Chapter Text
They say falling feels like flying till you hit the ground.
Kim had forgotten how to fall.
Flying has always come instinctively to him. His mother used to say he’d spread his wings the moment he’d opened his eyes to the world.
So, when he is falling, tumbling through the sky headfirst towards concrete, his first thought is, I must be dreaming. He must be. Rain pours in torrents around him, stinging like blades. His wings curl around him, bracing for the fall. As the humans so eloquently put it, it’s a hard landing.
Glass shatters and metal crunches beneath him.
Pain, hot and relentless flares through him. He can’t move. Can’t think. Can’t breathe.
Something is broken. Something vital.
His vision is going black at the edges. Calling out is futile. If his landing did not rouse anyone’s attention then his voice, weak and feeble would certainly not.
So, this is how he dies.
Vega knows not to trust the weather channel. Every time they predict sun, she carries an umbrella, and it has never steered her wrong.
Until today.
The weather forecast had predicted rain. Torrential showers with a low of 23 degrees and a high of 27. And any rational being would follow an already established pattern. Ergo, she’d foregone her umbrella and windcheater.
She’d made a run for the bus, barely caught it and spent the ride revising her notes, too engrossed to see the thunderclouds on the horizon.
And now, twelve hours later, it is pouring. And she has no umbrella.
There is a little courtyard or backyard like thing behind the café, opening out into the street, probably meant for outdoor seating but Loni has not gotten round to it getting it set up yet. It has slowly become a storage of sorts. Two seats from a booth with springs exposed to the world at large, a broken coffee machine yet to be recycled, trash bins, stuff like that.
Vega stands under the awning for a long time, cursing her fate, then starts the trudge home. Her mother will shout at her for not listening to the weather man. She knows mom’s shouting means she cares. She’ll take it without a fuss.
The street is empty. There is a blue Honda civic parked by the curb, illegally, no doubt, a cat huddled under its shade. Maybe she should go back and see if there is any expiring tuna.
Then something falls from the sky.
And it’s not rain.
Not that rain isn’t falling. It is. But there is also something else. Too large to be a bird, too small to be a meteor.
It lands on the bonnet of the civic with a deafening crash, sending glass flying everywhere. Vega shrieks and ducks, covering her face with her arms. Still, one grazes her cheek, leaving behind a stinging cut. The cat napping under the car darts out with a yowl and flees into the night.
Slowly, she looks up and screams.
There is a wing dangling from the side of the bonnet.
An honest-to-god silver wing, covered with shimmering scales and a delicate webbing of bones and veins and a tough membrane. She pokes at it, and it flutters a bit. Vega scrambles backwards with a yelp.
What the fuck?
She stands and peers at the bird—is that what it is?
On closer inspection, it is a man. A very injured man. And the wing is attached to his shoulder. It’s either very good cosplay or it is literally raining birdmen. His wings have no feathers though. Is it accurate to call him a bird? Whatever. Focus.
His wing is broken, bent at an odd angle and there are deep cuts littering his torso. Deep enough for her to see the white of a bone. His wounds are bleeding, although sluggishly. Vega covers her mouth with her hand. Do not throw up. Do not—
The man groans, head lolling to the side a bit.
Oh god.
She digs around in her bag for her phone. She needs to call the ambulance. Or the police. Phone pressed to her ear, she waves her hand in front of the guy’s face. “What’s your name? Do you have an ID or something on you?”
He moans again. It almost sounds like—
“Don’t,” he rasps, clearer this time. “Not—people. Please.”
“You need a hospital—doctors—something. I can literally see your bones!”
“Not safe.”
Not safe? Lying here in the rain bleeding to death is not safe. But he is a half creature thing with broken wings. He is probably something scientists would want to get their hands on. Or maybe he’s escaped from a lab.
Fuck.
“I can’t carry you. People will see.”
“Please—”
She kicks at the Civic’s tire in frustration, misses, gets the hubcap instead and curses, hopping around on one foot for a minute while the pain ebbs. Okay. No more kicking at tires. Her coordination is shit on a good day. This is why she always cleans tables and works the cash register.
“Are you—always like this?”
Vega stares at the guy. “Excuse me. I am not the one who just smashed a Honda Civic and is bleeding to death in the rain. I am trying to help you.”
Her mind has gone blank, brain running on autopilot. Good. Less chance of panicking. She probably will later, when the adrenaline crashes. But for now, she is as buzzed up as a six year old on a sugar and caffeine rush.
“My—apologies.” The guy tries to move, barely manages a twitch and then curses in a deep guttural sounding language. “Please—continue—helping.”
“Thank you. Now, here’s what I’ll do. You don’t want the hospital. Or people. I’ll get the key to the apartment from the register. Loni is not home for two days. So, you can stay. We’ll have to clean up though.” Talking out loud helps. “And you will have to survive being dragged up two flights of stairs.”
“I shall try.”
“Good. Can your wings or whatever fold? They’ll catch on the drywall.”
“I believe—it’s broken.” The wing flaps a little. “Yes,” he wheezes. “It is broken.”
“Can you walk?”
“I think we established that earlier, no? I will be able to—probably—in an hour—or three.”
Vega stares at him. “I don’t have three hours. I have to get home. I have algebra to finish.”
A beat. “What’s that?”
“Oh my god. Okay. Come on.”
She drags him down from the hood. He is alarmingly limp, and she staggers under his weight, knees buckling. He nuzzles into her neck like a wet affectionate cat.
“You smell—nice.”
Oh, absolutely not.
“Hey!” She shakes him a little. Or tries to. Her arms are numb. She cannot spend three hours pinned under him on the wet pavement. “Come on. Out of the street. You don’t want people to see you.”
The guy hums. His lips are pressed into her shoulder, bare where her jacket slid off. She swears he licks her shoulder.
“Stop that.”
She succeeds in pushing him off. The details are a little fuzzy—she drags the guy into the courtyard behind the café and sets him down by the steps. It takes way too long, soaking her to the bone. But its dry here, mostly. The wind still occasionally sends stray raindrops their way.
“I’m getting the first aid kit. Don’t move.”
She returns a few minutes later with cotton, iodine, gauze and scissors.
“This will sting,” she warns.
“I can take it.”
She has him braced against her knee, the broken wing hanging at a sickening angle, the other one is wrapped around her shoulder, brushing her cheek every time she moves. His legs are sliding off the steps and his eyes have gone glassy with pain. She is not very reassured.
He hisses with the first touch of iodine-soaked cotton. By the time she finishes cleaning one wound, he has slid down into her lap and buries his face in her stomach whenever she touches him with the cotton.
She ties the gauze around his torso.
They’ve all stopped bleeding except the deepest one.
He needs stiches. None of them are shallow enough to heal like this. But there is nothing else she can do.
The rain has slowed down now to a faint drizzle.
“I’ve got to get home,” she says.
The birdman sits up slowly. He looks reproachful, his lower lip sticking out. Pouting.
Now that her mind is no longer running on fight or flight mode, she notices how he’s the most beautiful man he’s ever seen. Though he looks wrecked. There are bruises on his face. He is flushed, sweating and mumbling. But there is something so alluring in the shape of his jaw, the slope of his forehead, the soft lips and almost poreless sheen of his skin.
He pokes at her cheek. She flinches when he touches the cut. Hopefully it will not scar.
“You’re hurt.”
“A little.”
He leans up and licks her cheek.
Vega reels back in shock, almost hitting her head on a trash bin. “What the hell—”
“It’ll heal.” He almost sounds smug.
“Don’t—never do that again.”
The guy grins, then nuzzles her neck again.
“Stop that.” She pushes him away, scrambling to her feet. Then sighs and helps him up. “Keep those hands to yourself.”
“As you wish.”
Thankfully, she doesn’t have to drag him up the stairs. He walks, leaning heavily on her. She finds the key in the drawer below the cash register and leaves him on the sofa upstairs with strict instructions to shower, apply the bruise cream and sleep.
She doesn’t wait to see what he does. She doesn’t trust herself around him anymore. Her heart is beating too wildly and though it’s easy to blame on exertion, she knows that’s not entirely true. Part of her, an insane part no doubt, wants him to grab her hand and beg her to stay.
She’s watched way too many K-Dramas.
She leaves.
It’s almost ten by the time she gets home, drenched and exhausted.
Her father is watching TV when she unlocks the door and her mom’s sitting by the window, knitting.
“Did you miss the bus?” Mom asks. “I told you to take the umbrella. Do you want dinner? I’ll heat it up.”
“I’m tired. Think I’ll shower and sleep.”
She’s almost at the top of the stairs when her father calls, “Is everything alright?”
She peers over the railing. The TV has been paused. He’s twisted around on the couch, looking after her in concern.
“Yeah.”
In the bathroom, she peels off her bloodstained t shirt and scrubs the blood out before dropping it in the laundry. Then she scrubs herself till the hot water runs out.
When she looks in the mirror, the cut on her cheek is gone.
Notes:
It will feel like A/B/O as the story goes on and I did borrow some ideas from that genre but there aren't any secondary genders or things like that.
Chapter 2: Chapter 2
Summary:
“I have recovered enough now. Thank you. For the meal.”
He kisses her knuckles very gently. His smile though, is sharp with regret.
Chapter Text
She sleeps through her alarm.
She’s never done that before. Even when she’s been sick or slept only two hours. She doesn’t stir when her father comes in to turn it off, tucking the blanket more securely around her, kissing her forehead, then heading off to work.
When she does wake, it’s almost eleven am. The sunlight is spilling in through the blinds. And she is still exhausted, eyes grainy and dry.
She drags herself out of bed, pulling on a hoodie. Downstairs is silent. Ricky’s at school. Mom probably went to drop him off. She makes herself some toast, pours out the coffee left in the carafe. It’s cold and bitter. She’s missed three of her morning classes.
Another thing she can probably strike off her bucket list. Right under save crazy bird man from fatal wounds.
She gets dressed, taking another hurried peek in the mirror to see the cut on her cheek really is gone. Not even scabbed over. Just—gone.
It’s not a very long walk to the café. The bus is faster. But waiting would probably kill her. There’s this restless energy coursing through her, even though she just wants to lie down and sleep for a hundred years.
Maybe she is coming down with something.
The café is on the ground floor of an old townhouse that had been sold off room by room when the owner went bankrupt. The upper floors have been converted into one room apartments and either sold or rented. Loni had bought the one directly above the café and crashed there on nights when she just did not want to deal with traffic.
She trudges up the stairs and knocks.
No answer.
Alright, screw privacy. She unlocks the door with the key she’d forgotten to leave with the guy last night. A good thing probably. Seeing that he has either bailed—though she has no idea where he’d go—or is in no shape to open the door.
She finds him sprawled across the couch on his back, an arm thrown over his eyes. He doesn’t respond when she shakes him. His wings are—gone?
What the fuck?
He looks almost human like this. Despite the wounds which have soaked through his bindings, turning them scarlet.
“Hey! Bird guy? You alive?”
His heart is still beating, a frantic thudding against his ribs. His skin is too hot. Fuck. She hopes he hasn’t gone septic. It is possible. What with the untreated wounds and broken wings. Where the hell are his wings? She glances around the apartment wildly. Maybe he stashed them somewhere. Are they detachable? Then why was he in pain when it was broken. Does he shed his wings? Like snakes?
Please don’t die, she begs, running to grab a wet cloth. She doesn’t know if sponging his brow will help. Or if she needs to get him into an ice bath or something.
