Page 16 of Bred By Fafnir

I’m panicked, shaky, and… who the fuck knows? Fafnir barks another command. The beasts stop their eerie, paused attack, all returning to their casual lounging like their master hadn’t just commanded them to kill him. Like they hadn’t been prepared to do so without hesitation. When I look up from the scaled back of Valoryx, it's not of my own volition. My pulse whooshes in my ears as the sharp prick of something blooms under my chin. My attention snaps up, but I don’t dare move a muscle. Fafnir’s long pointed horn is poised under my chin, his swirling eyes tilting up under dark gray lashes to meet mine. An elongated furry ear flicks. His hair mussed and hanging in his face with such devout hunger, I have to fight the urge to squirm. “We are less than forty-eight Zentics in, and already you disrupt the very core of me, Valkyra.”

My nipples grow hard and chafing under the thick hide tunic.

“I am not a gentle male, Lenora. I do not train gentle house pets. The beast you sit upon has killed and maimed nearly as many as his master. While I admire his obvious affections for you, you would do well to remember whatweare.”

We.

What we are.

“Neither of you will hurt me.” I breathe out, shaken by the surety in my voice. My hand acting of its own accord as I palm his antler. Something about the action feels… dirty, sacred, like I shouldn’t be gripping him here, but I don’t let go. Fafnir’s eyes widen as I direct it away from my chin. Moving my head back as I gently tug him closer to me, rubbing my thumb over the ivory rings of his tanned horns. He’s ahairsbreadth away from me, and my entire body lights, watching as his eyes swirl and battle.

I don’t breathe as he lifts me from the beast, letting my flushed skin make a slow path down his body. I hang onto his horn until I can't any longer, until my fingers slip free, and I watch the terrifying, berserker alien…shudder.

“Come Lenora, that’s enough for today.”

I try to agree, but nothing comes, my eyes lingering on the huge bulge tenting behind his loincloth as he turns and stalks back toward the Sihlih grounds where most of the mounts have slinked back. Save for Valoryx, who seems content to walk at a slothful pace beside me.

Fafnir said he fought forsixteenyears. My breath heaves out of me in a failed attempt to calm and strengthen my shaky legs.

They only require three.

ten

Fafnir

The next few days move on just like that. My mind urging toward the brink more often than not, seemingly in all manners where my tiny female is concerned. A male comes by the Sihlih enclosure. He’s curious about the human woman. Curious if I’ve bred her yet, it nearly sends me into a rage. The closer he gets to her, the more questions she answers with a bright smile I wish she reserved only for me. He puffs out his chest, and a savage sound rips from my throat as I haul her away from him. Setting her atop Valoryx, who has always been a particularly ill-tempered beast, so he ensures nobody else approaches.

Lenora seems to find it incredibly amusing, my illogical behavior, time and time again. I lift my roughened palms in private to touch my own horns. Hope fizzling in my chest. Not that finding them changed would do anything but further complicate our situation. Especiallynow, with the males whom I’ve bellowed and threatened, no doubt see my shame for what it is.

It’s only a matter of time.

Lenora will bear my kit. Then, if I’m lucky, I will be well enough in my mind to see them off before they go. Not together, of course, another thing that gores away at my chest for reasons I can’t understand. We are a communal people, kits are raised as such, not in individual homes but with the groups of other little ones. They are the responsibility of us all, with men dying more than coming home, their minds only to be ravaged with war madness soon after…we do not mate for life. Simply pair for the winter season. We are not possessive people, but it seemsIam a possessive male. Of course, I would not be left with even the slightest dignity.

Lenora hums quietly to herself as she folds heavy furs and packs away anything she may need for the night to come. Her long, thick hair plaited down her back with a strap of leather I cut from my war armor. She’d been complaining she’d had nothing to tie it back with. It seemed such a simple request to fill. She never has to know the significance of it. In fact, it's better if she doesn’t. In battle, they are tokens of love, of promise, given to those left behind.

“Foolish war mad male,” I curse under my breath, slamming my blades into a pile on the counter harder than I meant to.

Her pretty, upturned eyes track me as I stalk, jerking weapons off the wall, only to replace them. Tomorrow morning, the first part of Thrymus’s festival will begin with a hunt. One that has never mattered to me before. One I participated in for fun, not for show. Would my battle axe be too gaudy?

I stare at the large axe. The chain on the end has been soaked through with blood so many times that no matter how I clean it, I can smellit on the metal.

My back tenses as my human comes up beside me regarding the axe, too. “For the hunt tomorrow?”

I grunt.

“You get to choose your own weapon then.” She places her small, soft hands on her wide hips, regarding them and then the haphazard pile on the counter, humming thoughtfully. I watch her ass as she heads to the pile, following behind her, wishing my hooves wouldn’t announce the fact as they do.

When she reaches out to touch the razor-sharp edge of a blade, my hand encloses her wrist like a vice, steering her away. I should drop it, the limp thing swallowed by my grip, but I don’t. Dragging her sweet floral scent through my nose deeper than necessary. She doesn’t miss a beat in her perusal of my weapons, simply dragging me with her as she heads back over to the walls. Where a Bhaurnul woman would all but take my head from my neck for my behavior over the past few days, Lenora seems to enjoy being protected, coddled even… like the concept of being delicate isn’t a slight to her but something she embraces. She’s soft in all ways, apart from her temperament. That is pure Bhaurnul, simply without the jarring sense of over-inflated honor and pride.

“How about this one?”

My eyes tear from her soft face, slowly following her finger to where she points at a double-ended spear. I quirk a brow. “Is that what you wish for me to use?”

My heart thunders in my chest, the urge to fidget overwhelming as I stand deathly still. Her wrist is still a hostage in my grip. The documents provided by the Oozarians mentioned something about humans' liking to hold hands. Is that what we’re doing?

She’s not holding me back, but to her credit, she can’t move. I could let go, loosen my hold, see if she wants to do the human comfortholding. But if she declines, I’d have to find a reason to take her wrist back. I decide against it.

“Faf, are you even listening?” she glares.

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