The air smelled of ash. Her armor was heavy on her shoulders; her knees ached from where they were pressed into the dusty earth. Dead, blackened trees served as the onlookers to what would be her final moments.
Her once-comrades, now-traitors and soon-to-be-killers, Sam and Halligan, stood over her. Their own armor was pristine compared to the battle-scarred breastplate and greaves she wore. The pelt of ownership once shining and engraved with the king's heraldry. Now dull after being used to the point of desecration.
"I'm so s-sorry, ma'am." Sam's hands shook as he raised his sword, his eyes glistening with tears. A crow called from somewhere across the ruined landscape. "His highness has our families. He'll only let them go once we return with your head."
She wanted to laugh. Years spent in service as the king's swordhand. Loyal to a fault. Only to end up like a wolf-scarred farmer's dog; stabbed in the back once her capabilities were suddenly deemed 'dangerous'.
And perhaps the king was right to secretly plot her death. Right then, if it weren't for the poison in her veins, slipped into her waterskien, she'd turn her teeth on anyone who dared look at her.
A crow called again. Mournful. And she chose to spend her last moments gazing out at the ashy black remnants of what was once a forest.
The victim of a 'dragon', the reports had said. And the king had been all too eager to send her and a group of troops to investigate. Perfect bait. And a perfect, desolate place for the Dame Moon-Sword's headless corpse to rot into nothingness.
She heard a swish. She closed her eyes.
Halligan was the one to cry out first, his wide, bloodshot eyes on the sky. Ash and dust started to swirl in violent waves. Sam dropped his sword and started to run. Crows upon crows started to call, a massive flock appearing over the horizon. Following them was a form so lithe and massive she could mistake it for a demon rising from hell.
A laugh escaped her. Then another. Then a howled, screeching battlecry. Despite the poison making her limbs into jelly, she managed to snatch up Sam's sword. It was too short and light. But she still raised it expertly, her eyes aflame, her teeth gritted.
"Come at me!" She screamed into the winds, a wolf howling at a hurricane. This was perfect. A proper death. Adrenaline sent her heart into a wild sprint. Her lungs heaved down breaths that tasted of sour ash and bitter soot.
Tears streamed down her face as she screamed again. "Come at me, fiend!"
The sky above her went dark from its shadow. She looked up, seeing it haloed, wings in a set of three.
So beautiful, she thought, fingers growing numb, mind starting to fade. She collapsed to her knees again, gloved hands slamming into the ashy dirt, the sword useless at her side. Heavy, rain-like tears dropped to the earth, guzzled so quickly not even their imprints were left.
She managed to place one hand over her abdomen. Where, just yesterday, she had felt the tiniest kick. The baby was motionless,now, likely dead from the poison.
The howling winds started to subside. Flutters like wings descended all around her.
She hoped they were angels to take her little one to heaven.
Darkness descended, and she wondered if she was destined for hell.
She dreamed of the knights' hall. Of pitchers of ale. Of songs and laughter. Men and women - boisterous all. Her eyes took it all in with a solemn appreciation. The camaraderie took years to establish, and even longer to connect duty with true friendship.
There was a hand on her shoulder, and she looked up. Sam was younger than she remembered. Just a squire she took under her wing. He treated her as an older sister, sometimes.
"Old Mog got piss-drunk again, ma'am." He whispered to her. "He vomited into the soup…"
"I'll have a chat with him." She sighed, getting up, her muscles lean; body like steel. No part soft or gentle.
Yet, suddenly, she didn't feel strong. The ale-hall wavered. The voices grew dim. She suddenly felt like a novice again, unsure of her place, body aching from hours of training. Bile rose in her throat, and she heaved.
Her eyes snapped open as her body instinctively rolled to the side, and vomit spewed out onto what ostensibly looked like a silken pillow. Body shaking, throat burning, she moaned through the nausea and body aches. It felt like her nerves had been soaked with acid. Her head spun as she tried to get her bearings. The room had walls of mortared, hewn stone. There was a grand fireplace. She was lying on a lavish, yet sturdy bed made up with heavy brocade blankets and silk sheets. There was a window nearby—no, a door made of paned glass that looked out to rolling, verdant hills and seaside cliffs. The air smelled fresh.
