4. Vael-Torin
VAEL-TORIN
This place is a trap.
I know the design of prisons; I know how tyrants construct cages.
For a decade, I held the border walls for the Draegon king before turning my back on his court. The Roth organizers of this game speak of rewards and peaceful colonies on Sueva, but I am a military architect. I know an ambush when I step into one.
I drop from the sky, my ruby-red wings catching the thin air currents of this miserable moon to break our freefall.
When my boots slam into the earth, I roll immediately, tucking the small, delicate human female against my chest to absorb the impact.
I will not have her fragile skeleton shatter before we have even begun.
She is innocent in this. And now she is also mine to protect.
A growl of satisfaction rips through me. I may have been forced into this fucking game, but at least I will get a mate out of it, for whatever short time we are able to survive here.
A perfect one, too, soft in all the right places, perfect for squeezing and holding and biting.
Rising swiftly, my tail slashes through the underbrush, clearing a defensive perimeter. There are things that hide in underbrush in all planets, of that I am sure.
I’d rather see whatever’s coming than be caught unawares.
I track the dark canopy of the forest, eyes narrowing. There are no royal executioners. No Roth mercenaries waiting in the shadows. Only the low, mechanical drone of the flying eyes tracking our movements from above.
A soft, pathetic whimper draws my attention downward.
My throat goes completely dry.
The human female I claimed—the one who pointed her fearless, dainty finger at me through the glass barrier—is staring up at me.
She is a vision. Her hair is the color of raging fire, an echo of my own scales, and it frames a face that is more beautiful than any I could have dreamed up.
And her body... gods.
My hand immediately goes to the curve of her waist, my talons twitching with an urge that threatens to dismantle my discipline. My female possesses thick, glorious thighs, a lushly rounded abdomen, and breasts that swell beautifully against the thin, shimmering garment she wears.
Then my gaze drops to her feet, and I freeze.
I tilt my head, utterly mystified by this human design.
Attached to her feet are two utterly strange contraptions.
A tuft of exotic feathers bobs along her toes, and resting beneath her heels are tiny, narrow pegs.
One peg has already snapped in half from the landing, leaving her balancing precariously.
Are the pink feathers meant to disguise her tracks? I narrow my eyes.
The tiny pegs seem designed to cause instability, a bizarre form of torture. I knew Earth was backwards, but I didn’t know how firmly dystopian it must be.
My female speaks to me in her sharp, rapid language, her tone rising with fury as she points a finger directly at the mechanical flying eye.
My tail thumps against the ground in sheer admiration. A fierce little creature. She has no armor, no talons, and her feet are trapped in torture devices, yet she is actively declaring war on the machine above.
My body chooses that exact moment to betray my discipline.
The mating poison I secreted when my wing talons brushed her skin during the fall has fully entered her bloodstream. The sweet, addictive fragrance of her response fills my nostrils—a rich, undertone of feverish heat.
My cock jumps violently inside my pants, beginning a rhythmic skithing that pulses against the fabric. The base of my shaft hardens with an agonizing need to breed her, to sink myself deep into her cunt and claim her.
I clench my jaw, forcing the instinct down. If this show is an ambush, I cannot allow my biology and her perfection to make me weak—and worse, leave her vulnerable.
“We must walk,” I tell her. She doesn’t understand my language, blinking her gorgeous eyes in confusion. Everything about her is built to entice me, and even her look of distress has me aching to bed her.
I point at the horizon, showing her what I mean. She nods, her plump mouth assuming a determined line, and nods once. In affirmation, I gather, as she begins to hobble in the direction I pointed.
Which will not do. Her strange footwear is hindering our progress.
“I am going to carry you,” I tell her bluntly. Of course, my words do no good, just garner another interested look. A look that drifts from my eyes down my chest to where my cock is still rock hard for her.
I decide to take matters into my own hands by simply picking her up.
Which, of course, is completely distracting. Her scent, my heat on her, is intoxicating. Delicious. I want to fucking bury my face in her cunt and never stop tasting it.
It’s a distraction I can’t afford, no matter how hard my cock gets, though.
The sun drops behind the horizon swiftly as we walk, plunging the forest into an icy, pitch-black chill.
A sharp wind sweeps through the trees, and my female immediately begins to tremble in my arms, her shoes dangling from her soft feet.
I rumble in disapproval at the fluff, as well as the many cuts that are now peppering her tender soles and ankles.
She clings to me more tightly.
“We must sleep for the night. You need rest.” I do not think she will sleep while I carry her, for I can tell the heat is on her in a painful way. Every time I readjust my grip of her lush body, she moans.
It is highly distracting.
I pad toward the hollowed-out root system of a gargantuan pine, clearing away the sharp rocks with a sweep of my boot. Settling myself against the solid wood, I look at her, gesturing to the small space beside me.
