The rock outcropping is just ahead. Safety, shelter, I must reach it.
I get an idea, it's dangerous, but I have to protect her. The wind pushes hard but I open my wings. A gust catches them, pulling, straining my muscles.
It hurts, a lot.
Ignoring the pain I force them forward. It feels as if the muscles are tearing as I push my delicate wings against the wing.
I'm pushed back as I do. Sliding along the sand, my heels digging in deeper. At last they're closed around Olivia, protecting her from the worst of the storm.
Pushing ahead, I regain the lost ground as the intensity of the storm increases.
Darkness falls, the swirling dirt and sand blacking out the suns.
Every step is a triumph of will. Muscles tear as I force them beyond any demand I've put on them before. The ache in my wings fades under the onslaught of cutting sand. Olivia is shaking in my arms. We're almost to the rocks.
The wind blasts me backwards again, stealing what ground I've gained. Leaning forward I push back against the assault. One step, another, then sliding back. My feet press down, swaying my tail for balance, the sand comes half-way up my calves as I push my way forward.
Despite my protective lenses I can't see more than a few inches in front of my face. It's a swirling wall of grains of sand. The outcropping of rock appears as if materializing from nothingness, cutting through the storm for a moment. Putting the wall to my left I use its shelter to make my way along, looking for the crevice I noticed earlier.
The wind is whipping back and forth, pushing me away from the rock then slamming me into it. I keep myself turned out just enough so that when it slams me back, I can protect Olivia. The wind, sand, and debris pounds my shoulder and side with bruising force but it doesn't matter, I'm protecting her.
Feeling my way along the wall, at last I find the crevice. My wing muscles cry out in pain as I open them and then shove Olivia into the opening. She stumbles in to the tight space, safe, or safe as possible in the middle of a sand storm.
I can't fit all the way in, I'm too broad for the opening. It's fine as I use my body to block the storm from finding its way into her. It's not deep or wide, but there's enough room for her to be out of the worst of the storm. Her body presses close to mine and now, with relative safety, I can't take my attention off the feel of her soft curves.
My prime penis stirs, stiffening, pressing into her rear. Her scent fills my nostrils, an intoxicating odor that carries my thoughts away. I want her.
She leans into me, her head tilting up towards mine. On impulse, feeling bold, I claim her lips as I have seen Astarot do with his female.
The storm fades to background noise, concern and pain wash away in the sweet release of her mouth.
I probe her lips with my tongue, exploring het depths. Her tongue darts out, meeting mine, a pleasure I've never experienced.
Her rear moves against my body, grinding, making my cock harder. I desperately want to fill her over and over until she screams my name in pleasure. Tasting her mouth ignites a desire to taste her lower.
Impossible in this cramped space. We're in a storm, separated from our group, lost in the wilds. It doesn't matter. She's giving herself and I want all she offers.
I will please her. I want her moaning. Sliding one arm over her shoulders, I move it down across her front over her soft, exposed breasts, so different than a Zmaj woman. I've dreamed of her soft flesh since meeting her. I wonder what they look like, feel like, what they would taste like in my mouth.
Ignoring them out of necessity and impossibility I slide my hand into her pants, seeking her core.
My fingers slide across soft fur then find wetness. Moving my hand around I find her opening, slick and ready, my finger slides easily inside. She moans into our kiss, the start of what I will make her feel.
I shove my finger as far inside her as I can then move it in a slow circle. Her rear grinds hard into my pounding cock. I groan, almost to the edge myself.
Sliding my finger in and out, her moan rises to match and overtake the whistling wind. She pants even louder as I pull my finger out and up, pressing into her body. A hard nub rubs against my finger and pressing it seems to bring her more pleasure, causing her to shiver and shove her body into me.
She wiggles under my ministration. My cock pounds with its need for release. Her wetness is enough to allow me to slide a second finger inside. She cries out and then she screams my name, pressing hard into me. Her body shudders in my arms, then she goes limp.
