68. Chapter Sixty-Eight
It’s chaos all around, with Dragons roaring and people screaming. Maybe there’s something official required, but I’m already vaulting over the rope and sprinting toward Trinte.
My wonderful blue Dragon stumbles on a broken leg with his left wing dragging on the ground. Blood runs from different wounds as he rubs his face into the snow to wipe away the blood. When I’m close enough, I leap onto his snout, not caring about the blood.
“You did it, baby! You did it!”
He chuffs. Of course, I did. I told you I would.
I laugh, kissing a big, blue scale. He does the Dragon equivalent of purring, vibrating my whole body. “I love you so much.”
I love you too. Would you like to join me for the glassing?
For the first time in five minutes, my heart beats wildly in excitement instead of fear. “Yes! And then we go find some place so I can ride the champion of the Cairanin?”
Goddess, I hope so.
“Why in all twelve Hells am I always around for the worst parts of your conversations?” Fynn grumbles, walking up to us. “Or do the both of you only discuss fucking?”
Orliana laughs, an arm around a crying Joulian. Trinte presses his snout against the boy’s chest. Don’t cry, buddy. I’m okay.
Joulian points at his broken leg. “That doesn't look okay.”
I look at the punctured, bloodied skin, and white bone splitting the muscle. Fynn puts a hand on Joulian’s shoulder. “It’s temporary; the magyck of the Cairanin will heal it.”
To my amazement, the skin rapidly stitches itself back together. He grunts when the bone snaps back into place, but the vestiges of that disappear within thirty seconds. Relief is palpable inside me when his wing heals and he can move it again.
“Excellent job,” a weathered feminine voice says from behind us.
We turn to see a magenta female Dragon approaching us.
She’s wearing layers of purple and blue fabrics that have beads sewn in on the edges, making loud clanking sounds.
Her purple eyes skim me with appraisal; she smiles at Orliana.
“Good to see you again, my dear.” Her eyes flick to Fynn.
“And to see that you continue to tolerate my broody nephew.”
“I don’t brood anymore,” Fynn grumbles.
Not as much, at least, Trinte corrects.
The aunt smirks, holding her hand out to me when she’s close enough. “I’m Teale, the matriarch of Weyr Wingside. It’s an unfortunate place to meet, though.” She looks at the red carcass already freezing over. Pain flickers across her face, then disappears.
She looks at Trinte with pride. “A well-deserved retribution, though.”
“I’m Kyrielle.” I take her hand.
Her other hand covers mine, and with intense sincerity, she says, “Thank you for supporting Trinte.”
I grin. “Easy as breathing most days.”
Behind me, Trinte shifts back into bi-pedal form.
“Most days?” Trinte says, amusement in his voice. I let go of his aunt’s hand to whirl around and hug him.
“Don’t you ever do that again,” I cling to him for dear life. There’s a tiny honk; Moxie. I glance up to see her stabbing him in the neck, probably meaning the same thing.
“I swear it,” he says into my hair, inhaling my scent. Loosening his hold — but not entirely — he says to his aunt, “What’s next?”
All business in her tone, Teale says, “Well, now you pick a mountain.”
He looks at me. “Can I bring her?”
“Yes, of course.”
“Do I have to come right back?”
Teale hesitates. “No … but we will wait until you return so the Weyr can celebrate with you.”
“So I can come back in an hour?”
“Good goddesses,” Fynn mutters. Orliana shushes him. I turn to face Teale, a grin splitting my face.
The matriarch raises an eyebrow with a sigh. “Yes, we can wait an hour. But no more, Trinte. Celebrate and return for family-friendly celebrations.”
“Why does it take an hour?” Joulian asks, eyeing us curiously.
No one answers him. Instead, Trinte takes my hand. “Ready, Firefly?”
I’m practically vibrating with excitement. Not just because I get to witness a mountain turned into glass, but because I am so ready to ‘celebrate’ with him. “Absolutely. Let’s go.”
Moxie flies back to Orliana so he can shift into a healthy and whole Dragon form. I situated myself on the usual perch with a pat to his head.
Snow flies as he flaps his wings and lifts into the sky. He envelops me in warm, windless magyck so the flight between mountains is less frigid. I may be a Fire Sprite, but I also hate being cold.
“Which one will you pick?” I ask, scanning the glass mountains. It’s probably one of the most beautiful places I’ve ever seen, with fractured light playing with swirling snowflakes.
You choose.
“Me?” I give the top of his head a glare. “That’s so much pressure.”
Think of it as where you would like to reward me the most.
I examine the options. While the largest peak is pure glass, smaller ones are only spotted with glass. I point to one with a peak still made of stone. “That one.”
