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LENGTH: Full Novel
SENSUALITY: Spicy

Cover art (c) Eliza Black June 2003
ISBN 1-58608-421-6
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Rating: Contains strong language and explicit sex. Mild violence.

"Four Hearts! Ms. Nour’s Volarn is beautifully described. Kasha has strength and fragility and Eric is a warrior with a romantic streak. Both are beautifully portrayed. The dangers they encounter seem real and the antics of Puff are very funny. This is was a fun, fast and very enjoyable book." Sara Sawyer, The Romance Studio

"I thoroughly enjoyed meeting the basaim and the humorous antics of an overlarge 'pet' in the castle. HEART OF THE DRAGON has adventure, sexual tension and love in a fast moving story." Paranormal Romance Reviews

"If you are looking for a romance with steamy love scenes, intriguing science fiction, adventure and a look into the future, Myra Nour delivers it from start to finish! She is an author whose words will mesmerize you. It’s non-stop adventure and humour [baby dragon PUFF will delight you with his shenanigans!], Volarn and the characters will stay with you long after the last page is read." Tracey West for The Road to Romance

“Myra Nour has written a great story in HEART OF THE DRAGON, and she describes the planet and people of Volarn wonderfully. It is full of wonderful, fantastical creatures and an intriguing race of people. HEART OF THE DRAGON is a fairly quick read. The romance and hot, sexual tension will hook readers, as will the adventures the characters embark on. For humor, adventure, and sensual romance, check out HEART OF THE DRAGON.” Enya Adrian, Romance Reviews Today

HEART OF THE DRAGON

By

Myra Nour

(c) copyright June 2003 Mary Nour
Cover art by Eliza Black, (c) copyright June 2003
New Concepts Publishing
4729 Humphreys Rd.
Lake Park, GA 31636
www.newconceptspublishing.com

Acknowledgments:
I’d like to dedicate this novel to my son, Michael, for his enthusiastic love of my story telling.




CHAPTER ONE

Sweat beaded on his sun-darkened skin, then pooled and ran in rivulets of life sustaining moisture. Past discouragement or caring at this point, Eric glanced with glazed detachment at his own agonizingly slow death process. The droplets gathered and ran off his body in constant reaction to the tropical climate. Unknowing tools of the body--the lost moisture spelled his end quicker in these sweltering temperatures.

A quick flick of wind whipped through the encampment. He waited expectantly as the wind stayed true to form and a brief teasing rain splashed him with a few minutes of cooling moisture. Opening his mouth wide, his head fell back as far as he could bend it, before it hit the post behind him.

Eric gathered all the showering rain he could while it lasted. It was the only way he managed to dislodge his swollen tongue from the semi-permanent position it assumed much of the day and night. He was able to move it sluggishly about only when water was available.

“I see you’ve had your water ration for the day.”

Eric looked with dull, unfeeling eyes at the short, dumpy man who had come to taunt him, as was his several time daily routine. He was called Captain Rodriguez by his subordinates, “greaseball” by Eric when he still was strong enough to be defiant.

The guerrilla commander ran through his regular questioning, “What was his mission? Where were the other special forces soldiers in his A-team?” And so on.

Eric maintained a stony silence. Talking might give him the ease of a promised meal and sufficient water, but it wouldn’t stop these creeps from killing him in the long run, and hell if he was going to give away any information which might put his comrades in danger. Not that it could have helped. He was sure Tom and the others were far away by now, thinking the shot that took him down, had killed him. The guerrillas’ ambush had necessitated the team’s immediate withdrawal.

Eric had felt a thrill of danger just before they’d stepped into the clearing, which the guerrillas surrounded, but his premonition wasn’t clear enough for him to do anything about it in time. On many occasions, his “gift” had helped him through tough periods. Time was all he had now. Time to die.

Rodriguez left, after throwing a few punches to his sore mid-section. He wasn’t really interested in Eric much anymore; just waiting for his American prisoner to die. Even though the commander had taunted him about getting his water for the day, Eric knew he’d get a few gulps from the filthy cup held to his lips at sunset, prolonging his agony.

He’d lost track of time. He knew he’d been tied to this post in the center of the camp for over a week, but whether it was more than that, he couldn’t say. The lack of food and skimpy rations of water, plus the fevers brought on by infection, kept him in a fog of delirium. Eric stared down at the gaping wound on his right thigh. If the putrid smell wasn’t enough to alert him to the danger of gangrene, the red streaks running down his leg since this morning, certainly were.

