On Wings of Passion (On Wings Saga Prequel)

by M. D. Grimm

  Asagoroth huffed, and warm air fluttered over Roland. He staggered back a step at the force.

  “I am dragon.”

  “Humor me.”

  Asagoroth stretched out his neck, and his snout almost touched Roland’s stomach. “Why are you asking these things?”

  Roland swallowed hard. “I want to understand you. To be perfectly honest, I find you fascinating. And I have to wonder if there’s more to you than a conqueror, than a lord of demons.” Feeling abruptly vulnerable and unable to hold Asagoroth’s gaze any longer, he bowed his head. “I apologize if I have offended you.”

  Asagoroth lifted his snout and, with astonishing gentleness, touched it to Roland’s chin, forcing him to raise his head. His eyes were burning with an even brighter light, which made Roland squint.

  “I am not offended.” He stood, hunching to avoid the stalactites. “I enjoy your intelligence. And your voice.”

  Realizing he was gaping again, Roland snapped his mouth shut, his blush heating his face. “I—thanks? I—I enjoy talking with you as well.”

  Asagoroth bobbed his head before he tapped seven demons with the tip of his tail, waking them.

  “Come.” Then he was gone, striding away, the demons close behind. Though, strangely, he didn’t head out of the cave but turned in the other direction, moving deeper underground.

  Roland stood there for a good amount of time, dumbfounded he’d had a legitimate conversation with Asagoroth without feeling like he’d piss his robe. When he continued to just stand there, the three remaining demons looked at him funny. He finally got ahold of himself and returned to his corner, near Anpiel. He scooted closer and touched her back, needing physical contact to center himself.

  He stared at his trembling hand for a moment before realizing he was scared. It wasn’t the same fear as before. Not fear of being tortured or eaten. No, this had morphed into something he couldn’t quite wrap his mind around. What had begun as fascination and awe over a piece of living art was now something more solid and grounded. Asagoroth wasn’t perfect. He was flawed. Arrogance and a blind sense of mission drove him, and he didn’t even seem to know why he was doing what he was doing.

  He didn’t want to do it.

  Did he feel like he had to do it?

  I am dragon.

  What did that mean to him?

  Roland closed his eyes, puzzling out what he knew of dragons, which was fairly little. Even what Gabryl told him not too long ago were broad sweeps of facts, not minute details. Then there was what he’d gleaned from Asagoroth himself. He was missing pieces of this particular puzzle and because of his whirling mind, he couldn’t sleep.

  With a sigh, he sat up, his bladder speaking to him again. He glanced at the demons to find them all sleeping again. Since they were spread out at the mouth of the tunnel that led to freedom, they must figure sleeping was safe. Besides, Asagoroth was still somewhere in the cave.

  Roland frowned. Where did he go with most of his demon guards? And why not leave? Shaking his head, Roland carefully stood and shuffled out of the main cave and through a short passageway—the same one a demon earlier led him through for this same purpose. He didn’t want to become lost but a little privacy wasn’t much to ask for.

  Smell led him to the small chamber, and he was about to enter when sounds faintly echoed down the corridor to him. Curiosity got the better of him, and after he relieved himself, he kept a firm hand on the wall to his left and followed the noises. The closer he got, the more the sounds became familiar. His face heated as he recognized moans of pleasure.

  Unable to stop himself, Roland peeked around the corner into a larger chamber and though the dark didn’t give him many details, he could just make out bodies writhing in ecstasy. He thought he counted eight and that confused him. Asagoroth only brought seven with him and where was he? One of the demons stood, and he appeared taller and broader than the rest. Roland squinted, not recognizing his silhouette. After sketching more than half of the demons, he was familiar enough with their forms to know this demon was a stranger.

  Then the demon opened his eyes and bright blue light flared in the darkness. Roland slapped a hand over his mouth to muffle his gasp. There was no mistaking that fiery gaze.

  Asagoroth?

  As one of the other demons pleasured him with his mouth, Asagoroth leaned his head back and gazed at the ceiling, the bright light of his gaze growing hotter.