She managed to sit up, wiping at her mouth with her sleeve. Even her clothes were different. Not rough linen under sturdy armor, but soft cotton embroidered with simple black-and-red designs. High quality. Just like everything else in the room. Yet there was something about this space that made her skin prick. The stone didn't look as if it were carved by human hands. The edges were both too perfect and too rough. The fireplace was too big for a bedroom, as if the creator had no concept of human size. And the bed was piled far too excessively with pillows. Almost like the nest of a rather pompous bird.
Despite her shaky limbs, she slid out of bed, eyes darting around as she went to the door that led to a wide, open balcony. The wind carried the smell of grass with a touch of sea salt. The view was unfamiliar. The greens too vivid and the ocean too sparkling. Almost as if a greater being had poured it's lifeblood into the very earth, enriching every blade of grass and each grain of sand.
A sound had her whirling. There was another door, simple oak, that she hadn't noticed, on the opposite side of the bed. A man entered. He was rather thin. Lanky, with shoulder-length black hair, pale skin, and delicate, crimson designs around his eyes. His attire was even more unusual. All black, with ruffled sleeves and breeches that were excessively form-fitting.
He noticed her and, of all things, bowed at the waist.
Then, he opened his mouth, as if to speak, yet all that came out was a rather stiff 'caw'.
She couldn't even feel surprised when, in a puff of feathers, the man disappeared, and there was suddenly a fluttering crow in his place. The bird glided over to the bed, crackling as if rather upset at its predicament.
She covered her eyes, expecting to wake up. But all of this felt so real. The cool stone under her bare feet. The sound of the wind. The scent of grass and sea. The grumbled little cackles of a bird-not-bird.
"Hush." She told it, "I need to think."
She got a rather disgruntled caw in reply, but the creature went silent. When she removed her hands from her eyes, it was perched on the headboard, one crimson eye trained on her.
She chose to ignore the strange, almost metallic pieces on its body, noting the subtle, darkened flicker of runes. Nothing good came from associating with magic. Even fraternizing with the wrong mage was enough to get one beheaded.
The crow cawed again, then took flight, soaring out the open bedroom door towards what seemed to be a hallway. After a moment, she followed, peeking out to find a corridor; more stone, tapestries, long, heavy rugs, doors that led to other rooms.
Hell, if this was hell, it was rather nicely decorated.
She was vigilant as she investigated the hallway and its rooms. Most seemed to be archives of ancient artifacts. Some contained more valuable items; jewels and fine silks. And all of it was categorized in a bewitching manner that spoke to both an old man's perfection and a child's game of favorites. Whoever owned this strange place was also strange.
She made it to a connecting hallway before her body started to ache again. Fatigue had her leaning against the wall, her breathing heavy. The crow was nowhere to be seen. Still, she pressed on, even as she stumbled.
She soon found herself looking up at a massive, stained-glass window. It was odd. This area was clearly the great hall of a castle, yet the window's design was that meant for a chapel of cathedral, intricate with its thousands of separate pieces and resonating hues.
She stared up at it, entranced, mind dulled by pain and fatigue.
Even the voice that echoed in her head wasn't enough to have her turning away.
'Do all humans insist on walking around when they are ill? Or did the poison rot away your wits?'
She turned slowly. In her dazed state, she recognized that there was a massive lizard standing behind her, its head craned down low to look her in the eyes.
It huffed, the sound echoing through the massive space, it's exhale smelling of cinnamon and smoke, unspoken words rumbling in her skull. 'I am not a lizard.'
Dragon. She realized, eyes tracing its form. No wonder this place seemed too large. Yet the creature was also lean for its size. Streamlined in a way that spoke to dodges and barrel rolls through heavy stormclouds.
It huffed again, quieter, then reached out a massive, draconic paw. Her survival instincts finally kicked in, but she was too slow to evade. Talons wrapped around her middle, blade sharp, yet gentle. So, she chose to remain very, very still, even as her heart echoed in her ears.
The talons squeezed gently, and a massive snout came closer, sniffing her abdomen. 'The whelp in your womb is weak, but alive. How surprising.'
She blinked. Words escaped. "…the baby?"
The creature let out a deep, purred sound from inside its throat, and the talons retracted, releasing her. 'Fetus. Technically.'
Was it… making fun of her?
