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A smile spreads over her face, lighting up her eyes, lighting up the whole fucking cave. “You say that word like it tastes bad.”
“It fucking hurts.”
“Of course it does. Haven’t you heard any love songs?”
“Precious few.”
“Maybe I’ll write you one.”
My heart pulses, aching, hopeful. “You’re toying with me.”
“Only a little. Who knew such a big, terrible, spiky dragon could be so sensitive.” She pats my foreleg. “Lie down. We should rest more.”
I can’t sense whether it’s morning or not, thanks to the pitch darkness of the Mordvorren whirling outside, dashing its torrents against the mountain. As she said, we may as well rest, so I settle down on my side in the nest, and she leans against my belly.
Serylla did not reciprocate my grudging confession of love, though she seemed pleased by it. I suppose it is only fair that I experience a taste of what Mordessa endured when she vowed her love for me, and I failed to respond. The uncertainty I’m suffering now is a kind of justice.
“Do you think the others are alright?” Serylla murmurs after a while.
“They have supplies.”
“That’s not exactly what I meant.”
“If any have been sealed in their caves due to rockfalls, we can’t help them until the Mordvorren is over. Winds like these would dash a dragon to pieces against the mountain.”
“That’s… not quite what I meant, either.”
“You’re talking about the mating heat.”
“I know you warned the males not to force anything, but I can’t help being a little afraid for the other women.”
“Are you not afraid for yourself?”
She chuckles and pats my shoulder. “No.”
“And why not?”
“Because I know you now. Not all of you, yet, but enough. And I—” She stops abruptly, and my skin tightens with the agony of wondering what word might have come next.
But she says nothing else.
There’s less thunder now, which means we’re in a band between the cells of the great multi-storm. We both doze again, lulled by the pounding rain.
A horrific explosion sends me to my feet, and I nearly step on Serylla. I don’t think she would have been hurt, since the nest is springy, but the terror of damaging her is enough that I leap straight out of the nest.
I blow on one of the dyre-stones so Serylla can have some light if she wakes, but she seems to have fallen back asleep instantly.
I, on the other hand, cannot relax again. My body crackles with unexpected energy, and for a moment I think I’m reverting to human form. When nothing happens, I attempt the change, mentally leaning into the impulse like I did last time. But my shape remains the same. I’m more conscious of it than ever—my own hulking size, my massive shoulders, the lethal spikes along my spine and tail, the tough, thin webbing of my wings. I feel powerful. Glorious. Godlike.
I prowl to the back of the cave and tear down one of the carcasses there—a fat sheep. I carry it to the cave mouth and slice it open, deftly carving out the meat with my claws and swallowing chunks of it. Tendons and viscera stretch as I seize another hunk of meat in my jaws and pull it free. I swallow down some of the organs, too—heart, brain, liver, kidneys. When nothing but the skeleton and scraps remain, I shove them out into the dark, off the lip of the cliff.
Slanted rain shatters into the entrance of my cave, creating clear rivulets that snake through the blood. Dimly I know that I would not usually be so messy with my kill. But I am a predator. Predators kill, and predators eat.
Prince and predator. That is what I am. This powerful form, these great wings, my razor-sharp teeth and fine claws—all of them are traits that should outlast me, that must be passed down to my offspring.
Since I woke, my thoughts have simplified, condensed into basic urges. First hunger, and now, at the thought of offspring, a new desire surfaces.
Mate.
