Page 28 of Daghel

DRISK

Ipeer down at the village from the ledge, my senses trained on the activity below. Although my gut is filled heavily with my kill, my gaze is sharp on those moving carelessly beneath me, unknowing that their every deceitful action is being observed. The only bright spot is spying upon my mates coupling, their lusty scents and cries rising to me, where I greedily savor them.

I hope the silly male does something romantic to woo our mate. Rutting is all well and good—and she is cunning enough to realize the advantage of accepting our mating and adoration, she even enjoys it—but to bond completely, it is her guarded heart that we need to win. Unfortunately, wooing is not a skill possessed by many drehl. It is only because of a clawful of lustful females allowing him to rut upon them that the male even knows how to sufficiently use his prick. Anya is unique—a long-awaited perfect match—and so it is vexing that I cannot oversee matters to make sure that he does not mess this up. A visit to the lower village in all its festive garlands is an ideal place for wooing.

The only thing that is souring the atmosphere is the lingering taste of the darkness’s touch on the village, subtly dimming its brightness. It has been here in my absence. I can sense the fading impression of its presence even as I can taste its trace upon the air, and that makes me more anxious. It is moving too fast, speeding up the game between each of the carefully placed pieces. I snort to myself. It never did have any patience when it came to what it wanted. Its hunger drives it, and when it comes to Anya, that hunger is great and growing stronger by the day if it is descending to the lower village. I can only hope it did not interfere too much and upset the progress of things before departing. If it makes a move for Anya in Daghel’s presence, his mind may not be in the proper place for wooing. On the other claw, the instinct to defiantly rut and claim is clearly well developed in the orc.

Hmm. I tap a claw on the rocky ledge on which I am perched.

I may need to find a way to salvage the situation. I croon quietly to myself and slowly spread my anterior fingers to give my wings on my arms a little stretch as I cast my gaze over my surroundings. What to do?

I certainly cannot go into the village. The uproar that would cause would not pass unnoticed.

My gaze drifts along a road leading into the village, and I pause as I spot a pair of orcs heading along the route. They must have a farm outside the village to make the trip with so little belongings. And though their cheeks are ruddy from the exertion of their journey and the cold air, they do not seem uncomfortable. But what is more interesting is their playful demeanor as the male breaks into a chase, startling the female into running so that the brightly colored ribbons in her hair become looser with every passing minute as her tresses work free from their bindings.

I cock my head as my gaze focuses in on a ribbon hanging half-untied. Dyed a dark blue with a shine of silver within the patterns of its stitching and tiny tassels made of strung sapphires at their ends, I immediately covet it. It would look glorious in our mate’s hair! And as carelessly as the female has tied it, it is only fair to assume that she intends to part with it. So why not relieve her of her burden?

I shift my weight from right to left, wiggling slightly as I align my muscles and draw closer to the edge in preparation for my leap. I spring forward from my haunches, my arms stretching out from my sides as my long anterior fingers spread so that the webbing of my wings catches the air. I snap my wings powerfully, driving me forward, before opening them wide to glide overhead. The orcs do not notice me at first, but as I drop lower and my shadow becomes a visible stain upon the snow, they are alerted to my presence for several full seconds before I begin to dive.

I drop through the air, watching with great amusement as the male jumps in alarm and yanks his female against him. Although she is nearly as tall as he is and fairly broad with muscle, I must admit that I am impressed with how quickly and effortlessly he lifts her off her feet. Gesturing rudely at me, he tosses his mate over his shoulder and charges for cover with several creative curses clearly aimed at me.

“Crazy bastard of a wyvern!” he bellows at last, finishing his stream of insults before ducking beneath the protective outcropping of rocks.

It is not much protection against a determined wild wyvern, but I pass overhead with a cackle of laughter and snap my wings before angling them to turn in a wide arc and circle back around. It is not lost upon me that the sound rises more effortlessly from me now, and with it a true sense of delight seems to unfurl andbloom within me, growing more brightly ever since Anya came into our lives.

We cannot afford to risk losing her. I refuse to.

Dropping low, I skim over the snow, my eyes scanning over the blankets of crystalline particles of ice until a shimmer of color catches my eye. I fold my wings in response, drawn to the ribbon’s pure beauty. I angle my body, my wings snapping rapidly, and land amid a violent spray of snow. It gets everywhere, coating my scales, crusting my eye ridges and lodging into my nostrils. At least I had the foresight to land at a safe distance away so as to not overly disturb the ribbon and lose it in the powder spraying around my legs.

My head jerks and I cough momentarily to clear the snow from my face and mouth. I squint and blink rapidly but hiss in excitement as my gaze falls immediately upon the ribbon still lying coiled on the snow where it dropped. Picking my way toward it, I scoop the ribbon up within the claws of one hand and smirk as I peer down at my prize with delight. It is quite costly, or at least I am judging it, so given the matching garments the female was wearing. Anya does not own anything of such high quality, but that is of little matter.

It is a fair prize and my chest swells with happiness as I kick up from the snow and take to the air once more.

I cannot wait to give it to her.

Chapter

Twenty

ANYA

Iam still coming down from the bit of excitement with Daghel, my cheeks so scorching hot despite the cold that I fan them as we return to the street. Of course, I can’t help but enviously notice that he looks as cool and composed as ever, as if nothing had happened; his eyes scanning the street restlessly. He appears to deem everything to be as expected because he merely grunts and the small amount of the tension that he’s carrying eases as he draws me beneath his arms once again.

Although my previous gentlemen usually escorted me with my hand just delicately perched on their arms in the most minimal and polite amount of contact when out in public, and the younger Anya would have disdained being pinned so helplessly to someone’s side, I must admit that this is quite nice. It’s cozy, in fact, and my heart softens as I allow myself to lean into him and am immediately cocooned within Daghel’s heat. I’m not sure if it is just my imagination, but it gives our surroundings a warm glow. My earlier dismay when faced by the harsh reality of the village is slowly melting away as my eyes fallupon the holiday splendor lining every door and orc children squeal with laughter and run in small playful packs amid the building, several of them with pockets bulging with what appear to be sweets.

“You have confectioneries?”

Daghel grunts in agreement, his mouth twitching slightly with his amusement. “The confectioner brought it to the mountains. She is unmated still despite the efforts of many of our warriors, gathols, and the village hunters and protectors both, but she has refused them all since arriving here some years ago. Many doubted that she would be such a successful addition to the village, but her sweet creations have become something that all upon our mountains have grown to enjoy so her freedom goes unchallenged.”

“Even you,” I tease, as over the last few days with him, I haven’t seen the male eat anything remotely sweet.

He grimaces slightly with disgust despite his best attempt to hold it back, and I burst out laughing, drawing a bit more of a smile from him.

“It is too sweet for me. Human indulgence in sweet things seems to be beyond my enjoyment,” he admits.

I smile at his confession as I continue to look around and blink in surprise when I see a pair of human children stumble from a house with a shout of laughter as a brutish male follows them outside. His barrel-like torso and thick muscles gives him an intimidating appearance that would make me wonder as to the children’s safety if not for the fond smile on his lips and the swaying of a ridiculous garland of evergreen and berries around his neck as he stomps after them, only to be followed by a tiny blonde woman in a festively red skirt and fur-trimmed coat laughing as she follows after them.

“Hagthor, do try not to get them so riled up,” she calls as she shuts the door and hurries to catch up with the big male, who stops with a broad grin to wait for her.

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