He shook his head in confusion--not because he should have accepted his coming death by now--but because he hadn’t. All common sense dictated he would die soon. He was a prisoner in the middle of an enemy camp.

Yet, Eric knew, no felt, it was not his time. Sagging against the ropes binding his arms and chest, he wished for the first time his powers of sight would just leave him alone. Certainly escape was impossible in his condition. God knows he’d tried several times when his strength was still formidable. And he saw no hope for rescue.

The pain of deprivation, infection and fevers had taken their toll. He wanted escape in whatever form it appeared. The shadows of evening finally cooled his body, but brought out mosquitoes and other nighttime denizens, who enjoyed taking minute bites from their luckless victim.

Eric looked around in confusion as the clearing became suddenly darker. The heavy shadings of its limb-touching, entwined trees allowed not even slight shards of twilight’s last rays to penetrate.

A deep thrumming sound vibrated throughout his whole body and he stared upward, wondering for a fleeting joyful moment if a Black Hawk helicopter hovered above, perhaps searching for him. He could spy nothing through the dense growth, nor could the guerrillas that gathered, shouting and pointing toward the treetops.

Realizing the overpowering sound couldn’t be helicopter, he slumped against the pole. Yet his vision stayed skyward, curiosity not quite dead within him. He felt neither pain nor fear as a blinding beam of light shot unexpectedly from whatever hovered overhead, picking him out amongst the impenetrable blackness, enveloping his body with its warmth.

Wondering for a microsecond if his “second sight” had at last failed him, that death had truly come for him, Eric slid easily into an inky nothingness.

* * * *

“Great gods of the homeland!” Dr. Melat added a few Cromotrie curses under his breath.

Rolan’ shook his head in agreement. Never had he seen a human or non-human in such bad shape. The body of Olga’s brother lay upon the examining table where they had beamed him only moments before.

Raw bruises overlay older purplish-yellow ones, creating an odd patchwork of color against the man’s tan skin. Flung over this unpleasant sight, were numerous cuts, fresh and healed. As well there were uncountable raised red bumps, clear markers the human had been swarmed interminably by insects.

The man had also been obviously starved, his ribs showing with sharp contrast against the expanse of his still-immense chest. Rolan’ held his breath as he spied the wound on the human’s right thigh, the rank smell vying with the visual sight of the deep wound. He barely held in his nausea at the sight.

“Do you think you can save him?”

Dr. Melat shook his head uncertainly. “I honestly don’t know. Humans are much more frail than our comrades, the Volarnians.”

The doctor gently poked and prodded his unconscious patient. “He is an extremely fit specimen for an Earthling though. Perhaps he will live,” he said softly.

Rolan’ was very worried about Olga’s brother, but Dr. Melat completely ignored his hovering nearby.

* * * *

Eric stood at the lounge’s observatory window, endlessly fascinated each time he looked out at the stars, as if every time were the first. Far in the distance, a reddish planet with golden rings circling it, held his attention for a long time. It was the fourth planet in this solar system and the neighbor of Volarn, which the ship would reach tomorrow.

Volarn. The warrior run, medieval-style planet. The place his sister had been brought to last year as a captive bride. He still couldn’t believe Rolan’s glib explanation of Olga’s happily married life. He knew his sister. He couldn’t picture her acceptance of being abducted and then falling in love with one of her kidnappers.

God, how he’d searched and worried about her this last year, frustration eating at him daily at his seemingly fruitless efforts. Olga had simply disappeared. And now he knew why.

But last year he’d not known and was sure as he stepped off the plane onto American soil, he’d had enough bad luck to last him a while. He’d just spent several tough weeks being laid up from a bullet wound to the calf of his right leg, the same unfortunate limb of recent injury.

He’d been reported as “missing in action.” Eric shook his head in silent laughter. Call it fate or maybe being struck twice by lightning, but he’d gone missing in action twice now within a very short span of time.

Last year, he’d been far more fortunate, being found by an ancient Spanish widow instead of guerrillas. The bullet had gone straight through his leg, but his fall had earned him a bump to the head and a rough roll beneath a heavy growth of bushes. He counted himself very lucky to be found by Senora Sanchez, the village healer. She was a kind old woman who missed her youngest son dearly, the one killed in guerrilla warfare the previous year.

Maybe that’s why she didn’t turn him over to the local guerrillas, or maybe it was because he spoke Spanish and she enjoyed his company. Her small dwelling was isolated from the village and made hiding his presence easier.