Her lips parted, but all she could do was stare. The little life in her belly was still alive. Against all odds. She almost smiled, but grit her teeth. If the child survived, which was unlikely, it would be born deformed or dumb due to the poison. Which meant it was far kinder to consume a tincture of Roman carrot and midwife's nettle, sending the soul back to heaven to await another, healthier body.
A draconic paw gently bumped against the side of her head, almost petulantly. 'Carry to term, if you wish, or abort, if you wish, but know that I do not allow guests of any type to remain ill when I have the means to provide the basics of hospitality.'
More blinking. "I have no idea what you just said, foul drake."
It scoffed, seeming insulted. 'I used healing magic on you and the whelp. If it has survived until now, it will be born hale and hearty.'
Her body stiffened, skin pricking. This creature used magic on her while she slept. The runes might still be in her body, like how wounds fester.
Another tap to her head. 'Foolish kitten. Magic is not gangrene. Were you schooled in a barnyard?'
"I was educated by the crown's standards." She snapped back, mutely surprised at her own firm tone. "And I am not a kitten. I'm a Dame by right and the king's loyal…" She trailed off.
'You are the king's…' The dragon paused, as if for effect, then coldly stated, '…abandoned milk-hound. Fed to glut on promises, then thrown away when your teeth got too sharp.'
"I don't take insults from fiends," she bit back.
'It wasn't an insult.' It replied coolly, 'You simply took it as such because you were too foolish to see the poisonous barbs woven into your collar.'
She'd had enough of this. If the dragon wanted to roast her alive for turning her back on it, so be it. Who knew, this might still be a deathbed dream. It certainly seemed like something a slowly rotting mind would conjure up. So, she turned on her heel, her form illuminated by the light of the stained-glass window, and stalked back towards the corridor from whence she came. However, once she got a few steps, she realized that she was quite turned around.
Coming to a stiff halt, she cleared her throat.
There was silence. more silence. Then a sly, smug chuckle.
'Forgot your way, kitten?'
"I can find my…" She rubbed her eyes. Who knew dragons could be so bratty? "… just tell me how to get back to my room."
'Your room?' It intoned. 'I don't recall gifting you a room within my home.'
There was a familiar caw, and something rushed past her, the crow with crimson eyes soaring down the hallway.
'Mephisto will show you the way.' The dragon purred, 'Don't be afraid to call on him for your wants and needs.'
Something inside of her faltered. Like the first time she held a sword, and looked up to the sky, asking god why he had put her on the path to bloodshed, when her hands ached to create and her mouth to sing lullabies.
"Why…" She took a breath and tried again. "Why keep me? Why heal me? I was on my way to kill you and strip your corpse for parts, you know."
'I do know.' The dragon replied, softer this time, but no less firm. 'Your mindless, poisoned body tried to fight me as I carried you here.'
"Then—" She almost turned, fingers curling into fists, jaw tight. "Why?"
'Kittens claw.' It said simply, with a touch of the barest uncertainty. 'Dogs bite. Birds peck and scratch. I have no experience except with the former creatures, but when a bird pecks and scratches, it is often in order to gain freedom. You called out to me with a rooster's challenge, yet all I found was a chick who had never known a mother's wing. It would have been cruel to kill you. But it was also cruel to keep you ill and with no freedoms. And I…' It hesitated for a moment. 'I am in search of a way to understand kindness.'
"So I'm a pet or a project. Or both." She countered bluntly.
'An apt description.' It remarked, almost proudly smug, 'Your choice of words is better than your choice of masters.'
"Bastard." She muttered, then heard a caw, Mephisto waiting patiently from his perch on a sconce. "…but thank you, nameless fiend. I'd be a corpse right now if not for your 'search'."
"And what is that supposed to mean?"
"Sy-lus." She attempted at the pronunciation. "Thank you, Sylus, for not leaving me to become a corpse."
The creature was silent. She took that as acceptance. Or at least tolerance.
Mephisto took flight, and she followed.
Along the way to 'her' room, she felt a kick in her belly.
She couldn't help but press a palm over the spark of life that, impossibly, survived.
