Page 21 of Bred By Fafnir

I watch my female.

Her movements are skilled and unhurried, as she and the other females butcher the meat. Her soft skin coated in lapis tinted blood to her elbows. I’m pleased to see they have taken her in without hesitation, even if it means my worries haven’t gone unfounded.

She knows.

Or at least knowsenough.

Yet she held onto me, smiled at me, and lingered. She touched my horns and rolled her eyes.

She choseme, despite my shame.

It honors me as much as it irritates. My back presses into the side of the cold building as they finish up. With night edging the horizon, I’m eager to have her back at my side. In the three years since I returned from war, I hadn’t fathomed I could be picked. The open stares of hostility and fear from the very people who had honored and elevated me for my valor ensured I knew where I stood. I had done something never done before, had honored our gods in a way others could not. I was a ticking time bomb, a maleunright. A danger,liability.

War mad, long before I had first seen signs.

It hadn’t mattered that it wasn’t true then, but I hadn’t bothered to correct them.

The berserker pushes at my chest, desperate to take our skin. To rip the lingering males apart as they appraise what’sours. The dishonor they show me as they look on at my female with pity, worry…fear. I can smell it on them, and it does little to calm the inferno in my chest. They look at me as if I’ll rip into her at a moment's notice, as if she needs saving…by them. As if they plan to rush her to a secure place, her pliant, soft body trembling.

“Silence your growling or you’ll have everyone in a flurry.”

My eyes cut to Helgoid. Her wise eyes wrinkled and deep set with age, while her stature and pride show none of it. Save for the pale gray that mars her fur and hair. As the elder among us, she mediates more than rules. What she sees in my eyes shakes her. I don’t bother to hide it. Her spotted knobby hand comes to her chest as she clears her throat. Looking away, unable to bear the sight of me. “Is it true then?” she breathes.

“Wasn’t it always?” I toss back as I stalk away from my dam, heading for Lenora as she washes her arms clear of blood. Vowing I will never see her so coated again.

Even if it means our contract is void, line dead, my name forgotten.

fourteen

Lenora

Another peal of laughter riots around us. I’ve lost track of who is offering what from where. Someone hands me over a bite of something else. Meat naturally, which seems to make up most of their diet. Apparently, my reactions are hilarious to them. Soon after Fafnir gathered me up, seating me on his lap at the table, the feast was underway. He piled my plate to the rim with enough food to feed my family back home for a week, and it immediately soured my gut.

That’s why I’m here.

They have everything they need now.

And then some.

I repeat those facts until I can enjoy myself again, the guilt ebbing ifonly barely.

My stomach is already full, my plate mostly untouched. I’ve simply gorged on samples. The mushy, reddish side has a tangy, savory flavor, like a beet but in mashed potato form. My face screws up as I force myself to swallow, only managing about half. Elat’s laugh is so hardy it turns into a choking tea kettle at the end, and my own laughter mingles with hers, making me suck the beaty potato meat down the wrong pipe.

Fafnir jerks my head back by my hair, his eyes wide with worry as I choke. I wave him off, struggling in his hold as I reach blindly for my mug of rich, thick liquor. The difference between the males and females is glaring. Where they are light, loud, and fun-loving, the males, for the better part, are serious, edged by something. War perhaps, even the ones not touched by it yet. They smile and laugh sure; I think they even mean it, but it's far from airy and careless like their counterparts. Fafnir doesn’t do either of those things, and they make no attempt to do so with him. Where the males gather and talk, bouts of bellowing laughter drift up. His eyes and attention stay on his plate andme.

His head on a swivel, every loud sound, every shrill cry of laughter, and his muscles tense underneath me. The fifth or sixth time his hand inches back toward his spear, I lift from his lap, excusing us before tugging him away from the feast and toward the fire. The couples around it are quieter, lounging together with soft whispers. An intense reverence in their eyes.

Valoryx lies there, his sharp feline gaze at odds with the lazy way he’s stretched out. Other mounts are scattered around too, but further out, in their own perspective groups. Perhaps he feels the same unease as his rider. My head is light, mushy from the liquor as I shake my wrist free from Faf, still not holding hands but close enough to send off a flurry of butterflies deep in my stomach. Valoryx tracks me asI weave through the blankets spread on the ground. The Bhaurnul people need much less covering than humans do. Even draped in a human-sized version of their heaviest winter attire, I’m cold. I lose my footing, plopping down beside the beast before scooting my ass until I’m nestled in the curve of him, away from most of the wind.

Fafnir lords above me, frowning at the two of us.

“Well, come on! I’m freezing.”

He huffs, going to retrieve some furs for me from the pack instead. “I will not cuddle my mount. He is a war beast, not a domesticated—"

Valoryx chooses then to let loose a deep purr before he seems to catch himself, cutting it off abruptly as I snuggle in deeper to the giant lizard lion. “Seems pretty domesticated to me.” I goad, loving howeasyit feels with them.

My teeth chatter as I reach for the covers. I’ve opted to go by the Sihlih because he’s already set himself apart from the others, far enough, I hope to alleviate most of Fafnir’s unease. He keeps them just out of reach, gesturing with his head for me to come to him, his horns cutting through the green night sky with the action. “Come, female, you’ve been left to shiver long enough.”

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