She drags him into a sitting position and unwraps the bandages.
He is bleeding again, a slow warm trickle of blood. It soaks the couch cushions. She’s going to have to get them shampooed. There isn’t much she can do beyond sponging him with the washcloth and cleaning his wounds again.
She is debating dragging him into the bathroom and throwing him into the tub when a hand grabs her wrist.
“You came back—” he rasps.
“I—what?”
He hums, pleased and yanks her down till she is flush with his chest. His bare chest. He is surprisingly strong, and she can’t break out of his grip without dislocating her wrist. He is burning, heat seeping through her clothes till she feels as flushed and feverish as he does. She is frozen, too shocked to move as he carefully strokes her back with the hand that is not currently pinning her arms between their chests.
He’s hurt. She’s probably putting pressure on those wounds.
“Let me go.” She struggles weakly against his grip. “How the hell are you so strong? You were passed out a minute ago—I said—let me go.”
“Don’t leave me—please—”
“I’m not. I promise. But I can’t—do anything like this either.”
“Alright.” His hand falls limp down the side of the couch, his breathing harsh and ragged. She sits up slowly, as if any quick movement could spook him. He isn’t a cat—probably—but he definitely behaves like one.
In the bathroom, she fills up the tub. He follows her, curious.
And then he just stands there, right at the edge of it. “It’s cold.”
“It is supposed to be. You are running a fever.”
“I will not take a cold bath. Dragons are creatures of heat and flame.”
“What?”
“I refuse to—”
“Yes, I heard you the first time. I swear to god if you don’t get in, I will push you in. Creature of heat or whatever you are. I don’t care if you are dragon royalty. And where are your wings? Can they just disappear?”
“I put them away. You asked that of me yesterday.”
“Talk about delayed reactions. In.”
“I am not entirely convinced the water is not poisoned.”
“It is not. Get in.”
“After you.”
“You know what—” she throws up her hands, exasperated. “You can fucking die for all I care. I am leaving. I have things to do. I missed school because of you and—”
She shrieks as he simply pulls her back into his dizzying heat. “You promised not to leave. It is dangerous to break a promise made to a dragon.”
“You are a spoilt child,” she shouts, twisting around in his grip, resisting the urge to slap him. Excellent self-control. Mom would be proud. “Let me go!”
He strokes her cheek. “It healed, didn’t it?”
She brings her knee up and kicks him, hard, right between the legs.
He doubles over groaning. “What the fuck—”
Turns out, getting kicked in the balls is painful to all men. Dragon or not.
She tries to shove past him, but something coils around her waist and pulls her back. She narrowly avoids hitting her head against the sink. “Fucking hell.” She looks down at a gleaming silver tail. “Is there any other part of your anatomy that is not human. Please for the love of god, tell me now.”
“Maybe,” he purrs. His chest actually rumbles beneath her palm, like a kitten. “Would you like to find out?”
He refuses to get in unless she joins him and that is not happening. So, they skip the bath. He insists his temperature is normal. His wings have mostly healed. How, she has no idea. He just smiles and wraps them around her like a cocoon and brushes the ends playfully along her calves. His tail has a mind of its own, sliding up her arm.
The moment it dips beneath the hem of her t shirt, she grabs hold of it firmly. “That is crossing a line bird man.”
“I told you I am a dragon.”
“You are not noble enough to be a fucking dragon. Now keep your hands—appendages to yourself.”
Kim sits and hisses when the movement pulls at his wounds, the ones on his stomach. He needs stiches. And she tells him that. Firmly.
He refuses at first. Then relents when she moves to leave and he can’t catch her fast enough.
“Do you know how to sew?”
She nods. “Yeah.”
“Do you have a needle and thread here?”
“No—absolutely not. I am not playing nurse. We can go to the ER and—”
He raises an eyebrow. Smug bastard.
“Fine.”
He lies back on the couch in just a pair of linen trousers hanging low on his hips. She sits on the edge with the thickest needle she could find in the cookie tin that also doubled as a sewing kit and thread, looped thrice so it would hold.
“I have no idea what I am doing,” she warns.
“I trust you.” His smile is gentle, blooming on his face, warm like the sun.
“You thought I poisoned the bath water.”
“A lapse in judgement. You are the only one I trust, my lady.”
“What are you? A renaissance enthusiast?”
He hisses every time the needle enters his skin.
“If you wanted anesthesia we could have gone to the ER. Now shut up.”
When she is done, she washes her hands and throws away the needle. There is silence, as she stands in the middle of the room, unsure of where they go next.
“What’s your name?” She asks finally.
“Kim.”
“Rather simple name for a dragon.”
“So, you do believe I am a dragon.”
“Well, you fell from the sky with a broken wing that had no feathers. You aren’t a bird. And you don’t look like a penguin. So yeah. Dragon it is.”
“Peng—what?”
“Never mind.”
Kim laughs. It’s deep and rich and beautiful. Vega wants to bask in it forever. “As you wish.” And he pulls her down on top of him on the couch. He is purring again. And she can’t bring herself to pull away.
Kim declares, an hour or minutes later, that he needs sustenance.
She takes him to the Shawarma place downtown. It goes something like this. He wrinkles his nose at the options, then picks the same thing she does and stares blankly when the cashier says, “Your total is 3.99. Will it be cash or card today?”
“Are you asking me to pay?”
“Umm yeah. Cash or card. Or you could scan the code.”
“Three hundred and ninety nine what? Gold?”
“Gold—what—man—dollars. Are you like—European? Do you not have currency where you’re from?”
Vega steps in hastily. “Here. Just put it on this.”
They sit at a corner booth and Kim stares down at the wrap like it has personally offended him.
“You eat this?”
“Yes. And what do you live off? Raw meat?”
Kim recoils. “We are not dogs. We eat birds, venison, steak. Seared and rare.”
“Of course. I can’t—I just can’t deal with this now. Okay. Great. Are there more of you? Where do you live? In the sky?”
“I am from Ivaris.”
“And where is that? Middle Earth?”
“Not the middle of the earth. It’s another realm. It lies between Ectador and Idril.”
“Sure. That may as well happen. Is that where you’ll go back to?”
“Yes,” he says, slowly. “I have recovered enough now. Thank you. For the meal.”
He kisses her knuckles very gently. His smile though, is sharp with regret.
She works through her shift mechanically, not even looking at the Honda civic as she leaves. The shattered glass is still there. She walks past it as fast as she can to the bus stop. She can deal with Loni’s apartment tomorrow.
She’s waiting for the bus when she first notices the moving shadows.
Vega dismisses it at first as just her imagination. So far, she has coped with the events of the last twenty-four hours by not thinking about anything too much. It’s like meditation. Let the thoughts pass. Don’t reach for them. And maybe, a few months later, they’ll just be a bad dream.
In a year, she’ll start believing it. Trauma averted.
Then the shadows move closer.
Vega stares, scream stuck in her throat as they solidify into things. More dragon-like creatures. Like Kim. With those wings. But these are pitch black, not silver like Kim’s, with eyes gleaming like obsidian. People have started to notice. They say city people are too wrapped up in themselves to notice the world. She hopes the idiot who says that gets trampled by an elephant.
Spiraling. Focus. Danger
The air is simmering with heat, heavy and oppressive. People are running. Horns are blaring.
And those dragons are coming for her.
She should run too. But her legs fail her. She stands, rooted to the spot. Fight or flight. More like flight or freeze. She clutches her satchel tighter.
One of the sniffs the air and nods. Another grabs her, clawed hands tightening around her throat. Vega thrashes. She thinks she does, limbs flailing as an ingrained reflex. But her mind is somewhere far.
I’m sorry mom, for all those times I snapped. I’m sorry dad for saying you’re the worst. I’m sorry Ricky. For not playing with you more. I’m sorry you’ll probably be called to identify my body. No parent should ever have to do that. I’m so sorry.
A part of her knows she is going to die.
“Not so tight. Humans are fragile. You’ll kill her.”
And suddenly, she can breathe again. She blinks away the black spots dancing across her vision, gasping for air.
She looks up. There are ten of them, at least. Some with black wings, some with green, one with red. Their eyes are mostly human but with snakelike slits. They have tails too, swishing back and forth, coiling and uncoiling.
The red one yanks her head up by the hair.
They are no longer by the bus stop. This is some abandoned alley. She doesn’t know when they moved. There’s a ragged old couch at the corner, probably moth eaten. She hopes she isn’t kneeling on something gross. Like a used condom.
“We can smell him on you. Where did he go?”
“What?” She croaks. Her head hurts. Everything hurts. Her scalp burns where Red is still pulling her hair.
“The prince. Where have you hidden him? He must be here somewhere. You reek of him.”
“I don’t—”
There is a sharp talon cutting into her chin, drawing blood. “You saved him last night. Where did you take him?”
“I have no idea what you—”
Just tell them, a rational part of her thinks. They don’t want you. Why are you protecting some stranger you barely spent a few hours with. She should listen. It’s the smart part of her brain. It’s keeping her safe.
No. Another part thinks. The one Kim left his imprint on, like a burning brand, a claim he’ll probably never come back for. And she’ll tell her grandchildren stories about the man who fell from the sky.
“Please—just let me go—”
“He scented her,” another says. “He’ll come back for her. Even if it’s just for a quick fuck. We could just wait it out.”
“No,” a third snaps. “Who knows when he’ll come back. We don’t have the luxury of time.”
“So we’ll use her as bait. A message he can’t ignore.”
She is thrown aside, a kick aimed at her ribs for good measure. Vega coughs, clutching her side, trying stupidly to crawl away. A tail wraps around her ankle and drags her back. When Kim did it, it felt sensual, warm. This just feels wrong. The scales are rough, slimy. She shudders, tears spilling down her cheeks.
She isn’t even sure why she is crying now. It’s not like it’s going to help.
Maybe it’s her body finally catching up to the madness.
Claws grab her again, ripping through her t shirt.
“Maybe we should carve his name on her.”
Vega screams, thrashing, twisting to get away. Hands pin her down against the rough pavement.
“Or we could take turns with her. Fill her with our seed. Leave her dripping. Maybe he’ll come for her then.”
She’d rather die, she thinks. If they do touch her, she will grab their talons and tear through her throat herself. Hot tears burn at the back of her throat. She tastes blood and dirt in her mouth.
“Or he’ll think she’s ruined and not even bother.”
“No,” a voice snaps. “We are not beasts—”
“I would agree.”
Vega blinks, lifting tear heavy lashes. It’s Kim’s voice, low and snarling.
“That would be an insult to beasts. You are lower than carrion. Release her. It’s me you want.”
She should feel relieved. But she just feels empty.
“Only if you surrender,” the leader says.
“Release her first. It’s not like she is in a state to run.”
The claws around her throat squeeze, cutting off her air. Her vision is graying at the edges now. Kim. She tries to say. How odd her last words should be the name of a boy she’d met only a day ago.
“Kneel,” someone orders.
Kim kneels, slowly, just like they want.
It’s debt he owes her. And he will pay.
Vaughn laughs, throwing his head back, a sound like knives. Kim clenches his jaw. Just a little more, you idiot, he thinks. He needs to stall. Just a little.
“Never thought I’d see you like this, crown prince.”
“All this because father passed over you in the line of succession?” Kim demands. “What makes you think he will favour you any more after your little stunt?”
