by Ruby Dixon
I study the comb for a moment. It has been a long time since I have seen such a thing. I have vague memories of this…from before. From my home. A flash of knowledge dances through my mind, and with it, a vision of other females, lingering around a bath and waiting to groom me, their giggles filling the air. I remember their beauty, and I remember how it pleased me that they wanted to wait on me.
Somehow that seems pale compared to the female at my side. The one with the bad leg and the delicate body and eyes that look so dark and deep that I want to lose myself in them. I grunt agreement when she gestures at my hair again, and remain still as she begins to gently comb through my hair.
She can do anything she likes to me, so long as it builds her trust in me.
AMY
I'll give Sam one thing—he's very patient when he wants to be.
It takes hours to brush through his thick, tangled hair. Hours and hours of gently working through knots, wincing each time I pull too hard and expecting him to lose his control and rage away. But he remains quiet and utterly still, and even when I work a particularly bad tangle, he says nothing and does not indicate if it hurts.
By the time I'm done, though, his nearly dry hair is the most gorgeous waterfall of liquid gold I've ever seen. It shimmers in the low light of sunset and looks like a molten river against his golden-bronze scales. I'm envious of such loveliness on a guy, and I can't resist petting it. “You're beautiful.”
He makes one of the noises I now know is pleasure and moves closer to me. I'm at the edge of the bed, with him at my feet, and I'm a little surprised when he puts his arms around my knees and puts his head in my lap. It reminds me just how much bigger he is than I am, and how warm he is. How kind he can be to me. I ignore the fact that he returned to me covered in someone else's blood and stroke his hair back from his horns and face. I think he's addicted to touches.
That works for me, since I'm addicted to touching him, too.
We remain like this for a long time, until my leg is aching and cramped from not moving and my stomach growls because I've missed meals today. It seemed more important to get him settled and back to himself than to eat, though I'm regretting it now. I keep stroking his hair, because he's calm and not snarling and black-eyed with anger.
“And now we have a new window and a breeze,” I murmur, trying to make the best of things. “So I guess in a way it works out.”
He lifts his head, and his eyes are tinged with black but are mostly gold. That's good. He reaches out to my now-dry T-shirt and touches my stomach. I know he's asking if I'm hungry, but I'm suddenly remembering that his head was between my thighs earlier. I think of the look of utter bliss he wore as he rubbed his entire face against my pussy. Oh god. I'm never going to forget that moment. “We can see if there are things to eat here,” I say loudly, flustered that I'm thinking about that kind of thing instead of eating. “I think there was a minibar that we didn't check two rooms over, remember?”
I get to my feet and my bad leg cramps up, making me stumble. It happens all the time, which is why I can't travel very far on my own. Sam is immediately there, though, and he lifts me into his arms, not like he usually does, settling me on his hip. This time he's got me like I'm a princess in a fairy tale, cradled against his chest. It makes my silly, romantic heart flutter.
He waits, and it's clear he's letting me steer. For some reason, I feel really grateful for that. Like we're a team instead of me being useless and flopping around like the invalid I am. I don't feel like I'm an inconvenience to him, and it's a rare pleasure. I point at the hallway, and off we go.
We find the other room and head for the minibar. This room (like mine) has a small kitchen in it, and a refrigerator. I found a couple of bottles of wine in my room, but they smelled like vinegar and I didn't want to try it. I'm hoping this place has something to eat, even if it's just bags of stale pretzels. I poke at the main fridge and don't find anything there, but there's a second fridge in the bedroom, and when I open it, my butt thumps to the ground in surprise.
This fridge is chock full of snacks.
Nothing healthy, of course. Nothing naturally made would last this long. But there's an entire row of half-melted candy bars, chocolate-covered candies, wafers, cookies, potato chips, and two rows of bottled water and sodas. I pull out a chocolate bar, fascinated. I'm drooling, it's been so long since I've had chocolate. “Oh wow,” I whisper, caressing the wrapper. Despite it being a little soft, it looks as if it's still held its shape.