He banks right slowly, making a lazy spiraling descent until he lands, claws digging into the mountainside.
“Now what?”
Now you give me a minute.
“Fine. Bossy.”
He ignores me. At first, nothing happens. The air gradually heats, turning hot — phenomenally hot. Trinte’s body vibrates and a shimmer of magyck coats the outside of his body.
Without warning, he slams his wings forward, catapulting himself away from the mountain.
When we’re about fifty feet from the stone, he opens his maw and lets loose the hottest, brightest fire I’ve ever seen or felt in my life.
Molten magma drips past his lips; everything it drops on turns to glass.
The stone mountain top slowly turns into a swirl of red and orange. Trinte continues to pour his Fyre onto it. It’s a magnificent thing to witness, seeing a Dragon use its most cherished power.
Gradually, the stone crystalizes. Trinte swallows the remaining amounts of Fyre, waiting for the mountain to cool, leaving a crystalized peak. It’s stunning.
He’s panting by the time we’re done. Any preference on where we go next?
“Nope.”
He scans the ground, finding an appealing spot and releasing a plume of fire that blankets the snow, sizzling it until there’s nothing but warm stone. When he shifts back, the fire stays, supported by my power.
Excitement builds in my bones at the way he watches me; like a starved man looking at his first meal in a week. “Can I collect my prize?”
I tilt my head, a small thrill shivering down my spine. “Do you think you’ve earned it?”
In a deceivingly conversational tone, he says, “Well, I did just kill my father. And you promised to reward me if I didn’t die.”
Taking a step back, I tease him, “Fortuna doesn’t demand a tithe in gratitude for survival?”
Instead of taking another step forward, Trinte stripes. “Fortuna will understand that this is my version of gratitude. I’ll gladly pay the tithes on the altar of your body.”
Fingers trembling, I unzip the hoodie and pull off my shirt, shivering as the cold air bites at my bare skin. I flick my wrist. A circle of fire immediately blazes, surrounding us and warming the air. It feels heavenly.
By the time he’s shucking off his pants, Trinte’s cock is rock hard. He presses a large palm against it, groaning while staring at me, eyes half-lidded. When I unsnap my bra, his focus homes in on my perked nipples. The fire can’t keep out all the cold; goosebumps spread across my body.
He licks his lips, turning the blazing blue eye back to my face. “What would you like to do with me?”
“Pull out your cock and stroke it,” I command, thrilling at the power he’s giving me.
Trinte obeys, pulling out the mouth-watering length.
As he fists himself, I approach slowly. Each step closer increases the speed of his breath.
My blood pounds with need for him. He’s alive, and I’m eager to begin our life together.
“Tell me.” I brush a hand over his stomach. It contracts and he shivers. “Have you ever played with fire during sex?”
“Very little,” he says cautiously. Like he’s afraid I’m going to ask for a list of the women I want to murder. Which isn’t out of the question yet. I open my mouth, letting fire blaze on my tongue. His eyes flare as he grins with excitement. “Definitely not that.”
I motion to the ground. “Lay down.”
The man practically falls over in his eagerness, splaying himself on the ground like my own personal sexual buffet. His cock juts toward the sky, a silent invitation to sink down on it. But first, some different kinds of fun.
Grabbing our clothes, I make tiny piles on either side of his hips to protect my knees. He doesn’t even complain about the cold ground.
Fire crackling around us, I kneel and ignite my hand with orange flames. He hisses through his teeth when I wrap my fingers around his thick length.
“Goddesses fucking damn me, that’s incredible,” he rasps out, fingers digging into the stones. I make slow, methodical movements that have his hips jerking upward, a silent plea for more.
When his eyes squeeze shut, I take him into my mouth full of flames. A bead of pre-cum sizzles on the tip of my tongue. Instantly, he’s moaning and blabbering nonsense. I lick the length, devouring the tip, keeping the flames hot.
A hand comes to the back of my head, pressing me further down until he’s pushing past the barrier of my throat.
I relax my muscles, trying to take what I can, but he’s so thick …
I choke on it. He groans and does it again.
His free hand strokes down my spine, then spanks my ass cheek.
I hum, vibrating his cock, which makes him moan louder.
Need rolls straight to my core, eliciting another moan.
Popping up for air, I find him watching me with a lopsided, boyish grin on his handsome face. “Can you do that with your pussy?”
Throwing my head back, I laugh. “I’m a Fire Sprite.”
“Is that a yes?” he says with no small amount of yearning in his tone.
Unwilling to wait any longer, I sling a leg over his hips, hovering my entrance right over the glistening tip.
He tries to sit up. “Wait, you’re—”