On Wings of Passion (On Wings Saga Prequel)

by M. D. Grimm

  “Asa,” he whispered.

  Bune grunted. “He is great dragon. He will win. I serve four dragons since I was child. Asagoroth is best and strongest. He is fierce when he protects.”

  Bune looked at Roland. Roland glanced at him before looking away, face heating.

  “You both called the dragon Vedra.”

  Bune raised his heavy eyebrows. “His sister.”

  Roland gaped. “His sister?”

  Bune appeared to take in his reaction with a considering frown. “Dragons do not have family. Not like demons. Not like angels. They fight. They do not bond.”

  “He told me. I just….” It wasn’t something he could easily understand. Roland looked back up.

  “Asagoroth is mighty,” Bune said. “And Vedra wants revenge. He killed her eggs before they hatch.”

  The bottom of his stomach dropped out as Roland returned his gaze back to Bune.

  “What?” he croaked, shivering against a sudden chill.

  Bune continued to watch the sky, his tone illustrating his indifference. “Females hide nests well. Many males do not find them. Asagoroth did and destroyed many. Sometimes he finds mothers and kills them too. They are weak from creating nests.”

  Feeling ill, Roland laid his head on Bune’s shoulder and closed his eyes, taking slow, deep breaths.

  Oh Light.

  Oh Light.

  Who had he bound himself to? What had he bound himself to?

  Asagoroth was a monster.

  It was a struggle to stop the tears of horror, and he didn’t fully succeed. Bune said nothing more, only watched the skies. Roland was conflicted, confused, and in pain, both the physical and emotional kind. He thought he’d understood what Asagoroth meant about dragons killing each other, the instinctual need for it. But he only visualized adults fighting a fair fight. He never considered the vulnerable young being targeted.

  And he attacked his sister’s nest? He’d killed his nieces and nephews.

  Roland shook his head. No, if Bune was to be believed, dragons didn’t have those kinds of thoughts, those types of connection.

  But it was still there. Whether they acknowledged it or not, it was still there.

  The sounds and thrums of energy from above abruptly ceased. Then an almighty bellow shook the air. Asagoroth’s roar of triumph. Roland finally looked up, and in the far distance, a colossal something fell from the sky and quickly vanished into the darkness of the Lower Realm.

  Vedra.

  It wasn’t long before Asagoroth dove from the clouds, eyes wide and searching.

  “My lord!” Bune said in Middle Dimoori.

  Roland had lost his voice and could only stare as Asagoroth turned around, the move not as graceful as it usually was. He realized why a moment later, when Asagoroth spotted them and shot forward. One of his wings was mangled, and he listed to one side. Deep-red blood stained the area of the bite, and some of the membrane had been torn. His shoulder and arm on the same side were equally bitten and bloody, showing starkly against the usually flawless black scales.

  “Roland.” Asagoroth hovered before them, giving no indication the wounds bothered him. But the roughness of his voice and jerky movements proved otherwise.

  Roland still couldn’t speak. What horrified him more? Asagoroth’s wounds, or his merciless actions against his own kind?

  Did he flee? Did he continue with their plan? What did he have if he left Asagoroth? The angels would never accept him back. He was certain that even if Anpiel didn’t tell anyone, the others would. She might claim that he died, but Sabrael and Bethor would certainly scream to the cosmos that he had betrayed them all. But to remain with Asagoroth? Knowing what he’d done, who he truly was?

  “Mate?”

  Roland snapped his eyes up and met Asagoroth’s worried gaze. His heart pounded against his ribs.

  “I’m well,” he whispered. He turned to Bune. “Thank you.” Then he lightly kissed his cheek. A menacing growl bubbled up from Asagoroth, and Bune flinched and hunched his shoulders.

  Roland turned to glare. “Stop that. He saved me. Be grateful.”

  Asagoroth glared in return, but the growls stopped. Roland took a deep breath and pushed away from Bune even as he shimmered his wings substantial. Bune let go, and Roland made his shaky way to Asagoroth. A soft purr emanated from Asagoroth as soon as his feet touched down on his scaly head.