“He’ll be dead before that little brother. The Black Keep is mine. The throne is mine. And you are the last thorn I need to eliminate. As for her—” Vaughn kneels by where the girl lies on the wet pavement, breathing shallow. He can smell blood, sharp and metallic. Hers. “Maybe I’ll keep her. She is pretty enough.”
And Kim sees red.
He’ll wonder why, later. Why a girl whose name he doesn’t know feels like she is ingrained in his heart and tearing her out will kill him. He’ll wonder where he finds the strength to lunge at Vaughn when his wounds still throb and his wings are still broken. He wraps his claws around Vaughn’s throat and tears out his trachea.
The others are on him within the second.
Kim lashes out. With claws, magic and fire.
He shifts midfight. And suddenly, they’re faced with a hundred feet long dragon. There’s not enough time for Kyle—the one who’d suggested raping Vega to shift before Kim is plunging his claws into Kyle’s ribcage to rip out his heart. It’s still beating as he tosses it to the ground.
There is the sound of bones shifting and wings unfurling. It’s a bloody dance, their roars loud enough to crack the earth. Fire echoes through his veins, magic lashing out like a whipcord.
Kim slices through armored scales and lets their blood drip down his throat.
Kim snarls as talons rake down his back, gouging through scales. The pain only makes him wilder, makes him roar towards the skies, the heat of the fire bathing him like a mate’s touch.
He loses track of time. Nothing matters except this. Except making them pay.
Vaughn tries to crawl away, but Kim pins him down.
It’s just beginning for you, he growls. Vaughn hears it in his mind. And he whimpers.
Good, Kim thinks savagely. Good. Bleed.
All around them, portals open with a hiss. He feels the heat and surge of magic. It’s Joon. The commander of the armed forces.
“Your grace.” Joon bows. “The king’s orders were to keep him alive.”
“He dared to touch her—”
“You will defy your father for a human girl?”
That makes him pause. He was about to. He would have killed Vaughn and laid his heart at her feet. What’s wrong with him? He is more than a mindless feral beast. “Take them all,” Kim snarls, shifting back.
“Your grace, you are injured. You need healers.”
“Later.”
Vega is aware that she is being moved. Something warm and wet licks at her neck. She clings to it, dazed.
“I’m sorry,” is all she hears. “Forget me.”
Notes:
Kim: I am a dragon
Vega: A dragon would behave you overgrown cat
Chapter 3: Chapter 3
Summary:
A bond may be triggered by blood exchange and scenting. In that case, neither may be aware that the bond has begun. The rut will not ease till the bond is cemented.
He knows it’s her, deep in his blood and bones. It has to be her. There’s a part of him that has known for months. The part of him that was so unwilling to let her go, that had wanted to rip out the hearts of all those who dared to hurt her and lay them at her feet.
Chapter Text
The aftermath of the war has Kim wondering if the portal led him astray. The serene peace of the valley has been taken over by a war-ravaged landscape. Explosives used to bomb down the walls have left behind powdered stone and rubble in their wake. The fountains are more blood than water and the entire east wing is crumbling.
He steps over corpses of dragonites and humans alike in the courtyard.
Kim stumbles onto the throne room, dragging Vaughan behind him in chains, covered in blood and gore. His body aches. The wounds on his chest and stomach have begun to bleed again, careful stiches ripped out in fury. And they won’t heal—not without help.
The only wounds a dragonite’s body can’t heal alone are the ones left by their own kind.
Kim tosses his brother at his father’s feet, then turns to leave.
“I have not dismissed you yet,” Alaris says.
Kim freezes. His father never raises his voice. Never had to. He commands his armies with whispers.
“You will attend the trial.”
“He should be dead,” Kim says, voice trembling with restraint. “If I watch him try to plead, I will rip out his heart and feed it to him.”
“He is still a prince of the realm,” Alaris warns. “We cannot have the world thinking our family is not united.”
“He tried to kill us all,” Kim says tightly.
“Nobody will be able to prove he was behind the attack. It was Kyle who led the coup. The prime minister will be stripped of his position of course, for the disgrace of his son, who is, unfortunately dead. You did well.”
“So, you’ll what—let him come back home?”
“He is a prince.”
Something inside him snaps. He wants to strangle his father but the only throat close enough is his brother’s. He grabs Vaughn, just like he did her. “I will see you dead,” he snarls. Then drops him to crumple on the bloodstained marble and storms out.
Vaughn is stripped of his magical core that allowed him to shift.
It’s not enough. Kim wants to see Vaughn beg and scream and thrash. He wants to see him relive that fear for the rest of his eternal life. He wants to feel his blood dripping down his throat, warm and sticky, taste it copper and heavy on his tongue. He wants the punishment to be worse. He wants Vaughn to have his scales peeled away over and over again for all of eternity. To feel fear the way she did. He wants him to be sobbing. To be begging for death.
He wants—
He doesn’t know what he wants anymore.
Kim spends the next few months drowning himself in hard liquor, hoping to dull his memory.
The smell of jasmine and petrichor makes a permanent home in his lungs. He can taste the rain, feel the sting of the antiseptic and the rough press of gauze. He buries it like a casket as deep into the dark recesses of his mind as he can.
Kanses erupts into rebellion overnight after a councilman from the city is removed from his seat. There are small skirmishes on the borders that he is sent to handle, from people who are displeased with the changes in administration. The old council had too many of Vaughan’s men, too many ears and mouths and traitors. Those who actively joined the coup were killed, others dismissed.
The realm teeters on the knife’s edge of peace.
The wolves venture into dragonite territory and Kim is sent to deal with them. He returns with the leader’s skull in his maws.
This is what he is good at. The enforcer, enforcing his father’s rule. Alaris is over a thousand years old. And he’ll live for a thousand more. Kim doesn’t need to take the throne anytime soon. He doesn’t mind being the snarling monster on a leash, allowed out to play every once in a while.
Something’s wrong, Kim realizes one night after he spends hours tossing and turning till his legs are tangled in the sheets, his brow beaded with sweat. With a groan, he realizes he is hard and aching.
He wraps a hand around himself, hissing at how sensitive he is even through soft silk. He strokes himself slowly, eyes fluttering closed as he thinks of a soft hand replacing his own. Lips pressing against his heated skin and eyes as bright as black diamonds. His back arches, hips curling into the motion as he imagines those lips shaping his name, crying out for him. Begging.
He yanks the trousers down and strokes himself faster. His hand is dry. It’s not a smooth slide, even with precome easing the way. But it’s a good kind of rough, just on the right side of pain.
And he’s close, so close, but he can’t quite tip himself over the edge.
Fuck.
He could rub himself raw and still not come. He lies there, sweating and cursing till the sun rises. His head aches and his cock aches even more.
And that scent—it is driving him mad, building a home for itself in his brain. He doesn’t even know where to find it.
Kim goes to the healers, jaw clenched, determined to see this through as soon as possible.
Vylar tells him to lie back on the table and strip.
“I will not,” Kim says, flushing with embarrassment. It has taken him a lot of effort to lace up his trousers, so his hard cock doesn’t make an unwanted appearance. He has not had to deal with this since puberty and Calden accidentally touching his wings.
“Then how am I supposed to tell you what is wrong?”
Cursing everyone and everything, Kim pulls off his tunic and trousers, hissing as the cold air hits him in just the right places, makes him twitch.
“Interesting,” Vylar says and proceeds to poke and prod till he is satisfied, and Kim is very much not. “You appear to need to get laid, as you youngsters are wont to say.”
Kim is four hundred years old. He does not need to bury his cock in the warmth of some woman. He might want to, but that’s different. He says as much.
Vylar shakes his head and suggests a chastity cage.
Kim almost burns the room down.
He goes to the library, startling the attendants who are putting away leather bound tomes.
“Get me everything you can on sexual dysfunction,” he orders.
The squires stare. “Your grace?”
“Everything,” Kim snarls.
Books. He’s taken to books to find a solution for his troubles when the answer should be a nice quick romp in bed. Or against a wall. Or even in the air.
But he’s started to lose his mind. His skin ripples with iridescent scales he cannot control and claws that he can’t retract. His wings refuse to stay folded and his tail lashes back and forth like a whip. He wakes up one morning after a mere one hour of restless sleep, as a dragon, horns and all. He hasn’t done that since he was a hatchling.
He flips through tomes with desperation.
There must be something. Dragon ruts. Mating Ruts. Mating Cycles. Dragons going feral after bond severs. None of it is what he is looking for. His tail has begun to lash when he’s not paying attention. His wings twitch. His skin won’t stop crawling, the heat unbearable even by dragonite standards. He smells like scorched cedar and magic gone rancid.
He flips through a book on courtship rituals with clawed fingers, uncaring if the spine cracks.
Ruts begin for a dragonite after they take a mate. The dragonite is driven into a feral rut if the bond is not reciprocated and may do anything in his or her power to complete the mating. Physical need follows in stages, escalating as time passes to the effect that the dragonite becomes a danger to himself and everyone around him.
Lies.
Kim slams the book shut. He has not taken a mate, hasn’t chosen. The book is wrong. His affection is not unreciprocated. Who would not want a powerful dragonite prince?
He finds another book, hidden away behind the rest. It is small, old enough that the pages are falling apart. It is titled: A treatise on interspecies bonding.
Kim shakes his head. It can’t be. But the book is right there. There is no section on humans, but there is a footnote.
A bond may be triggered by blood exchange and scenting. In that case, neither may be aware that the bond has begun. The rut will not ease till the bond is cemented.
He knows it’s her, deep in his blood and bones. It has to be her. There’s a part of him that has known for months. The part of him that was so unwilling to let her go, that had wanted to rip out the hearts of all those who dared to hurt her and lay them at her feet.
Kim shudders an exhale. He doesn’t even know her name. He only knows the taste of her skin and the blood he’d licked off her cheek and neck. He doesn’t know whether she likes cats or dogs but knows her scent till it’s carved into his bones. He doesn’t know her hopes and dreams, but he’s felt her touch on his wings and tail, places so sacredly intimate nobody has touched them save for his mother when she used to groom his scales.
He doesn’t know if she wants him, but knows he wants to crawl into her skin and sleep for a thousand years.
He digs his claws into the table, ignoring how embers dance across the grain. Heat punches through his gut, making him tremble and ache and groan.
He stumbles towards his chambers.
“Your highness?” The guards look alarmed. “Are you alright? Should I call the healers?”
“Stay back,” Kim commands. “I don’t need healers—I need—”
He needs her. He knows that now. It’s his celestial misfortune that he is fated to mate with a human, a union that has been forbidden since the times of his great grandfather. But he cannot live like this anymore, cursed to be aroused for all of eternity because he can’t stomach the thought of fucking someone else.
“I’ll be fine.”
He is absolutely not going to be fine until he finds that human girl, brings her where she’ll be safe, away from the sight of those who would want her for themselves.
Heat surges through him again making him groan, sweat pooling in the dips of his muscles and fire burning in the hollows of his bones. He can smell her again. That scent. It shouldn’t be real. And yet it is, making him feel dizzy with want, remembering bits and pieces of the afternoon they spent on the couch while he was delirious and aching and how scenting her had felt so natural, so ingrained.
A knock shatters the haze.
“What?” He snarls, almost ripping his door off its hinges. His claws leave deep gouges in the wood.
“The king has summoned you.”
“No.”
“Your highness—”
“You will tell him, I was not in my chambers, and you could not find me anywhere in the keep.”
“But—”
“You will lie if you value your life.”
