Chapter 26 Raven #2
The howling starts up again, closer now, and my mouth ticks up into a predatory smile.
The first sound of paws running across gravel catches my attention—the hunt has begun.
I move deliberately away from the houses, drawing the threat away from innocent civilians.
The minute the first worg emerges from the shadows like gray ghosts, I shift.
My skull dragon explodes into existence with a thunderous roar that shakes the very foundations of the village.
Windows rattle in their frames, and I can hear startled cries from behind locked doors.
I lower my massive head and breathe my acid breath weapon in a sweeping arc across the attacking pack.
The viscous green liquid streams from my throat like molten death, coating half a dozen worg in its destructive embrace.
The acid hisses and bubbles as it eats through fur and flesh, filling the air with acrid smoke and the screams of dying predators.
The smell is terrible—burning hair and dissolving bone mixed with the chemical tang of my breath weapon.
One surviving worg comes at me from the side with desperate courage, its yellow eyes gleaming with feral intelligence.
I use the razor-sharp spike on the end of my wing bone to impale it through the chest, feeling the satisfying resistance as it punches through ribs and heart.
The creature’s dying howl cuts through the night air before it falls silent.
Two more emerge from the darkness, their pack instincts driving them forward despite the surrounding carnage. I snap one up in my massive jaws, feeling bones crunch between my teeth like twigs. I bite it cleanly in half, then drop its mangled body before its horrified pack mate as a warning.
Drawing in a deep breath, I roar as loud as I can—a sound that speaks of ancient power and barely contained violence.
The force of it rattles doors and windows throughout the village.
I can feel the vibration travel through the ground beneath my talons.
Several more windows crack from the sonic assault.
I watch with satisfaction as the remaining worg flee into the night, their tails between their legs and their confidence shattered.
Their terrified yips fade into the distance as they retreat to whatever holes they crawled out of.
I don’t think they’ll ever hunt this herd again—not after tonight’s demonstration.
A soft click sounds from behind me, and a low, threatening snarl escapes my maw as I turn to see Hemlocke and his parents emerging from the house. The taste of blood and acid still coats my tongue, and the battle fury hasn’t entirely left my system.
“Don’t follow me,” Hemlocke says softly to his parents, his voice carrying gentle but absolute authority. He walks around me in a wide arc, giving my massive form the respect and space it demands. “Raven, my love.”
His voice cuts through the lingering rage like a cooling balm.
I turn my great horned head to look down at him with one sapphire eye, noting how small and fragile he appears next to my dragon form.
He has his hands raised in a placating gesture, trying to soothe the violence still boiling in my blood.
“They’re gone. It’s safe to shift back.” His voice is steady and calm, completely unafraid despite the carnage scattered around my feet.
I rise to my full height and look over the tops of the village buildings, scanning for any remaining threats.
My enhanced vision picks up movement in the distant tree line—more worg, but they’re fleeing rather than approaching.
Hemlocke is right. They are long gone, probably running all the way back to whatever territory they came from.
Satisfied that the threat is eliminated, I look back down at him and gently nuzzle him with the tip of my nose. His scent—meadow grass and storm winds—helps ground me back to humanity.
A warm laugh escapes his lips as I shift back to human form, the transformation leaving me slightly dizzy from the adrenaline crash.
Before he realizes what’s happening, I leap into his arms and wrap my wings around him like a cocoon, kissing him hard with lips that still taste faintly of acid and victory.
He holds me tight against his chest and slows the kiss down, his touch gentle and reverent. “Next full moon, you’re mine,” he whispers against my lips, his breath warm and sweet.
“Why the full moon?” I kiss his lips softly again, tasting the promise in his words.
“It’s tradition.” A soft laugh escapes his lips, filled with anticipation and something deeper. He pulls out his phone and checks the date, the screen’s glow illuminating his face. “Two weeks, my love.”
He kisses me again, deeper this time, then leads me back inside to his family. The warmth of the house envelops us, chasing away the chill of the night air and the lingering scent of battle.
It’s going to be the longest two weeks of my life, waiting for the moon to complete its cycle and claim my second mate fully. But after tonight’s display of violence, I think his family understands exactly what kind of dragon they’re welcoming into their herd.