ZOHR

I am not sure if I am dreaming or awake.

The madness seems to be an unending nightmare. There is no relief from it, no joy, no thought beyond that of hate. Sometimes I get a flash of a lovely face, with light brown skin and dark, thick hair that cascades over her shoulders. Em-mah. The face has a name, but it disappears into the madness all too quickly.

Until now.

Now, Em-mah has arrived again. She appears out of the darkness, and for a moment, I know who I am. I am Zohr, one of the proud drakoni warriors. Her hands glide over my body, and her words are soft. I do not understand them, but just hearing her voice cools the fire in my mind. I chant her name, over and over again, sometimes aloud, sometimes not. She smiles and shows me blunt little teeth, but that does not cool my ardor for her.

This one will be my mate.

I try to reach for her, but my hands are weighted down. I cannot move them, nor my feet. Something heavy pulls at my neck and covers my ribs and shoulders. It is a cage of some kind, and I can feel the pricks of sharp daggers against my skin. Do not change to battle-form, my mind cautions, and I think of my wings, fragile as they are, tearing and shredding against this. I will not change. I need to be strong.

Strong for my mate. My Em-mah.

She speaks again, and then slides her hips over mine. I feel the soft heat of her cunt rubbing up against my cock, and need flares hard through me. She touches me, speaks more, and then slowly lowers herself onto me.

This…this is beyond thought.

Her cunt is tight, the clasp of it almost unendurable. The sensation is exquisite, and I am panting, desperate for her mating scent to fill the air. It is faint at first, but she speaks a bit more, touches herself, and then it blooms. I can smell her heat, her need, and she moans her pleasure as I sink deeper into her body. She rides me to mate me, instead of the other way around. I am both shocked and fascinated. A drakoni warrior mounts a female and claims her. I have never heard of a female that claims a male, but this one is claiming me.

She can have whatever she likes from me, as long as she remains with me.

Em-mah’s lovely face is fascinating to watch as she moans and moves up and down on me, setting a rhythm. I watch her with hunger, determined to learn what pleasures her. This is my mate. I want to know everything about her. It does not matter to me that she is clearly not drakoni. She is one of the others—the foul-smelling humans who huddle in dirt-hives and taste as bad as they smell. 

Not my Em-mah, though. She is not for eating. She is for me to cherish and protect. 

Her cunt tightens around my length, and I hiss, pushing up to meet her movements. It feels too good, and I know my body, starved for her, will not last long. Not for this first mating. I need her to lean in so I can claim her throat and give her the kiss of fire that will bond us. I need to share my spirit with her. But as she continues to ride me, bringing both of us closer to release, I start to worry.

Why does she not give me her throat?

My release boils through my body, full of churning need, but I fight it back. It takes every bit of my strength not to spill inside her. Not to claim her as mine. I cannot. If she is not my mate, if she has not accepted my fires, my release will scorch her from within. I snap my teeth at her, indicating that she should give me her throat, but she does not understand.

I tear at my bonds, flexing. Frustration threatens to overwhelm me even as her cunt grips me tightly, demanding that I claim her as mine. Her scent is all around me, so thick and delicious that my mouth waters. I want to taste her heat. I want to taste all of her—but I must claim her.

I must.

I cannot spill until I do.

I snap my teeth at her again, frantic. I am so close to release, but I must fight it, like I fight the killing urges that threaten to overwhelm my thoughts. I begin to despair, wondering if Em-mah is here to torture me instead of mate with me. Is this what the humans have planned? To show me my mate and not let me claim her?

But then she touches her throat, a question in her eyes, and I want to snarl with joy. Yes! Her throat!

She looks frightened of the thought, and that fills me with the fierce need to protect, to reassure. I would never harm her. I wish to only give her my fires, but she is not drakoni. Perhaps these smelly ones mate in a different way. I snap my teeth at her again and show my throat, encouraging her.

My Em-mah hesitates, and then leans in, giving me her throat.

Mine.

With ecstatic swiftness, my fangs elongate. I sink them into her soft throat, careful not to harm her more than I must. I can feel her stiffen against me, feel her body go tight as I release my fires into her. I pour everything I have into my mate’s throat, full of joy and pride that I am claiming her. Em-mah will be mine. Our minds will link and even in this awful place that I am trapped in, she will give me joy.

She quivers against me, trembling, and I want to reassure her. I touch my thoughts to hers, but there is no answering response. Not yet. I must be patient. Until then, I silently command her to remain still so I do not tear at her soft skin. My fangs remain locked inside her, and I wait the endless moments until they recede. I lick the wound I have created on her throat, regretting the harm I have caused her. My Em-mah. She tastes sweet, different from anything I had expected. 

I want to keep licking her throat, tasting her skin, but she lifts her head and pulls away from me, touching her neck. I send more thoughts to her mind, but she is still closed to me. Impatient, I flex my arms again against my restraints. I want her to free me. I want to touch her.

More than anything, I want to bear her to the floor and claim her properly, as a drakoni claims his mate. Now she has taken my fires, and I can give her my seed.

She gives a tentative rock of her hips against mine, a question in her eyes. Do we still continue? I thrust up against her, pushing hard. I want her release. I want to see her come before I claim my own. But then her cunt tightens around me, and she starts to touch herself again, and I feel her walls clasping my cock tight.

A snarl breaks from my throat. I want to release…but I want her to come first. She must. She—

“Zohr,” she says softly, my name on her tongue, and touches her throat again, where I dug my teeth deep and claimed her as my own.

It is too much. I can hold back no longer. With a roar, I spill my release into her soft body, giving her my seed. It pours from me, despite our strange position, despite the fact she is not under me, and—

She gasps, looking up. Another scent tinges the air, still distant. The foul-smelling male that was here will return soon. I batter her with my thoughts even as she climbs off my cock, my seed spilling down her thighs.

I am shocked at the sight. Is she…is she rejecting me? When a drakoni male rejects a female, he does not come inside her. He pulls out and lets his seed spill on her back. Has she decided that she does not want me? 

But I have claimed her. She is mine.

A roar of frustration builds in my throat as she flings her strange skins back on her body, then wipes my seed from my skin with her wraps, and races away.

How is this possible? Why is she leaving?

Why has she rejected me? I touch her mind again, but there is still nothing for me to touch. No one for me to speak to.

“Em-mah!” I roar, furious. The urge to turn to battle-form, to snatch her into my claws and fly away with her, is overwhelming. But the cage around my chest prevents me from turning, as does the choking band around my neck. I am no good to my female if I am dead or unable to fly.

My mate’s scent disappears, and I roar my frustrations to the world.