Total pages in book: 130
Estimated words: 117336 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 587(@200wpm)___ 469(@250wpm)___ 391(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 117336 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 587(@200wpm)___ 469(@250wpm)___ 391(@300wpm)
Melina turns over in bed, pressing her cheek to my shoulder. "Are they talking to you again?" she mumbles, sleepy.
"Always. They have not yet learned volume control," I admit in a soft voice, and stroke her shoulder. "Go to sleep."
"Tell them you need to sleep, too," Melina lifts her head, gazing up at me. "I worry about you. You're being pulled every which way. I don't like it."
As if I do? But we need them. We need them open and willing to work with us, because their parents are another matter entirely. "It's fine," I tell her. "They are children. I will manage it."
I would rather have the children braying in my ear all night than that thing in the darkness.
I wake up irritated and fatigued the next day. I feel frayed, my mind tired, and the drakoni under my control push and strain against the bonds I have on their minds. They want to be free to run wild like the other maddened dragons, and it takes more and more effort every day to hold them in place.
If I let them go, everything crumbles. So I must continue to hold on, somehow. I must find the strength to carry on as I always do. Melina is gone when I wake up, though. She has left a note in bed, carefully blocked out in clear lettering because I have not yet learned the thing she calls “cursive.”
Gone in early to work. Let you sleep late. Tonight we talk about food solutions.
XOXO Mel
I touch the paper, breathing in her scent that lingers on the page. My mate let me sleep in. She thought I would rather miss my moments with her and get a bit more sleep. Instead of making me happy, I am irritated. I breathe in her scent one more time and then crumple the paper.
My mate.
My mate but not.
It is another thing I find increasingly unsatisfying—my relationship with my mate. I no longer shy away from referring to her as my mate. Melina is mine. There is no greater pleasure than touching her. I love breathing in her scent as she sleeps next to me. I love listening to her clever mind as she works through a problem. I love our moments when we read together. She is the first thing I look for when I awaken and the last thing I see when I sleep. This world might not be mine, but it has brought me joy because of her. There is nothing I like better than the moments we have together, hungrily touching one another.
And yet…it is not enough.
I know she wonders why we do not truly mate. Why I do not push my cock inside her and claim her. I cannot. Not as we are.
My seed is too hot for her body. If I tried to claim her in a normal fashion, a human fashion, I would burn her. Each time we touch and I come, I have to make certain that my seed is angled away from her soft skin, otherwise I will burn her. The drakoni have taken mates, but I know the truth behind it—they have given their fires to their females, shared their spirit. It creates a bond between the male and the female, allowing them to speak through minds and feel the other's presence. I have never done so, have never spoken to another Salorian that has done so, and yet this must be how the breeders are able to perform.
If I claim my mate like that, I worry what I will become. Will I become as savage as one of the drakoni? Will I lose my ability to hold those that I keep captive and thus keep my fort safe?
I cannot risk it, and so I remain stuck. I cannot claim my mate. I cannot hear her thoughts drift through the lonely darkness of mine. I cannot feel her body clasp mine, and I cannot give her my child. Children have been on my mind increasingly as of late, as they seem to be the key to the Rift and the monster that threatens to come through it. I imagine Melina with my child inside her, and my jaw clenches with yearning even as I push the thought away.
No sense in pining over what I cannot have. We satisfy one another with our hands and mouths, and that will have to do.
I am dirty. A flash of light pierces through my thoughts. My bottom is wet!
I get to my feet, pulling on my robes. Luminoura. What do you expect me to do about it?
I don't like it!
Then scream at your mother. I do not change diapers. I adjust my clothing and brush my mane, then slip on my shoes.
I am hungry, another says sleepily, thoughts hazy with dreams. Sallavatri. And the thing I am sucking on has no milk.