  How was this possible? Could dragons morph their shape? If so, it was a secret well kept. Fascinated, Roland continued to watch, entranced and growing hotter by the moment. When his body stirred in response to the moans and Asagoroth’s obvious pleasure, he knew he had to leave. He didn’t want to contemplate what would happen to him if Asagoroth caught him staring.

  With immense difficulty, Roland pushed away from the scandalous scene and made his shaky way back to the main cavern. The image would forever be seared into his mind. Too bad he didn’t get a clear view of what transpired. It was only Asagoroth’s eyes that he could see with any clarity, and they barely illuminated what appeared to be a strong, sharply structured face of graceful masculinity. Roland’s imagination filled in the rest, and it would be a stretch to assume Asagoroth’s demonic body was any less imposing than his draconic form.

  Roland stumbled into the main chamber and hurried to the other angels. He huddled near his sister and pressed his back to hers. He doubted he would sleep but closed his eyes anyway, wishing he didn’t find the idea that Asagoroth could morph into a demon so intriguing.

  Somehow he did fall asleep because heavy footsteps woke him up. Apparently Asagoroth had left sometime during his slumber because the sounds were coming from the passageway that led outside.

  Roland couldn’t ignore the way his heart leapt in excitement at the sound. The image of Asagoroth as a demon whirled in his mind, and he burned to know the full extent of his beauty in that form. He grimaced and sat up, pressing his legs together. Nothing his sister or his own conscience said could dissuade him from yearning to learn more, to know every single thing about Asagoroth.

  Asagoroth appeared, carrying a limp angel. Roland’s breath caught, and the other angels stilled. The new angel hung from Asagoroth’s teeth by his robe, his golden wings sagging to the sides, his white hair long and falling over his face. Asagoroth padded over to them, and laid the angel down with great gentleness. While the other angels leaned away, Roland sat still, focus locked on Asagoroth.

  Then he looked over at the new hostage and winced at the charred feathers on one of his wings. Asagoroth grunted, and when Roland looked up, that blue gaze was regarding him intensely. Looking into his eyes once more also banished any doubts that Roland had about the identity of the eighth demon in the orgy. Dragons, or at least Asagoroth, could morph their shape.

  “He resisted,” Asagoroth said, voice soft, yet still deep and resonating. “We had to subdue him. The few feathers will be replaced in a short time, will they not?”

  Roland nodded silently.

  Asagoroth considered him for a moment before he turned away. Roland clenched his robe around his drawn-up knees to prevent himself from touching that enormous tail. Were his scales smooth? Rough? The tail’s tip was harmlessly round, yet thicker than Roland’s thigh. The scales were tiny at the tip and grew larger as they progressed over Asagoroth’s massive rear, thighs, and back.

  Did he have scales in his other form? Or was his skin smooth like his demon soldiers? Did he have horns and wings? The possibilities were endless.

  Roland swallowed hard, his throat dry.

  Instead of leaving, Asagoroth walked to the demons and spoke quietly to them. They all stood and surrounded him, waiting for something. Before Roland could even hazard a guess, every single scale on Asagoroth’s body popped up, standing straight out. Blue skin was exposed, dark and shimmery. The color reminded Roland of sapphires, just as his glistening scales reminded him of onyx. Roland leaned forward in delight. The move resembled what birds did when they preened thei
r feathers. The fact that he needed help also made him more similar to angels than many would like to admit—angels needed help to efficiently clean their feathers, especially after long journeys or getting caught in a storm.

  The demons stepped forward and began cleaning his skin and scales diligently. The touches were loving and reverent. It felt like an intimate moment, more so than the orgy, strangely enough. Roland blushed, but like before, he couldn’t look away. Asagoroth closed his eyes, and a contented sound emerged, a light purring. Roland smiled and rested his chin on his arms, still wrapped around his knees.

  He wanted to be the one to clean Asagoroth and cause him to make that sound. Wasn’t that foolish? And dangerous.

  “Disgusting,” Sabrael said, grumbling. “The way they fawn over him. Demons are repulsive.”

  Roland clenched his jaw and stayed silent. He kept his attention on Asagoroth and the demons, enjoying the sight.

