Chapter 7 #2
Not in the chamber but through clouds that tasted of iron and possibility.
My wings (my wings!) caught thermals that shouldn't have existed at this altitude, each stroke carrying me impossibly far.
Below, the Dragon Isles spread like a map drawn by gods, volcanic peaks and ice fields and forests that breathed their own weather.
"Welcome, sister."
The voice came from everywhere and nowhere, directly into whatever dragons used for minds.
To my left flew a creature of living flame—not on fire but made of it, scales like molten rubies that leaked light, wings that painted sunset colors across cloud banks.
Her eyes were solar flares contained in flesh, beautiful and terrible.
"Kara," I knew without being told, the chamber's memories providing context. "Davoren's bride."
"For three months now," she confirmed, mental voice carrying warmth that had nothing to do with her flame nature. "Still adjusting to forever, but the bond makes it easier. Bearable. Sometimes even wonderful."
From my right came winter's laugh. "Sometimes she means during sex. The rest varies."
This dragon was aurora made solid—scales of ice that never melted, wings trailing snowflakes that became stars before they fell.
Where Kara burned, this one froze, but not with coldness.
With preservation, keeping things eternal in crystal moments.
Her mental voice carried bells and breaking glass, delicate and cutting.
"Mira," she introduced herself before I could guess. "Sereis claimed me six weeks ago. Still learning to live in ice when I was born for summer."
We flew in formation that felt rehearsed despite being spontaneous, three dragon brides testing bodies that existed between real and possible. I could feel my physical form still sitting in the chamber, but this felt more true—not illusion but revelation of what the bond was making me.
"Why now?" I asked, suddenly. "Three bonds in three months after centuries of nothing?"
The others shared something—not a look but an exchange of knowledge that made the air between us shimmer. Through our strange connection, I felt their concern like my own, metallic and sharp.
"Our Daddies are meeting too," Kara said, her flame-form flickering with agitation. "Planning something. There's a darkness gathering—Solmar and worse things. They're trying to break the bonds before they fully form."
"Break them how?" My dragon heart (hearts? I seemed to have two now) accelerated with threat-response.
"Something's waking. Something that requires dragons united, not alone. The bonds aren't just activating—they're being called."
"Called by what?"
Neither answered immediately. We flew through silence that wasn't empty but full of unspoken fears. Finally, Mira spoke, her mental voice barely above a whisper despite being soundless.
"We don't know. But the mountains themselves are singing lately. Sereis says he's never heard anything like it—frequencies in the stone that shouldn't exist, patterns that predate even dragons. Whatever's coming, it's old. Older than the bonds, older than the Isles themselves."
"And it needs us," Kara added. "Specifically us. Dragon brides are different from just mates—we're bridges between worlds, translators between dragon and human magic. The Pact doesn't just bond us to our Daddies. It bonds us to each other, to the Isles, to something sleeping in the deep."
I thought of my new stone-sense, the way I could feel Garruk through granite and basalt. Was that just the beginning? Would the completed Pact let me feel all the dragons, all the brides, the entire living geology of the Isles?
"Tomorrow night," I said, knowing they'd understand.
"When you complete the Pact," Mira confirmed. "You'll join us fully. Not just as Garruk's Little, but as part of something larger. A network of power that hasn't ever existed."
"Are you ready?" Kara asked, though her tone suggested she knew the answer.
Was I ready to become permanently other, to join a sisterhood of women claimed by dragons, to stand against threats that predated civilization? The question felt too large for even my dragon form to hold.
But through it all, I felt Garruk waiting in the physical world—patient, protective, mine. Whatever was coming, we'd face it together. That made the impossible feel possible, the eternal feel manageable.
"Yes," I said, and meant it completely.
The vision began to fade, the dragon forms dissolving back into human flesh sitting on stone-silk cushions. But the connection remained—gossamer threads linking me to Kara and Mira across impossible distance. I wasn't alone anymore. Never would be again.
My eyes opened to find Garruk kneeling before me, his hands hovering near but not touching, as if I might shatter from too sudden a return to the physical world.
