Page 38 of Delinquent Dette
Sten had done so with their last clutch, aiding Frikka through the worst of his laying.
What if…it’s bad again?Frikka found it difficult to project those words.
“I promise it won’t be bad,” Marc said offhandedly, earning a swat from Gaspard.
“First, you cannot say that. You are a Drake. You have no idea what it feels like to be in his state. Second, he is not fearful of the laying. They’ve lost young. Be respectful.” Gaspard’s snap made Marc recoil. The even-tempered Drake never lost his cool like that.
But every word stung.
As the first contraction snuck up on Frikka, the wild thing wrapping his gut with a fist of pressure gripping his midsection, it combined with his anguish and he wept. For a dragon, it was a feat. Hot tears trailed his face, fangs bared as all the muscles in his jaws contracted. The ululating cry of pain and sadness wracked his chest until he sobbed for a few shaking seconds.
He couldn’t recall ever crying so hard. He’d had tears of rage, certainly. Tears of defeat. He’d cried in moments, but his hearthurt.
“Frikka.” Sten whispered his name.
“Now may be a good time to shift,” Gaspard said, giving Marc a glare.
Sten didn’t have to be told twice. He shed his clothes and stretched into his form, the great black expanse of him a comforting void.Calm yourself, Dette. I hurt, too. Share your pain with me. Don’t do it alone anymore.
They’d tried before, casually nuzzling one another while their minds mingled, but they’d never done it, didn’t have the perspective to try. But in the blink of an eye, as Sten settled in behind Frikka, he laid his great head over the Dette’s and a hot drop of salty tears touched the edge of his maw, seeping in along the edge of his tongue. Between one breath and the next, their spirits entwined, their mortal forms seeking to hold one another. Sten did hurt. And he had a different kind of pain than Frikka.
Where Frikka had suffered the pain of loss, and the extinction of a bond, Sten had suffered the loss of life, the sting in his heart of potentially losing Frikka, of years of loneliness, fear that Frikka wouldn’t survive his anger. Fear that he’d go wild, never come home, or meet his end due to his grief.I love you, Dette. Always have, and I always will.But subtly, in the lingering pain of Sten’s heart, Frikka felt the pain Sten feltforFrikka. Not only did Sten suffer, he suffered to watch Frikka endure it.
And in his heart, the pain he took from Sten met like cold water, touching hot, cooling one, and warming the other. They swirled, their same pain but different. Knowing Sten shared his pain, and he shared Sten’s, made it all settle into the pit of his heart easier.I cannot replace what we’ve lost.
Sten, his spirit of flesh, in his mind, held him as tightly as his dragon snuggled into his back. He was a Drake so madly in love that he’d burn it all down for a moment with him.We cannot replace, only build. Like our old home. We cannot replace that home, but we can build something on the ruins of it, something better than what stood there before. We can build a memory, a safe haven, and a home where more healing can happenthan any of the pain it caused. We are not the only dragons to have lost pups. We weren’t the first, nor the last. And on their memory, we will build our family. The pups that come after will not replace Hallr, nor Peter, Torsten,Jörmun,or Jasper. They will not fill a void or seal a hole. They’ll make our hearts bigger. We’ll grow from it.
Frikka sobbed quietly as they held one another. He was right. The stupid Drake always was.Bastard.
That is what a Nielsen is. I was born what I am. I cannot help it. You chose to become one. We are not the same, you and I.Sten earned a huff of laughter through the pain.
“Good. Whatever you two are doing, it’s working. Almost…” Gaspard’s voice piped through their bonds, and when they attuned with their dragons once more, Frikka hissed and doubled over. He hadn’t realized…
Sten held him tight and great pressure tore through him, not pain, only numb relief as something jerked and manipulated his hindquarters and tail.
Whatever it was—it was wet. Wet preceded cold, and Frikka’s dragon closed his eyes.
“First blank. You’re doing great.” Bastien’s voice, this time.
More whispers, urgent voices, and a barked order from Marc interrupted their moment as they shouted for Sten to lock their tails as gently as possible.
“Another blank. Good.” Marc or Gaspard, Frikka couldn’t tell.
Frikka pushed, guided by his dragon as his hole stretched, pressure grew, and another blank passed, then another until the pain broke through and stung from the start of his tract all the way to his opening, burning as his hole stretched wide. Something stalled at his entrance and he pushed with all his might before something wonderful whispered in his bond. A new soul.
“First egg. Felt that, didn’t you?” Bastien patted Frikka’s flank. “Is his bond beautiful?”
Frikka nodded.Yes.His dragon conveyed the message. Sten agreed, and he too cried. No tears shed in their minds, but his face wrenched up in an ugly sob. He’d never heard the souls of his young. In a way, it was his first. Pups that would know him from the moment they bore their shells to the outside world.
The moment of celebration ended as another blank passed with ease, a burning sting following it, telling him he’d torn. The burn, though, went deep.
When the second egg passed, Frikka screamed, his dragon throwing its head back in pain. It was short-lived, but Frikka was so exhausted.
They palpated his stomach, urging the remaining blanks to move, but Frikka’s body didn’t want to expel them. A hand reached far too deep inside him. Marc coached Sten to press his dragon’s paw just in the right spot—the fire in him turned to ice and acid. A gush flooded between his legs. A blank had burst in the process.
Frikka hissed and coughed with pain and relief as a final push brought one more blank from his body with a pulse and gush of broken, leathery shell and fluid.
Two souls begged for his warmth, but he was so tired. Even in his mind, he drifted off, and Sten held him, tears of joy rocking him into sleep’s precious void.