"Hang on, little one." She breathed, "Your mama just has to deal with the teeny problem of being a guest to…"
She settled in with same expeditiousness that applied to everything else in her prior life. The process was made easier by how meals appeared in the dining hall the moment she stepped foot there, and how her bedsheets never seemed to dirty, even after sleeping on them for weeks—and vomiting from morning sickness on them more than once. Mephisto became her somewhat pet, somewhat annoying side kick, somewhat mentor when it came to everything else. He showed her the library—massive, the bookshelves so high she couldn't see the top—the gardens—sprawling, with flowers that never stopped blooming—the sparring grounds—which seemed… new, for some reason—and, of all things, a crystalline fishing pond that the crow insisted was his master's favorite, all while she silently mused on what a massive dragon would look like holding a fishing pole.
Sylus, for most of it, was absent. Just a ghostly presence haunting the decor and multitude of treasure rooms. That was until she woke one night to the sound of massive wingbeats. Her slightly rounded stomach pressed on her bladder as she slid out of bed, grimacing at how her feet ached, and went to the balcony, pushing open the paned doors to see a massive, dark form perched above, balancing on a battlement.
In the background, the moon reflected on the sea, rippled by gentle waves.
A crimson eye, slightly luminescent, peered down at her. 'Are the whelp's kicks interrupting your sleep?'
"I was awoken by the sound of a massive chicken landing on my roof." She pursed her lips, crossing her arms over her chest. "And look at that, I found the chicken."
A rough, low rumble came from the dragon's throat, almost as if he was caught between incredulity and amusement. 'Daring little kitten, aren't you?'
"I've faced scarier monsters." She replied, then, in a rare moment, let her thoughts escape. "Uglier and stinkier ones, too. At least you have good taste and hygiene."
'Was that a compliment?' He mused, lip curling into the semblance of a smirk, revealing a pearlescent canine. 'Let me guess. You're going to ask for something. So be it.'
"No." She shrugged, "I mean, other than a window into your mind, so that I can prepare for when you get bored of keeping me like a pet, or when you're thinking about roasting and eating me."
'Humans,' He intoned, 'Taste vile. You would be better as worm feed.'
"Maybe you've just eaten the wrong humans." She quipped. "Menfolk are vile as a rule. They always smell of shit and piss. Women are usually clean but wear so much perfume that they may as well be corpse flowers."
'You dislike your own kind.'
"I don't like anyone at the moment." She admitted, gazing out at the sea; the moon in her perfect, lonely beauty. "I've been kicked. Hit. Knocked up. Betrayed. Abandoned. All by humans."
There was a moment of silence, before a question met her ears.
'You are aged for a first time mother.'
"Old." She clarified, "I'm old. But I wanted to keep the baby and I…" Hesitation made her voice waver. "I always wanted to be a mother. Not that I could admit that. My plan was to get injured during a training exercise, develop a minor limp or something, anything that would keep me off the battlefield, then raise the baby during my retirement. It's stupid, now. Just utterly… stupid." She wiped the tears from her lashes, then glanced back up at the massive form still clinging to the battlements. "Do you have children?"
'No.' He replied, a bit gentler, if not with a touch of sadness. 'Our kind require a bond to mate. And I never found my soulkin.'
"You still might find her." She shrugged.
'A female of my kin would not have me—' He shifted, scales sliding against stone, massive body like jeweled water as he lowered his head closer to her position. Her body instinctively tensed when a massive snout moved closer to her belly. 'I was born wrong.' The dragon clarified. 'The same power that allows me to weild different magics makes my nature rather… fluid. But it matters not. I am content being alone.'
Her eyes flicked over his scales, his horns, her body tensing even more as that snout pressed against her abdomen, just a little under the rounded pregnancy. His breath was ember-warm. It felt… nice. Comforting, like a hot spring.
There was a tiny kick, right against the tip of the drake's nose.
'Brave little kit.' The dragon remarked, 'Protective of its mother.'
She shook her head. "No, Nugget only kicks when they're happy. Like when I eat strawberries."
"It's a temporary name." She explained, a bit flustered—the dragon was somewhat nuzzling her and it tickled. "Humans sometimes to do that, before we know the gender."
'The whelp is female. Did I not say?'
"Oy!" She indignantly pushed at his muzzle, irritated when he didn't budge an inch. "That was supposed to be a surprise!"
'But now you can choose a name in advance.'
"Still—" She went to shove again, but instead grasped his horns, extracting her 'revenge' in the form of useless shakes. "That was my discovery to make! AS her mother!"