  “Thank you,” Asagoroth said with high dignity to Bune.

  Bune bowed his head. “My lord.”

  Asagoroth lifted the arm that wasn’t wounded and, with a massive claw, sliced at one of the scales on his wounded side, tearing it free, exposing more blue skin. Then he held out the scale to Bune.

  “May honor follow you all your days,” he said.

  Bune’s eyes were as wide as two moons as he took the scale in both hands. It was bigger than his head, the glossy black marred by a streak of drying blood. He visibly shook as he bowed his head again, his breath hitching in his chest.

  “I am undeserving,” he whispered roughly.

  “That is for me to decide.”

  Roland sensed these words were part of the honor ceremony. Bune straightened and pressed the scale to his chest. He glanced at Roland, then nodded to Asagoroth. After a regal nod, Asagoroth turned and flew away, continuing in the direction they were headed before the attack. Roland looked over his shoulder to see Bune staring at the scale as if it were the most precious treasure he’d ever received. Tears glistened in his bright eyes, an amazed smile on his face.

  It was a symbol. A token from his master. Just as the high chancellor often gave medals to angels who showed remarkable service, Asagoroth had just given his own reward to one he thought worthy. Now Bune could return home in high honor.

  A short time passed before Roland could speak again, using Middle Enochian. “You need to rest. You’re still bleeding.”

  “I will rest as soon as we arrive.”

  Roland grunted, not able to argue. There was nowhere to land, anyway. “Bune said that was your sister.”

  Asagoroth said nothing.

  “He said she came after you for revenge.”

  Still nothing.

  He fisted his hands and drummed them on Asagoroth’s head. “How could you do it? How could you kill those eggs? The mothers? Your own sister? How could you—?” He clenched his jaw tightly and laid his forehead against the smooth scales. He whispered, “What are you?”

  Asagoroth was silent for so long Roland wondered if he would ever speak.

  “I am dragon.”

  Roland pounded a fist on Asagoroth’s head again. Right, of course. That was always his answer.

  “Just tell me, please, that you didn’t enjoy it.”

  “It was for survival, Roland. I do not understand why you are angry with me. It was a practical solution. The young would grow up and try to kill me. I prevented them from doing so.”

  “Maybe if you taught them not to, they wouldn’t. Did any of you think about that?”

  Another moment of silence.

  “It is not taught to us,” Asagoroth said in a low voice Roland felt as well as heard. “The One Who Brought the Light infused it into our blood and bones. We are to kill or be killed. Our mothers protect the nest until we hatch. Then as we hatch, she leaves, her last time at protecting us. If she stayed, she would kill us herself. I killed two of my siblings when I was barely a day old. Five others escaped, and we separated. I mate when the season arrives and have killed many other bucks when they tried to claim a female I wanted.”

  Roland listened, his eyes closed, and there was no mistaking the growls that began to color Asagoroth’s words.

  “There will only be one dragon to survive,” Asagoroth said. “I knew this even before I took my first breath of fresh air. For the cosmos to continue, there can only be one of us. That is why we do not use our powers on each other. We would destroy our home. We would destroy everything.”

  “And for what?” Roland whispered bitterly. �
��Immortality? Is it really worth all the slaughter?”

  Asagoroth sighed heavily. “Listen carefully, Roland. The cosmos can only maintain the life of one dragon. It was never meant for all of us. I used to fight for survival because it is what dragons do. Now I fight to stay with you.”

  Chapter Nine

  Roland had a lot to think about as they arrived at their destination. He lay on his back on Asagoroth’s head, gazing at the stars. It wasn’t out of malice or hatred that Asagoroth had killed but out of survival, an instinctual urge. It was coldly practical. Did that make it better or worse? Well, at least he wasn’t a rampaging monster. He had his reasons, however troubling they were. Perhaps Roland would never understand. He was, after all, not a dragon.

  Only a dragon can kill a dragon.

  Immortality.

  Not just an extended life, but the inability to die.

  Angels weren’t immortal in any sense of the word. They could be killed, or they would die of old age. If Asagoroth was the only dragon left standing… he would be alone once Roland died.