I hold her tight, keeping her safe while we wait for the storm to pass.
7
Olivia
I startle awake. It's quiet. Too quiet. I can't believe I fell asleep.
I'm stiff and sore. Everything aches as I try to get my bearings. A warm glow in my core reminds me of what happened, bringing a slow smile. Ragnar's reassuring presence presses against my backside.
"Ragnar?" I ask, unable to turn far enough to see him.
He stirs and says something. Sun streams down into the crevice he shoved us in during the storm. I don't know how long we've been here, but it feels like hours and hours. Maybe a day or more. How long does a sandstorm last? Ragnar's cool scales are nice, comforting, but he moves away and the heat of Tajss settles over like a heavy blanket.
Rock scrapes at my skin as I extract myself. As I turn to look around, sunlight reflects off the fresh-swept red sand, blinding me. My eyes water up as I squeeze them tight against the blinding pain.
Slowly they adjust, Ragnar is standing a small distance away.
I gasp. His back!
Ragnar's left wing hangs lower than it should, drooping oddly. Blood drips to the sand from dozens of cuts in his shredded skin, despite his protective scales.
I can't imagine what the storm would have done to me.
My face burns hot knowing he protected me from the worst of it. I've got minor wounds but they're nothing compared to how hurt he is.
Making my way over, I stumble in the sand and he turns around. The concern on his face brings tears. How can he be more concerned about me than his own pain?
Reaching him, I stretch my arms up to touch his face. His hand goes around my waist, then his other is on my cheek. He wipes away the first tear that falls, saying something in a soft whisper.
"I wish we could talk," I say, my voice soft to avoid it cracking.
The moment stretches out until at last he moves his hand from my face.
He turns, says something, then points into the distance. Looking over his shoulder at me when I don't respond, he repeats the same sounds.
"Sure," I agree, to what I have no idea.
It doesn't matter, I'll follow him to the ends of the earth.
Inhaling deeply, I let the breath out slowly, hoping to clear my head. It works, mostly, but I wish it hadn't. Taking a good look around, it hits me how screwed we are. There's no sign of the others and I'm lost.
Sand, nothing but sand with the occasional rock outcropping for as far as the eye can see stretches out to the horizon. No tracks, no shadow of people in the distance, nothing. Empty sand.
Hopefully Ragnar knows what direction to go.
Turning a circle, I hope to see my pack somewhere but there's nothing. I lost it in our struggle to make it through the storm. As hard as those winds were gusting it could be a thousand miles away.
"Damn it!" I scream, hands balling into fists.
Ragnar is at my side. His strong arms turn me as he enfolds me against his overly muscled chest. I press my face against his bulging bicep and lose the battle with my emotions. Tears fall and I'm sobbing, uncontrollable.
Lost to overwhelm.
Crashed on this planet that's killing me slowly from dehydration and heat exhaustion.
Everyone on my ship is dead or captured.
We're completely on our own, cut off now from all our friends.
I don't know how much time I waste but at last I'm cried out. Too dry for tears, empty, drained of
everything.
Pushing off of his chest, my fingers linger on the one good thing left in the world. Ragnar lets me go but there's a reluctance to his grip like he doesn't want to either.
Inches apart, we stare into each other's eyes.
"What now?" I ask, hoping the idea somehow gets past the language barrier.
He tilts his head to one side, frowns- which furrows his brow in an absolutely adorable way, then says something. His language has so many soft sounds, drawn out S's that create a constant hissing, but it's soothing, not like I would associate with a snake or anything.
It's kind of sexy, in a strange way.
He turns half-way and points.
I shrug. That way looks as good as any. After all, what the hell do I know? I'm lost.
I nod my understanding and agreement then we walk.
We don't make it a hundred feet before it's clear how badly hurt Ragnar is. My first clue is that he isn't using his wings. The Zmaj are perfect for their environment. They use their wings to move across the sand with ease despite their huge size and weight. They hardly sink into the sand at all, flapping their wings and using their tail to guide and balance themselves.