The portal breaches the veil between the worlds. Kim doesn’t wait for it to stabilize. He steps through, magic singeing his clothes, accosting him with the acrid smell of burnt cotton.
He stumbles onto wet concrete and late afternoon rain. He knows what he looks like, with wings flared and tail lashing, a half dragon in its most feral form. Humans will run. Or shoot.
Any human save for her.
She’s seen him at his lowest, on the verge of dying. She won’t flinch away from him. She won’t.
Now he just needs to find her.
Kim turns around slowly, trying to find her scent and gauge a direction he needs to move in.
It occurs to him a little too late, that it may take him days to find her in a city as large as this, filled to the brim with people, ugly buildings that reach up to the sky, as if they could ever come close to touching it and those cars—skies above, he hates those cars. They are noisy, polluting and behave like they own the streets.
Kim has followed the progression of humanity over the past few centuries. And all they have succeeded in doing is destroy a world that gave them life.
More the reason to get his mate away from here and where she will be safe.
He sniffs the air delicately. Motor oil, smoke, sweet dough being fried and metal. He growls in frustration. How is he supposed to smell petrichor and jasmine when the rain is everywhere. Misleading.
He tries to get across the street and almost gets crushed under one of those cars. Except that this one is longer, taller and crammed with people. A bus, as she’d explained to him. The thought of his mate surrounded by so many people, their scents on her makes him want to melt the damn thing.
He is now fully soaked, half hard and nowhere near finding her.
It might’ve been easier if he’d known her name.
He hears heartbeats and somewhere in the distance a church bell ringing. There is music playing obnoxiously loud.
If his rut demands she be found, the least it can do is point the way. Some kind of direction marker. Anything.
He knows where that little room is, where she’d hidden him for the night. The same place he’d left her after he was sure Vaughn was in Joon’s care. He’ll not find here there. It hadn’t been hers. Hadn’t smelled like her at all. But it’s a good place to start.
He follows the bus, crawling by as it is in the traffic. Asphalt cracks beneath his boots.
People are staring at him.
“Hey—nice costume,” a human boy leaning against a post calls.
Kim pauses, raising an eyebrow. These people wear clothes that are either contraptions for torture or are meant to fit two more people in there and they think he dresses oddly? He wants to say something, but the urge to find his mate is more driving.
Half hidden in the darkness of the alley behind the eatery, next to a blue car that looks like it’s been crushed by a boulder, he shifts. The pain of the transformation is as sharp as an arrow, lancing through every bone, muscle and limb. He is left shuddering in the aftermath, a dragon on the verge of losing his mind.
His senses are sharper now. He can hear things, the soft hum of inconsequential thoughts of the humans around, the pulse of heartbeats and blood thundering through veins.
And beneath that, a siren song of his mate, faint but true.
A thrum of heartbeat, not his own, but closely intertwined with his. A current underlying everything else.
He follows.
Notes:
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Chapter 4
Summary:
She’d spend the rest of her life staring at other people, wondering if they were human or if they were going to sprout wings out of their backs the moment she looked away.
What fear could humans instill in her when she knew that there were other things out there that could rip a human apart without blinking?
Notes:
Remember when I said I had an update schedule? I might've lied.
I mean I did have one. And I even had outlines and drafts written out but then I fell into a slump and couldn't write plot for the life of me.
Better late than never right?
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
The club is dark, neon lights and smoke curling across the ground. The world twists and spins with her, as she tosses her hair back and sways to the beat of the music.
It’s one of those clubs which open almost every day of the week and don’t bother with checking IDs except at the bar, and even then, it’s quite easy to get someone to buy you a drink. Vega has learnt that guys are pretty quick to chat her up if she looks a little older, dressed in something short and tight and glittery, eyeliner artfully smudged, colorful highlights in her dark hair and sweat gleaming on her arms.
This particular club is owned by Janine’s uncle. Vega would never even have guessed the man had his hands in the city’s grimy underbelly if Janine’s hadn’t mentioned it to her after one too many drinks.
Vega might’ve been scared, hell, she ought to have been, what with some of the people she’d seen walking into the little back office where Janine’s uncle sat. Something in her had broken after that night in the alley, watching Kim rip out the heart of another man right in front of her eyes. The same men who would have hurt her, or worse. He’d done it to protect her, probably. But then he’d disappeared and left her to pick up the pieces of her life and move on.
She’d spend the rest of her life staring at other people, wondering if they were human or if they were going to sprout wings out of their backs the moment she looked away.
What fear could humans instill in her when she knew that there were other things out there that could rip a human apart without blinking?
She wonders sometimes, if it had all been a crazy dream.
Dr. Link suggested that she’d seen something else and just conjured up something fantastical just so she wouldn’t have to deal with what she’d actually seen.
Janine passes along a joint.
Vega passes it on without touching it to her lips.
They’ve stumbled to the little booth in the back, kept reserved for them. Vega lies sprawled across Haily’s lap, blinking up at the pattern on the ceiling. There are a few boys in their group tonight. She doesn’t know them, though the one on the right is rather cute, with dark hair curling artfully at the temples and a tight leather jacket covering arms she wants to feel around her.
“We should do bodyshots,” Haily says, slamming down her drink. “Vega’s never tried those before.”
Vega tries to protest, but alcohol is curbing all reason right now. She feels warm and tipsy and bodyshots do sound fun.
“I’ll get us tequila,” Janine says.
Vega watches her strut up to the bar and flirt with the bartender before returning with a tray of shot glasses and a bottle of tequila. The good kind.
Her gaze slides over the bodies on the dance floor, light flashing off glitter and sequins, when something catches her eye.
In the corner, tucked away by the nook where the DJ is, are a pair of familiar eyes, gold with a slitted pupil and a heat that raises the hairs on her arms from all the way across the room. They seem to shine with a light of their own, like a beacon.
She sucks in a sharp breath, already beginning to feel the telltale signs of a panic attack waiting to happen.
She scrambles away from the booth, grabbing her purse and pulling down her dress which has ridden up her thighs.
“I just remembered, I have to meet my mom for dinner. I’ll—uh—I’ll see you guys later.”
“Hey—Vega—you alright?” Janine asks. She sounds concerned, or as concerned as she could sound high out of her mind and giggling like a toddler.
Vega scans the room for the golden eyes again but they’re gone. Something icy settles in her chest. She’s as sober as she was at the start of the evening now. The rush of the cocktails she’d downed is gone, replaced with fear, a bone chilling fear that makes her startle when shadows move.
She leaves without looking back.
The streets are glossy and black after the rain has let up, reflecting the lights of the city that feels too loud for her comfort. There are shadows everywhere and she never knows when they’ll start moving, slithering towards her like some monstrous serpent.
She hails a cab, almost wobbling on the pavement in her heels.
The inside of it smells like coffee and old cigarettes. She leans back against the plastic covered seat and watches the city fly past.
She’ll have to stop somewhere and get a change of clothes or risk her parents thinking she was out partying. She’d planned to crash at Janine’s tonight, but that’s clearly no longer an option. Maybe there’s a Goodwill somewhere she could stop at.
She is supposed to be making progress, closer to accepting the truth that she imagined that night. That dragons are just some mythical fantasy.
She tells her mom that she’s getting better, that her nightmares are gone. That she is sleeping through the night. She tells her father she and Aaron are just taking a break, that they want to explore their options. She doesn’t say that she wakes up in the middle of the night, drenched in sweat. That she has dug out Ricky’s old nightlight from storage and keeps it on all night so she isn’t alone with the shadows.
She doesn’t tell them she flinched every time Aaron even reached for her and how he’d begged her to tell him what was wrong and then to take all the time she needed when she’d shaken her head, tears wetting her cheeks. That he'd still be waiting.
And underneath it all, is a burning itch she can’t scratch.
It’s not painful, but it’s there, under her skin in a place she can’t reach. It doesn’t become better or worse, just tugs at her sometimes, drawing her towards something she can’t see.
She’d quit her job at the café, unable to even look at that abandoned Honda civic without feeling sick. Her mother suggests she take it easy for a while now. It’s not like they’ll starve if she stops working for a few months.
They know something is wrong. They are waiting for her to come to them, to trust them enough to tell them.
It’s not that she doesn’t trust them. It’s just that she doesn’t trust they’ll be safe from the world Kim dragged her into and vanished.
She sat through the first few sessions with her therapist, saying what the doctor wants her to say. She’s never been a good liar. Never needed to. Never had the strict parents some of her friends did. Never needed to save numbers of guys as girlfriends because mom and dad never looked through her phone.
It helps when you so desperately want to believe in your lies that you convince others.
But she can tell the lull is not going to last.
They’ll know soon when Dr. Kayla’s assistant calls that she’s been cancelling her sessions, when the admin office from school calls wondering why she’s been sick for so long. Her rather carelessly structured tower of lies will come crashing down.
And then what?
She’ll be put into an institution or something. Or sent away.
Vega wishes she could forget, wishes she could accept that it was all in her head.
When she’d woken up, the bruises were gone. So were the wounds from the talons that almost ripped her throat out. She’d just been tired, with no recollection of how she’d even gotten into Loni’s apartment.
It’s late enough to come home now. Mom will probably think she came home after grabbing dinner with her friends. She may question the outfit, the more dignified mess she’d managed to comb her hair into, and the makeup. But Vega’s become good at dodging questions. And they’ve never really pushed her too hard before. They’ve never had to. She’s responsible and does her homework and gets good grades.
She’s a good kid. A normal kid. Minus the recent panic attacks and the skipped meals and appointments with a psychiatrist. And who doesn’t have those these days.
The house is quiet. It’s a peaceful scene she walks into, very picture perfect.
Her mother is setting the table, dad is taking the roast out of the oven and Ricky is coloring on the seat by the window. She isn’t feeling hungry. She only feels a bone deep exhaustion that makes her want to crawl into bed and never get out to face the world again.
“Vega? Honey, dinner is ready.”
“I ate,” she says sharply. Too sharp. It’s not their fault. She knows that. “With Jules.”
“Are you sure?” Mom asks.
“Uh huh. I’ll just finish some homework.”
She stands before the bathroom mirror for a long time. The girl looking back at her is unrecognizable. Not just her reflection, the whole world feels foreign like she doesn’t belong in it. Vega steps out into the hallway. She can hear the TV playing some 1960s sitcom. It sounds like Bewitched. She recognizes the jingle.
She wants to go back down and curl up on the couch with Ricky on her lap and lose herself in watching people do magic that does not involve moving shadows.
She thinks that girl is lost now. Probably dead.
Vega opens the door to her room. It’s pitch dark.
Her heart lurches. It’s not supposed to be dark. She’d deliberately left the light in her closet on this morning. She fumbles around for the light switch and flicks it on—and stumbles backwards.
There’s someone on her bed, leaning back against her pillows, silver wings spread across the duvet.
She screams.
It lasts maybe a second before it is cut off by a hand covering her mouth. He is on her before she can run.
She thrashes as her door is slammed shut and he buries his face in the crook of her neck and breathes in the smell of her like a drowning man struggling for air. He relaxes almost immediately.
She doesn’t.
She is on the floor, a weight covering her, wings blocking her view. And she can’t breathe. It’s like those talons cutting off her air again. The feel of scales against her skin makes her shudder. Tears burn in her throat.
“No—please—stop. I can’t—please—” Her words are weak, her limbs feel like jelly. She can’t push him off, can’t fight. She can’t—
There are wings wrapping around her and a tail that is curling around her ankle like a leash. She thinks it’s supposed to be comforting.