  The new angel groaned and moved. Anpiel and Sabrael crawled over and helped him sit up. With another groan, he shimmered his wings intangible and pushed his hair from his face. Roland glanced over and raised his brow. He was certainly a tall, stately picture of masculinity. His face was finely shaped, nose sharp, and brows heavy over intelligent green eyes. He was certainly someone Roland would have given a second look to mere days ago. He might have even pursued a conversation and more, if he’d been willing.

  But that was before…. Roland glanced at Asagoroth. Even the new angel’s dreamy good looks didn’t compare with the dark seduction of the creature before him.

  His sister was right. There was something really wrong with him. He had a sudden image of pressing against that solid, demonic form and having muscled arms wrap around him. He could easily use his imagination to visualize a powerful, stately demon with dark skin and horns and impressive wings. He wanted to know if Asagoroth’s demonic form was as hot as his draconic one more than he wanted to run his hands over the soft, sensitive skin of an angel, even one as classically beautiful as the new hostage.

  Roland buried his face in his arms and barely held back a groan.

  “What is your name?” Anpiel asked the angel.

  “Bethor,” he said, rubbing his head with a wince. “Heir of Nahim.”

  There were four main angelic cities in the Upper Realm and hundreds of smaller townships. Asagoroth had managed to collect the heirs to the four cities. Even if he stopped there, the angels would have no choice but to concede to his demands. Their entire world would fall to chaos without heirs to the four seats of power.

  No wonder he looked so pleased, allowing himself to let his guard down, to be pampered. How in the Light Bringer’s name had he found them all so quickly? A spell? Had to be.

  The angels introduced themselves and spoke in hushed tones, Roland only half listening. They explained to Bethor about their suspicious about Asagoroth’s plans, and he narrowed his eyes, his gaze hot.

  Knuckles popped when he curled his hands into fists. “Over my dead body.”

  Roland cut his eyes to Bethor, worry churning his gut.

  Bethor met his gaze and frowned. “Who is this?”

  “My brother, Roland.”

  “Is he an heir?”

  “No.”

  “Why is he here?”

  As Anpiel explained how they’d been captured, which prompted Zarall and Sabrael to divulge their own harrowing tales, Roland’s thoughts turned inward.

  Why was he here?

  And why hadn’t he thought harder on it before?

  He stared at Asagoroth and couldn’t understand his purpose in the dragon’s plan. He wasn’t an heir or even important in any real sense. There were artists better than him and others with more powerful patrons who could wield influence and change events. He wasn’t one of those since he desired art for art’s sake, not for the power it could bring him.

  Why hadn’t Asagoroth let him die in that suffocating darkness after he hurt him? After propelling his entire body into Asagoroth’s eye, he was certain of his imminent death. And yet… Asagoroth had saved him. And had even teased him. Was kind and amazingly gentle.

  What was going on?

  As if hearing his thoughts or feeling the intensity of his gaze, Asagoroth opened his eyes and gave Roland a dark look. A shiver raced down Roland’s spine, and he froze, eyes wide. Asagoroth inclined his head, still purring. Roland forced himself to relax and even managed to offer a small smile in return.

  Their strange moment was broken by a sudden piercing sound that reminded Roland of an angelic war trumpet. But it wasn’t of angelic make. No, it was far deeper, louder, and the malicious intent in the single long-winded note made his skin crawl. A sinister hissing filled the cavern, and Roland blinked at Asagoroth. He’d snapped his scales down, and he moved his gaze to the ceiling as if he could see through the stone and look at the source of the noise. His eyes glowed hotly, shining with rage.

  Something clicked in Roland’s mind.

  Dragon.

  It was another dragon.

  The piercing, resonant note sounded again, and the demons jumped and scattered when Asagoroth hissed once more and shot out of the cavern, running down the narrow passageway. Everyone froze for a single heartbeat, then scrambled after him, demons and angels alike. Roland followed close to one of the demons, the spiky-haired tattooed demon, the one he’d first drawn. He didn’t want to get lost in the zigzagging tunnels that branched off in every direction.

  Anpiel gripped his robe and he knew the angels had formed a chain with him at the lead. They turned a corner, and light appeared. It nearly blinded him since his eyes had long been accustomed to near darkness.

