a whopping big male he had actually named Atlas.
Noxx shook his head at the big green idiot.
It was bad enough they had to guard these small creatures. Must they name them and dote on them too?
Tyro would be disappointed when the babe’s new mother gave it a different name.
And the whelp would be confused.
The small creatures were not sharp. The Invicta were told that would come in time, but it seemed like nonsense to Noxx. He figured something in the pod-breeding had caused delays to their development. The silly things couldn’t even walk yet.
By contrast, at nine months of age, a dragonet like Noxx could follow simple instructions and relieve itself outside of the lair. These Imberian whelps were forever filling their diapers. Noxx had never known something so small could create so much foul waste product.
He wrinkled his nose at the thought.
“You don’t like them?” Kade guessed, mistaking Noxx’s musing about diapers for distaste about the women.
But it amounted to the same thing.
“No,” Noxx said. “I don’t.”
“I think they’re lovely,” Tyro said, smiling down at the women.
“This isn’t a pleasure cruise, it’s an adoption meeting,” Kade said, endearing himself to Noxx.
“No reason it can’t be both,” Tyro mused.
Kade gave Tyro as big a shove as he could without waking the whelp on his own chest.
Little Atlas barked out a laugh from the safety of Tyro’s giant green arms.
“Hey,” Tyro said. “Haven’t we been on duty without female attention long enough?”
Gods, they had.
Noxx preferred not to think about it.
“We’re on a frontier moon,” Noxx said firmly. “These Terrans should be wearing boots and elevation suits.”
The light above the ramp turned blue, telling the men it was time to descend.
They moved instinctively in a v-formation with Noxx in the lead, Kade and Tyro side by side behind him.
As he strode down the ramp, Noxx took in the oxygen-rich air. This moon was fortunate to have such an atmosphere.
His whelp was roused by the fresh air too, and banged on Noxx’s armor with a chubby fist.
Everything seemed to be going according to plan, until the breeze picked up, and Noxx felt the world melt away from around him. There was a sizzle in the air and each cell in his body suddenly stood at attention.
Before him, every color had faded but purple and brown, and his awareness focused like a laser to a point right in front of him.
To one of the women.
She was in the middle, with her arm around one of her friends, while the other friend clung to her hand.
But this one stood tall, observing him with solemn brown eyes.
She was no great beauty, even by Terran standards.
Up close, the purple gown allowed him to see as much of her body as was necessary to ascertain her good health. She would not star in the holograms, but she seemed sturdy enough for a scale-less Terran.
Her face showed signs of fear and exhaustion. And the long strands of mud-colored hair were tangled.
But it was the eyes.
Something in those dark eyes pinned him as if he were held in a gravity array.
Mine the dragon inside him roared. Mate.
No.
No, no, no, no, no, no, no…
This was nothing more than a reaction to a low-cut gown and a long season without feeding his hungers. This Terran was not his mate.
But the dragon’s desire was unshaken. It had never attempted to stake their claim before. This was their mate, it was blissful in its certainty.
Noxx blinked, trying to shake the dragon’s hold on him.
The woman moved toward him as if in a trance. She felt it too, the draw of his beast.
He fought for control, glancing over at the other women, intending to choose a different one to deliver his whelp to. He just had to avoid this one. If he could do that, he would be safe.
But he had stood around, gawking stupidly for too long.
The other two women were already speaking with Kade and Tyro.
“Hi,” the dark-haired woman said to him, coming close enough that her scent nearly overwhelmed his keen senses.
He wished he could hold his nose.
“Hello, Terran,” he said.
“I’m Luna,” she said.
Typical.
Terrans were new to intergalactic travel. They still loved their outer space names.
“And you are?” she asked shyly.
“Noxx,” he said, realizing too late that he should have given her his title, not his familiar name.
Hold it together, soldier, he warned himself inwardly.
“And this is him,” she said, observing the whelp with the kind of wonder Noxx thought should be reserved for a newly christened warship.
“This is the whelp,” he agreed.
Her eyebrows went up, as if in surprise that she had accurately spotted the youngling on her first try.
She and the whelp would make a good pair, both of them so slow on the uptake.
“D-does he have a name?” she asked reverently.
“It is your job to come up with a name,” he informed her.
She smiled as if she had just won a sparring match.
“May I?” she asked, holding out her arms.
He had a sudden and overpowering instinct to pull the whelp tight to his chest and run away. This woman was trouble - the kind he couldn’t blast his way out of.
“Of course,” he said, extending it out to her as he tried to get ahold of himself.
A radiant smile spread across her face as she took the youngling in her arms.
“Hello, little one,” she crooned in a voice so high it almost hurt his ears.