Sam reaches past me and picks one up, sniffing the wrapper.
“This is some really good stuff, Sam. Wait and see.” I flip over the bar and carefully open the wrapper, running my finger along the seal until it falls open. I peel it back and sure enough, the gourmet chocolate has still held its shape. I break off a tiny square and, even though I'm beyond excitement at the thought of chocolate, I offer it to Sam.
He pushes my hand back toward me, indicating I should eat.
“You first. It's okay. I promise I'm going to eat some.” When he still refuses, I shrug and pop the piece into my mouth. Sweet flavor explodes on my tongue and it takes everything I have not to moan with pure joy. I might get a little teary-eyed, though. Chocolate. Not just any chocolate, but expensive, gourmet chocolate.
And I have an entire fridge full of the stuff. I'd been hoping for a few stale crackers, nothing more. I know this isn't a meal, but I'm too excited to care. I break off another piece and then lick my fingers clean of the smears the chocolate leaves behind. “Oh my god, this is so good.”
Sam grabs my hand and pulls it to his mouth, licking my fingers for me. Oh. There's nothing left there for him to clean off, but I don't think he cares. The look he gives me is sultry and full of promise.
“If you want some chocolate, I can give you some,” I tell him, feeling shy. I gently tug my hand free and get another flashback of the blissed-out expression on his face when he was between my legs. Oh goodness, it's going to take me weeks to get over that. Months. Years. Never.
I break off a piece for him and hold it out. Instead of taking it in his hand, he leans forward and takes it directly from my fingers, licking me again as he does. Oh, mercy. I feel a little flutter of excitement race through me as he chews, a thoughtful expression on his face. Part of me kind of hopes he doesn't like it—more for me—but part of me wants him to love something that I love. To see that humans aren't all awful, and that we can create wonderful things.
He swallows, licks his lips, and then brings my fingertips back to his mouth, licking them clean.
Well, that's distracting. I try to stay still, but I'm squirming by the time he's finished. Is it the ticklish rasp of his not-quite-human tongue that feels a bit like a cat's? Or is it that he's giving me a scorching look with his eyes as he tongues my fingers? Or is it that I'm still thinking about what we were doing earlier?
Might be a little of all of them. Whatever it is, I'm feeling it. My breasts feel tight and I know my nipples are hard, and I bet if I put my hand between my thighs, I'd be wet again. I wait for him to say something about it, but he only gestures to the chocolate bar, and then watches me with those intense eyes.
Am I disappointed that he wants chocolate more than me? I honestly don't know. Parts of me—naughty parts of me—are. But after he just killed another dragon? I don't know that I'm ready to jump back into bed with him. So chocolate it is. I break off another piece and offer it to him, but he pushes it back toward me. He wants to watch me eat. Oh. I take it in my mouth and savor the small square, rolling it on my tongue. Before I can lick my fingers clean of the melt, he takes my hand and does it for me. I wait for him to finish, then break off another piece and offer it to him. He makes the same gesture, and it's clear he wants me to eat it, again. When I do, he takes my hand and licks my fingers clean once more.
We finish the entire bar this way, and by the time it's gone, I'm restless and turned on, and his eyes are gleaming pure gold. I've never enjoyed something so much. I lick m
y lips and glance back at the mini-fridge. I don't want to leave this bounty now that we've found it, but I also don't want to eat it all in one sitting. These are things that should be savored. Enjoyed. Maybe we should move to this room? I glance around and it's not as nice a suite as mine, but it's got all its walls.
It also has a massive layer of dust, which I've gotten rid of back in my room. I hesitate, then decide we'll take this back with us. “Let's get pillowcases and fill them up to take this stuff back to our room, okay?” I figure we can move here as a back-up if it rains. But if the weather's nice?
A breeze won't hurt things.