The dragon just looked at her with those deep, crimson eyes, unbothered, mountain of stone to the tiniest butterfly. 'Have I offended you?'
"No, you—" She let go, huffing. "—Whatever. So be it."
The dragon looked unconvinced, but pulled away, scales sliding against stone. The space he left was chilly, and she hugged herself to stay warm.
'Return to bed.' He instructed, 'The night will only grow cooler.'
"Where do you sleep?" She surprised herself with the question.
"Like in a massive dragon nest or…?"
He tapped a claw against the stone wall, eyeing her. 'What if I told you that you have been sleeping in my bed?'
She balked. "You're joking."
"You're—" She flapped her hands at him. "Massive. Gigantic. The bed wouldn't support even one of your wings!"
'Who says I look like this all the time?' He purred, eyes glittering.
"So, what, you can miniaturize yourself?" She sputtered, then couldn't help but imagine it. Perhaps it was the pregnancy hormones, but a tiny dragon curled up amongst the countless silken pillows would be utterly precious.
Her heart did a tiny squeeze, and the baby kicked. "I can sleep elsewhere if the bed is indeed yours. 'Tis rude for a guest to take so much from a host."
'That bed is the most comfortable.' He replied simply, 'Unless this is you inviting me to spend the night?'
"As if." She was back to scowling at him.
'Suit yourself.' His wings expanded, reflecting the moonlight, six shadows descended before he quietly murmured, 'Go back inside, kitten. I don't want any dust to get in your eyes.'
She obeyed, but used the window to watch him ascend to the skies. Trees shivered under the wingbeats. The moon almost looked small compared to the massive creature that arced past.
As she crawled into bed, the baby kicked again.
"I know." She murmured to it, "I think I like him too."
Sweat trickled down her back. Her mouth tasted of the salty tang of sweat and chalk dust. The sword in her hand was the perfect heft, causing the muscles of her arm and shoulders to bulge. Crickets and cicadas chirped the sound of summer as she faced off against a sparring dummy.
Mephisto looked on from his perch, cawing when she sent a perfect strike to the dummy's neck.
"Of course." She replied to the bird, her eyes locked on her target. "Who wouldn't imagine beheading the man who tried to do the same to me? It's too bad that dummies don't have the same squish and snap as real humans."
She twirled the sword, a bad habit from days where she had to feign confidence, then struck again. Mephisto burbled curiously as the dummy's head fell to the dusty ground of the sparring arena.
"Yeah, I've killed a lot of people." She replied to his question, "Mostly in wars. Sometimes as an executioner. It gets old after a while."
Another twirl, and she grimaced when a muscle in her pelvis spasmed. The pregnancy had loosened her ligaments, making injury more likely, so she sheathed her sword and wiped the sweat from her brow.
Mephisto followed as she went to leave the arena, towards the stone paths that intersected the gardens, only to stumble upon…
"What the…" She stared up at the massive dragon sitting directly in her path, his wings tucked tightly against its sides, as to not disturb the flowers. But Sylus wasn't the surprise. No, that was the very literal moose carcass in his mouth. The corpse was still steaming. As if caught seconds before.
"Lunch?" She chuckled, trying not to dwell on the fact that he looked like a cat presenting a mouse to its master.
'You're hungry.' Sylus replied, if a bit stiffly.
"No, I'm—" Her stomach growled, echoing so loudly it might as well have a mouth of its own.
Sylus huffed, eyes narrowing, and his tail flicked towards her, the speed jarring, only for the appendage to come to a gentle halt, resting against her lower back. 'Quick, kitten, to the dining hall. Before the meat gets cold.'
"Oy." She tolerated his pushing and directing, but still glared up at him. "Humans don't eat raw meat, Sylus. You're going to cook it, right?"
'Very well.' He sighed, nostrils flaring, crimson eyes narrowing.
An hour later, and she was dozing on the warm grass of one of the many verdant lawns, full to bursting, the baby in her womb wiggling happily as she shared steak, fruit compote, cheeses, and a rather lovely cup of chamomile tea. Or she might have been delighted by the massive beast curled around her like some odd protective barrier. Sylus's breathing was slow, his eyes closed, head shaded by leaves of a stout sycamore. She rolled over to watch the faintly incandescent scales of his throat flutter. The ones just under what would be a human's Adam's apple were unusual. Softer in appearance. She couldn't help but reach out to touch them, fingers coming oh-so close.