She flails, trying to throw him off. But he’s heavy and strong. And has a grip like steel bands.
“Please. Stop.”
He is humming and his chest rumbles with it. She feels herself pulled up and tucked against a warm chest. The wings wrap around her back like a cocoon. The rumbles rise in intensity till it feels like a cat, purring. She is still shaking, sobs still tearing through her leaving her feeling hollow. But at least she isn’t frozen with panic.
“It’s alright,” the voice croons. The tail around her ankle slides up her calves and stops at her knee. “I’ve got you. You are safe. I promise I won’t hurt you. I’ll never hurt you.”
“Vega? Is everything alright? I thought I heard a scream.”
She opens her mouth to answer. But he beats her to it.
“Yeah. Don’t worry. I saw a spider.” Her voice, the exact same tone. But not from her mouth. “I killed it.”
“Oh alright,” dad says, and footsteps walk away.
With a burst of strength, she twists away, scrambling backwards till her back hits the side of her desk. “How did you do that—how the hell—what the fuck are you? And don’t you dare say dragon. You’re a monster. You—get out. Just get out. Get out of my life. And don’t ever come back. Don’t you dare—”
“Vega—”
She is rambling, panicking. Dr. Kayla had said to try and breathe when such things happen. To try and name five things she can see, four she can touch, three she can hear, two for smell and one she can taste. But she can’t see anything right now because Kim’s wings are surrounding her, smothering and she can’t touch anything because his hands are pinning hers to the floor.
“Vega please—my star—let me help—”
“No. Get away—”
Kim’s forehead is pressed against hers. There is a sudden stab of pain, like spikes being driven into her skull, white hot and flaring.
She screams—or tries to but it’s stuck in her throat. And even if someone did come—Kim would probably kill them.
There is something in her head. A touch. Foreign and not hers. It’s in her mind, probing her thoughts. Invasive and wrong. But she can’t fight it. And she is falling into darkness again, those creatures with slitted eyes reaching for her with taloned hands.
Notes:
If you made it this far-
*Gives a gold star (and not in the condescending way)*Lemme know what you thought. Comments are appreciated.
Chapter 5
Summary:
He is a monster. A monster who saved her life and is now nuzzling her hair. A monster who left her alone. After everything.
Chapter Text
She drifts, in and out of consciousness for what feels like eternity, haunted by dreams that slip through her fingers.
The first time she wakes up, she’s in bed lying on her side, under a blanket. It’s hers. She can see Darth Vader’s head where her feet are poking out from under it. There’s a heavy weight across her middle. She should care. But it’s warm and feels almost familiar. And she’s too tired to be scared of it. She lets another wave of lassitude pull her into darkness.
The second time, she’s uncomfortably warm. There’s someone in bed with her, radiating heat like a giant furnace. But it’s not bad. She shifts a little and the arm around her waist tightens. She’s surrounded by a dull haze that makes keeping her eyes open a task harder than she can be bothered with. She slips back under again.
The third time, something’s wrong. Her limbs are too heavy, and the shapes blur into each other like she’d underwater.
Late afternoon sunlight pours through the gaps in the blinds.
She blinks against the light and moves to sit up. She can’t. Because there is a half dragon draped over her, wings curled around her body, tail curled around her wrist. If he’s faking sleep, it’s to watch her squirm. If he’s asleep, he trusts her not to run. The rise and fall of his chest against hers is even. She feels his exhales against her neck. His arms are banded around her waist.
She can’t move.
He snuggles closer when she tries. Though probably, snuggle is a wrong word for a monster who could very easily rip out her throat. The memory of him covered in blood—the blood of his brother—holding a still beating heart is seared into the back of her eyelids.
He is a monster.
A monster who saved her life and is now nuzzling her hair.
A monster who left her alone. After everything.
She tries to slip out from under his arms and wings and tail. Full marks for effort. Zero for success. Kim rolls on top of her in his sleep and mumbles something into her neck.
She lies as still as possible and tries to breathe steadily through her nose.
His scent drowns her, rich and heady, her eyes flutter closed. This. This is what her body has been craving her whole life. But a distant part of her brain refuses to quiet down, screaming at her to get away.
Panic bleeds through the hazy warmth.
Name five things you can see.
Things she can see. Okay. The silver wings, her bedroom ceiling, painted a light pink, the light playing across the floor, her calculus textbook and Kim. She can touch smooth bare skin—Kim’s. The soft blanket, the puffs of breath against her shoulder and the rough scales of Kim’s tail around her wrist, occasionally uncoiling to brush her fingers. And she can smell Kim.
She can’t quite remember what happened last night.
Was it even last night? What if days have passed?
What did he do?
She remembers pain and then the feeling of falling asleep, like sinking under anesthesia.
She has so many questions.
Don’t think about it. Just don’t. Don’t think about anything.
She can’t.
The human mind is a strange thing. And hers has never been quiet.
Think of anything else. Newton’s Laws of Motion. She can’t remember the second law. Pi is 3.14159. And she can’t remember the anymore of the digits.
Fuck.
Why did he leave? Why has he come back? What does he want from her? Does magic exist? Is it real? Why was his brother after her? Why her? Why can’t he leave her alone? Is she broken—
“Vega?”
She blinks, and the world slams back into place, her room, her blankets. Him.
Kim sighs, content and breathes her in, laying tiny butterfly kisses against her neck. His body slackens against hers until he’s surrounding her fully, invading her senses. She can feel his smile against her collarbone. His tail uncoils and strokes up and down her leg, slow and deliberate.
Then he’s rolling them over.
Breathing is easier this way. At least she’s not pinned down. She can move away if she wants to.
She doesn’t know if he did that because he wanted her on top or because he can sense she was on the verge of tears under him.
She stares down at him. On that first night, she’d thought him to be beautiful, ethereal, otherworldly. His gold eyes look back at her steadily, full of devotion. He smiles slowly, like he’s not used to it. She’s close enough to watch the muscles in his face relax.
“Vega,” he murmurs, reverent.
She tries to remember what you’re supposed to do around dangerous animals. Don’t let them see your fear. No sudden movements.
Kim’s wings brush against her back every time she breathes.
“Vega,” Kim says again, lips pressed against her cheek. She can feel them moving, towards the shell of her ear. His tongue darts out to taste her, warm and wet. “My star. My heart. Let me have you.”
His words hardly register. She can’t think. His scent is all around her. His hands are in her hair, stroking, massaging her scalp till she sighs. He shifts, pressing kisses down her neck to her pulse. She feels something pressing against her, through layers of clothing—hard, blunt.
Let me have you. It echoes in her head. Not her own. Foreign. His.
Vega freezes. No sudden movements be damned. She almost throws herself off the bed with a shriek, scrambling to get away.
Kim moves faster than she ever could.
She’s not even halfway to the door before he is blocking it with his body, wings flared.
“Vega?”
She can’t speak. She curls in on herself, pressing her spine against the wall as if she can fuse with it. The haze is lifting. She can feel the erratic beat of her heart, the dryness of her mouth and how wrong her tongue feels in it. She is shaking.
‘Don’t—” she gasps. “Please—”
“It’s alright.” Kim croons like he’s talking to a spooked kitten. “I know it can be a lot the first time, but you don’t have to be afraid of me. I’ll never hurt you. It’ll feel so good, I promise.”
Vega makes a strangled sound.
He reaches for her, tucking her into his chest. Her hands come up to push him away but falter when they meet solid muscle and skin that burns like he’s running a fever. He’s stroking her hair. His heat is making her dizzy. She wants to push him way and drown in him at the same time.
She’s losing her mind.
He’s whispering something into her hair.
Mate.
Chapter 6
Summary:
“I don’t want anything to do with your kind. I want you to go back to wherever you are from and for you to never come back again and forget you exist. I want to believe it’s all in my head like everyone wants me to. What then?”
Kim’s eyes are fire, his gaze scorching. “Are you rejecting me?”
Notes:
A double update!
Have I made up for my month of silence? Have I?
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
“What do you mean mate?” She shrieks.
Kim nuzzles into her hair. “I want to take you as my mate. I mean I already have—a rut won’t start without it. But I want you to be mine. No one else gets to touch you.” He breathes her in. “Just being near you, it calms the fire.”
“Get off me,” she screams. There’s a wall behind her and nowhere for her to go. She’s backed into a corner—
“Vega?” Kim’s voice wavers, confused, but he moves, a safe distance away from her, looking like he’s in pain. His hands are clenched into fists. “Why are you afraid? What is it? Talk to me, my star.”
“Stop—stop saying that. I am not yours. Not your mate or whatever—”
Kim eyes darken, slow disbelief spreading like a storm.
Oh fuck. Don’t make him mad. Don’t—
Tears stream down her cheeks. It seems all she can do these days is fucking cry.
He holds up his hands to placate her. “Vega? Alright. We won’t—we don’t need to do anything right now. I’m not going to force you. You must know that. Can’t you feel it?
“I don’t—feel?”
“I’ve been in pain for months. But near you? It stops. Doesn’t it feel different? Didn’t you feel the heat, the need—”
She shakes her head vehemently. “I don’t—I have no idea what you are talking about. Please. I don’t know anything. Just let me go. Please.”
“I can’t.”
Those two words hold all the devastation of the world.
Kim moves before she can flinch, wrapping an arm around her shoulder and pulling her close till she’s tucked under his wing.
“I was hoping you would—” Frustration colours his tone. “Alright. We need to talk.”
“You don’t say,” Vega mutters, giving up on trying to pull away. She could—probably—get used to being touched by wings and scales again if it kept him calm. She could force herself to breathe through it and not think too much.
“But I did just say it,” Kim says, baffled. “Would you like to talk here? Or somewhere else?”
“Here is fine.” She doesn’t want to talk. She wants him gone. But maybe after talking he’ll go. “But can we—” she gestures between them. “You sit there.”
Kim follows her line of sight. Something flickers in his expression, like it wounds him—but he nods.
“I—fine. But can I—keep touching you? Just so I don’t lose my mind. Like this.”
Kim sits on the chair, but his tail remains on the floor by her feet close enough to brush her toes. Vega holds still. After a minute, it feels bearable.
She nods. “It’s fine. Could you—you know—put on some clothes. Or did you come from Middle Earth like this?”
“I do not know where this middle earth is. Anywhere could be the middle of the earth. It is round for skies sake. And clothes are uncomfortable.” He gestures to his wings, currently knocking pencils off her desk.
“Fine. Talk.”
Kim wilts. “I was hoping you would lead.”
“You snuck into my room at night, were sniffing me like a confused puppy trying to find its way home and you just told me you were in pain for months. I think you have more to say.”
Kim looks indignant at the puppy analogy. “I am a dragon prince—”
“I don’t care if you are the god of dragons,” she snaps. With the distance between them, she feels braver. “Talk.”
“Alright—talk—I can do that.” He looks ready to rip his hair out. “I am a dragonite, not a dragon. Dragons can’t shift. But we do. I can appear as a human, a full dragon and—”
“Can you appear human now?” She cuts in.
“I could. But it hurts.”
“You keep saying that. Why?”
“We choose mates. When we do, a bond is triggered. Usually, it affects both. But I’ve never seen a bond between a dragonite and human, so I don’t know what it looks like. I didn’t know I had taken a mate. I was—not in my right mind that night and my blood was on you and yours was on me—the cut on your cheek.”