He’d said a fond farewell to the Senora once he was well enough to make the arduous journey overland to the nearest field base. And, he’d kept his promise of keeping in touch, sending letters routinely, as well as money. Her letters were sporadic and written in barely legible English by a trusted grandson who’d attended some schooling. They were always filled with interesting tidbits of the life led on another continent, one as alien sometimes as the one he now approached. The simple notes always ended with a prayer for his safety.

The last letter he’d sent her, before he undertook this recent deployment, was “returned to sender.” A badly written “grndma dead” on the envelope sunk into his heart with a chill. Eric cried that night and repeated a version of her favorite prayer. He’d always missed not having a big family, something he desired greatly in the secret paths of his heart. The Senora had been the grandmother, even if only for a short time, that he’d never known.

His sorrow made him miss his only living relative. He’d tried to contact his sister and his grief went deeper still. He and Olga were fraternal twins, but were as close growing up as many identical twins claimed to be. Their first heartbreak had come when their parents divorced, his beautiful mother staying in Germany, his father returning to the United States. Olga was to stay with mom and he to go with dad. They both fought the separation, but it was a battle they couldn’t win. They’d clung to each other desperately, fighting back the tears with pre-teen pride as his dad practically dragged him aboard the plane.

They were reunited after graduating high school when Olga was able to come to the United States.

Eric shook his head in self-degradation. It’d been he who’d been so very stubborn, causing their final break. He just couldn’t stand the slick city bred Italian man who claimed to love his sister. How could he not notice how the man’s dark lustful eyes followed every attractive woman within his range? Looks his sister was blind to.

Now, according to Pulack, Olga had a man worthy of her love. Well, he’d just wait to see about that himself. He turned from his inward thoughts as a familiar voice called out a greeting. He smiled at Jamie and waved a hand in invitation to join him at the window. His pretty new friend was not nearly as interested in the scenery as she was in him. Several of the beautiful women who had been captured had shown an interest in him. Unfortunately, they were being transported aboard this space ship to their new home and awaiting bridegrooms.

He knew many of them were bored, just as he was. Without any false modesty, he realized his own masculine looks set some on his track. He’d always been pursued by the opposite sex, but this was one time he was uncomfortable in the situation. One hundred gorgeous women of all descriptions on board this ship and he couldn’t afford to get tied up with any one of them. Lord only knew what the ferocious warrior grooms would do to him, if he were stupid enough to start a relationship onboard. Of course Rolan’ and Pulack kept up a constant, nervous vigilance on him while Doc laughed at the circumstances.

Rolan’ had told him everything that had transpired while he was passed out. Apparently the Moyd’s had been planning to track him with their scientific equipment and ascertain if he were dead or alive. It was favor Rolan’ wished to do for Olga. But, upon discovering him in the enemy camp, and his near death, they had decided to rescue and provide treatment for him.

From there, things got “thick” as they say. Dr. Melat argued that Eric needed more time to heal properly. Thus, he did not want to release him to the primitive medical practices on Earth. Rolan’ supported his stand all the way, hoping to win points with Olga by bringing him back for a visit, and Pulack got red-faced with indignation at each confrontation.

Apparently, by the time Pulack had been worn down slightly by Doc and Rolan’s combined arguments, the Air Force over South America had picked them up on radar and sent out two F-16 jet fighters to investigate. Pulack had made an instantaneous decision it was okay for Eric to travel to Volarn and see his sister.

His thoughts snapped back to Jamie, who had snuggled up against him. He liked her, a lot, but love was definitely not in their future. Still, her soft curves and lovely face were hard to resist.

“How do you think I look in this?” Jamie giggled like a little girl as she pulled his Green Beret from behind her back and plopped it on her brown curls in a jaunty manner.

He smiled at her silliness. He knew she’d sneaked into his assigned quarters to secure the beret for her teasing surprise. This was not the first time she’d been fascinated with his being a member of the elite forces. Many times she’d begged him to tell her tales of military exploits into mysterious countries.

He eyed the beret and then looked down at the poorly fitting clothes created by the ship’s replicating machine. Unfortunately his uniform had been torn and filthy when he’d been beamed aboard, only his beret surviving because the guerrillas had left it at his feet as a “joke”.

“Well?” Jamie stared up at him with large blue eyes.

“I think the other eleven members of my team would be jealous of that hat.”

Jamie had another fit of giggles, which turned to a frown as Rolan made a sudden appearance next to them. For once, Eric was happy for Rolan’s untimely interference. The roly-poly alien made some excuse about needing Jamie to attend a meeting about Volarn culture, but he knew it was to interrupt their tête-à-tête.

