Page 50 of The Dragon's Pet

Aria frowned out of confusion. “How is it powered?”

“The scales draw radiation and transform it to lift through the wings,” he explained. “You can retract the wings if you want to dive, or spread them out to rise or glide. There may be some teething issues as you learn to use it, so I want you to use it with me for now, so I can catch you if you fall.”

“I’ll always want to fly with you,” she said. “I’ve flown alone long enough.”

She fell into his arms, and his kiss. Vyktor had given her his heart, his world, and the sky.

“Come, pet,” he said. “Let us see how it works.”

Aria climbed up into the pilot’s seat, strapped herself in and checked the controls. Most of them were based on the planes she was used to, though there were no meters and gauges. Nothing to tell her how high she was, or what distance she had flown. She felt quite naked without her instruments, but simply sitting inside a flight craft again brought her a brilliant joy.

She urged her new wings from the hangar, set her sights on the end of the runway, and opened the throttle. It was very strange to feel herself begin to move without the throbbing of a heavy engine. Aria was not expecting much from the machine, maybe a slow rumbling run up and then a glide into the sky. To her utter surprise and delight, it shot forward at the lightest touch and bore her up into the sky with a flick of the flight stick. In seconds, she was airborne, crying out with glee as Vyktor’s heavier form rose up beside her to fly alongside, his wings beating much like the mechanical wings of her dragon plane.

Sailing through the dragon skies, Aria could not wipe the grin from her face. Her mechanical winged plane flew with an alacrity and a joy that reflected the capacities of its designer. Vyktor had not made her a plane just to replace what she had lost on Earth; he had given her something that enabled her to feel what it was to be a dragon, to flick the tip of a wing and roll in the sky, to wheel high in sinuous curves and to fly low over the scudding ocean.

So Aria finally found happiness in the realm she adored, with the man she loved and the son she was more proud of than anything. From that day forth, three forms could take to the skies. The dragon, the woman, and their son.

* * *

Twenty Dragon Years (Two Human Years) Later…

“That boy will be the death of me,” Vyktor growled as a hurtling human form fell past their bedroom window. They heard thefwompof great wings opening just before he hit the water, and the shouts of the young warriors their son led in his acts of daring.

His hair was beginning to gray at the temples. Aria’s had started to silver as well. It was not that they were of terrible advanced age so much as that their son had been running them ragged for the better part of two human decades.

“He’s not a boy anymore, dear,” Aria reminded him. “He’s a man.”

“He’s not a man, he’s a brat. Like his mother. You make too many excuses for him, pet.”

“He’s young,” Aria said. “This is how young human men behave. It’s healthy.”

“It is not how my son behaves,” Vyktor growled at her.

“Apparently it is!” She stuck her tongue out at him and giggled at his scowl.

“I will deal with you once I have dealt with him,” he promised in dire tones that seemed to have less effect on her than ever.

“Please do,” Aria laughed as Vyktor went to find his son.

Vyktor was worried about his boy. Vilka was not like the other dragons. He had grown a little more slowly than them, which had served to make him more determined to prove his strength. His dragon form was just as strong however, and he had inherited his mother’s willfulness and his father’s prowess. He was already beginning to challenge the order of their little seaside village.

“Vilka!” he bellowed out the window. “Come here!”

Minutes later, Vilka appeared in Vyktor’s office. He was eighteen years of age now, well-muscled and handsome. He was a perfect blend of his mother and father, though in that moment he simply looked annoyed and rebellious at having been called away from his inane activities. Vyktor did not care. The boy was his son and he was made for greater things than wasting his days away on the cliffs.

“You should be training,” he said. “Not flying off.”

“I trained yesterday,” Vilka said, tossing his head and narrowing his eyes. “I can’t train all the time, Father.”

“A time may come when you will wish you had trained harder,” Vyktor growled. “Remember that.”

“Oh, sure, like what? All the portals are closed…”

“And they will stay closed,” Vyktor ground out.

“I think we should open one,” Vilka said. “I want to see where I came from. Well, where half of me came from.”

They had engaged in this argument many times before, from as soon as Vilka was old enough to realize that he and his mother were not quite like the other dragons. His curiosity about humans was extreme—and extremely dangerous.

“The portal stays closed,” Vyktor informed his rebellious son.

“But they’re just… they don’t have wings. They’re not as strong as us! They can’t be dangerous.”

“You have little idea of what humans are capable of, boy,” Vyktor growled at him. “As long as I draw breath, this portal stays closed. I say that not as your father, but as your general. Now go to the training grounds. One day you will have men to lead, and they will not respect a slacker.”

With a curled lip, Vilka gave a petulant bow and left Vyktor’s presence.

Vyktor watched his son go with a sense of trepidation. One day he would be gone, and one day, that boy would unleash hell on Earth. He knew it, and there was little he could do to stop it.

The End