Chapter Thirteen #3
While the tattoos didn’t show vividly on Zorah’s scales, the faint outline of the colorful patterns remained, as Jimryr’s ink decorated his own dragon body, but only if one got close enough to look.
The enemy would be skewered on someone else’s claws before they could get close enough to decipher the patterns.
Together, the dragons lumbered down the trail to a cliff overlooking a valley. Each dragon in attendance knew their roles. Half would play the enemy tonight, the rest, the defending force.
Jimryr would act as defender. No one ever mentioned the lack of claws on his left front foot, or rather, they hadn’t since he’d knocked a few from the sky.
Full dark descended. Glowing green Northern Lights undulated in the sky. The anticipation thrumming through Jimryr didn’t allow him time to stop and appreciate the view, though others ohh’d and ahh’d.
Dylan spread surprisingly long wings, gliding toward the enemy lines, joined by other equally streamlined omegas. Reconnaissance.
Dragon law prohibited alphas from fighting, but as Jimryr had witnessed them abusing that rule in his last battle, alphas trained with the betas. If they met fighting alphas on their return to the dragon realm, they’d be ready.
Fen got into position with ten more omegas. Jimryr and Zorah would act as battering rams, clearing the way, occasionally getting in a token clawing or bite where they could. Fen flew with the omegas, who ducked behind their two dragon bulldozers in the defense.
Several dragons too old to shift observed, keeping notes to report back. One of them sounded an air horn. The battle began.
Jimryr launched himself with his squad, keeping back until the other squads took position. The moon and stars shone overhead. Soaring on the winds gave him such a feeling of freedom, and anticipation boiled in his veins. The Goddess had made him for moments like this.
A beta. Nature’s perfect warrior. The part of his brain devoted to his dragon form exulted, bugling out a challenge.
It’s only a drill, he reminded his creature half.
His dragon sight let him see the approaching enemy. He and Zorah had the most experience in actual battle, though Zorah more from a tactical standpoint. No doubt she’d sent the occasional alpha from the sky.
One moment Jimryr coiled to strike, the next, he rammed into a beta with outstretched claws, throwing the smaller beta off course.
He’d have buried his back claws into the dragon’s belly in actual battle.
He’d have to remember to mention the beta’s mistake of exposing vulnerable parts in his report.
The beta floundered, sending a teammate off course.
They both spiraled downward. Jimryr picked his next victim, a beta nearly as big as himself.
At a signal from Zorah, he rammed from the left, while Zorah struck from the right.
The shock of the unexpected double attack sent the beta reeling, barely breaking his fall before hitting a ledge.
Fen flitted past, talons outstretched. She didn’t sink them into an approaching dragon’s neck, merely nicked the blue’s scales, showing the potential damage.
On they flew. One beta snuck in a strike against Jimryr’s thigh, but nothing serious enough to put him out of the fight. Sometimes youngsters got carried away and caused harm. The guy with the air horn doubled as their medic.
As the sun tinged the horizon pink, the dragons landed by squad, reverting to human form and racing for the fires and their clothes.
Zorah slapped his shoulder the moment Jimryr took human form. “Good flying there, boy.” She looked down at Jimryr’s naked body. “We gotta stop meeting like this.”
“I don’t agree,” Fen said, approaching from behind. “I’ll take all the naked Jim I can get.” She dashed with the others toward the fire. At least she didn’t slap Jimryr’s ass this time. The conversation about boundaries must’ve worked.
Zorah pointed downward at his thigh, where a thin rivulet of red ran down to his knee. “Get that taken care of, then join me.” She waved a hand toward the closest bonfire.
The medic smiled in greeting. “Jim! What have you done to yourself now?”
“I believe your granddaughter got in a lucky hit.”
The elderly beta smiled while cleaning the wound. “The little scamp. She takes after her grandmother.” He applied salve and a bandage to Jimryr’s injury. “There you go. Try to stay out of the way of claws next time.”
“Medic!” an omega called, cradling her wrist.
The medic nodded once to Jimryr, then turned to address his next patient.
Jimryr warmed himself by the medic’s fire for a moment before darting toward the already dressed Zorah, who held out his clothes. After they finally dressed, some non-shifting dragons grouped them for feedback, while others tended the wounded.
Someone else observed the mistake the beta made. No need for Jimryr to report.
“Not bad,” Zorah said after they’d reviewed the feedback. “I think we’re ready.”
“As ready as we’ll ever be.” Now if only the mage returned, so this all wouldn’t be for nothing. When the exhilaration faded from a maneuver gone well, Jimryr slunk back to his empty bed, trying and failing to drown out the sounds of his roommates engaging in energetic, post-battle sex.
The scarred beta should be here, dark hair spread out on the next pillow.
Daire Fucking Thorne.
Maybe.