She handed his beret back, then reluctantly followed Rolan’. He watched her retreating figure briefly, feeling sorry for her and the other women. From the tapes onboard, he’d understood too well the Volarnians’ need for the captured women. The majority of their women being sterile created a real crisis for the planet. But still, he wouldn’t wish to be paraded before a bunch of men so they could choose a wife ... in his case, being chosen as a husband by some muscle-bound warrior woman.

* * * *

Majestic. That word embodied every wondrous vista Eric saw on his short journey from the land-bound ship to the gigantic castle where the King of South Volarn ruled. Lavender skies. Grass, bushes and trees, topped with varying shades of blue, were astounding. The two suns were warm and inviting. The huge, muscular, barbaric warriors who came to escort them were impressive. The large, strange birds called elags, which made him think of a cross between an ostrich and peacock, and then those marvelous yasmirs, unicorn-like creatures used as horse flesh here, were spectacular sights.

Later, precious, was the only word that fit he and Olga’s reunion. His stalwart sister cried buckets, more than he’d ever seen her cry her entire life, and even he shed a few tears. They spent the afternoon clearing up the misunderstanding which had caused their rift, then Olga the latter part making him accept she was truly happy with her present life on another planet.

He had to admit he liked the giant who walked in later, her husband, Zares, commander of the King’s forces. Along with the leadership abilities which shone from him, the Volarnian warrior had a wise face and a gentle manner. The love that radiated from his eyes every time he looked at Olga put Eric at ease.

The next day, he met with the King, needing to secure his permission to stay for a visit. He found Rhamus to be of a similar mold as Zares, but the characteristics more intensified in the serious young ruler. Thankfully, the King agreed to his visit. He was to go back with the Moyds when they returned to Earth.

Eric couldn’t help but laugh at the stricken looks on Pulack and Rolan’s faces as they stood on the sidelines. He had a feeling they’d been severely chastised by bringing him here. Of course, he was thankful they’d saved his life and for giving him the opportunity to see his sister.

He was excited the King was allowing him to attend the Tarthra this evening, the official ceremony where the male warriors would choose the woman who would be their life mate. The Tarthra dictated the choosing, not the warriors, matching those who were meant for each other.

He still didn’t agree completely with the whole kidnapping concept, but the opportunity for observing the Volarnians in all their barbaric splendor wouldn’t come again, at least not during his stay here.

During his visit with the ruler, he’d been introduced to the King’s cousin, Jarvic. They established an immediate rapport and later he entered the throne room with the carefree warrior as his comrade for the evening. Jarvic had readily agreed to be his escort when asked earlier by the King and would fill him in on details of the proceedings.

Eric had been shown to a nice room after seeing the King. Jarvic appeared that evening, leading the way to the throne room. The richly dressed throng of Volarnian men and women, plus the hundred lovely Earth women, filled the room with a mixed texture of colorful clothing. The tapestry of beauty and muscular bounty was amazing. All the brawny men wore silky

tie-stringed shirts, as the one he’d consented to wear. Glancing around, he realized he was the only one wearing the rezel leather pants instead of the kilt-like docas.

God. He couldn’t, ever, say which of the gorgeous woman were more outstanding. But, the Volarnians won his attention by virtue of their unique color combinations, extreme height compared to humans and the muscular limbs seen on most. He’d always been attracted to black hair anyway and found the thick, inky manes of the women fascinating. And where on Earth would one find the wondrous range of lavender to violet eye colors, except via contact lenses, or unless you were Liz Taylor?

He glanced down at the baggy leather pants, more than glad he’d agreed not to go native and wear the doca. This gathering of feminine beauty made it almost impossible for him to keep his “little head” under control. The month long sojourn amongst a bevy of beauties, and the hands off policy, hadn’t helped his condition either.

Hoping to cool his male lust, he looked for his sister and located her on the dais, close to the King. She waved and smiled broadly, making her face light with joy and feminine loveliness. He waved back and, taking a deep breath, felt his pulse slow.

His eyes ranged the dais area, noting the solemn King and his too lovely wife. The next instant, all the feelings he’d been trying to suppress felt like they’d been rolled up into one huge fiery ball as his eyes lit upon a woman standing behind Rhamus. She stood to the side, as if she were trying to hide. He slid his hand into the pant’s right pocket, afraid those around him would see his physical reaction.

As if you could hide from me, he thought silkily to himself, letting his pocketed hand slide for a second. He jerked upright, embarrassed by his own actions. He’d never thought or acted like such a horny dog before. But could anyone blame him? Just look at her, Eric seemed to be arguing with himself. Could a more perfect example of a warrior goddess be found?

