“The future,” Visidion whispers next to me.
My neck pops as I look at him so quickly. Was he in my thoughts?
He watches Illadon flying into the air and dropping into his father’s arms. Ladon and Illadon are laughing and even Calista is. Rverre holds her tiny arms out, hands grasping and cooing, wanting the same attention. Sverre takes his daughter and plays with her, albeit in a much gentler way. Rverre revels in his attention, no matter it’s not as rough as Ladon’s.
“Yes,” I agree, speaking softly too. “If we make it.”
2
Visidion
“It is late. You should stay, return in the morning,” I say.
Rosalind stares out across the rolling dunes. The strong line of her jaw is set, and her smoky gray eyes stare into the distance, seeing things no one else does. Dark brown hair curling down past her shoulders to the middle of her back contrasts strongly with the white suit she wears. There is an imperial aura to her. She’s a natural leader but I see the weight on her shoulders. She captivates me, but how do I say such?
My cock hasn’t stirred in so many years that the sensations in my groin of desire and need take me by surprise. Only she has that effect, since the first moment I saw her standing on the other side of the glittering dome of the city. Tall, ramrod-straight back, the easy aura of being in charge—all caught my interest. Since then, what I’ve learned of her only makes my interest grow. She cares for her people and the Zmaj as well.
“I would not want to impose,” she says.
“If it would be an imposition, I would not have offered,” I answer.
She turns, her eyes locking with mine. Her head tilts to one side, and a hint of a smile plays across her lips.
“I admire your bluntness and honesty,” she says.
My throat tightens, making speaking impossible. Her compliment has strange effects on my body. Unable to answer, I nod my head in response and turn away from her gaze. My stomach roils as if I’ve eaten a bad stajiss seed. What, am I a youngling? Swallowing hard, I force my throat open and calm my stomach through will.
“Thank you,” I say. “It will give us time to discuss the future as well.”
The future. I know what I would like, but what I would like and what I can and will most likely have are two distinctly different things. My people are first. The Edicts guide our lives. Without them we are nothing. Lose them and we lose ourselves. The Tribe would be more accepting of the City if Rosalind was willing to deal with Gershom.
That is an issue I cannot push. What would I do if the roles were reversed? Adopt a new and foreign system of rule or reject it out of hand? No, I could not give up the Edicts. Which leaves her and me at an impasse. For now.
“The future,” she nods, pursing her full lips.
What would they taste like?
“Drosdan, find lodging for our guests for the night,” I order.
Drosdan stares, hisses, then nods and moves to comply with my order. Drosdan is loyal even if he might grumble. Rosalind and I walk over to the wall together. There’s an easy comfort to the silence between us. The setting suns cast their dying red rays across the wasteland that is my home. Tajss was never easy, but the devastation made it worse.
“Can you see it?” Rosalind asks, her delicate hand resting on the wall that comes just above her waist.
The bustle of evening sounds drifts past us as we stand, side by side, staring at the horizon. People talking, dishes rattling, the shuffle of life carrying on. A ray of light lands on Rosalind’s face, accenting her strong jaw, casting an aura around her. In some ways, she reminds me of my father, Kaleessin the Seer. It was his vision before the devastation that founded the Tribe. He sees things no one else does. There is an air about him that is very much the same with Rosalind.
“What is it you see?” I ask, curiosity tingling along my scales.
“What we can be, what we must be,” she sighs.
Boldly I place my hand on hers. We stand shoulder to shoulder, facing the setting suns together.
“That is a long road,” I observe.
Her skin is soft under my touch, so soft. Desire stirs again, rising, clouding my judgment. She doesn’t move her hand from mine, though in fairness she doesn’t seem to notice it either.
“Yes,” she says. “Fraught with peril.”
“The future always is,” I agree. “Only the strong can claim it.”
“Are we strong enough?” she muses.
“Together we are stronger,” I intone, the second of the Edicts.
She looks at me, eyes narrowing, mouth tightening.
“Your Edicts,” she observes.
“Yes,” I say.
“Tell me your history. How did you create all of this?” Her graceful gesture sweeps across the cliff homes of the Tribe.
“Ah, that is a tale, now isn’t it? Shall I share it over a meal?” I ask, stomach clenching in anticipation.
Emotions flicker across her face in an instant, and then her eyes soften. She turns her hand under mine, palm up, then grips my hand tight.
“That would be nice,” she agrees.
Chills run down my spine as we walk. When we reach my home, I pull the skins aside to let her enter. Before I step in, I see a few of the Tribe staring. Turning from their looks, I drop the skins behind me.
“Please, sit,” I say, motioning to one of the two stools at my table.
She sits with a grace of movement that holds my attention. Every motion she makes flows from one to the next. A sensual beauty in action. Hospitality is rough here in our new home. Back at the Valley, I would have more to offer in both supplies and amenities. All of that we left behind when the Zzlo found us. The Zzlo, more than the hostility of the environment, weigh on my mind. They are the reason I believe we need an alliance with the City.
“Thank you,” she says.
I take two clay cups and plates out of a small chest by the wall and set them on the table, then pour water from a vase. A woven basket has dried meats in it that I put on each of our plates before taking my own seat. She raises her glass holding it out over the table. My mind whirls, what is she doing? She’s waiting, for what? What am I supposed to do to this gesture?
“It is a human custom,” she says, smiling, “to touch glasses before drinking. It is a toast, an honor to the host.”
“A toast?” I ask.
“Yes,” she says, still holding her glass over the table. She searches for a word. “A toast is like… a blessing.”
“Ah,” I say, raising my glass and holding it out over the table too.