The tip of a massive tail curled around her wrist. 'Not so fast, kitten. Going for my heart after such a large meal?'
"Your heart should be lower, though." She reached with her other hand, patting his scaled side, marveling at how he could probably swallow her down in one bite. "Why do those scales look different from your other ones?"
'They're inverse scales,' he explained, 'Underneath them are a dragon's most important arteries and veins. A single cut to that area will stop my heart instantly.'
"Would you really be telling this to a warrior who has killed so many monsters she can't even remember them all?" She scoffed.
His muzzle twisted into a smirk, revealing glistening fangs. 'You would never forget a fight with me, sweetie.'
She couldn't even argue, but mumbled something snarky anyway, only to go quiet when the tail around her wrist led her hand towards his throat.
'Be gentle.' Sylus said, 'Pet only in the direction they run. Lest I be tempted to make that fight a reality.'
Breath catching, heart stuttering, her fingers brushed against the inverse scales. They were like the finest velvet, bending like flower petals under her touch.
Sylus let out a soft breath, perhaps out of surprise, or amusement. 'It feels like a butterfly landed on me. Where is the warrior with her calloused hands?'
She rolled her eyes. It was like he was inviting trouble. But she was more intentional with her touches, stroking, mapping out the waves of glittering scales. The iridescence grew, piquing her curiosity, only for the tail around her wrist to pull her away once again.
"Will you make up your mind?" She struggled a bit when the tail wound around her, securing her middle.
'My mind is made.' He replied coyly, lifting her as he sat up, her legs dangling. It should have been uncomfortable. Perhaps he was using magic to make her pregnant body lighter.
She up scowled at him. "I'm not a toy to be tossed around."
'I have no intention of tossing you, sweetie.' He deposited her on his back, between his shoulder blades, and she gripped onto the base of his wing for support. 'We're going inside. You've had enough sun for today.'
"Are you my father, now?" She muttered, not admitting that, yes, her skin was a bit hot, and a glass of water sounded lovely.
'Did you know your parents?' He asked simply, moving slowly through the flower garden, his massive form slipping past bushes heavy with white roses.
"No. My brother and I were orphans." She sprawled on his back, feeling his muscles move under the smooth scales, power incarnate. "He died when I was little. The justiciars take in any lone urchins that aren't diseased, so I ended up in the military. After that, it was a fight to survive, then a fight to be recognized, then just fight after bloody fight." She sighed, reminiscing, her eyes fluttering shut. "When I became the king's sworn sword, I though I'd made it. I was overhauling the justiciar order for the better. The people under me were happy, I thought. Then it all went to shite."
'Then, the father of your child…'
She grimaced. "I don't want to talk about it."
'Very well.' He changed the subject, 'Do you like fishing?'
"When the fish bite, yeah."
'Then, if you find yourself unable to sleep, join me at the pond.' A massive tail curled around her, picking her up and setting her on the stony path that led to one of the rear entrances to the kitchens. Sylus's form was dappled by the leaves of a nearby tree as he continued, 'I will show a little kitten how dragons fish.'
"That's cheating!" She gaped at the moonlit pond, and the fish hovering midair, caught by magic.
Sylus, if he weren't a dragon, would look like he was pouting. 'And what rules say I cannot fish like this?'
"It takes all the fun out of—you know what?" She rolled her eyes and looked around for a sturdy branch. "Let me show you how it's done."
She rubbed her tired eyes, awoken far too early, still in a thin nightdress that caught around her knees, and watched Sylus drop not one but three elk carcasses on her balcony. "It's five twenty in the morning."
'You need iron.' He countered, gently bumping his muzzle to her pregnant belly. 'Your scent is weaker.'
"I need sleep." She argued, grumbling at how flimsy her body felt, too heavy, as if parts could just fall off. "The baby keeps jamming her foot into my ribs."
Sylus hummed into her belly, the resonance filling her veins with a pleasant buzzing sensation. 'Sleep, little one. Your mother is already doing so much for you. Sleep now.'
She could swear she felt little Nugget relax, and she did as well, letting out a long breath, her hands absentmindedly patting Sylus's muzzle. "Feels good."