Her face was exotic, sultry, a siren’s soul mate. It was one that many models of Earth would have envied, with the high, angular cheekbones, flawless beige skin, and wide, luscious lips. The triangular shaped stubborn chin set the framework for her huge slanted eyes. It gave her face a feline look. Thick, silky hair hung in straight liquid black lines to brush the top of her shoulders, softening the rigid set of her features.

Eric ran his eyes down her slim form, feeling his own body’s pulsing reaction harden even more. She was short by Volarnian standards, but her figure was well above average, with its slim lines and gentle curves.

Her breasts were small compared to busty beauties such as the King’s wife, but their rounded, pert shape caused his thoughts to wander afar. They look like they would be a perfect fit for my hands, or mouth. Shaking himself mentally, he tried to break free of his randy thoughts. He forced his eyes away from her tempting breasts and wandered down her athletic body. Its muscular beauty, like that of a panther, refueled his fledgling attempt at self-control.

“I see you’ve noticed my cousin, Kasha,” Jarvic spoke jovially near his ear.

“Yes,” he answered cautiously, turning his body slightly away.

“She’s quite a beauty, isn’t she?”

He turned back to the object of their discussion, staring in response. How could he tell this man he found his cousin the most fascinating woman he’d ever seen? That he’d never wanted to make hot, lustful love with anyone as much as he did at that moment?

“Would you like to meet her?” Jarvic clapped him on the shoulder.

The handsome warrior turned a cheerful, smiling countenance to him. If Jarvic did realize how much he was affected by his cousin’s presence, he apparently was not insulted, nor intended to point it out.

“Yes,” he answered, while his thoughts took a totally different route. I’d like to make love to your cousin until she stares at me with those wondrous eyes, as if I were the last man on Earth.

Jarvic started forward and he followed. The Tarthra ceremony had not started yet. The people were still milling and jockeying for better positions, so he and Jarvic had to wind their way carefully through the crowd. As they moved slowly along, his reactions cooled, and he noticed for the first time his psychic powers had been trying to grab his attention. That funny, tingly feeling which crawled about his scalp just before each premonition, caused him such discomfort, he had to reach up and scratch his head briefly.

While he continued to follow Jarvic, Eric attuned his inner ear. They stopped unexpectedly and he looked with wonder at the woman he would spend the rest of his life with, who would love him, and bear his children. This he knew, once he’d listened to his psychic vibrations. The ones that never steered him wrong his whole life, not even when he questioned them briefly before being rescued by the aliens.

CHAPTER TWO

Kasha was bored. She’d told Serena over and over, she didn’t wish to attend tonight’s ceremony. But, her dear sister-in-law insisted, stressing Doc had released her from being room bound. And adding it’d be good for her, as well as important for the people to see their princess up and around.

She rubbed her scarred thigh. The deep sword wound had nearly cost her life. But she’d killed the enemy soldier who’d slipped inside the castle and tried to murder her niece and nephew.

Kasha sighed. She just wished she could have stayed in her room and snuggled with Lor. Her konkol had bitten the soldier to try and protect her while she fought the soldier. It had earned him an injury of his own from the enemy. Her pet had recovered along with her, but still acted the invalid to gain her attention.

My bedroom. That’s where I should be. Anything except this tedious affair. The Tarthra had always been the least favorite of the official ceremonies she was expected to attend, more so since she had reached the age where she could take part.

No man had ever come close to her idea of a proper mate, nor sealed her lips with a kiss which left her wanting more, or dreaming of what sex would be like. No warrior, for he would have to be a warrior, had ever stirred her cold heart, as Jarvic was fond of telling her.

A frown creased her brow as her thoughts flicked to her irritating cousin. Constant thorn in her side and teasing rake, yet a more lovable scamp one couldn’t hope to find. And therein lay her problem. Jarvic was the love of her youth, until she became old enough to understand such things were not allowed. Her love then turned to one of a sisterly nature and acceptable.

Her cousin was deadly handsome as well. How could she ever hope to find another Jarvic? No, not another Jarvic she thought, but close. Maybe. Her cousin was too irresponsible by far, in certain matters, mainly his involvement with women. She would never accept a warrior who couldn’t commit to one woman.

Kasha sighed. So, she put up with the endless Tarthra ceremonies, knowing none would hold a warrior special enough for her to consider. And, ever since the Earth women had been brought in as part of the proceedings, it made her exceedingly uncomfortable. She hated the fact these women were forced into marriage, even though it meant Volarn’s salvation, and she knew the self-same women would be happy with their mates. Call it a Getra trait, she thought, women should have the right to choose too.