Right. The one he’d licked and healed.
Something akin to warmth blooms through her. It’s odd how him being all over her made her feel nothing but cold but the memory of that makes her blush. Maybe because it was untainted by all that came after.
Mate—
Don’t think about it now.
Kim continues. “A bond triggers a rut, it always does. For us, heat and rut cycles only begin once you take a mate—”
Vega squeaks. “Heats? Like dogs?”
“Not for you. You’re human. But for me—it was unbearable. I couldn’t sleep or think. Shifting hurt. I tried to fly but I kept searching for something I couldn’t find, and I didn’t know it. I felt like I was going insane. I could smell you everywhere. I tried potions, spells, everything.” Then he smiles. “I’m better now.”
“What do you mean smell me?”
“You smell like rain and jasmine.”
“Good to know,” she mumbles.
“It’s nice,” he assures her. “You smell divine, my star.”
“Why do you keep calling me that?”
“What—my star? Would you prefer something else? Like my heart? Or my flame?”
“What if I say no? I don’t want this bond. I don’t want to be your mate. I didn’t choose you. I don’t want you.”
Kim doubles over like something inside him snapped.
She barrels on. If she doesn’t say it now, she never will. “I don’t want anything to do with your kind. I want you to go back to wherever you are from and for you to never come back again and forget you exist. I want to believe it’s all in my head like everyone wants me to. What then?”
Kim’s eyes are fire, his gaze scorching. “Are you rejecting me?”
Oh god. Fear crawls up her throat. Fuck.
She looks up at the ceiling, squeezing her eyes closed. “Yes.”
She feels rather than sees Kim standing over her, his shadow covering her like an eclipse.
“Are you afraid of me?”
She shudders.
“Answer me,” he demands, his voice cold.
She shakes her head weakly.
Kim stumbles back, almost tripping over her chair. “I’m sorry—I’m so sorry Vega. I didn’t—I don’t want to hurt you. Ever. I swear on the celestials. I would never—but it hurts. Even if I wanted, I can’t stay away from you. You’d have to kill me.”
“I don’t want you dead,” she whispers. “I just don’t want—”
She can’t say it. Can’t say how weak it made her feel. Pathetic, lying there. There are creatures in the world that can crush her like an ant. And they can attack at any time, and she’d be helpless to stop it. That there is nothing she can do.
She wants desperately to believe that everything was in her head because then she could go back to being happy. Living under an illusion of safety with cracks spiderwebbing across its fragile surface.
She can’t decide whether she wants to be ignorant or know everything and spend her life fearing things in the dark.
“I just want to feel safe.”
Kim drops to his knees. But he doesn’t try to touch her.
“I did that,” he gasps, clutching at his own forearms, leaving bloody gouges. “I made you feel unsafe. When they came for you—and I left. I shouldn’t have. I should have known—”
She nods, hating the scald of tears on her cheek. But she feels lighter, finally saying it out loud.
“I swear. I will keep you safe. I swear on my core and my blood. I just—its hard to hold back, to not touch you. A rut—it usually lasts for four days. Mine has gone on for months and I—I need you. I didn’t think you wouldn’t—I mean, I guess there is a lot I need to know about humans.”
“Would a dragonite have just let you drag her into a cave and fuck her?”
Kim grins, sharp and wicked. “She would have been doing a lot of dragging too. Any female of my kind would have been just as mad with the fever.”
Vega tries to imagine that and fails. “Are you usually a furnace?”
He looks offended. “The amount of energy I have spent regulating my body temperature so that I would not burn you could probably power an entire city of yours.”
“Dramatic.”
Kim huffs. “Did you feel nothing at all? I know humans are not—as open to magic—but it can’t have been nothing. Did you not want something you couldn’t reach? Did everyone else’s touch not repulse you?”
“There was—something. Like a part of me missing.” Like the pain of a limb that has long been amputated. “And it felt like my skin was crawling. I thought it was because of—you know everything.”
“And is it gone now?” He sounds almost hopeful.
“Yeah. It is. You touching me is not—bad” She holds up a hand. “That does not mean you just get to up and claim me or whatever caveman alpha male nonsense you have up your sleeve. I—I have a boyfriend. And it’s not fair to him even if whatever you say this is—is some magical, fated soulmate thing.”
Kim’s nostrils flare. “A boyfriend? A lover? Another male. Who touches you. Scents you? Looks at you?”
“Are you always this composed?”
“Has he—have you—”
Vega lifts an eyebrow. “Sex? I’m not a virgin. So, if that’s some fetish you have—”
“I don’t care. I wouldn’t care if the entire world has had you before—though I would rip them apart if you didn’t—you know—agree to it. But I don’t care about your past. I care about now. About the future. About us.”
Vega laughs wetly. “Just one guy. I was sixteen. It was stupid and—doesn’t matter.”
Kim exhales. “Alright. I can—I can work with that. Just don’t send me away, please.”
“Only until your—fever or whatever has passed. And we are setting down some ground rules. My parents—”
Fuck. What had happened to them. It’s been almost twenty-four hours since she’d come home, and Kim had lied about the spider—
Speaking of which—
“What the fuck was that last night?”
“Which part?”
“Was that you in the club?”
Kim nods, almost sheepish. “I had to find you.”
“And you—you imitated my voice. You told dad it was a spider. I don’t care how you did it. If you do it again, I will never even look at you again. Is that clear?”
“It was—ventriloquism with a bit of magic. I couldn’t have him interrupt a mating, could I?”
Vega chokes on air. “Were you—did you plan to just—did you think I would sleep with a guy I’ve met barely twice. And with my parents a few feet away? If I was asleep in bed would have just—I don’t know—climbed me like an animal?”
“I would not.” He looks indignant. “I would have prepared you first. Built a nest—with blankets and cushions,” he says hastily. “Made you comfortable. I would’ve washed you with oils and soaps. There are mating rites you know. I would take you on a flight first. We probably can’t mate in the air—but—”
“Hold it—we are not joining the mile high club.”
“What?”
“And what was that thing you did. It hurt. It felt like you were—you were in my head, weren’t you? That’s what it was. You were in my head and you—”
Kim looks horrified. “It hurt you? I—dragonites—we share thoughts all the time. I didn’t know. I could’ve—fuck—destroyed your mind—”
Vega’s eyes widen. “What the fuck?”
“No—no—I swear—I’ll never do it again. Please don’t be afraid of me.”
Breathe. Just breathe. Murder later.
“Okay—first rule. Never ever do that again. In fact, never do anything you would do to a—a dragonite. You ask. If you want to know something, ask me.”
“Will you always tell me?” he asks, sulking.
“That is my choice.”
“Alright. Anything you want.”
“Next. No touching. No kissing. And definitely no mating.”
Kim’s tail and wings droop. “At least let me hold you. I won’t kiss you or try to mate with you. I can’t—it will be unbearable if I can’t hold you.”
“Alright. Holding. And tell your tail to behave.”
“As you wish.”
His tail curls around her ankle. “Kim.”
“Sorry. Sorry. I—sorry.”
“You don’t get to be all caveman-y. I am going to go out. To school. To cafes or wherever I want. I may even meet Aaron. You will behave. And not follow me around like a stalker.”
“But—”
“No.”
“Vega,’ Kim says, slowly, “you are marked in the eyes of all magical creatures. A human mate is a rare and precious thing. As far as I know, humans are the only species compatible with all kinds of creatures. You will become a prized commodity for them. I will not be able to keep you safe if I am not around. If you had accepted me, they might have respected that. But you are basically a buffet to a starving man right now.”
“You are a curse,” she mutters. “Fine. You can come. But for fuck’s sake. Be discreet.”
“Your wish is my command.”
“And finally. No nicknames. Call me ‘my star’ or something else like that, I will kick you in the nuts.”
“What nuts?”
Vega wants to scream. “The royal jewels. Your balls.”
“Ah.” Kim looks scandalized. “So—what can I call you?”
“My name. And please for the love of god, stay out of sight of my parents.”
“I will do as you order.”
“Good. Now what did you tell my parents to make them not enter my room all day?”
“Oh, they entered. I hated it. But I didn’t attack the male.” He looks proud.
“What male? You mean my dad?”
“And the little one. I was very good.”
Vega covers her face. “And how did they not see a guy in my bed?”
“They only saw you. I hid myself under the bed.”
“They think I have been asleep all day?”
“Yes. They ought to have been concerned. My wet nurse would have grabbed me by the tail and hurled me out the window if I slept all day.”
“Wet nurse?”
“My mother died when I was born.”
“Oh.” She suddenly wants to wrap her arms around him, sulky puppy eyes and all and never let him go. “I’m sorry.”
He shrugs. “Have you been doing that often? Sleeping all day?”
“I—” she looks away, not wanting him to know about therapy and cutting school and pulling away in general. “Sometimes.”
“Are you alright, my sta—Vega?”
“Kim—your tail.”
“Sorry!”
Notes:
Did you like it? Do you have thoughts?
Well, leave a kudos and a comment if you do. My poor little inbox feels empty
Chapter 7
Summary:
It’s a punishing turn of fate that his mate is unable to feel their bond—to feel him. And the pain returns with a vengeance every time she slips away from him.
Chapter Text
His mate heads down for dinner an hour later.
Kim has spent that hour curled at her feet while she sat at her table and did homework. Homework. When she could have been holding him or lain in his lap while he played with her hair.
No dragonite has had to spend his first rut begging his mate for affection. Ever.
Ruts are meant to be spent in bed, never leaving each other’s arms. Or bodies.
Kim must be cursed.
What is that human saying? Something about waiting for good things? He shouldn’t have to wait. He is a prince.
But he grits his teeth against the pain that lances through his gut every now and then.
It’s a punishing turn of fate that his mate is unable to feel their bond—to feel him. Though it would be cruel to wish she were burning up with fever too.
The pain returns with a vengeance when she slips away from him. It eases when she is close to him. Skin touching skin. But it seems to escalate every time she is away. The books did say that it would persist till the bond was completed. He hopes it will only take a day or two.
His star will see him for the powerful, competent and virile mate he is and will accept him. And he’ll finally be able to taste all of her. He’ll take her flying across the world and—
The fantasy fractures at the thought of his father.
A human mate is not just rare, it is forbidden in their species for reasons unknown. Kim had tried asking once. Werewolves, witches, even moroi—all mate with humans. So why can’t we? He’d left with a bleeding lip and a bruised cheekbone. He’d never brought up humans again.
It doesn’t matter. He will kill anyone who dares tell her she doesn’t belong.
He sighs softly and curls up in the shadows at the top of the stairs. This is the closest he can be to Vega while remaining out of sight. He can hear them talking over the sounds of the television. They used to be big clunky boxes that showed a lot of static. Now they are flat and smooth and show things in colour. It’s one of mankind’s better inventions.
He hears the chairs being pushed back. He scrambles to his feet and ducks into her room.
He waits, wrapped up in one of her blankets, breathing in her scent. Even wearing one of her oversized hoodies which is a little too small for him, he can’t calm down. Not like he’d been able to yesterday. Now that he’s tasted the real thing, he can’t settle for secondhand scent. It frightens him still, how powerful instincts become and how trapped he is in them. If she’d been on an empty street instead of a crowded club or if she had come home even a little earlier, Kim might’ve taken her then and there with no regard for what she wanted. It was only the few hours he had to surround himself in her scent and calm down that saved her.
