Page 34 of Delinquent Dette
Cinder nodded.
Frikka rested a hand on his head. “Was it what might happen someday?”
Cinder wrinkled his nose and nodded again.
“Let me tell you a story of the völur, and where a Dette gets their wild magic. And in the end, you can decide if it’s something that I should know.” Frikka stroked over Cinder’s head and started at the beginning, when Frikka was barely more than a pup himself, and all the bad that he saw.
So, when the story finished, evening glow bugs danced near the tall grasses at the back of their property. Cinder stared out as the bugs floated and bore the weight of generations of völur before him as he huffed. “That sucks.”
Frikka nodded. When he was a pup, he’d thought it a wonderful thing, but as he grew older, the burden became clear. Cinder was just wiser, lost in thought. “It wasn’t bad.”
“Hmm?” Frikka turned his attention away from the scenery and gave his little Dior grandson a smile.
“I didn’t see a bad thing, but I think… I think it’s more fun not knowing.” Cinder frowned, drumming his finger on his knee. Frikka redoubled his hold of the little one and waited. “Crap, this means I have to get mated! Stupid gross Drakes. Niko!”
The little pup on the edge of the fountain glanced up, head tilted. “You and I aren’t real cousins, right?”
Niko nodded.
“Okay, when you find out you’re a Drake. We can get mated.” Cinder said it and nodded once.
But I’ll probably be a Dette. Dettes can’t mate Dettes.
Cinder shrugged. “He’ll figure it out. Stupid Drakes.”
Frikka eyed the little copper pup. He probably would. But at least Cinder had a better head on his shoulders.
And a better pool of Drakes to choose from.
Chapter Nineteen
Sten
It didn’t take long for Frikka to figure it out—the seashell part. Longer than normal, but still. Bastien was due in that afternoon, and Sten walked in on Frikka baking that morning, already chomping away on a seashell cookie. “Not a word, Drake.”
Sten held his hands up, a half grin twisting his lips involuntarily. “I said no words.”
The affirmation didn’t make him feel better, though. It brought a somber tone to the morning of something they’d been pointedly ignoring since his heat had ended, even when his belly had swollen a little, because it could have always been blanks. But watching Frikka stuff another cookie into his mouth? It solidified it. They’d be parents again. Hopefully.
They’d had eggs before, though. Seven trees stood in their memory, trees that would one by one rot and fall long before their memories did. And Sten would plant more if he still breathed.
So, when Bastien finally arrived, he wore a practiced and professional expression. No smiles, no grimaces. His training with the other dragons—Frikka included—had given him insight. “Not blanks,” he said by way of greeting Frikka, while at the same time packing up a tin of cookies like he owned the place.
“Who else is expecting? Not you again?” Sten gave Bastien a wary glance, but he shook his head. “Wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”
“I would.” Frikka poised by the counter and crossed one leg over the other, staring Bastien down.
“Only because they’re both ecstatic and shouting it from the rooftops. I don’t go about spreading people’s private information, but thelastDette you’d expect.” Bastien gave Frikka a wicked grin.
“Leo? No!” Frikka gasped, but Bastien waved him off.
“Oh gods, no! They’ve enough pups. No! Weston and Rolf! I’ve never heard of a clutch back-to-back!” Bastien raised a hand to his cheek and sighed. “Makes me really wary of my own cycles.”
“Oh, good gods. How many?” Sten blinked in surprise.
“Another singleton. But still!” Bastien laughed before picking up a seashell cookie and nibbling it thoughtfully. As if reassuring himself he wasn’t carrying, he blanched at the flavor and almost went to throw it away before Frikka snatched it and devoured the rest in two bites.
“Don’t waste seashells.” Frikka grumbled and huffed when Bastien gestured for him to lift his shirt.
