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He has a few raw patches on his skin. Apparently some of the wounds where his scales were torn out have transferred to his human body. But they don’t look as deep as they did in dragon form.
A large wave rolls in, so I plant my feet and help him remain steady until it has crashed over both of us and skimmed on, toward the beach.
“The waves could so easily wash us away,” he says. “With this thin skin, there is almost no defense against the elements.”
“And now you understand our affinity for clothing.”
He looks at me, a gleam of realization in his dark eyes—almost admiration. “It takes a unique kind of strength to survive in a body like this. To make something out of your life, to find joy, when you are so weak and helpless.”
I roll my eyes. “We’re not as helpless as you think.”
We wade to the shore again, and I lead him up the beach to a large, flat stone partially shielded by another huge rock, which juts out over it at an angle, forming a sheltered hollow. I sit cross-legged beneath the angled slab. Kyreagan sets his butt down beside me and folds his long legs awkwardly into a similar position. After a moment he scoots forward to give himself more headroom, so his horns don’t scrape against the rock.
“This is a dream,” he says matter-of-factly. “I’ve been swallowed by the voratrice, and I’m dreaming this while I’m digested in its belly.”
I reach over, take his nipple between my thumb and forefinger, and twist.
“Fuck!” he exclaims.
“That’s proof you’re not dreaming.”
He looks down at himself, then touches his own nipples. “These are strange. They are like your teats. Do they give milk?”
“I will give you every piece of jewelry I’m wearing if you never say the word ‘teats’ again. And no, you’re male, so you won’t be nursing anything. God.”
“Another mention of ‘god,’” he says. “Do your people worship a god?”
“More like an idea of a god. The Maker. An entity of power who set the world in motion. He has mostly been reduced to a curse word at this point.”
“We believe in the Bone-Builder.” Instead of elaborating, he starts touching his cock. He lifts it, peering at his balls. “What is that?”
I press one hand to my forehead. “Why? Why me? Why do I have to explain this to you?”
“I have been forthcoming with information about my species,” he says coldly. “You may as well return the favor.”
“That’s your ball sack. When you climax, that’s where the cum originates. The, uh…”
“The seed,” he says.
“That’s nearly as bad as ‘teats,’ but yes.”
“These parts are internal for dragons,” he comments.
“The Maker left them outside when he formed human men, so us women would have something to kick.”
Kyreagan doesn’t answer. He’s inspecting the head of his cock.
“I don’t think I should be here for this.” I start to rise and knock my skull against the angled stone slab. “Ow! Shit.”
“Seeing my genitals is making you uncomfortable,” he says. “Even though I’ve seen all your parts, and tasted them, too.”
“That’s beside the point,” I gasp, holding the top of my head. “God, this hurts.”
“I hurt too.” He shifts his position, sighing. “Pain and discomfort seem more intense in this form. No wonder you are always so unpleasant.”
“I’m unpleasant? You’re the impossible grouch. If I’m occasionally unpleasant it’s because I’ve been stolen from my home by an arrogant dragon who thinks he has the right to claim me and determine my fate.”
“In war, such rights go to the victor. I claimed you. I own you.”