It’s a horrifying thought—what he could have done. He tries not to think about it.
But long minutes pass in agonized torture.
Where the fuck is Vega?
Kim rises, holding back a growl. He steps out into the hallway again. He can hear the television still. If he concentrates, he can hear individual heartbeats and breathing patterns. Hers is louder, attuned to his senses.
Is she watching people laugh, while he withers away in need?
No.
Before he can stop and think, he is crouched on the windowsill. There is a slight breeze, the scent of petrichor heavy in the air. He jumps out of her window and lands in a crouch on the front porch. He makes sure his wings and tail are hidden, and he looks as human as he possibly can in a hoodie two sizes too small, while pain courses through every limb. Then he knocks.
The little boy from earlier opens the door and stares up at him.
Kim stares back, a little unnerved at his unblinking gaze. “Greetings—is Vega home?”
“Vega! It’s for you.”
“This late? Ricky—didn’t I tell you to check before just opening the door.” She stops short. “Oh my god—”
“Who is it sweetheart?” Someone calls from inside.
“Umm—newspaper guy.”
Kim bristles.
“Yeah—” Vega says, loud enough for the whole street to hear. She is pushing him down the stairs. “We don’t need the evening paper. Thank you—”
A woman steps into the foyer. She looks a lot like Vega. The same wavy black hair, the same face, though Vega’s is softer, younger, with fewer lines.
“Do newspapers even come this late?”
“No—I—Vega asked me to come over to help her study. For calcus—” he struggles to remember what that was called. No doubt he is saying it wrong. “—for mathematics. The study of numbers. She called me over after dinner.”
“Where did the newspaper boy go?”
“Down the street,” she says, hastily.
“No,” the child—Ricky—says, now grinning up at Kim. “He’s still here.” He points. “This is newspaper boy.”
Vega’s mother frowns. “What?” Then in the way only mothers can, she puts two and two together. “Did you lie and say your friend was a newspaper boy?”
“Maybe?”
“Vega,” her mother chides. “Did you think I would throw this poor boy out? Why didn’t you invite him over for dinner instead? I haven’t seen your friends in months. Come in—umm—”
“Kim,” he says, bowing deeply.
Her mother who had held out her hand pulls it back slowly. She bows, a little wavery, uncertain. “Good evening, Kim. Come in. Are you Korean?”
Korean? Korea. The southeast region of Asia. He recalls a popular family name being Kim.
“I am not,” he says, slowly. He feels Vega’s glare burning into his skull and suppresses a shiver. Her fire is so beautiful it makes him want to write poems and scream them into the sky.
“Oh. Where are you from then?”
“I’m from Ivaris,” he says, following them down into the living room. There is another man on the seat. He can only recognize him by scent. He’d been hiding under the bed when he’d come inside her room. Her father. Vega has her father’s eyes, a rich black like the rarest obsidian.
Vega elbows him in the ribs. He catches her arm and loops it with his.
“Ivaris?” Her father sounds confused. “Where is that?”
“South of France,” Vega blurts, tugging on his hand. “Come on. Let’s go upstairs. Before I am forced to murder you.” She adds the last part under her breath. Her mother still shoots her suspicious looks.
Ricky circles Kim curiously.
“Is this your boyfriend?”
“Nope.” Too high pitched. Too quick to be believable. Kim makes a metal note to teach her how to lie properly. “Going upstairs now.”
“Did you break up with Aaron for him?”
“Ricky—I will throw your Xbox out of the window.”
“Vega. Be nice.”
Vega scowls. The glare she throws her brother makes Kim shudder. He must never anger his star like this.
“Door open,” her father calls.
“Yeah. We got it.”
Vega almost throws him onto the bed.
Kim relaxes into her mattress like he owns it. Now if only she would join him.
But she stands by the door, arms crossed. Not good. He has a feeling he is about to get yelled at. Or thrown out. He hurriedly kneels, head bowed low.
“Forgive me.”
“What were you thinking?” She hisses, smacking his arm.
Kim grins. She touched him.
“Don’t you ever do that again. How am I ever going to explain you to them? Mom will want to meet your mom during Parent-Teacher meetings and expect to see you at graduation! How am I supposed to conjure you up?”
“You summon and I’ll come. No blood magic needed.”
“Can you conjure up a parent? A house? A backstory?”
“I will get people to pretend to be my parents if I need to. My mate’s mother will be satisfied.” He stares up at her through thick lashes, trying to garner sympathy. “You finished food. But you didn’t come back. I wanted to be near you. It hurts.”
Vega softens, just a little.
“Alright.”
Kim wraps his arms around her waist and buries his face in her belly. The ache eases. He lets out a shuddering breath. “I missed you.”
“I was gone for an hour.”
“Felt like a century.”
Kim wakes to a shrill noise assaulting his eardrums. He sits up—or tries to and hits his head against something solid.
He’d forgotten he was sleeping under her bed.
Vega tugs her wrist free from his tail and the noise stops. He lets out a sigh. It’s cramped under the bed without enough room for his wings to stretch. It’s also dusty and dark and his mate’s scent is too faint for comfort. The only positive is that she couldn’t see how desperately hard he’d been all night. How hard he still is.
It had taken every measure of his self-control to not break the rules she’d set down and climb into bed with her. He’s vibrating out of his skin with need, the heat of the fever deep in his bones. Just his tail wrapped around her wrist is in no way enough for him to feel settled.
Kim rolls out from under the bed and looks up at her, making his eyes big and innocent like hatchlings do. He hopes the sight of him, kneeling, bare chested and looking miserable will wake some dormant sympathy and he’ll be allowed to touch.
Vega blinks down at him.
He sticks out his lower lip for good measure. God—the things she can make him do. His ancestors must be dying a second death watching him like this.
“What?” she asks.
Must she make him say it? When he’s spent the night feeling like he’s dying.
“Please—let me hold you. I’ll be good. I promise. My tail will behave.”
She sighs. “It’s Saturday. I have—”
“Saturday is a day when humans are free of responsibilities. I know this.”
“On top of the covers,” she relents.
Kim almost whimpers. He stops himself at the last second. He cannot become more pathetic than this. He is the crown prince of a realm. He is—and he is completely at the mercy of human girl who stitched up his wounds and practically made him swear a blood oath to not touch her.
“I—you were fine with me holding you yesterday.”
“Because you had me under some magical dragon haze,” she snaps.
Fair. But his brain doesn’t understand fair right now. Neither does his dick. He catches her hand and rubs his thumb soothingly over her knuckles. Fine. He will beg if he needs to. “Please.”
She kneels so they are now at the same height and cups the side of his face. He can’t help but nuzzle into her palm and lick the side of her thumb.
Oh fuck. She is going to pull away now—
“Kim. Are you—have you been like this all night?” She waves her other hand at the tent in his trousers. “How—how is that even possible?”
Fuck. Apologize. It always works. He needs to find some sort of archives on human women as soon as he gets himself under control.
“What do you need?” She asks quietly. “To get off—I mean.”
She is blushing, ducking her gaze. Kim catches her chin and lifts her head up. “Don’t hide from me,” he murmurs. Being gentle is the last thing he should want to do. But he wants it with her. He wants to worship instead of just taking. He even begged.
“Kim. I don’t want to torture you.”
You are, he wants to say. Instead, he presses his face into her neck and breathes her in. It helps. But only a little. “I need—you. I want—let me grind against you.” Grinding doesn’t count as mating or sex or whatever they call it here. “Please.”
“Clothes on.”
Kim nods.
“How do you want me?”
Wrong choice of words. The primal part of his brain is screaming at him. Impaled on my cock. He almost says it and bites his tongue till he tastes copper.
“On your back. But—sitting up.” His voice is raspy and dry like sand. He sounds like he’s spent twelve hours screaming.
She leans back against the pillows, blankets pushed aside and folds her knees so it’s easier for him to settle between her legs. She’s too tense. It feels wrong. He doesn’t want this. Not if she doesn’t.
“Vega. I need you to relax. Would it help if I—do you trust me?” At her slight nod—not very reassuring but a nod nonetheless, he strokes up her leg and then back down, kneading at the muscles till they’re soft and pliant under him, her eyes heavy lidded.
She sighs softly. The sound makes a place for itself in the hollows of his ribs.
“Turn,” he whispers, breath ghosting over her lips.
She lies on her stomach and Kim he does the same to her back, working out the knots with the heel of his palm. He places soft butterfly kisses down her clothed spine. When she doesn’t protest, he kisses the back of her neck. His tail curls around her ankle and she shivers.
He leans down till his weight is pressing against her. Vega presses her face into the pillow. He’s learnt to read the way her body reacts to touch. He can tell the difference when she forces herself to relax and when she is truly at ease.
“Can I touch you?”
She nods.
Kim’s touch slides down her sides and back up, stopping just shy of the curve of her breasts.
She twists her head to look up at him. “Kim—”
“Turn, please. I want—”
She doesn’t make him say it, obeying silently, reaching up to twine her arms around his neck.
He rolls his hips against hers, reveling in the soft gasp that leaves her mouth. He does it again. And groans. It feels so good. The warmth of her, the flutter of her hands as they settle on his shoulders. She arches up against him.
“Wait—you don’t have—clothes. Pants. If you—you know—come in your pants. Mine won’t fit you—”
Kim growls in frustration, pulling away.
She’s giggling, cheeks flushed. “It’s alright. We’ll go shopping. You need clothes anyway.”
Not right now, he doesn’t. He’ll spend all day naked in her bed if she’d let him. He rests his head against her chest, panting. Vega threads her fingers into his hair.
“Why don’t you take your pants off?”
Kim sits up so fast he almost knocks his head into her chin. “Really?”
She laughs. “Yes.”
She fumbles with the laces of his trousers, still shaking with laughter and he helps her pull them off. He groans as his hard cock is freed from its tight confines.
Vega stares, silent for a moment. Almost like she’s afraid.
“We don’t have to if—”
“No. I—” Instead of answering, she pulls him down till he’s flush against her.
Kim lifts her leg, presses a small kiss to the inside of her knee and settles over her thigh. Her skin is soft and warm and feels like heaven and he is almost embarrassed at the noise he lets out. He’d imagined her in his arms, even back when he didn’t know who she was. He’d imagined kissing down her body till she begged for his touch. He hadn’t ever thought it would be like this, him begging, grinding against her thigh, desperate for release.
His hands come to rest on her hips, lifting her slightly so their bodies are aligned and he can feel the heat of her seeping through her clothes.
He groans softly, burying his face in her neck, breath coming in soft gasps.
Vega holds him close as his grinding grows more erratic. Her hand slides down his stomach, stopping just shy of his hipbone.
“Can I—”
Kim makes a pained sound. “Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
He takes her hand and guides it, wrapping her fingers around his hard length. It’s the first time he’s felt her touch, and he groans. He’d be happy to die like this, wrapped up in her if she’ll let him.
Her hand moves slow, tracing over the veins. His cock twitches in her hand, leaking.
“Tighter,” he begs.
She tightens her grip, unsure at first, then faster, stroking him, encouraged by the encouraging sounds he makes.
He comes with her name on the tip of his tongue, muffling his groan against her shoulder. His heart is racing, sweat cooling on his skin. Her hand and his stomach are covered in a glistening spray of come. His legs are loose and lax. He feels like he could go back to sleep, wrapped up in her.
And for the first time in months, he feels alive.
Notes:
Thanks for reading!
