Love is Always Write Anthology Volume 9

what anyone else said. The blood was in him. It always would be. Whatever was missing that he couldn't shift, it didn't make him less dragon. Just less desirable as a mate, which didn't even matter, because with his other abnormalities, he already knew he would never mate anyway. Some dragons didn't, and that was okay.
    He had his studies. He was a student and no longer a stable boy looking after rich people's animals.
    Robert's voice rose and fell on the same cadence as the dragon song outside the room. The difference was, his song was for Alec alone, and it wove a sweet, safe cocoon in which he could nestle. For a little while, the fever and discomfort of blood too hot for the body that housed it couldn't hurt him. He could feel it: the wrongness of being trapped in a body that didn't fit, of feeling the wings he couldn't unfurl and the scales itching just under his skin, but for a little while, magic didn't have to hurt. Not when someone else practiced it, and that someone actually cared about him.
    Alec felt when the song stopped and Robert slid off the bed. He didn't open his eyes or move. If he stayed very still and silent, the cocoon of comfort would last a few hours while Robert went and communed with the rest of his clan. Alec couldn't be a part of that and didn't want to watch. It was best this way, even if he hated being cut off from his kind.
    "I'll be back," the prince promised.
    Alec could already hear the dragon in his voice and feel the heat the change to his body radiated. He was drawn to it, but resisted. The resultant pain wouldn't be worth the momentary euphoria of almost being what he was supposed to be.
    He didn't respond to the touch to his forehead, the wave of heat as Robert leaned close, or the definite chill that took over the room once he was gone.
    ****
    "You shouldn't let him do this."
    The voice that eventually filtered through the haze of Robert's comforting skin-magic was a little nasal, slightly high-pitched, and Alec blinked. The sun had made it to the other side of the university and was on its way down, leaving the room in dim, cool shadow. It took Alec some time to locate the owner of the voice.
    "Kreed." His own voice was harsh and thin. The fever was worse this time, making his skin feel parchment thin and angry.
    "Don't move around." Kreed floated over to the bed and hovered, his hands inches from Alec's bare shoulders. The cool emanating from the half-dragon's fingertips was soothing and Alec abandoned the half-formed idea he'd had of sitting up and attempting to act like less of an invalid.
    Almost half an hour passed while Kreed ghosted his hands up and down over Alec's exposed skin. It did bring comfort, lessening the rage of heat and helping him feel a little less fragile.
    "Better?" Kreed asked at last. Fatigue underlay the words and Alec sighed, guilt flushing his skin with a different kind of heat.
    "Yes, thank you. You didn't have to do that."
    "You were burning up."
    "It'll pass." He glanced out the window, but if there were any dragons out there now, the darkening sky hid them from view. The constant hum of dragon song was faint, for which Alec was grateful. Listening to the ritual he couldn't join in was sometimes more painful than the fever. "It always passes." His fingers tightened into a knot of tension in his lap.
    Kreed wavered in the air and Alec shifted, forced his hands apart and patted the mattress beside him.
    "Sit. Rest."
    A tight smile flashed over Kreed's face, but his wings stilled and he landed a little heavily beside Alec. "Thanks."
    He looked tired and Alec frowned. The worn look was not fresh. Whatever his friend had been doing, it had started before the outlay of magic he'd used to cool Alec's fever.
    "What's going on?" He leaned forward to better see Kreed's face, wishing the half-dragon had lit some lights so he could see him better.
    "Nothing. Just took a bit more than I expected." His fingers fluttered, like he might have lifted his hand, but he didn't. "Your fever's worse this year."
    Alec nodded.
    "You shouldn't spend so much time with Robert. He makes it worse."
    "No, he helps," Alec replied. "Like you do, but...different."
    "Different." Kreed snorted.
    "Don't start, Kreed."
    "I didn't say anything."
    "You didn't have to." Alec turned his face away.
    "Alec—"
    "I don't want to talk about this."
    A thin, tight membrane of silence stretched over the conversation.
    "I'm worried about you." The admission softened Kreed's voice and made Alec