As if her thoughts had conjured him, Jarvic pushed through the crowd at the front, then stopped to flirt with a lovely noble woman. She smiled, the first time tonight, but replaced it with a faux frown as he turned toward the dais. Another man kept pace with him. Once they cleared the last Volarnians, Kasha wondered if the hallucinations, which had plagued her for several days after her injury, had returned.

She relaxed her face. It was not another fever coming on, but Olga’s mysterious brother. The Earthman. She couldn’t help examining him closely as the pair approached. The human would have drawn attention by himself. But he and Jarvic, so very opposite in coloring and devastatingly handsome, drew all feminine eyes within range.

Olga’s brother was short by their standards, yet his broad chest and muscular arms rivaled her fellow warriors. Kasha’s eyes flitted briefly to the pants covering the human’s legs, wondering if they held the same power and promise as his upper body. His face she examined the longest, while he and Jarvic greeted dignitaries on the dais. Glancing quickly at Olga, she noted the similarity in their features. Yet, he was totally masculine, while Olga was very feminine when she wasn’t scowling.

The man’s hair was astounding, being a very pale blonde as the humans described it. His hair was cut very short and close to his skull, showing the hard lines of his masculine face well. His skin tone was different than her own beige, more of a dark golden shade, making the rippling muscles in his arms stand out remarkably well. Kasha had a sudden urge to shove aside his silky shirt so she could feel his flesh. She wanted to see if the rigid lines of his chest, barely visible between the laces, was in fact reality.

She couldn’t see his eyes yet, but felt an unexpected thrill at the prospect as he drew closer.

“Kasha,” Jarvic grabbed her nearest hand and landed a courtly kiss on her fingers. “Let me introduce you to Olga’s brother, Eric.”

She pulled her hand back swiftly when the human took a step forward, and the half-smile Jarvic had managed to elicit from her, froze in mid-twitch. Goreth! He was utterly handsome, totally hard and male. And his eyes. She stared at his pale gray pair for a few seconds, fascinated with their very different beauty than the Volarnians’ violet shades. How well the light color stood out against his sun-darkened flesh.

Kasha shook herself mentally. He was probably mean, hot-tempered, or perhaps whiny, a coward. Please, by the sacred crystal, she pleaded silently--let his personality not match his looks. He was far too attractive, a danger for the women of Volarn. Doubly so to her, for he was no warrior. He wasn’t even a native.

“I’ve never met a warrior princess before.”

Two “dimples” appeared on either side of his mouth when he smiled, and Kasha found her eyes drawn to this phenomenon. This feature was one not possessed by Volarnians, but she found it profoundly attractive on some deeply feminine level. His voice was pleasantly rough, his accent charming, and his knowledge of their language apparently sufficient. Hadn’t she seen him intensely engaged in conversations the whole length of time it took him to reach her?

“And, I’ve never met a human male before.” She produced her bored, princess voice.

Jarvic laughed loudly, drawing only her own frown of displeasure. No one else paid the least heed to his silliness, not an unusual occurrence when he was her companion.

“She’s not nearly as disinterested as she sounds,” he put one hand congenially on Eric’s shoulder.

Grimacing in true anger now, she said, “And you’re not nearly the idiot you appear to be.”

This time, both men laughed, although more quietly than her cousin’s earlier outburst. A flock of feminine eyes latched onto the two avidly, irritating Kasha even more.

“You seem determined to make a spectacle out of us,” she said with disgust.

“Oh, dear cousin,” he waved toward some of his admirers. “It doesn’t take my wonderful sense of humor to get their attention. Although it never hurts they wish to stroke away my injuries after our confrontations.”

She stepped forward, strongly considering knocking him off the dais ... no, then she’d have to watch the twittering ladies flock around their fallen hero.

An iron-hard body stopped her in mid-stride. Her breasts pressed deeply into the Earthman’s immovable chest when he stepped forward. Her breasts tingled and both nipples hardened. She switched her attention to his height, grasping at anything to distract herself from her body’s betrayal. This close, she noted he was only a little taller than her.

“Uh, pardon me,” he said sweetly, the hot look which shot from his thunderstorm eyes belied the honey of his words.

Kasha shrugged and gave him a courtly smile, distant and cool, one meant to fend off suitors and court dandies. She had herself under control again. Yet, somewhere in her belly a warm spot had sprung up in reaction to his smile. This was confusing. Concentrating, she imagined ice water in her veins and felt her face chilling into a rigid mask.

Eric waved a hand toward the back of the dais where two unoccupied chairs nestled amongst the shadows of the back curtains. “I thought perhaps we could go over there and become better acquainted.”