He hummed again, breath warm against her abdomen, and a ticklish sensation spread down her spine, lingering in low, sensual places that made her suddenly blush. Pregnancy hormones, she mused.
Sylus hummed again, sending another relaxing wave through her body then - of all things - she felt something soft and wet flick her outer thigh.
"Did you just…" She gaped at him, "Lick me?"
He slowly pulled back, not replying. She was still gaping when he retreated further, oddly silent, and she was left to lean on the banister and call out,
"Sylus—what about the elk!"
"He's avoiding me." She muttered, angrily stuffing a book back into its spot on the shelf. Mephisto looked on, cocking his head to the side, then let out a low burble.
"Yes, he's avoiding me." She insisted, yanking out a different book only to return it in a huff—who in god's name wanted to read about foreign policy?
She went to pull out a third, only to find the title was rather salacious. She returned it. Then pulled it out again, carefully hiding the title from Mephisto as she cracked the book open. A blush formed on her cheeks at some of the terminology.
Did people actually do this? She wondered, then decided it was all fiction. Men didn't dote on their partners. Women didn't plead to be fucked. And sex certainly didn't feel good.
She woke and knew something was wrong. More and more, her breathing as been labored, and her head spun when she went to stand. Yet the baby wasn't due for another two months.
A groan escaped her lips as she tried to sit up. It took three tries, and she was about to cry from frustration as she leaned back on her hands. Her nightdress stuck to her sweaty skin, the fabric damp and cloying. She should feel hot, yet she was freezing, a chill radiating out from her core. As a child, she would have called one name, but that person was long gone. As a knight, she would have suffered in silence, like when her monthlies first came, and she had to wash bloody sheets in the stable troughs.
As a woman who was betrayed, yet who now slept on magicked silks and who no longer went hungry, a name slipped from her lips.
"Sylus." She swallowed nothing, her lips cracked, her tongue feeling swollen in her mouth. "Sylus."
There was nothing. Of course there wouldn't be a reply. He was still avoiding her. Infuriating her by leaving fresh game at her door at every meal, but never explaining. And, for as much as she ate, she felt starved. Like the chill in her core. Deprived of something she never knew she needed.
She flopped back in the bed, eyes tearing, staring at the ceiling. Conscious thought wavered, as if she was underwater. Scales slithered over stone.
"Kitten," A voice breached the silence, "You're hyperventilating."
Her arms searched. Her mouth moved. Something warm curled around her, ember hot, yet gentle. Heat seeped into her body in a gentle wave.
"Kitten," The voice repeated, echoing slightly, "Look at me."
She tried, but it felt like organizing the pieces of a broken mirror. And of course the image was nonsensical. Sylus wasn't human. He didn't have a pretty, aquiline nose and pearlescent hair. Her mind even combined this imagined version with his dragon form. Two perfect black horns. Armored scales. There was even a red jewel exposed the center of his chest, a mana core, whereas it would be hidden behind a drake's scales.
But he was so damn gorgeous. Water to a desert flower. She reached for him, caressed the bridge of his nose, under his familiar crimson eyes, his jaw and lips. His breathing was slightly irregular, exhales unsteady, hot breath skittering over her fingers.
"Don't, kitten," He caught her wrist, nuzzling her wandering hand with his eyes half-lidded. "I don't have that much self-control. You have no idea what your scent is like, right now."
She trilled. He outright moaned.
"So, you were a resonator.' He murmured, crimson eyes drinking her in. "Dragons call your kind λωτούς for your ability to smell like flowers to our kind."
She didn't know what he meant. She didn't care. She was aching and empty, and he was so close, leaning over her in bed, his tail curling around her ankle as if he couldn't help himself.
"Sleep," he murmured, caressing her face, and she reached up to cup his cheeks.
'Ο γλυκός μου δράκος είναι εδώ.' She purred, and he closed his eyes as if in pain, yet still nuzzled her palms.
"This is just a side effect of your ability, kitten." He breathed, "You're adapting to me. The baby might be too, if she's like you."
"Σε ονειρευόμουν όταν ήμουν μικρό κορίτσι." She pulled him close, ghosting her lips over his, "Stay with me. I missed you. I miss you."
He shuddered, but allowed her to pull him close. Her body demanded more. Yet she resisted, her warrior's soul an anchor through the storm. Still, she purred when Sylus enfolded her completely, her pregnant belly tucking so perfectly into his embrace, his body serving as a scaffolding on which her aching joints could finally rest.