I feel a little guilty as we bag up our stockpile of goodies. I can’t help but think of my sister, Sasha, and Emma. They’d flip if they saw all this chocolate. And candy to boot? Cookies? I know Emma’s got a sweet tooth for sure. I think about holding on to some of the treats and saving them to bring back to my sister and the others…but then it occurs to me. I don’t know when I’m going back…or if I am. Nothing’s certain with Sam. The thought makes me sad and takes some of the joy out of the moment.
What if I never see my sister again?
11
RAST
My female is sad. Despite the treats she seems to like so much, I can tell her mood has changed. Her eyes make water and her scent has changed to something dull.
I do not like this. I like when she is smiling and happy and her hands move over my skin. She does not reach for me, but instead drifts on her thoughts. I wonder if she has succumbed to the madness, and the thought makes my own fury flare once more. I sink into it instead of fighting, letting it carry me. My frustration is too much, and it is easier to descend into the madness and let it take over.
The scent of prey calls to me, and I shift to dragon form and ride the winds, chasing down fresh meat.
Blood.
Blood is what I need.
Blood and the urge to kill drive me, consuming my thoughts.
I find one horned, hooved creature and snap him into my jaws before his companions can scatter. They moo and gallop away, but they are fat, ungainly creatures and it is easy to snatch up another, and another and eat my fill. I snap at another, lazily, enjoying the killing more than the actual food. It feels good to destroy. To hurt. To kill. I pick my way through the herd, snapping at them as I fly overhead, enjoying their terror. It fuels the fire in my mind, appeasing the destroyer inside me. If I must suffer in this world, they must suffer as well. Is that not how things work? Is that not the way of the predator?
I am a predator. The sweet juice of their lifeblood runs along my tongue, coating my chops, and I lick it away. It tastes almost as good as…as something. I do not recall what. All I know is that their blood is in my mouth, on my blunted claws, spattering my skin, and I revel in it. This is freedom. This is life. This is…
Wait. Why are my claws blunted? Why would I wear such a mark of shame?
I stare down at them, revolted, and see the soft material looped around one stubby claw. It is gore spattered and dirty, but I lift it to my nostrils to pick up the scent, curious.
The smell of my mate hits me like a sudden rainstorm, washing away the smoke in my thoughts. They clear, and I remember her. My Aahm, with her soft hands and her gentle touches. Her sad eyes. Her delicious taste and the noises of pleasure she made when I tasted her cunt.
My fury dies away, and shame returns. I have abandoned her. I look at the bloody field in front of me, my belly full of meat. Nothing but carcasses lie before me, their red blood staining the green grasses of the land. It is wasteful, what I have done. I have destroyed senselessly and left my mate behind, all because my mind was weak. I snarl at myself for being so useless, so foolish. I have not even fed her this day.
What kind of drakoni male am I? To choose a killing spree over simply being in the presence of my female? I hate that I have sunk so deeply back into the madness. My determination to win her should override all, and yet I am weaker than I thought.
I must return to her, quickly, so she does not feel abandoned. And I must somehow make this up to her.
There is one dead animal with only a few bites out of its neck, and I grab it in my claws, intent on bringing her a meal. I return to our nest, flying as quickly as I can. She looks relieved when I return, though she wrinkles her nose at the dead animal I drop in front of her. She does not rush forward to eat, but indicates that I should blow flame on it. An odd request, but I can refuse her nothing. I set it on fire and watch her expectantly, waiting. Will she eat and the taste of blood will make her challenge me?
My mate stares at the burning creature with a look of frustration. She covers her nose and shakes her head, disgusted. Did I do something wrong, then? Tell me what will please you, I entreat her, trying to touch her mind with mine. Challenge me so I can claim you. Let us become one spirit.
But she only gazes at the charred animal with a look of defeat on her face. More water falls from her eyes.
