Page 2 of The Ranger

“No, about me.”

Melvale shrugged. “Not exactly. But she did have a few things to say about the journey and a fewmorethings about whether you’re ready for this, then went on to sayeven more thingsabout whether you’ll survive...”

Markhel stared down the long corridor. “She fears for my life and the life of the maiden?”

“You mean Maida?” He stopped and faced him. “Really, Markhel, you might as well get used to calling her by her given name.” He leaned toward him. “Go on. Say it. Maida Comfort.” He crossed his arms. “Maida Comfort is my future mate, and I am going to fetch her.”

He frowned at him.

Melvale rolled his eyes. “You’re so uncooperative.”

Markhel watched his brother turn on his heel and start off again. “Maida,” he whispered. He’d not said it yet. It was easier to refer to her as a maiden. A beautiful, sable-haired, blue-eyed maiden of eighteen years of age who had, through some miracle, called to his heart one day, long before the age of joining. It was a rarity, according to Sita Mihn, and had only happened a handful of times as far as anyone knew. Rarer still, was the fact she was human. As far as any Muiraran knew, human females could not call. This meant the bond would be special. That is, so long as it didn’t kill them first.

Markhel blew out a breath and continued to follow Melvale down the long corridor.

When they reached Sita’s sitting room, she was playing a game with the young Noghard princess, Monah. She was a white furred creature no more than four feet tall when standing upright. Except for the fur, she looked every bit what the humans called a dragon, with beautiful gray eyes with purple pupils and long dark lashes. Her fur was not as long as some Sarian, but just as soft. The claws on her hands and feet were black, and her build suggested she could either walk on all fours or stand as she was doing now, one hand poised above the game board. A red velvet wing chair was behind her, and Monah’s stance over the board suggested this was a very important move.

Markhel sighed as he watched the beast move a game piece. The Noghard race didn’t have to go through what his race did to get a mate. They got to choose. A good thing too. He could only imagine the damage a pair of Noghard adults could do to property and innocent bystanders if they had to bond and join the way Muirarans did. A single pair would probably turn an entire city to ash.

“Markhel,” Sita said and motioned to a few empty chairs. “Have a seat. Monah and I are almost done with our game.”

Markhel took the nearest chair while Melvale remained standing. Monah’s big gray eyes flashed as she moved another piece. She then sat, a smile on her face. Her fangs gleamed in the light of the Tiffany lamp on the other side of the table.

“Hmmm, that’s four times you’ve made that move.” Sita grinned. “Silly child.” She made a move that wiped out four of Monah’s pieces.

The little Noghard snorted a puff of white smoke. “Noooo!” She jumped off the chair. “No, no, no, no!”

“A tantrum isn’t going to change the fact that you lost,” Sita said. “I won fair and square.”

Monah stopped her tirade and snorted again. “Hmphf!”

Sita laughed as her mate, Angus MacNab, entered the room. “Lost again, have ye?” he asked in his Scottish brogue. He nodded to Markhel, then took one look at Melvale and moaned. “What do ye wants, ye pointy-eared dandy?”

Melvale made a show of yawning. “If you must know, I’ve brought my brother to speak to Sita. Now let’s be off while she educates him on the finer points of winning a mate, shall we?”

Angus took one look at Markhel, then laughed. “Weel, I suppose she’d be better at it than you!”

“Of course,” Melvale huffed. “Do you see me with a mate?”

Angus quickly sobered. “Nay. But when ye do gets one, dinna be bothering me about it!” He grabbed Melvale by the sleeve of his robe and pulled him toward the nearest door, griping in Gaelic as he went.

Markhel watched them leave then heaved a sigh. “Your husband is well, I take it?”

“Angus?” Sita said. “Of course, he is. He gets stronger every day. Sometimes I even think he looks younger. Joining with me suits him.”

“Joining with you has kept you alive, wise one,” he reminded her.

She gave him a single nod. If not for the gruff old Scotsman, Sita may have died months ago due to an even more interesting situation than his. Who better to guide him through this?

“Now, let’s get started, yes, yes,” Sita said. She shuffled some papers near the game board. When she had them in order, she looked him in the eyes. “Maida Comfort, age eighteen, height five foot seven with a slight build and sable-brown hair. Oh, and blue eyes. A beauty I’m told.”

He looked at the decorative carpet. “I would not know. When I last saw her, she was a child.”

“Hmmm, yes.” Sita looked through the papers some more. “She is smart, witty, but spends a lot of time alone.”

“Who is watching over her?”

“Simon Kells and Geran. Any objections?”

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