Chapter 8
Summary:
She lets him lie with his head in her lap while wearing shorts—leaving miles of smooth, bare skin open for marking.
Turns out his mate is cruel temptress
Chapter Text
Kim had hoped, foolishly, that Vega would now be more open to him touching her. Or her touching him. He’ll take it either way.
Turns out, his mate is a cruel temptress.
She lets him lie with his head in her lap while wearing shorts—leaving miles of smooth, bare skin open for marking—and reads a book. She uses both hands to hold said book when one hand could very well be petting his hair. He turns his head and mouths at the top of her thigh.
“Kim,” she warns.
He whines. The pathetic sound leaves his throat before he can stop it. “Please.”
“You can’t possibly be—” Vega trails off. “You have the recovery period of a teenager. How—old are you, actually?”
“The same age as you.”
“You don’t know my age.”
“Irrelevant.”
“Kim.” Her tone is stern, and he doesn’t want to upset her anymore
“Fine. I’m four hundred. Add or take a few.”
Vega makes a strangled noise at the back of her throat. “I’m sorry?”
“Four hundred years old. I’m a dragonite. We have long lives. My brother—the one who—” Kim waves his hand, “He’s six hundred.”
“He’s still alive?” she yelps. “You tore out his throat.”
“That was a minor injury. Our scales are practically armour. A sure way to kill us is by ripping out our hearts. There are also enchanted weapons. Humans—humans of my world had built them millennia ago with the help of witches. My father had them all found and destroyed though.”
“Good to know. How many brothers do you have?”
“We’re four brothers. Calden is the eldest. Same father, different mother. Fell out of favour. Was banished or killed—I don’t really know. Then Vaughn, then me. And I have a younger brother Leander. I had a sister too. She died as a hatchling.”
“Wait—Calden, Vaughn, Leander. Why is your name so different?”
Kim hides his face in her stomach. It’s soft. He nuzzles.
“It’s a nickname,” he forces himself to say.
“Uh huh. And what is your real name then?”
“Kimhan,” he mumbles.
“What was that?”
“Kimhan,” he repeats. “It’s a horrible name. I hate it. Please don’t call me that.”
Vega laughs. It’s one of her first real laughs and it warms him to the core. He wraps his arms around her waist. She’s already had her hand on his cock. It’s safe to assume she will be a little more open to touch. She doesn’t push him away. In fact, her hand drifts to his hair and massages his scalp till he is boneless and purring.
He hasn’t done that since the time Calden used to hold him and sing him to sleep.
He’s mortified. But she’s also touching him, and he doesn’t want it to stop.
“Kim. You need clothes.”
He sits up, hissing. “You reeled me in with head scratches and now you’re betraying me? I do not need clothes.”
“Head scratches—what are you? A cat?”
He bristles.
But she carries on as if he doesn’t exist. “And yes. You do. You are not following me around half naked. You’ll get arrested for public indecency. You can fold away your wings and tail, right? You’ll be fine.”
He almost whines again and stops himself just in time. “Alright,” he sighs. It’s ingrained into his instincts to obey his mate as is. Even if he wanted to refuse her, he can’t. “How do we get clothes. Do we summon the seamstresses?”
Vega blinks. “We go to Zara.”
She is waiting patiently by the curb. “Get in.”
“I am not getting into a car. I’ll—I’ll fly you wherever you want. On my back. I’ll carry you. But not this. Please.”
“Kim, it’s a car. It’s not going to eat you up.”
“It’s noisy and thinks it rules the streets.”
“It’s a machine. It can’t think. Now get in. Or you can spend the night on the balcony.”
Kim gasps. “You wouldn’t.”
“Try me lizard boy.”
Vega turns the key and the car roars to life. It’s nice on the inside. Leather seats and a tiny flat screen that connects to her phone and plays music. He prefers listening to gentle pianoforte ballads or violins, but he’ll take it. When she takes her hand off the wheel to move the lever in the middle, he intertwines her fingers with his.
She smiles exasperated but doesn’t force him to let go.
They step out into the basement of a mall. It’s a place where teenagers go to spend time with friends, eat greasy food and shop for things they don’t need.
“The car has three pedals,” he observes.
“It’s a stick shift. Yes. Manual transmission.”
“You have only two legs.”
“You don’t press all at the same time, Kim.”
This is why he doesn’t like cars. Flying is simpler. He just—flies. His wings take care of him. But cars. They need to be driven with careful precision. Or they stall and die.
He almost bites off the soldier’s head—security guard as his clever mate clarifies—for scanning her with his weapon. Vega has to grab his hand and drag him away before he starts an inter realm war.
“Are those moving stairs?”
“I thought you kept up with humanity’s progress.”
“Not the small things.”
“They’re escalators. You’ll be fine.” She wiggles her fingers against his. “I’ll hold your hand.”
Kim doesn’t like the mall. There are too many people looking at his mate. The lights are too bright. Everything looks cold and shiny and plasticky. He glares off a boy staring too long at Vega’s ass and wraps an arm around her waist. He thinks that’s the universal human sign for she’s taken. He would much rather it’s his tail doing the wrapping. But he is currently in a fully human.
The hum of electricity is too loud. He hears things like ooh sale and what she’s wearing is really nice. Is it designer? He sniffs the air carefully. Everything smells like cheap perfume and new fabric. He can smell the cookies being sold at the desert shop and what he might guess to be Chinese food. Though oddly enough it’s a very warped definition of chinese cuisine.
He knows because he had once lost a bet with Calden and had to eat a foreign cuisine. Foreign in this case had been food from the Qing Dynasty. And whatever this is, isn’t Chinese.
He’s in a new place. His skin feels too tight, and his senses are working overtime. It’s an ingrained response, making note of the exits and possible threats. Especially now that he has a mate to protect. He can’t just set fire to the place.
She takes him into a large store and makes him stand before a long mirror and holds up articles of clothing in front of him.
“What’s that?”
“It’s called a shirt. And these are jeans. We’ll get you some t shirts and hoodies too. Now, boxers or briefs?”
Kim stares. “I do not see any boxes. And I would love to make this trip brief. But I don’t think that is what you meant.”
Vega laughs. That’s the third today. He’s been counting. “You learn quickly. I meant underwear.”
“Under where?”
“What do you wear under your clothes?”
“Smallclothes when I’m wearing armour. Otherwise, nothing. Those look confining.”
“You can’t be planning to go commando all the time.”
Kim gives up trying to understand half of what she says. Later he will sit with a dictionary.
He refuses the jeans. “Too tight and the metal zipper doesn’t feel—comfortable.” Even though he wears them over the underwear. He likes the sweatpants though the drawstring is—odd. He’ll live. He doesn’t want hoodies that don’t smell like her. Shirts are restrictive. In the end they buy three pairs of sweatpants, a few t shirts and a pair of shoes.
“You can’t walk around barefoot.”
“I—what about those boots?”
“Kim those cost seven hundred dollars.”
“How much is that in gold?”
Vega throws one of the shirts at him.
Kim offers to carry the bags with one hand and wraps the other around her waist again.
He sees the way Vega looks at some dresses in the windows. She wants them. He doesn’t know what he’ll do when she wears them in front of other men but that’s a bridge he needs to cross in the future.
So, when she goes off the restroom leaving him with instructions to stay, he wanders into one of those stores.
“How much is that dress? The one in the window.”
“2199,” the shop girl says.
“Will you accept gold?”
She stares at him. “I’ll get my manager.”
The manager turns out to be a woman with greying hair pushed back into a bun and wire rimmed glasses. “You want to buy a dress with gold?”
Kim nods and places ten dirams on the counter. “This should be enough, yes?”
The woman stares. Then she takes the coins to a jewelry store next door. When she returns, she is beaming, though she quickly schools her expression into nonchalance.
“Of course. We can—make an exception. Just that dress?”
When Kim steps out, carrying the dress, he is almost tackled to the ground by his mate. He smiles to himself. She is pleased with him.
“Where the fuck did you go?” She demands. His collar is in a death grip in her hands.
Maybe he’s reading the signs wrong. Again.
“Were you worried about me?”
“I was worried you would cause an international war and get the UN involved. I told you to stay. What part of stay does your lizard brain not understand?”
“I bought you a dress.”
She stares. “A dress? How did you pay?”
He holds out one of his coins. “With dirams.”
Vega drags him back into the store. “You paid how much for the dress?”
“The lady said it was two thousand or something.”
“You were trying to buy me a two thousand dollar dress?”
“You liked it.”
She closes her eyes for a second. “How much gold did you pay for that?”
“Ten coins. I don’t know how much your currency is worth.”
Vega glares down the shop manager. “Are you in a habit of cheating foreigners? In no universe is two thousand dollars equivalent to ten gold coins. Why are you even accepting gold coins?”
“The young man doesn’t know how much his money is worth. Not my problem.”
Vega drags a hand down her face. “Take back the dress and give him his money back.”
“Sorry. That dress was final sale only.”
Kim takes a step back as Vega’s withering glare turns onto him. “I’m sorry?”
“Consider it an exchange rate loss,” the woman calls after them.
“Come on,” she hisses.
They’re now at what Vega calls a food court. She still hasn’t held his hand again. Kim is starting to feel restless.
“What do you want?” she asks.
“You,” he answers without hesitation.
“Food, Kim. You haven’t eaten since—when was the last time you ate?”
Kim shrugs. His hunger for her had pushed aside other needs.
“Oh my god.”
“I am not eating any of this,” he warns. He will make a lot of sacrifices for his mate. But he will not eat mall food. “I would rather starve.”
“I think you better start selling your gold,” she snaps. “Because I am not paying for your lifestyle.”
But she takes him into a restaurant anyway and orders him the steak. Medium rare.
They’re wandering through the mall parking lot, trying to remember where she’d parked when Kim sees a boy. Young, a naïve face, cute in the way a helpless kitten is cute. He’s dressed in plaid and jeans. He doesn’t like him at all.
“Vega?”
She stops short. Kim takes half a step in front of her when the male gets too close.
“Aaron. Hi.”
He pulls her into a hug. She stiffens but returns it.
“Who’s this?”
“Kim—my—cousin from—Belgium.”
“Belgium?”
“Uh huh. He’s here for the fall. They break during the fall.”
“Oh. I didn’t know you had family there. Nice to meet you man.” Aaron holds out a hand for Kim to shake. Kim stares him down in silence and refuses to let go of Vega’s waist. He lowers his hand.
“Belgian customs,” she says when he raises an eyebrow. “They prefer to greet with eye contact. Kim, this is Aaron.”
Kim is barely holding back his growl. He remembers the name. This was the boyfriend. The human term for a mate they may or may not be with forever. Usually, it’s the may not.
“Can we talk?” Aaron asks.
It’s only years of training that stops Kim from lunging at Aaron and tearing out his throat. That and the thought of what Vega might do if he subjects her to that again. Still, he can feel his claws lengthening. He sucks in a breath and tries not to think.
Vega nods and Kim slouches against the pillar, glaring at the squeaky floor. He can hear their conversation if he tries hard enough. His ears perk up when he hears Aaron say, “I was wondering if you were free tonight. I have a reservation at Butter. And you could come over after.”
Kim knows that is a euphemism for sex. He growls.
Aaron turns around. “Did you hear that?”
“Must be a dog,” Vega says hastily. “I’d love to Aaron but I’m busy tonight. Have a history assignment to finish. I’ll see you later yeah?”
She all but drags Kim into the car.
Kim smiles. Mission accomplished.