RAST

After a long, leisurely mating and a nap, my Amy moves around our nest, packing away things and deciding what we need to take with us. She has taken one of the bedsheets from another room and is sewing it into a loop of kinds, which she says will be useful during flying.

I do not argue, and let her do as she likes. She feels good about this decision. She worries about the strangers that sent the bird, but I can feel excitement in her mind. She has a mission, my Amy, and she is determined to see it through.

I let her think she has won our argument. That she has convinced me of the wisdom of our mission.

I do not think it is wise at all. I think it is more likely a trap. A message sent to draw fools in toward their home so they can be destroyed and stripped of their goods. So they can have their packs taken away from them—much like the pack my Amy is stuffing full of everything she thinks we will need. If I was going to rob someone, that is exactly what I would do. Lure them in to a trap and then dispatch them.

I cannot say that I have not done that very thing in the past. I have no memories of it, but it sounds far too familiar for me to dismiss.

But…humans are foolish.

They will not think that their message will get to a human girl with a soft heart…and a very large drakoni male at her side. Humans cannot harm me, and they will never get a chance to even get close to my fragile Amy.

She does not have a cruel bone in her body.

All of mine are cruel.

Let them do as they like. I will protect her. I have seen into her thoughts and this is the first time in her life she has felt strong and capable. That she has not felt isolated and helpless. She has an opportunity to help others.

I will not take that from her.

We will go and see what these puny humans want, and if they have harm on their minds, I will destroy them with flame and fang.

* * *

The next morning, we eat a quick meal and Amy puts on her boots and then shrugs on her pack. I just as quickly take the heavy pack from her again, because I do not like the thought of her carrying something so heavy. It will be a long day. Let me be the one to carry this.

She wrinkles her nose and gives me a questioning look. “But I’m going to be on your back.”

That does not matter. You will still grow weary. Let me be your strength. I give her a fierce kiss to swallow up any protest she might make. When we separate, she is dazed and flushed from passion, and I take the pack from her easily, then hand her the long sheet that she has made into a loop. Take this.

Amy waits in the nest while I jump off of the edge of the building and shift mid-air to battle-form. I let my wings flare out, catching the breeze, and then glide along for a moment, enjoying the stretch of my body in this form. Two legs is fine, but I feel strong and powerful like this, and it is a joy all its own. I dive down low, then angle my wings up, surging back toward the building where my mate waits for me. Her pack is small and easy to carry in my claws, and I hold it in one foreleg as I glide back toward the hole in the wall and into the apartment. Her hair ruffles in the breeze I create, and I can hear her light, joyful chuckle.

She is so happy this day. I vow I will not let anything destroy that pleasure in her voice.

I settle on the ground and then lower my shoulder, since she indicated yesterday that she wished to ride on my back instead of in my claws. Can you climb up? I ask, sending her a visual of where she should sit atop my shoulders, between the thickly bunched muscles there at the base of my neck.

“I can try.” She does not sound convinced, though, and I gently pick her up with one paw and lift her up near my wing. She clumsily climbs forward, digging awkwardly into wing membranes and tendons, and I do my best to remain completely still so I do not topple her. “Claudia makes this look so easy,” she grumbles. “It’s unfair.”

You are doing well, I reassure her. It will get easier with time.

Amy manages to get in position, and I feel her body flinch as she pushes her bad leg outward. I can sense the flare of pain radiating through her mind.

My fires? I ask. Are you all right?

“Just a cramp,” she lies. “It’s fine.” She settles her bottom on my shoulders and then unravels the long sheet. “How is this going to work?”

I send her a visual. Place it against your back and give me the front. We will use it like a sling.

She wrestles with it for a moment, and then manages to wrap it around her back and offers the front loop to me. “It’s almost like a bridle, but I don’t think a bridle is supposed to go around me.” When I duck my head, she tosses the sheet over it and the front of the loop hangs loosely over my breast while she leans into the back of it. “I’m not sure this will work, Rast—”

I grab the front of the loop and pull it away from my body with my foreleg until it is taut against my back. This forces Amy forward, her breasts pressing against my scales, her legs spread wide at the base of my neck. This way she is held tight against me and there is no danger of her growing tired and slipping off to one side.

“Kind…of…tight,” she murmurs, her hand reaching around one side to stroke my neck.

It will be good. It will protect you from the sun and from bugs.

And from breathing, she adds wryly in her mind, but does not speak it aloud.

I rumble with laughter at that. Trust me, I prefer you breathing, my mate. Are you ready to go?

I can feel her nervousness. “Ready as I’ll ever be, I think.”

I will not let you fall, my mate. And if I do, I will catch you.

The tiny laugh she gives is high-pitched and anxious. “Is that supposed to make me feel better?”

I do not think anything will make you feel better until we land, I tell her. But it makes me feel better.

Her startled laughter turns into a scream as I leap off of the ledge and into the open air. I can feel her terror, the way the breath disappears from her body as I glide down. She is safe, though. I can feel her seated securely against my nape, and I tug the sheet loop a little tighter to cradle her even closer. When she realizes she is not going to fall down, her fear slowly changes to wonder. The breath returns to her body and she looks around her with startled, amazed eyes.

“It feels so different on your back than in your claws,” she tells me, and then spits, trying to get a piece of her flying hair out of her mouth.

Talk with your mind, I tell her. It is much easier in the air.

Oh. So it is. Rast, this is…amazing. I feel so strong up here. So powerful. Her thoughts grow sheepish. I know it’s all you, but still…

You are the one that makes this possible, my mate. I send her a wave of affection. If it were not for you, I would still be mindless and lost. Never doubt that you are an equal, worthy partner.

