Page 24 of Bred By Fafnir

But I am going to be selfish, at least for a little while longer.

“Take her home,” I command Valoryx in my native language, turning away from Lenora as he bounds away, ignoring her commands and threats.

“Fafnir! You better not be late. I don’t know how to work your food replicator, stupid, stupid, giant male.” Her voice shakes, but she is strong. So strong.

A smirk fills my face as I let the berserker take over, her words making him come in shunted, jolting slashes. I want to wait until she’s out of sight. I try, but he doesn’t care. With no warning, decorum, or strategy, I lunge forward, my grip tightening on the male's jaw. His eyes widen, realizing his mistake a second too late. The powerful stampede of hooves on frozen ground fills the air, but they will not reach us in time.

Tendon and flesh rip as I pull his jaw free from the rest of him, before striking him with it, making quick work of the dispatching blow. My female is hungry, and she doesn’t know how to work the food replicator. The other males collide against me, hoof, fist, and savagery that lights every inch of my being. I want to revel in it, to draw it out and make a point. My dam steps into the falling snow, but I pay her no mind, giving into the war madness, trusting it will part when it's time.

My hand grips the spear at my back, creating enough distance to pull it free. This needs to be quick. I have better places to be. A female to care for, a pretty bull-headed human to breed. Whether I am worthy of such a privilege or not, she will writhe under me. I will be the only one privy to her soft whimpers and flushed cheeks as she takes my cocks and seed.

Lenora

I pace in front of Fafnir’s house, Valoryx sharing none of my anxiety for the well-being of his master. He was challenged, for what I’m not positive, but it doesn’t take a brain surgeon to figure it out. A chill runs up the length of my spine. The fact that Old Earth used to let other humans perform surgery on them is nearly as disturbing as the faint roars in the distance. Will they hurt him? Kill him? What happens to me then? I mean, my family has already been paid, but I don’t really want to be cast off into space without direction, or even worse, passed aroundhere. That’s what I tell myself. This sick roiling in my gut is born from self-preservation. I’m worried aboutmyself.

It's only slightly true.

The idea… the mere thought of Fafnir being hurt is enough to turn my blood to ice. I couldn’t give a fuck less what they say about him. If what he did was wrong or right, or if his mind is troubled… Fafnir isgood. He cares for the Sihlih, offers them secret adoring smiles and soft scratches when he thinks no one is looking. Fafnir got me special boots because he didn’t want to hurt my feet. He respects his people, cares for them, fought for them, and they turned their backs. Still, he cares. Still, he would fight.

He's fighting now for me.

My pacing falters, making Valoryx’s enormous head pop up regarding me for a minute, as if he’s worried I’ll bolt. I won’t. Fafnir is coming back. I can feel it as surely as I can feel the chill worming its way to my bones, but that’s not what’s bothering me.

War Madness. Fafnir said it was a disease, but what if it’s not?

Young males are forced to contract themselves out for war from a very early age, knowing from childhood that there’s a higher chance of them dying than coming home. What would that do to someone’s mind? War Madness comes on quickly, but only after they return, right? Only after they fight. My brows are furrowed, eyes narrow and unseeing on the snow dusted ground, only vaguely aware of the mixed fat, almost blue-green tinged flakes joining the others.

Dad had a disease of the mind, and it cared little for waiting for one thing or the other. It took him fully. They called it Alzheimer’s. It sounded horrible; he wasn’t interested in sticking around to find out just how horrible it could get.

He did what he did. As much as I’d tried to hate him for it, he never stopped being a good person either, just colder. Harder. His warm smiles and boisterous laugh traded for tense silence. He always looked as if he were bracing for a blow he couldn’t dodge. So much like Fafnir. I don’t get long to stand there and sort through my thoughts, to weigh the facts against hairbrained, wishful thinking. To analyze why my heart sank when Fafnir confirmed I wasn’t his fated mate, or how that all really worked. I mean, the mere thought of it had sent me into a full-blown panic attack less than a week ago. So much has changed in a few days. Dusting my hands of the whys and hows and chalking it up to fate would be so much easier to swallow.

When Valoryx gets to his clawed feet, staring off into the distance, my heart launches to my throat. He lets out a harsh call, seeming excited, and my hand is suddenly shaking as I let it sink into the fur of his mane.

sixteen

Lenora

My pulse whooshes deafeningly in my skull as Fafnir rides over the hill, atop an unfamiliar mount. The sight of him both churns my stomach and lights it with a tense, throbbing kind ofwant. His dark eyes are more crimson than brown, but I don’t mind either color, so long as they stay locked on me. He dismounts in one fluid motion, and for the first time, I drag my eyes from his. My lips parting as the state of him truly sinks in.

Fafnir’s hands are coated in blood, no longer tanned but a deep blue tinged crimson, up to his elbows before it tapers off. His strong jaw splattered, but it's what’s draped around his neck that rips a ragged gasp from my throat. Like a blanket of roses draped around the neck of a horse… are spines. Not one, butmany. Involuntarily, I take a step back, apprehension fleeting as I knock into the wall of Valoryrx. Thebeast of a mount knocks me forward toward his rider, making me stumble.

