Page 34 of The Dragon's Omega

And I did.

Two years on, at high noon on the summer solstice, I sank my teeth into her flesh and branded her forever. Because I too would die without her. Renounce my title as a Deathless God. Wither to dust in some lonely place. I chose her, in every life, in every horror, in every storm. My heart. My goddess. My fate.

My omega.

She would wear my mark forever.

A bride of a Deathless God.

Lianna

Three years later, we hosted our first summer solstice on the property. Locals were invited to eat, drink, and be merry. Like the Synn festival, we too had food trucks from the community. We had face painting and henna. We hosted a farmer’s market, competitions for best in crops, flowers, and pigs.

We even tried out a writing competition that had been underway since the start of June at the nearby elementary schools, where they were first taught the meaning of the summer solstice across time, then invited to write a short story—to be judged by local officials. The winner walked away with a crown etched with full suns and shining rays, unaware that it was real gold, forged in dragonfire, from Vidar’s personal collection.

Come nightfall, stories were shared around the fires. Marshmallows were roasted. Songs sung. Coal walks suffered by civilians and overseen by professionals.

I wore my mate’s bond bite with pride, never once hiding the silvery scar on my throat.

When the crowds left, Dad, me, Louis, and his new girlfriend from the city all jumped over the bonfire, keeping the tradition alive.

When we were truly alone, Vidar made love to me in the waning hour of the solstice night, beneath a starry sky.

Vidar

Four years later, my mate missed her first summer solstice.

“Vidar!”

She had left me early that morning and came back late that evening, clutching her sketchbook, her eyes heavy but so exquisitely alight in the hazy twilight. Weaving through the dwindling crowd of revelers who planned to stay for the bonfires after sunset, she jogged for me like we had been apart for years, not hours.

“Well?” When she skidded to a stop in front of me, I tipped my head and bit back a knowing smile, beer in hand, skin hot from a day under the summer sun. “What news?”

She glanced pointedly at her beloved book of sketches and art and masterpieces.

“I told you they’d love it, you ridiculous creature?—”

“They offered to take me on!” she squealed, bouncing in place and perfuming up a giddy storm. “I start my apprenticeship at the shop next week!”

“My love!” I hooked her around the waist and yanked her close, congratulating her properly with a searing kiss. Over the years, my mate had eased away from her graphic design business to focus more on family, on us. In that time, she put pen—and all manner of medium—to paper, then compiled a book of her best pieces to take to the cozy, soft tattoo shop, proudly omega-owned and operated, located in the same city Louis now called home. She had always dreamed of getting into the field, and now it was finally coming together.

First an apprentice.

Next? The world.

Lianna

Five years later, my mate and I pushed the annual summer solstice festivities to the upcoming weekend. While that meant our usual hubbub would happen on a day that wasn’t technically the solstice itself, we had a better way to celebrate this year.

On the twentieth of June, a Wednesday, beneath unfettered sunshine and surrounded by fields of wildflowers in full bloom, serenaded by a string quartet and the whispering canopy, Louis married his forever girl—Erica, marketing executive and light of his life—on our property. We paid for the whole thing, making it a day no guest would ever forget, because my little brother and his soulmate deserved only the best.

My mate even treated them to a luxury honeymoon that would take the newlyweds across Scandinavia, touching on many of the places we visited last year, to walk the roads Vidar once graced long, long ago. They were set for the rest of the summer and would come home in autumn to the ten acres of our land that we fenced off for them—on which they would build their family home.

Dad’s came next year. He had no idea, but his dream of a woodland cabin where he could grow his vegetables and raise his chickens and read his books in a sun-drenched hammock was about to come true.

Vidar

Eight years later, my mate hosted a summer solstice tattoo-a-thon for the entire month of June. Artists from her shop created gorgeous pieces, artistic visions of midsummer in all its glory. Lianna left information books out in the reception area detailing the various histories behind midsummer, full of old rituals and offerings for any curious minds to indulge in while they waited. She stocked the treat tins with lemon sweets and filled vases with flowers that, with a bit of magic, wouldn’t drop a single petal until the solstice passed.

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