  His heart contracted, and he rolled onto his side to stroke the smooth scales. What would Asagoroth do once Roland faded away? On the heels of that question came another thought: Have I decided to stay with him?

  Roland supposed he had.

  After the initial shock and horror of realizing what Asagoroth was capable of came the greater realization that the answer “I am dragon” really did explain it all. He also appreciated Asagoroth’s willingness to talk to him, to explain his motivations and the whys of things. He would never like it, and he would never accept the actions, but he could accept their differences. It was what drew him to Asagoroth in the first place, wasn’t it? Their differences.

  Roland laid a kiss on one of the scales, and a soft purr met his ears.

  The temple came into view, and Roland sat up. It certainly needed to be spruced up and painted, and excitement shot through him at the idea of painting murals on every square inch of wall. Asagoroth flew confidently toward the temple before diving through an enormous hole in the roof. He landed roughly, staggering to one side. Roland launched off his head at once and fluttered to the ground.

  “Now will you rest? You can barely stand.”

  Asagoroth grunted and lumbered through a wide chamber, one big enough to hold his girth but not his outstretched wings. He folded them to his back, and Roland had to fly to keep up with his long strides. They passed through half a dozen large chambers with tall walls and spiraling columns. Ideas crowded Roland’s mind even as he gazed with concern at Asagoroth’s limp. Asagoroth led them into another large chamber, where a modest heap of gold and jewels sat. Roland raised his brow as over fifty demons appeared, carrying boxes full of more precious metals to deposit. They dumped their treasures and left, making room for fifty more demons. Then fifty more demons arrived, and again and again in a practiced cycle, the pile steadily growing.

  Roland eyed Asagoroth and didn’t like how deeply or rapidly he was breathing. The way he leaned against the wall was also troubling. The demons were moving quickly, but still not fast enough.

  One demon broke free of the horde and fluttered close to Roland. She ducked her head, pale-white hair contrasting starkly with her black skin, and held out a folded blanket. He recognized it as silk, something he didn’t know demons possessed. He took it with a thank-you and slid his hands over the soft material. She backed away and grabbed her box before returning to the Lower Realm for more.

  Roland turned to Asagoroth, who watched him steadily.

  “Demons often raid angelic towns, as you know,” he said. “I had them bring up a few items for your use. The cold gems will not be as comfortable for you as they are for me.”

  Roland pressed the blanket to his chest. “Thank you.”

  “You are always welcome, my love.”

  Roland stepped closer and stroked a hand down an undamaged portion of Asagoroth’s leg. He purred in encouragement. Roland didn’t speak another word until the demons finally fulfilled their task and left. Soon the chamber had a mountain of treasure, and there was no demon in sight.

  “With all those demons coming here, do you think another dragon will notice?”

  Asagoroth grunted and shook his head. “Very few dragons journey this far toward nothingness, and this temple still smells of angel. Most do not abide the smell of angel.”

  Roland eyed him as Asagoroth climbed the large pile of glittering gems. Then he lay down with a huff and curled his tail around his body. He finally turned to his wounds and licked them carefully, cleaning the blood.

  Roland landed nearby, wincing at the damage. “Yet you enjoy the smell of angels?”

  Asagoroth eyed him and paused his licking. “I enjoy your smell.”

  Roland blushed and rolled his eyes but couldn’t stop the smile. “You really are an odd dragon.”

  Asagoroth chuckled. Roland winced again as more of the damage became visible now that the blood was no longer covering the deep bite marks. A few scales had been ripped away, leaving ugly, oozing patches of blue skin. He found it interesting that even though the skin under the scales was blue, when Asagoroth moved, bright flames still appeared between them like he was nothing but an inferno covered with a rocky exterior. Heat still pumped off him in waves, but Roland realized he’d grown used to the heat and no longer thought it strange or uncomfortable. In fact, standing only a short distance away had a chill running through him. He hugged the blanket to his chest and looked up at the sky through a large crack in the ceiling.

  The Outer Borders was where no stars lived, only gassy clouds and cold. They were as far from the formed parts of the realms as it was possible to be.