She fell asleep with his lips pressed to her scalp, lulled to sleep by the scent of cinnamon and smoke.
She awakened feeling tired, but serene, blinking up at a familiar ceiling. What wasn't familiar was the feeling of someone embracing her.
Memories flooded in. She turned as red as a freshly picked tomato.
Sylus chuckled, his face tucked into her hair. "Now my little kitten is embarrassed? Wasn't it you that tried to seduce me?"
"I did not—"She stuttered, "—oh for god's sake—just tell me what the hell happened!?"
He adjusted their positions until they were sharing a pillow, his very human nose brushing hers as their eyes met. "You don't seem surprised."
"I am quite surprised." She muttered, "When could you do this?"
"…'This' being?" he drawled, clearly teasing her.
"This." She swatted at his muscled chest, no shirt to be found—thank god he was wearing pants.
"If 'this' means transforming, then I've been able to do it since…" He paused, thinking. "…my eight hundredth year."
"I'm experienced." He countered, quirking an eyebrow. "Unless you have something against experienced men."
"You're not a man." She quipped, "You're a dragon."
"Do you have something against experienced dragons?"
"Apparently not, if I wanted what I wanted last night." She chewed her lip, staring into his eyes as she mused, "I think I wanted you to fuck me."
"I can confirm that." He searched her gaze, seeming almost unsure. "What do you know about resonators, kitten?"
"They're evil witches." Her throat tightened, the memory of seeing a noose around a little girl's neck. Her feet twitching as she strangled to death. "They feed off other people's desires, becoming what the other person wants most. All while slowly feeding from their victim."
"Incorrect." He said simply, stroking her side, being careful with his claws. "Resonators adapt. If placed amongst humans, they take on human attributes. If placed amongst dragons, they take on dragon attributes. Including dragon pregnancy requirements."
He cleared his throat, almost like a teacher asked about the birds and the bees. "Female dragons require iron-rich foods and their mate's semen throughout the pregnancy. Otherwise, they become weak and go through withdrawal-like episodes."
Her eyes flicked over his face. "So… you were acting as my mate."
His voice lowered, becoming softer, almost careful. "Does the idea disagree with you?"
She paused, solemnly considering her answer, all while he stroked her side, his hand meandering to her belly, gently pressing. The baby kicked right under his palm.
"She loves you." She murmured, "You're the only man who has been a good role model for her."
"I am not a good man, kitten." An admission. Yet not the one he thought.
"Sylus…" She murmured, "I'm not in love with a man. A man could never dare have jewel-like scales or purr like a contented cat when they're happy. A man would too weak to bring their mates bull elk every morning. A man could only dream of flying across a moonlight sky and catch an old dame's heart in the process."
Sylus's expression didn't change, but the tips of his ears tinted a decadent pink. Such a silly thing. Such a proud man, yet who could be so impossibly soft.
It only took a small movement to kiss him. His lips were soft but dry. He nipped at her bottom lip in return, chasing her as she pulled away.
"Wait." She pressed an index finger to his lips, "Are you okay with being my mate? I didn't think dragons sought out old, battle-worn dames."
"Diamonds are formed under catastrophic pressure." He murmured, "And battles cut you into the most enchanting facets. There is no treasure I could desire more in this world."
Her face was warm. Her heart was, too.
Sylus sat up, then leaned over her, kissing her softly, slowly, in the way only someone with many years could kiss, then trailed tiny pecks down her chin, neck, and sternum, coming to her belly.
"May I have your mother, little one?" He murmured, "I promise to treat her like the warrior she has always been, and the queen she has become."
She couldn't help but smile.
"Rosie-rose, mama's gonna get you!" She chased her toddler daughter in a game of tag, hands outstretched, as she shrieked and giggled, her pretty dress bouncing. Hands caught her from behind, and now she was the one giggling. Sylus kissed her cheek. He looked more human these days, after so much practice, yet there was still the same glint in his eye.
"Papa!" Rosie babbled, running towards her, her smile wide, showing off baby teeth. "Papa caught mama!"
"Yeah, baby, papa caught mama." She replied.
Sylus scooped her up in one arm, then murmured into her ear with a sly grin. "And then they lived happily ever after."