I feel as if…I have failed her. That I have done wrong somehow. I do not understand it, and the anger that flares through me in response makes the fires of my mind blaze. I should sink back into the madness. Let her fend for herself. Abandon her and revel in blood—
I shake the thought from my mind as quickly as I can. No. That is not what I want at all. That is the madness seducing me, trying to get me to leave my mate behind. I will never abandon her again.
The madness will not conquer me.
I shift to my two-legged form and move to kneel beside her, cupping her small face in my hands. I meet her gaze, a question in my eyes. What does she need from me? How can I fix this?
She gives me a watery smile and sniffs hard, words tumbling from her lips in a flurry. I do not understand them, but all I need to know is that she is distressed and I have caused it. That is enough, and it tears at my spirit that I have made her so unhappy. I lean in to try and press my mouth to hers the way she likes, but she flinches backward and gestures at my face.
Anger flares, and she frowns, reaching out to brush at something on my cheek. She pulls away her hand and it is stained red with blood. It takes me a moment to realize that the blood is from my killing spree, and not hers, and I relax. “Aahm,” I say, leaning in to rub my nose against hers.
My sweet mate gives a little laugh and says something else, then gestures behind her. Does she wish to get up? I rise to my feet and offer her my hands, and she takes them, her movements ungainly. I do not care that she is not graceful; her bad limb means I will just have to be fiercer in my protection. It is a task I welcome. Anything to please her.
She gestures at the door in the back of the nest and her cheeks get pink. With surprise, I realize she is pointing at the box with water, where we mated tongues yesterday and she rubbed her hands all over my body.
Is this her mating signal?
If so, I accept.
12
RAST
I have vague memories of rituals from my homeworld. Of priests and incense, fires and chanting. Of temples and prayers. I do not remember much about these things, just glimpses through the fog of my destroyed mind. But I think they must be important to Aahm, and so I will participate in them.
I will do anything she wants if it brings her to challenge.
We re-enter the small, boxy room with the water, my mate’s gentle hand leading me forward. Inside, it is dark, and I wait to see her actions. There is a ritual to this, I think, though my lust-clouded mind cannot comprehend it. She is human, I remind myself. Their ways are strange. I wait patiently as she releases my hand and moves to the counter, making a spark of fire and coaxing it atop a pillar of wax.
Is that all she wants? I can give her more fire than that. I lean forward and gently blow on the pillar, a steady stream of flame that melts it down and makes the wax trickle in rivulets.
My mate exclaims something in surprise, then giggles, shaking her head and pulling me away. Is this not part of the ritual, then? I will follow her lead.
Jus
t as long as she keeps laughing, her smile bright instead of sad.
She moves toward the water-box and turns a knob. Rain sprinkles down from the top in a steady pattern, and Aahm turns to look at me. She is so beautiful that she makes my chest ache. Show me how I can claim you, I demand silently, reaching out with my mind to try and connect with hers. There is nothing there to latch on to, which makes me feel hollow and angry all at once.
But then she gives me another soft look and I feel a fierce, possessive surge rush through my body. I want to press my mouth to hers and mate it, like we did last time. She does not reach for me though, so I suspect water is part of this ritual. I rush into the spray, my clawed feet sliding on the strange, smooth basin the rain falls into. I remember something like this from home…a bath. But baths have water in them and this one only catches water. Another human oddness, I suppose, and reach for Aahm.
My female makes a small sound of protest as I pull her forward. She stumbles a little, but I am there to catch her, and then she is in my arms, sputtering as the rain pours into her face. She is covered in many of her thick, strange, body-covering skins this day, and as I watch, they soak up the water. Time to remove them, then. I want to feel her slight body against mine, like the last time we did this ritual.
She goes very still against me, her body trembling as I push the top layer off of her body. She does not fight me, but I do not sense her fear-scent, either. It is as if she is waiting for something. But if she will let me do more, then so be it. I push the heavy white skin off of her body and it falls to the bottom of the basin with a wet thud. Now she is in her lighter skin, the one she wears daily. It covers her from neck to mid-thigh, sticking to her body as it soaks up the water.