Ragnar doesn't open his wings at all, so he's sinking into the sand even worse than I do thanks to his bigger mass. With each step he sinks in almost to his knees, fighting for forward motion. His back is still bleeding, leaving a small trail of blood.
That can't be good. I have no idea how many hell-planet monsters can track by scent of blood.
We press on. What choice do we have?
We walk in silence, neither having the energy to spend on talking. We wouldn't understand each other, anyway.
The suns rise higher, baking us until at long last they drop in the sky. Ragnar looks worse. The bleeding stopped some time back, but he still isn't using his wings.
He hurt himself opening them to protect me from the storm.
For me.
The consequences of his actions overshadow the warm glow in my stomach.
He says something, looking down at me. My eyes are so dry that my eyelids grind like sandpaper when I blink until I can see clearly. He speaks again and I shake my head, shrugging my shoulders.
No idea what he's saying. This sucks.
He touches my face, turning it gently, until I'm staring out across the emptiness.
"What?" I ask.
He speaks again, points, then says more words. I blink a few more times and then it's there. In the distance is a shadow. It seems too far away to reach but it's the outline of something breaking the flatness of the horizon.
"What is that?" I ask, looking up to his eyes.
He doesn't understand so all he can do is take my hand as we resume walking. The suns drop lower, bringing a welcome bit of relief as the temperature drops from scorching to damn hot.
I'm focusing on one foot in front of the other. Every muscle hurts. Muscles I didn't know I had. My head is pounding with an increasing intensity. I'm parched, so dry I can't swallow. My lips are cracked too. Dehydration is settling in, an unwelcome old friend.
Ragnar says something that sounds like he's excited.
Raising my head takes an effort of will. When I do, what had been a distant shadow is now clear. Trees.
It must be a mirage. Or a fever dream. That must be it, I'm seeing things. Heat stroke can do that to you. I think.
Ragnar talks more so I smile. I'm just having some kind of mental break, it's okay. If I can put one foot in front of the other, things will be better.
Trees. What a joke.
Several steps later, I can't count how many, I bump into something hard.
It must be Ragnar. What else could I run into?
Again the massive effort to raise my head.
There's that damn tree again. This thing is huge! The base of it must be twenty feet around, maybe more. It rises straight up, growing thinner as it goes, for fifteen feet then massive branches stretch out. This is one hell of an illusion.
Reaching out, I touch it. The bark is cool with a rough texture and I lean closer, resting my face against it.
Ragnar grips my arm, pulling.
"Leave me alone, this is my illusion damn it," I mutter, but he's insistent.
Sighing, I let him pull me away. I know the tree will disappear when I stop touching it. My mind can only create this illusion for so long. But it doesn't go away. The tree is still there and Ragnar is pulling me past it. My foot touches down on ground that doesn't give way the moment I put my weight on it.
Grass! Yellow grass, but grass. It's been so long since I've seen grass! On the generation ship there were these huge, open parks with trees and grass and even simulated sunlight. I loved walking the paths of the park close to my dorm. It was a great place to go to be alone. I used to walk barefoot, letting the grass tickle my feet.
"Is this real?" I ask, then laugh, remembering an ancient song. "Is this the real life? Is this just fantasy?"
The entertainment loaded onto the ship's databases was all old stuff. I used to read about Earth and what it was like before my grandparents loaded onto the generation ship. The overcrowding of the planet forced most of the population to live underground, except for corporations and the very rich. They built the generation ships to reduce the population of Earth. They loaded them up with all they thought would be necessary to keep the passengers sane.
I'd never known life outside the ship, so for me it was home. Until we crashed here. Then the wreck was my home, but it's gone now, too.
"Trees!" I yell on a sudden whim.
I run over and hug a tree. It's too big to get my arms around, but pressing my face against the cool bark is so nice.
