Page 6 of Dragon King’s Bullied Mate

The word popped into his mind suddenly like a possessive command that made no sense. It came from the dragon, weak as it may be. A word of warning or a plea, Mikael couldn’t tell. The warmth pulled away again and he once again felt the chill that was difficult to ignore.

Mikael’s fingers twitched weakly against whatever surface they rested on, the effort small but significant. He tried to hold onto her presence, but the cold crept back in.

“No…” It came out more like another groan than an actual word, but it cost him what little strength he had left to muster.

“Lyra, what’s wrong with him?”

Lyra.

The child’s voice echoed in the chambers of his mind. He knew that name. It was familiar to him but he couldn’t figure out why. The memory remained somewhere just beyond his reach.

“He has several injuries, Beckett. His ribs, his shoulder, and he has a severe frost bite. I don’t know how long he was buried in the snow before we found him.”

“How’d he get there?”

He heard Lyra huff out her breath. “That is a good question, honey. Maybe we can ask him when he wakes up.”

“When will he wake up?”

Even Mikael sensed her patient frustration.

“Why don’t you go watch television for a little while? I think your show is on.”

Through the fog in his head, Mikael heard little footsteps hurrying away. Then the warmth brushed his skin again, firmer this time. His body reacted instantly, and his dragon settled down under the calm presence.

Lyra.

Despite her warmth, darkness pressed in around Mikael like deep water. He fought against it so he could focus on her.

“Mikael?” Her voice was soft and close to his ear.

How did she know his name?

He clawed toward the sound and tried to break the confusion that held him quiet, but nothing happened. He could no longer force his body to move on command, not even to twitch a finger. Panic fluttered but the darkness dulled even that. Sleep was close by, but he fought against it.

“Mikael, I don’t know if you can hear me…” Her voice stayed low and quiet.

He wanted to answer but the words stayed trapped in whatever limbo had swallowed him. A slow, grinding ache lodged somewhere behind his right temple and spread in dull waves through the haze in his head.

“You’ve been badly hurt, and I need to know what happened. Why were you near the mountain? What am I supposed to do?” She let out a sigh and pulled her hand away. “What am I doing? He probably can’t even hear me.”

How had he been hurt? He reached for the memory, and pieces surfaced only to dissolve again.

Cold. Wind biting at his face, and horses. He remembered horses. And a snow cat. Had the cat spooked his horse and thrown him?

He tried to hold onto it, to make sense of it, but the details blurred and slipped away and left him back in the dark.

A frustrated groan built inside him, but it never made it past whatever invisible barrier locked him inside himself.

Lyra was speaking again, her voice low and tight with concentration.

“It doesn’t make sense, but it is what it is,” she muttered and he wasn’t even sure if she was speaking to him or herself. He felt her smooth his hair back. “That’s why the wounds aren’t closing like they should be.” She tapped on something. “I was hoping I was wrong, but I checked everything twice.”

What is she talking about?

“The blysembloom test has always been accurate.”

He had never heard of a blysembloom. What was accurate?