Fafnir’s eyes are heated, promising as he stares down at me, the lines of the antler and shield brand on his chest traced in blood. It's only then that I see the wounds. There aren’t many, but they are deep. My eyes snap wide as I rush to him when he dismounts, sending the mount off. My hands hover frantically over his chest, unsure where to touch. There's not much of it,notcoated or splattered in gore, but whom the visceral belongs to is barely enough to stay my hands. “You’re hurt.”

I yelp as he drags the spines off his shoulders, the rattling sound they make nearly upturning my stomach as he tosses them over a nearby rung on the roof of his house. Not a trophy, but a warning. “Inside female.” He growls, and God help me, Iwhimper.

Faf doesn’t let me turn around, heherdsme. Stalking closer and forcing me into the doorway before he reaches around, throwing it open and letting me stumble into the house. Immediately, the heat from the hearth hits me. I hadn’t realized that at some point I’d stopped feeling so cold. He keeps advancing until the backs of my thighs meet the hearth's high stone wall, forcing me to sit. My head level with the throbbing, tented slight of his cocks. I’m staring, so close I can feel the heat of them. I can smell the coppery smattering of blood. Odd, how it can look so different but smell the same. When he leans forward, his long hair curtains around us. His chest heaving as his bloodied hand grips my chin, steering my attentions from his cocks tohim. “I will have you, Lenora.”

The sound of my name on his tongue does insane things to my insides, the odd off-kilter way he says it with his resonant rolled R’s. He’s not asking permission. He doesn’t need it. I’m thrumming, the space between my thighs soaked as he takes the slightest step back, pulling me to a stand by my jaw. The hands that touch me are bothbrutal and soft. His fingers dig in, making my flesh ache in the most pleasant way. My body is flush with his muscular, equestrian legs, their fur mottled with blood butsoft. The color warm, dark gray, dotted with slightly lighter patches along the sides. I follow the line of his V where fur is tapered into flesh, my hands trembling as I brace them there, my heart beating at an unsteady sprint.

Fafnir growls as he hauls me up, turning us until my back meets one of the wooden support beams of the house. I’m panting, my head light and breath rapid as he holds me there at his height. Supporting me with nothing more than a single hand, but falling is far from my thoughts as he rips my animal hide pants like they're made of paper, baring my soaked underwear to him. I’m hiked higher, my top bunching up my back, revealing my stomach. His eyes focus there for only a minute before he shoves me up again, hooking my legs on his broad shoulders. The deep primal way he inhales me makes me see stars, flush rushing down my neck and spilling onto my heaving breasts. He doesn’t waste time, not a second of it, when he descends on me. I cry out as he rips the fabric covering my center with his teeth, his mouth covering the needy pulse of my clit as he sucks, hard. There are no soft kisses or gentle lapping; hedevours, feasts like he’s starved. My guttural moans echo off the vaulted ceilings and high rafters as he forces his thick tongue deep into my center, fucking me with it. My arms that had been braced on my own thighs snap out, gripping his horns as I grind into his mouth. My body jerking and thrusting in a way that’s not so delicate and not so pretty, but I don’t think this beast of a male expects me to be.

Tears fill my eyes as my body goes taut, his tongue curling upward and flicking the rough part of me deep inside. Suddenly, so suddenly, I’m still. “Yes, yes, yes right there, Faf please!” I whimper, the sound of my voice as desperate for something as I’ve ever heard it. His eyesroll up to meet mine, a scream ripping from my throat as he sucks harder, his teeth adding the slightest pain to the pleasure and I erupt. My orgasm sends me reeling, my body jerking against his mouth, my knuckles white on his horns, and I ride out each wave. He doesn’t rush me, doesn’t look away, doesn’t blink. He’s growling, and the sound reverberates through my center, making me shudder.

His hands fly up to support my back as he pulls me away from the post, lapping languidly at my pulsing core. If it wasn’t for the smear across my flesh, I would’ve entirely forgotten about the blood. We’re in the bedroom in a few quick strides, my back connecting jarringly with the soft bed as he drops me from his height. His eyes are as red as I’ve ever seen them, making a crazed little smile light my lips. He crawls over me, watching me like every bit of the predator he is. I shift up, trying to meet him, to slam my lips against his, but he’s faster. His hand strikes out, swathing my throat and pushing me into the mattress. At first, I panic at the abrupt lack of air, my hands flying out to grip his forearms, my nails digging into his flesh.

“Stay.” He seethes.

He waits, as if seeking some confirmation from me that he was heard. My head struggles to nod fully with his large hand covering my entire neck, but I must manage well enough. When he removes it, my gasp is ragged, my core soaked as I tremble against his sheets. Sheets that smell like a lovely mix of us both, despite him having insisted that only I sleep here.

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