  They all emerged on a large shelf that looked over a seemingly endless expanse of forest. The trees were enormous, but not tall enough to reach where they stood. He quickly realized they were on a gigantic mountain, and one of the worlds of the Middle Realm spread out on all sides, the sun shone with a golden light instead of the harsh red of the Upper Realms. The softer light brought out the colors vivid and bright. Roland soaked it in, momentarily dazzled by the simple, flawed artistry of it all.

  Then a trumpet of challenge shook the air and caught his attention. He looked up and gasped. Asagoroth charged straight toward another dragon. The newcomer was a dark bronze with horns covering its entire body, almost as numerous as its scales. The tail was razor tipped, as were the joints of the massive wings. The new dragon was bigger, bulkier, and certainly scarier than Asagoroth. One of the eyes was milky white, a scar running through it. But the other eye…. It was blood red.

  Roland covered his mouth with his hands, terrified he would see Asagoroth be killed and torn apart. He vaguely felt a demon clasp his arm, fingers digging in and bruising him. He didn’t care. His entire focus was on the battle above them.

  The two titans met in a clash that shook the air, and everyone stumbled as the mountain trembled and groaned. A scream locked in Roland’s throat as Asagoroth darted away from the bronze dragon, barely missing having his thigh ripped open by massive red claws. Asagoroth roared, eyes bright as two stars, teeth gleaming white in the setting sun’s light. The bronze dragon answered the call and chased after him, pursuing him higher into the sky.

  “Why doesn’t he use his power or whatever it is?” Roland said to no one in particular.

  “That is not honorable.”

  Roland flicked a glance at the demon that held him, the spiky tattooed one. One of the first to smile at him. His sharp gaze was also on the dueling dragons.

  “What do you mean?” Another impact shook the air, and he grimaced, trying to keep his footing.

  “When dragons fight, they do not harness elements.” The demon spoke carefully in Low Enochian, his thick accent coloring every word. “They fight with teeth and claws and tails. They either win with their bodies, or they die.” The demon glanced his way. “If they used their powers against each other, they would destroy the realms. That is not victory.”

  Roland gulped.

&nbs
p; The demon’s expression was strained as he watched the titans battle. “Kurthog will not be easily defeated.”

  “You know him?”

  “We know all dragons.”

  Kurthog whipped his tail around and caught Asagoroth full in the face, cutting a deep groove across his snout. His roar was more of a scream of pain, and he swiftly dodged the next blow. Asagoroth slipped around Kurthog and clipped one of his wings, shredding the delicate membrane between the joints. With a vicious snarl, Kurthog opened his mouth wide and sank his teeth into Asagoroth’s back leg. A deranged hiss issued from Asagoroth as he turned sharply and sliced his own teeth across Kurthog’s snout.

  Kurthog released him and Asagoroth darted away again, but not fast enough this time. Kurthog caught hold of his tail between his teeth, and with a howl of pure rage and pain, Asagoroth lowered his body and raked his claws over Kurthog’s already-damaged eye. Kurthog growled and only seemed to bite down harder. Asagoroth turned sharply and collided with Kurthog, throwing his entire weight on his opponent’s back, disrupting his ability to fly. They plummeted from the sky, Kurthog unwilling to release him and Asagoroth not letting up.

  It was only then that Roland absently noticed something—the yellow sunlight merged with Asagoroth’s inner flames to cause rainbows of color to shimmered across his scales. While still onyx, the scales now flashed with blues and greens, reds and yellows and everything in between. It was a fierce contrast of beauty in the midst of horror.

  Roland realized he was screaming—and he wasn’t the only one—as the titans crashed down on the mountaintop above the shelf where the spectators stood. Boulders and bits of stone and rock flew through the air, deadly missiles smashing anything in their path. Several demons took to the sky while the ones holding the angels shoved everyone against the mountain, using it to hide.

  The battle was still being waged if those gut-twisting and stone-grinding sounds were any indication. The dragons were rolling around on top of the mountain, steadily smashing the majestic peak to rubble. Mad with the need to know who was winning, Roland struggled to climb from his hiding place. The demon still holding him tried to yank him back but Roland managed to break his grip.