The Other arches her neck and spins, letting all her rage and sorrow surge from her chest in a blow of blue fury that slaughters everything it swallows.
A fitting end for such dishonorable opponents.
While mutilating spiked bodies with her flame and violent sweeps of her claws, it occurs to The Other that perhaps the small fae doesn’t like killing things. That would explain the look in her eyes and the sad sound she made as her weapon slipped from the creature’s chest.
Seems strange since many fae don’t feel the same when they take life, happily grounding dragons to drain their blood into the ground. Preventing them from finding peace amidst the big black, like The Other’s beloved mate.
But that look in the youngling’s eyes … it echoes in The Other’s mind as she continues to blow her flames long after the final beast has fallen, reminded of times past. When dragonsyearnedto form a bond with one courageous and moral enough to earn it.
Notfearedsuch connections.
Shaking off the thought, The Other bites down on her fire and spins, snarling as she takes in the surrounding mess. Bodies so affected by flame they’ve exploded into frozen shards now strewn across the snow.
Pleased with herself, The Other turns back to the snow nest, but the small fae is no longer shielding the entrance.
The Other stills.
A silver light radiates from the opening, spilling beyond, melding with her own. A soft screech wells from the cracking remains of an egg The Other coiled around for too many rises and falls. Then comes the gurgle of her hatchling taking breath and working its tiny lungs.
Another piece of shell breaks away and falls into the snow, revealing her beautiful silver young still covered in clear residue, bundled up as though it’s nesting in the sky. Beginning how it will end … as is the way.
It wriggles. Lifts its head a little. Tries to stretch its wings, causing more shell to push away as a whip of breeze carries its sweet leathery scent to The Other’s flared nostrils.
Female.
A daughter.
Her heavy body drops to the ground, wings splaying.
A foreign sensation swells in The Other’s chest—big and warm. As she studies her hatchling’s slender neck and the way her head wobbles around—too heavy for the developing muscles—The Other nests with the feeling. A form of love she’s never experienced.
Never consideredpossible.
Lazily, the hatchling lifts her lids, and The Other’s heart squeezes hard at the first glimpse of her eyes—dark and speckled with the many lights of their ancestors.
Beautiful.
They lock gazes from across the snow, and her young honks.
That sensation in The Other’s chest surges to such a mighty size she worries her ribs might break. A keening sound crawls up her throat.
I love you, too, Sweet One …
Her gaze shifts to the male fae tucked on his side within the snow nest,pale hair askew. The same male who raided her nest, though she no longer harbors the desire to swallow him. Not at the sight of his protective posturing—his arm bound around the remnants of her hatchling’s egg as he works to remove bits of shell so she can further free herself. Loosening her small, misshapen wing from the sticky membrane that must’ve gotten too warm and shrunk, cutting off some of the blood supply.
“I’m sorry,” he sobs past pale lips, his words heavy with so much sadness.
The Other tilts her head to the side.
If she could shape his words with her much bigger, more fearsome mouth, she would tell him she doesn’t understand. Her young blood hatched. There is no room for sadness, only celebration oflife.
She’s about to creep forward and nuzzle into the nest so she can scent her hatchling properly, when she realizes—
Where is the Little One? The small fae who took life to protect this flimsy nest and the ones tucked within?
Hopefully not crushed …
Pushing up, The Other swings her head beneath her belly, throwing a glance about her claws and down the line of her tail swishing through the surrounding carnage. Until she feels a strange tug on the long tendrils that spawn from her spine.