Seeming to sense her withdrawal, he added, “And there’s only room for two.” He cocked an eye toward Jarvic.

Kasha hesitated but a moment. The thought of being sequestered in the corner with this dangerously handsome man made her feel edgy. But there was a part of her which was curious about him, and one which wanted to be closer to him in a quiet setting. And, of course she wanted to get rid of her cousin. For a second she wondered at herself. She’d just thrown herself into the ice princess mode, and now she had accepted his invitation to be alone?

Shrugging mentally, Kasha led the way to the chairs. They received little attention from anyone. Only Rhamus and Serena seemed to have noticed them before turning back to the ceremony.

Once seated, she waited to see the direction of his thoughts, for she was finding it hard to think up conversational tidbits.

He smiled. It was something he appeared to do often.

“I thought perhaps you could explain this more to me,” he waved a hand toward the couple embraced within an aura of blue power. He hesitated and then added, “The tapes aboard ship explained about the Tarthra, but in a mechanical way. I’d like to hear it from a more human perspective.”

“Volarnian.” she corrected. In spite of her hesitancy with him, she was pleased by his broad grin, which erupted from her remark.

“You might have found a more stimulating partner for this conversation, if you’d picked one of those ladies.” She dipped her head toward some of the noble women. “I’m afraid I find the Tarthra tiresome.”

“Maybe.” His dimples reappeared. “But, you, I’d never find tiresome. And as far as stimulating.” He left his sentence hanging, his eyes heating her cheeks with their intensity. For a second it was as though Jarvic had not been left behind at all, so close was Eric to her cousin in his teasing quality.

Shaking off her disturbing thoughts, she discussed the Tarthra ceremony with him. It took a while to explain the choosing to him. The subject was so familiar it gave her an opportunity to examine him covertly while they talked. He was truly interested in their conversation and didn’t seem to notice the quick flicks from her eyes, as she took in more of his physical features up close.

His teeth were sparkling snowy chips against his tanned skin. A mustache grew above his lip. Serena had explained these hairy growths to her one time when describing the differences in their human males. He had hair growing from his arms, only his was a much thicker growth than the Earth women. Brown hairs were visible even on his wide chest, and she wondered idly what it would feel like to run her fingers through the curling mass.

Kasha gripped the chair arms. She must get a grip on herself. She was feeling like a girl in the throes of young love. Even while experiencing the first pangs of her crush on Jarvic, her thoughts had never wandered into lustful territory like they were running rampant at this moment.

Seeking relief from the heat his presence seemed to evoke, she purposely turned her thoughts to the soldier who had nearly killed her. This fulfilled her objective--not cooling her system, but turning the heat toward anger instead.

“Do you mind me asking where you got that nasty cut?” he pointed toward her thigh.

She’d been quiet but a brief time, yet Eric managed to throw out a question that raised her heart rate again.

Yee gods, did he read my mind!

Hesitantly, she replied, “In a sword fight with our enemy.”

“Mmm, we almost have matching scars,” he patted his right thigh.

Kasha simply stared at him. What was the Earthling’s game? Did he hope to win her favor by striking a sympathetic connection between them? Didn’t he realize she was Getra, a warrior, and he was nothing but a human?

Hoping to make him realize the difference in their status, she asked sharply, “Are you perhaps a warrior on your planet?”

“Soldier, is the word we use.” Eric paused, seeming to size up her disdain. “We too, unfortunately, carry on wars on Earth. In fact, humans are known for their violent nature.”

“Are you comparing our warriors to your own soldiers?” She sneered, wanting him to know how she felt about his remark. He laughed and shook his head. “There is no comparison. Your world hosts wars more on the scale we did hundreds of years ago. We’re more modern and destructive in ours.”

Kasha’s lips went rigid, not sure how to answer. She knew from the little history she’d studied about Earth, his statement was true. But why did it make her so angry with him?

“Perhaps you are more civilized in your battles than we, but do you think you could beat one of our warriors in hand-to-hand combat?” She knew her eyes and face clearly reflected what she thought.

“I honestly can’t say, I know how good your warriors reputations are, but I might be able to hold my own.”

How dare he compare himself to warriors trained in hand combat and sword fighting from their youth!

“Perhaps you’d like to back those words?” At his inquisitive look, she added, “My patrol group practices everyday. If you’re interested in testing your Earth skills against our warriors, tell Jarvic to bring you to the practice field tomorrow.”