Opening an eye, Ragnar is watching me. He probably thinks I've lost my mind. Maybe I have. I mean, there are trees and grass. In the middle of the desert. That's crazy, right?
Ragnar says something then points.
"Sure!" I agree, as if I have a clue what he said.
It doesn't matter. I'm either crazy or happy. Either way it's better than what I've felt in a long time. Since before being kidnapped by those damn pirates.
I'll take it. Live in the moment right?
Ragnar waits until I'm by his side then we walk together. The trees are numerous but widely spaced, dozens of feet between each. It's like they're respecting each other's territory.
Between the trees is the weird yellow grass but there are other plants. Strange looking flowers with brightly colored foliage. We walk by a patch of flowers as tall as my waist that wave back and forth as we pass. They're pretty, a beautiful shade of purple. I reach out to touch them but Ragnar grabs my hand and stops me. He shakes his head side to side saying something stern.
"Sorry," I say.
He smiles a tight smile, reminding me how much pain he's in.
As we move through the trees, something splashes. Stopping, I look up at Ragnar.
"Water?" I ask, excitement rising.
It has to be, right? There'd have to be water for there to be trees and grass. An oasis?
Of course! I'm not going crazy!
I've seen these in movies. Deserts have these little islands where there's water and plants and life!
Ragnar touches my shoulder, jerking my attention. My smile is so wide it will split my face. We're going to live!
Grabbing Ragnar's hand, I pull forward, leading the way. Moving past one of the massive boles of a tree, the pond lays out before us like a piece of heaven pulled to earth. Crystal clear, shockingly blue water edges towards glittering turquoise. There's even a tiny waterfall at one end. It's not big, but it's beautiful.
We walk, hand in hand, into the water. It's cool, so refreshingly cool. I know I should take my clothes off but I don't want to wait. The water rises the further in we walk until it's at Ragnar's waist, up to my chest.
The massive Zmaj hunter looks at me with hungry eyes, locked on my breasts that are lifted by the buoyancy of the water.
"Not yet," I say, shakin
g my head. "Turn around."
Grabbing him by his waist, I turn until his back is to me. It's a shredded mess. While it stopped bleeding a long time ago, the wounds are nasty. Dried blood is black along the open cuts filled with sand and grit. Where his wings connect to his back, the skin and scales are a deep, angry purple with a yellow tinge. The left is the worst, hanging off-kilter with black bruising.
"I need to clean these wounds," I say, touching his sides while carefully avoiding the worst damage.
His back tenses and his wings shift, but he doesn't move away.
Reaching down, I grab two handfuls of sand, having to duck my head under the water to reach it. Butterflies dance in my stomach as I reach towards him with the sand. This will hurt. There's no way around it.
Bracing myself for I don't know what, I place both hands on the top of his back. He hisses, jerking forward, his back muscles tensing.
"Sorry," I say, tears forming in the corners of my eyes.
He did this for me. All to protect me.
He doesn't move again or make any more sounds so I move my hands in slow circles, using the sand to scrub the wounds. The water running down his back turns red as crusty sand and other crap comes loose. I repeat the cycle over and over. Handfuls of sand, rub his back, aching inside with each touch. He hisses just every so often. A soft, pained sound that breaks my heart every time.
"Last one," I say, trying to sound soothing with at least the tone of my voice. "Just a bit more."
Something makes a cracking sound behind us, followed by a shriek. Ragnar whirls around so fast it knocks me off balance and I fall backwards into the water.
I'm under so fast I don't have time to take a breath. My lungs burn and panic rises. Swinging my legs and arms wildly, I try to determine up from down. Muffled screeches come clearer as I break the surface, gasping in air and treading water.
Ragnar is two feet ahead, his arms out wide and he hisses loud. On the land, facing him, is a creature.
Dragon's Kiss (Red Planet Dragons of Tajss Book 5) Page 5