Hours had passed—I could tell from the way the amethyst light had shifted from purple to deep violet, marking time in frequencies only crystal understood.
My body felt strange, too small after being dragon-vast, too singular after experiencing that trinity of connected minds.
"You saw them." Not a question but confirmation, his voice carrying the particular roughness of someone who'd been holding their breath too long. "Kara and Mira. I felt the connection form."
Through the bond, his anxiety crashed into me like tide against cliff.
He'd been sitting here the entire time, watching my body breathe while my consciousness flew, unable to follow or protect or control.
For someone who'd spent centuries managing every detail of his domain, that helplessness must have been agony.
"They're worried," I said, my voice cracking from disuse. How long had I been gone? "The Dragon Lords are meeting regularly—you already know this. The threats, the timing."
His jaw clenched, crystalline veins pulsing brighter. "Three bonds in three months after millennia of nothing. You're right to question it."
"It's not coincidence." I accepted his offered hand, letting him pull me to standing on legs that remembered being dragon-strong and felt diminished by comparison. "Something's calling us together. Something old."
"How old?"
"Older than dragons." The words tasted impossible but true. "Mira said the mountains themselves are singing frequencies that shouldn't exist."
He went absolutely still—not human stillness but the frozen attention of a predator processing threat. Through our connection, I felt his mind racing through possibilities, each one darker than the last. His hand tightened on mine, possessive fear making his control slip.
“There is a reason for it,” he said. “But one we don’t yet know.”
The truth of it settled in my chest like swallowed stone.
Whatever was happening, I was integral to it—not by choice but by cosmic accident or design.
The bonds weren't just about love or forever anymore.
They were about survival, preparation, power gathering for something none of us fully understood yet.
"Then we better complete the Pact," I said, surprised by my own steadiness. "If I need to help, I need strength."
Something shifted in his expression—pride mixed with grief, the particular sadness of watching innocence transform into capability. But he nodded, stepping back to formal distance.
"My study," he said. "The documents are prepared."
The walk there felt ceremonial, each step carrying weight beyond the physical.
The mountain itself seemed to pay attention, stone adjusting temperature and texture as we passed, making our path easier.
Or maybe that was just my new awareness, the stone-sense that let me feel the Sanctum's consciousness like a constant whisper.
His study had been cleaned since our . .
. activities yesterday. No scattered papers, no reorganized samples, everything in its proper place except for the ancient scroll centered on his desk.
The vellum looked alive—not metaphorically but actually breathing, expanding and contracting with rhythm that matched my heartbeat.
Words wrote themselves across its surface as I watched, dragon script I couldn't read but somehow understood.
"The Caretaker Pact," Garruk explained, moving to stand beside me. Close enough that I felt his heat, not close enough to touch. "We need to agree to terms before the physical transformation. The magic requires absolute consent, clearly stated boundaries."
"What kind of terms?"
"Everything." He unrolled the scroll fully, revealing sections that seemed to organize themselves based on what we needed to discuss. "Safewords first. The bond will let me feel your distress, but words ensure clarity."
We negotiated with surprising tenderness, his suggestions gentle despite their necessity. Granite for slow down, when things got too intense but I didn't want to stop. Obsidian for full stop, everything ceases immediately. The words felt right—stone-words for a mountain bond.
"Physical boundaries," he continued, the scroll's text rearranging to match our conversation. "What you absolutely won't accept."
"No public humiliation," I said immediately. The warrens had given me enough shame for three lifetimes. "No sharing—I'm yours alone."
"Never," he growled, the possessive making heat pool in my belly. "No one else touches you. Ever. Besides, it would kill a human to lie with you."
"Complete honesty," I added. "Always. Even when it hurts."
The scroll recorded each agreement, the words glowing briefly before settling into permanence.
We covered everything—discipline methods (spanking yes, implements only with permission), caregiving expectations (he would provide, I would accept), the dynamics of our relationship (Daddy's authority in matters of safety and discipline, but equality in all else).
"Now your terms," he said when the traditional negotiations were complete. "What do you need from me?"