  Asagoroth snapped his scales up, away from his body as he did when the demons cleaned him. He seemed to struggle to clean underneath them, and a number of scales were damaged and should be removed so new ones could grow. Roland walked over, the gold shifting under his feet, and set the blanket down before climbing up the undamaged parts of Asagoroth’s leg.

  “Let me help.”

  Asagoroth drew his head away, gaze intent on him. Roland wanted to wipe away the blood but didn’t have a cloth, and he wasn’t using his one blanket. He thought a moment before looking down at himself. With a sigh and shrug, he shimmered his wings intangible and removed his blue supply bag and dropped it to the pile of gold. Then he pulled off his abused robe, figuring it had just enough life in it to be useful for this task. He’d have to see if Asagoroth could get the demons to steal some angelic robes or something. He used the saliva already coating the outside of the scales to dampen the silky material and swipe away the blood.

  Asagoroth let out an appreciative rumble, and Roland smiled.

  “Now’s not the time, dragon.”

  Asagoroth purred and pressed his face against Roland’s back, rubbing particularly against his ass. The move caused Roland to nearly impale himself on the sharp scales that stood out straight.

  “Stop that,” he said and pushed against Asagoroth’s head. Might as well have pushed a mountain to see if it would move. Yet Asagoroth got the idea and turned away with a sigh.

  Roland cleaned methodically and had to tear loose a few damaged scales after asking permission. It sickened him but he noticed that Asagoroth appeared relieved once everything was cleaned. While Roland worked on the scales, Asagoroth focused on his wing.

  It took time, and Roland’s stomach was growling harshly by the time he plopped down on Asagoroth’s leg, finished with his task. He grabbed his bag, thankful he’d put some food in it before they left the others. He munched thoughtfully, finding it rather freeing to be naked so casually in the presence of another. He’d have to have some clothes, however, just in case some demons decided to pop in. He looked at the robe in his hand, and even if he managed to find water to clean it, he doubted he’d put it on again. It was done for.

  He felt Asagoroth’s hot breath on his back right before the damn dragon licked him from ass to head with
his large, slick tongue, even catching some of his hair. Roland yelped and leapt to his feet, dancing away in shock and nearly tripping on the shifting gold.

  He spun around and glared. Asagoroth’s eyes danced brightly in amusement.

  “What was that?” he demanded, swiping at his back, cringing at the viscous fluid.

  “I enjoy your taste even more than I enjoy your smell.”

  Even as his cock perked at those words, Roland scowled. “You need to learn some manners, dragon. I am not a damn chew toy.”

  Asagoroth chuckled. Without warning, he lashed out his tongue again and caught Roland from the tops of his feet, all the way up to his neck. His cock thickened from that sensation even as Roland stumbled away again.

  He gaped in shock, dripping with saliva. “By the Light, so gross! This is so gross, dragon.”

  Asagoroth barked what could only be a laugh, and the tip of his tail thumped against the gold and gems, sending many sliding to the stone floor.

  “You enjoyed my tongue the other night.”

  Roland grabbed a handful of coins and threw them at Asagoroth. They bounced harmlessly off his nose, and Asagoroth tilted his head to the side, looking amused and puzzled. Despite the silliness of the move, Roland felt better. In fact, he felt great despite the saliva bath. Asagoroth was playing with him. They would be all right.

  “That was when your tongue was smaller,” Roland said, swiping uselessly at his arms. “And not bigger than my entire body!”

  Asagoroth straightened and closed his eyes. Air shimmered and thunder cracked, and then, once again, knelt a dark figure. Roland strode to him as Asagoroth stood, and he threw his arms around that thick neck and broad shoulders. Asagoroth wrapped his arms around Roland’s waist and grimaced. Roland snatched his hand away from where it brushed against his wounds. He looked at the tears in the dark skin, the blue showing. It looked so ugly and painful.

  “Oh, Asa,” he whispered and lightly touched the hot flesh.

  Asagoroth pressed his forehead against Roland’s temple and rubbed. “I will be well. I will heal.”