Page 11 of Delinquent Dette
When Sten brought the minced meat back in, Frikka dumped everything in a pot with some spices.
“I don’t want to wait for that.” Sten grumbled and stared the pot down.
“Then don’t. It’s for dinner.”
“Want to go eat the rest in our scales?” He gave Frikka a coy flick of his brow that made him smile. Those moments of playfulness, letting their dragons play, eating in scales—all things that reminded Frikka of why he loved Sten.
“Sounds good. And, Sten?” Frikka caught the Drake by his arm as he set to go back out.
“Hmm?” Sten turned just as Frikka pushed up on his toes and gave him a soft kiss.
“I’ll have no other Drake than you. I do not deserve such a wonderful dragon at my side.” Sometimes, the stupid Drake needed reminding.
And sometimes Frikka needed to say it to remind himself that not all Drakes were horrid.
Chapter Seven
Sten
1825
So much for the bath.Sten licked at his claws and lay out in the rising sun, letting the heat soak into his dark scales. Frikka, his slender form all fine lines, freckled with pearlescent patterns at his flanks and a dusting of pearl at his belly, the epitome of Nidhogg Dettes. In his shifted form, he was a beauty beyond all, and not too bad in his flesh, either.
Beauty was only scales deep, though. Inside, the Dette was strong and brash, if not a little unobservant. Sten watched Frikka’s secret hoard. Every year, it grew and one less Bhaldraithe was counted in the census. Sile had his ways of dropping silent hints. Half the known world viewed his Loki-forsaken mate as a Drake killer, a menace and immune to the justice he deserved. Sten could only hope Frikka’s heart healed when he filled his oath.
After all, there were none left by the name Bhaldraithe. He’d snuffed out an entire clan.
When Sten shifted back, Frikka followed, all pale skin and golden hair cut into a choppy coif. He ran his hands through the locks and let them fall messily. “We have company.”
Sten rolled his eyes and followed. There were no surprises when one’s mate could see tomorrow. As if on cue, the door’s bell clanged, a garish and loud thing meant to summon them even from the back fields.
Frikka, naked as the day he hatched, opened the door and stared Colborn down. “Yes?”
“Could you perhaps give me the recipe for—” Colborn halted when Frikka marched off, eyes staying purposefully away fromFrikka’s body with the confident ease of one who no longer found other Dettes beautiful.
“This Dette you brought.” Frikka glanced at Colborn.
“He wasn’t a rescue at first, but… He became one and he chose us.” Colborn fidgeted. “He finished his estrus and needs—”
“Vritra?” Frikka opened the larder and stared at a few sealed tins.
“Yes.”
“And you treat this one very well?” Frikka stared him down.
“How is that even a question? We treat all Dettes well! Now about that recipe, I needed your one for—” Colborn flustered when Frikka took two metal tins from the cabinet and thrusted them into his chest.
“Crazy Dette! I need the recipe for—” Colborn halted again as Frikka gestured toward the tins.
“I scent pleasure on you. There is no fear. There is love in you. This Dette has beaten you down and owns you. Take your seashells and I’ll be by after a few days to have tea. I assume it’s his first clutch and he will need questions answered.” The Dette smelled as old as Frikka, perhaps a little older, but the lingering scent didn’t hold much experience to it.
Colborn nodded once, whispering a confused thanks before leaving, walking a stilted path back to his estate—not even on one of their prized horses.The fool.
“Frikka?” Sten walked up behind him and rested his firm hands over slender shoulders, tracing fingertips across sculpted muscle. Had he spent the winters in leisure, he’d have not been so firm. Sten was no fool, merely quiet.
“Yes.” It wasn’t a retort, but an answer to the unspoken question. He opened a tin, took a cookie, and bit into it with a crunch. “But do not get your hopes up. I’ve hungered for shells when I had too many blanks.”
“Of course.” Sten drew his hands back. They’d never spoken of trying for another clutch, but they did not take precautions that Sten was aware of. It was a Dette’s choice to bear eggs or not, he believed. It was not his belly or his energy put into whelping pups. But to hear him certain of a clutch as he was, and unenthused…