I can feel her smile and she gazes out on the land that’s open before us as if seeing it for the first time. Perhaps she is—I know she closes her eyes when I hold her in my claws. She is less afraid like this, and she can appreciate the beauty of the sights. Her mind fills with images. The flock of distant birds that arrow toward us swoop low, gliding under my wing as if to greet me in passing. The puffy white clouds that dominate the blue skies. Cumulonimbus, she offers. I remember that from school.

That is a big word for “cloud,” I tell her, and fly through the edge of the next one. When we come out the other side, we are damp with the fog of it and she sputters, full of delight.

You can see everything from up here, she tells me happily. Deer and cows and the old highways and everything. Her thoughts are full of wonder as she studies the ground below. It’s so green, except some spots look brown and barren.

Dragonfire, I agree. Someone has passed through this area recently. I can smell the memory of him.

There’s a hint of concern in her thoughts. Do we need to worry about that?

No. You smell very strongly of my markings. Even now, my seed soaks your cunt. I took her very thoroughly this morning just so she would be so entrenched with my scent there would be no mistaking that she is claimed. The scent of her is intoxicatingly pleasant.

I can feel her blush return. Good lord.

You do not have to worry about anything when you are with me, my mate, I reassure her, switching the conversation away from the thought of other dragons. I do not want her asking about her sister’s dragon. I do not want her picking up the truth from my thoughts, so I decide to distract her. Where would we find this “map” you mentioned?

Oh. She studies the open countryside. We need to follow the highways. Most stores were along them, I think. We need a bookstore…or maybe a gas station. That might work, too.

Point out a highway and we will follow it.

I would if I could free my arm, she tells me, but there is amusement in her tone, even as she mentally directs me toward a long, gray strip that is covered in metal boxes. Cars, her thoughts tell me, filling in the blank. Cars and trucks of all kinds, abandoned by their drivers. And where there are cars, there should be a gas station.

We fly for a time, until she points me toward a particular-looking sign. Her eyes scan the building. It is in the middle of nowhere, with a collapsed awning and a stink she tells me is old gasoline. We land a short distance away and I gently set her down by turning the sheet and catching her in my claws before she can hit the ground. She beams up at me and grabs my snout, pressing a kiss to it before I can shift back.

I have never enjoyed a snout caress so much, I think.

I shift forms and we fold up the sheet, then slide her pack onto my shoulder so she can be unencumbered while she looks around. There is no scent of humans here, I tell her. Everything is very old.

“Maybe it won’t be picked over, then,” she says hopefully.

We break a window to get inside the small store, and from there, Amy digs through the remnants of what is left. She finds a few sticks that look like wrapped dried meat, but so old that the contents are grayish green inside. My mate wrinkles her nose in that charming way of hers and tosses them back down on the counter. “Not that desperate.” She moves to a stand in the corner and pokes through decorated squares. “Maps,” she tells me happily, then fishes one out and moves back to the counter to unfold it. I peer over her shoulder as she gazes down at the network of lines and symbols, an overwhelming sight to my eyes.

What is all this? I ask her.

“These are streets. Cities.” Her finger traces along one of the lines. “Where people used to live.”

I am in awe. People used to live…in all of these places?

“All of them,” she agrees, then glances back at me. “Most of them are gone now. Even the biggest cities were no match for just one angry dragon.”

I grunt. I do not know if I should apologize. The thought of humans swarming like ants over this land is strange. I am glad I do not remember it. I like it better as it is now, with rolling grasses, endless quiet, and herds of roaming animals…and all the smelly humans clustered in their hives.

Of course, not all humans are smelly, I remind myself, pulling my mate close and breathing in her scent. Some are quite, quite nice.

Amy giggles, ticklish, and casts me a content look over her shoulder. She points at a line on her “map.” “Found it. We need to find Highway 20 and then we can take it all the way to Shreveport.”

Lead on, I tell her, and give her ear a nip. Unless you would like to stop and relax.

She snorts. “I know what you mean by ‘relax,’ and it’s not really relaxing.” Her cheeks get pink. “And there’s time enough for that later. Let’s travel while I have the energy.”

Mmm, I think you always have energy, I tell her, unwilling to let go of her soft body just yet. My arms remain linked around her waist and I press up against her backside. You move and twitch a great deal when I go between your thighs—

“Hush, you,” she scolds, but there is warmth in her tone and she slides her hands over mine. “You’re trying to distract me.”

Always. I am quite good at it.

“That you are,” she says breathlessly when I press my cock against her backside. “I guess traveling can wait a few more hours…”

That is good, I encourage, even as I pull up her long dress, running my hands along her legs underneath the fabric. You will need to rest and stretch, and I can mark you with my scent.

Her little moan is the only encouragement I need.

* * *

We bed down in another store that night. I remain in battle-form to protect my Amy, and she takes the one blanket she has packed and wraps it around herself, curling up against my forelegs on the hard cement. I can feel the ache in her bad leg, but she says nothing. I want to find her a more comfortable spot to rest, but she is too tired to continue, she tells me. I take her in my claws and gently cradle them to make her a softer place to sleep. She smiles up at me with a sweet, sleepy expression.

“You're the best man ever,” Amy tells me, sighing happily.

I feel both pleased at her compliment, and sad. She sees me as something better than I am. To her, I am a protector. To my people, I am a traitor and a mindless soldier. To the Salorians, I am a very useful tool, more useful than most because of my competitive nature that makes me strive to succeed above others.

But this does not make me a good man. It just makes me a very competent murderer. But I nuzzle my mate and do not correct her. I do not want Amy to look at me with disappointment or hate, like my people do. I do not think I could bear that. I want her shining eyes to look up at me with love and trust.

To lose that would destroy me.