20. Drasuk

20

Drasuk

The sound of her ragged breathing fills the silence. I have her held close, so she doesn't hurt herself as she thrashes out the rest of her fear.

My other hand instinctively reaches out, hovering over her trembling form. It's a strange sensation, the urge to comfort a creature so small and fragile. She's barely the size of my two legs, all sharp edges and delicate bones.

Hesitantly, I lower my hand, placing it gently on her shoulder. The warmth radiating from her skin sends a jolt through me, an urge that clashes with the tenderness I feel for her in this vulnerable state.

There's a morbid fascination in the way I hold her, a creature so easily broken cradled against me. The feeling is... unsettling, yet oddly comforting at the same time.

"Fornicator with mother. I didn't say you could touch me," she yelps, trying, and failing to scramble away from me as fast as her tangled limbs allow.

I can't help but snort, a deep rumbling sound that shakes the leaves around us.

"After so many invitations? You are obsessed with fornication. Are you that desperate for young?" I tease, the absurdity of the situation momentarily pushing aside the burning ember within me.

Her cheeks flare deep red, an interesting counterpoint to the pale moonlight filtering through the leaves onto her bright hair.

"No. Why would you say that? I keep telling you to leave," she grumbles, her voice still laced with a tremor of fear.

"Females only fornicate for young," I state, more to myself than to her.

It's a fact ingrained in my very being, a law as old as time from our early days on our original lava-strewn planet.

"What the fiery pit in the ground. That is complete food excrement. Bullshit . Women can fornicate any time they want. As much as they want," she sputters, her voice rising in pitch with every word.

"Fornicate that excrement."

I can't help but raise my forehead spines at her outburst.

Then what she's saying sinks in. The concept of females seeking pleasure for her own sake is certainly an alien concept, though not without precedence, of course.

Drakonid females are majestic creatures, aloof and powerful. They tolerate our advances during breeding cycles, but the act itself is a duty, a means to ensure the continuation of our lineage.

The thought of a female initiating such an act for her own gratification is... well, frankly, absurd.

Something for venom beasts, and, it seems, humans.

"Any time?" I repeat, the question rolling off my tongue before I can stop it.

Part of me is appalled, and another part disturbingly intrigued.

Might this explain my errant arousal? It's suspiciously like my odd obsession with Nkisa, which extended beyond a desire for hatchlings into something I never truly understood, beyond knowing it was unacceptable.

My hide shifts in shame, but I don't let her go.

She throws her hands up in exasperation, an awkward thing to do in her position. "Yes, Drasuk, where did you come from? Some rear-backward cave where females are nothing but walking wombs?"

I bristle at her words, a low growl rumbling in my chest. "Maln'Kril is a proud world, with even prouder females," I retort, offended.

"Well, your world is full of some seriously messed up ideas about women," she shoots back, craning her head back to stare me dead in the eye as her fiery spirit overshadows her earlier fear.

We lock eyes for a long moment, the air crackling with unspoken tension.

This is unlike any interaction I've ever had with a female. Females are either revered and kept at a distance, or they are fighting right alongside you and rarely have an interest in breeding.

Civilian females are the lifeblood of our society, the creators of our offspring, but extended interaction beyond a breeding contact is rare.

Here, with Kira, the lines are blurred.

She challenges me and insults me, yet I find myself drawn to her ferocity.

"Look," I finally say, breaking the silence. "You clearly don't want me here. But you're having nightmares, and this forest is teeming with dangers you can't even imagine."

She hesitates, her defiance flickering momentarily. She mutters something about danger, her voice barely audible.

"Creatures that can tear you limb from limb," I reply vaguely, not wanting to frighten her further.

She bites her lip, her gaze flickering around the forest nervously. Then, with a huff, she stops trying to wriggle out of my hold. It takes all of my control to avoid hissing with laughter at the recalcitrant look that finds its way onto her features.