"Bed down, female," I rumble, knowing she cannot parse the words but hoping she understands the directive.
She does not move.
She stands in the dirt, her arms wrapped tightly around her chest, her teeth clicking together. Her breath clouds in front of her, and the thin fabric of her strange garment offers her absolutely no protection against the moon's elements.
A strange sartorial choice, especially since her chest is fully exposed to the elements. As I stare at her displayed breasts, so much more luscious than I thought possible, the nipples harden into peaks. I grit my teeth hard enough that my fangs beg to pierce my lower lip.
She is fucking delicious, everything about her designed to make me lose my mind in her body.
She lets out a whine, stomps her foot, then marches directly toward me.
I brace myself, expecting a physical assault from my frustrated captive. She cannot harm me, so it is best to let the female vent herself upon me. I might even enjoy it.
Instead, she flings her body directly into my lap.
I go completely still. My wings snap tight against my back, the blood pounding like a war drum in my ears.
She does not fight.
She burrows.
Her thick, smooth thighs slide over my lap, straddling my hips, and she presses her cold face directly into the juncture of my neck and shoulder. Her soft hands grip the scales on my back, pulling herself so close that I can feel the rapid beat of her heart against my chest.
When she begins to rub herself against me, a slow slide of her pelvis over my painfully hard cock, I decide it might be worth dying like this.
A snarl builds deep in my throat, and my nostrils flare as her pheromones hit my brain.
What is this human’s strategy?
I stare straight ahead into the dark, unsure of my next move. Is she attempting to break my resolve by weaponizing her naked heat against my waist?
She’s wet. Her cunt’s moisture soaks my leather pants, and I’m seconds from losing my control and ability to protect her.
I’m the only one who can sate her need.
She lets out a pathetic sigh, her warm breath gusting across my neck scales, sending a violent shudder straight down my spine. She snuggles closer, her skin burning with the fever of the venom, still seeking my body heat.
I do not know this human maneuver. I do not know how to fight a female who defeats my defenses by simply melting against my chest.
Slowly, my hands hovering over her curved waist, I allow my arms to wrap around her, holding her soft frame. I flare one wing out, curving the dark red membrane over our heads, sealing us away from the freezing wind and the eyes of the drones.
My cock pulses violently beneath her in a skithing frenzy, but I force my eyes shut, locking my fangs into my lower lip until I taste blood.
I will survive the night. I will protect my strange, beautiful human and her mysterious pink foot-feathers. But if she does not stop rubbing her sweetness against my cock, the Draegon king will not need to assassinate me—I will spontaneously combust right here in the mud.
She wriggles closer, and no matter how hard I try, I can’t control the need rushing through my blood.
The minute she rolls over, locking eyes with me, I go stiff, then shudder.
I have disgraced myself in front of the most beautiful female I’ve ever seen.
The wet, heavy warmth blooming inside my pants is shameful.
I have spilled my seed like an undisciplined hatchling.
The physical release shudders through the core of my spine, the rapid, frantic skithing of my anatomy suddenly halting as my spend soaks into the heavy leather of my pants. The sheer intensity of the climax leaves my chest heaving, my muscles locked in a mortified paralysis.
I have stared down heavy artillery and the fire of elite Roth soldiers without so much as flinching. Yet this wingless human female—clothed in nothing but silk and mud—has entirely dismantled my autonomy with a single look.
My female blinks up at me through the gloomy red shadows cast by the interior of my wing. We may not be able to speak, and she may be wearing strange clothing, but it’s clear she is far from stupid. Intelligence sparks in every glance she graces me with.
There’s no doubt she registered the violent tremor that just turned my entire world upside down.
I hang my head in shame, only for her to place that soft, soft hand on my cheek, forcing me to meet her gaze.
She tilts her head, her red-brown eyebrows knitting together in confusion. Words spill out of her, a mellifluous chatter I cannot hope to understand. She reaches out a strange flat-nailed finger, tentatively touching the rigid scales on my chest.
If she looks down, if she scents the shamefulness of what my body has just done, she will reject me.
She lets out a small, puff of air, a tiny sound that makes me want her all over again, and shifts her weight. The movement rubs her smooth outer thigh directly over the damp, ruined front of my trousers.
A desperate grunt escapes my clenched teeth.
I cannot tell her the venom from my talons has accelerated her body’s natural chemistry. I cannot explain that her magnificent hips are a weapon I have no defense against.
I can only sit here, motionless beneath my wing, praying to the ancestors that the freezing night wind dries my uniform before the mechanical flying eyes zoom closer to broadcast my shame to the entire galaxy.
With another small sound, she settles back against my chest, and I tuck my other wing around her, shielding her from the night and cold as best I can.
When she relaxes against me, body going heavy, her breathing evening out, I sigh in relief.
My little human tormenter is asleep.
And she trusted me enough to hold her.