“That might be nice. There’s only so much exercise and practice I could do by myself onboard the space ship. Besides, I’d love to get a look at your warriors’ skills.”

She couldn’t fault his answer, so instead turned the conversation back to safer territory, while silently, she thought, “until tomorrow.”

The wedding feast was announced and Kasha explained it to her human companion, but refused to take his arm as they strolled into the banquet room later. She was Getra, not some pretty plaything to decorate a man’s arm.

She chose to forgo her usual place close to Rhamus and Serena, they seemed far too interested in she and Eric. Instead, she took up her old seat at the end of the long table.

Irritatingly, Eric chose to sit next to her. The conversation was lively, the human at the center of many Volarnian ladies attention. He seemed to be a natural charmer and kept the women entertained with Earth stories. It irked her the way some of them hung on his every word.

Jarvic had chosen to take his place next to a lovely young maid further down the table, so she was stuck in conversation with the human or the noble women who sat nearby. Eric seemed an aggravating, but more preferable choice. She noticed he had a hearty appetite for what must seem strange fare and drank only sparingly of the rich Volarnian wine.

“What is this,” a beautiful lady ran her finger languidly down the muscled bulges on his right upper arm.

“It’s called a tattoo.” He flexed his biceps and the dragon seemed to move.

She had wondered about the strange markings herself, thinking it was perhaps some native custom.

“It looks like our basami, except the colors are different.” The noble woman cooed.

She swore the lady’s warm breath fanned across the bright red and gold of the painted basami on his chiseled arm, so close did she position herself to him.

“Hmm, yes, I noticed it did resemble your own dragon.” Her slim finger traced the outline of the dragon.

Kasha was disgusted. Clearly, it was a ruse to touch his muscular arm.

“Does it hold some significance,” the noble woman continued.

Eric’s pale eyes turned in Kasha’s direction as he answered. “There was a much admired warrior of Earth, now dead, and he was called The Dragon.

He paused as if gauging Kasha’s interest, then continued, “Since I did admire The Dragon so much, and I am known as a fierce fighter, some of my friends nicknamed me ‘Dragon’.” He tapped the tattoo. “I felt it only fitting to wear my nickname’s symbol.”

The women giggled in excitement and those around him had to reach and touch the tattoo for themselves. Kasha felt sick. Did these frivolous creatures forget they sat at a table filled with fearsome warriors?

She calmed down when she realized that tomorrow he would have to prove how great a warrior he was.

* * * *

Did she have any idea what she did to him? Eric enjoyed the lovely ladies of Volarn, but his regard fell throughout the evening to the planet’s most stellar example of womanly beauty. Kasha’s strength of character, coupled with her determination, intrigued him.

The princess seemed very determined to thrust aside his interest in her. Yet, he would hardly term it interest; it went much further than that. Eric casually fielded questions from the noble women as his perusal and thoughts stayed on the object of his regard and lust. Kasha, warrior princess and the most beautiful woman, in his estimation, he’d ever laid eyes on. His future.

He’d never really believed in love at first sight, even though he had within his realm of friends, a married couple who swore this had been the case for them. He’d just never personally experienced anything close to it, thus didn’t really believe.

Now, he was a believer. It was not just his second sight which nudged him with future truths, but his whole being cried out this woman was his. And, it wasn’t just lust either, although that wild creature pushed at him with a ravenous appetite.

He loved Kasha’s demeanor, even when she was trying to be cutting with him, or turned a cold shoulder. He liked the pride he saw shine within her lovely eyes when she spoke of Volarn or her warrior comrades. He admired the love she showed toward her family and friends, and even her testiness about the sad reality of Earth women being abducted as mates for her fellow Volarnians.

There were aspects of her personality he knew would take time to discover, yet felt nothing but a building excitement at the prospect. Call it fate, his “premonitional powers,” or something beyond his own experiences--he knew he loved the proud, lovely woman sitting stalwartly through a dinner she found tedious, but necessary.

He didn’t know what it would take to win her heart, but win it he would. His and her fate had been entwined from the moment their eyes met. Now, he had to prove this to a princess more used to fighting than accepting love.

Tomorrow, he was to meet with Kasha and her patrol group. A challenge if he’d ever heard one, but one which he felt ready to face. If proving his fighting ability and skill would turn her thoughts his way, then he would beat every warrior there if necessary, to gain her attention. Tomorrow was a new day, a new path for him and for Kasha.

There was no turning back for him, no other avenue open. It mattered not to him they came from different planets, or that the reality of where each would live in the future would have to be resolved. Eric knew only one truth. Kasha would be his love, his life mate, as the Volarnians phrased it.