Humans have strange customs. She tilts her glass towards mine until the edges clink together. Then she raises it to her lips and sips before setting it back on the table. I sip from my cup and put it down too.
“Your history,” she prompts, picking up a piece of smoked meat and popping it in her mouth without further ado.
“Yes,” I say, forcing my thoughts away from the fullness of her lips as they purse and relax with the chewing motions.
Thoughts of pleasure dance in my mind. Pleasure that is not mine to claim, but those lips. They appear so soft, so different than a Zmaj female’s would be. What would they feel like on my… no. Focus.
“The Tribe started before the devastation,” I say. “Kalessin foresaw what was coming.”
“Kalessin is your father?” she asks.
Time stops, my hand halfway to my mouth with a piece of meat. Swallowing hard I tilt my head. Rosalind smiles, enjoying the fact she shocked me.
“You know more than I expected,” I say.
“It’s the only way to play the game,” she acknowledges.
“Is that what we’re doing? Playing a game?” I ask.
The air is thick between us. We stare into each other’s eyes. My first cock stirs, stiffening, laden with desire. Thoughts race, my hearts thump hard in my chest. It’s hard to breathe.
“Are we not,” she whispers.
Her lips parting around the words,
closing on each one, her beautiful eyes sparkling with hints of promise. I could lose my heart in those warm pools. She leans in, pulling me forward with her.
“Survival is not a game,” I say, soft.
“It is the only game,” she says, sensuous, closer.
I’m drawn in by her gravity. We’re close, almost close enough to kiss. My cock throbs, pulsing need, clouding judgment. The Edicts.
“Survival of the group matters.” Hoarse, scratchy words emerge from my too-tight throat.
“Yes, more than ourselves,” she says.
Her hand touches mine on the table. Fire ignites in my scales as her fingertips brush against them. Roaring up my limbs and down to my core, fueling the inferno of desire and needs unmet in longer than memory. The piece of meat in my other raised hand drops to the table, forgotten.
So close. Her scent fills my senses, heady, spinning me deeper into desire. My tongue tingles, imagining how she will taste. Her warm breath passes over my mouth. Stomach clenching, I grip the table, bracing myself.
Focus. I am myself.
Her left hand rests on my clenched fist on the table. Her right rises, trembling, and she touches my cheek. Weakness strikes my legs—if I wasn’t sitting I’d fall. A soft groan slips out of my throat. Never has a touch been so soft, sensuous, or more desired. If I were to purse my lips they would touch hers. I could, should… no.
“Why?” I ask.
It falls from my mouth unwanted, contrary to everything I desire, but I have to know. It breaks the moment. Rosalind leans back, leaving a vacuum where she was. I fall back onto my stool, and we stare at each other across the new-formed chasm. Was the moment real? Did she want me as I want her? The slightest shake of her shoulders as she settles on her stool, a quiver that fuels my doubts.
“Why?” she queries, staring at the table between us.
The raging of my cock subsides, softening with the missed opportunity. Regret dances in my chest, an empty ache, but my thoughts clear. I am Chieftain; the Tribe is first. Survival of the group matters. Focusing myself, I recite the Edicts in my mind before I answer her question.
One, I am myself. Two, together we are stronger. Three, survival of the group matters.
Inhaling deep, pushing desires aside, I exhale a low, slow breath.
“Yes, why. Why do you protect Gershom? What is this future you see in which you feel he plays a role? That’s what it is, isn’t it? You see a need he fulfills. Why else would you tolerate someone who causes so much trouble?”
Her shoulders slump. It’s not obvious, only astute observation catches it. The weight on her returns.
“As you say, he fulfills a role,” she sighs.
“What role, what future do you see?”
She looks up from the table, sharp eyes staring into mine, looking for something. I meet her gaze without flinching, opening to her. Her lips part; there is a heavy pause; then she shakes her head.
“Survival,” she lies. “I’m just trying to make sure as many of my people as possible survive.”
My chest constricts with pain. My hearts skip beats. Closing my eyes, I sigh and accept her answer. The trust between us is not yet enough.
“I see,” I say, letting it go, my stomach knotting as if punched.
“You were telling me about your history,” she says.
Smiling tight, I let her change the subject. Easier than facing the pain of distrust.
“As I said, Kalessin saw what was coming, but no one would listen. He went to the Councils, spoke against those who advocated war. He tried to get them to see, to believe his visions, but Zmaj are a proud race. They would not set aside their fixed views of the world.
Seeing he could not stop what was to come, he gathered those who would listen. They came together, collecting supplies, and then before his vision could come to pass, they went into the desert. A handful only, my family, a few others who would listen.”
“The willfully blind do not see until it is too late,” she mutters.
“Truth,” I agree. “When it was over, the Tribe was but a few. Over time, survivors were found. Some joined us, others went their own ways. We were resigned to our end, but holding out hope. Kalessin often said there was hope. The future was clouded but not black. So we waited. We survived.”
“The bijass?” she asks.
“What of it?” I ask.
“Tell me of it. I don’t know that I understand it.”
Breaking contact with her eyes I study the scratches in the thin metal top of the table between us. Bijass is shameful, not something to be discussed. Her hand touches my fist, insisting, pulling truth.
“It is shameful,” I say.
“Yes, but what is it?” she implores me. “I need to understand. I lead Zmaj, but it is only by conjecture and observation. Help me, so I might better lead those who follow me.”
Sincerity lies in her words. Gritting my teeth before meeting her gaze, I swallow hard.
“Zmaj are evolved for Tajss,” I say. “A violent, savage planet. The bijass is our basest instinct, primal drives. A Zmaj struggles between rationality and the bijass, always. Hence the Edicts.”
“They’re a mantra,” she observes.
“Yes, they focus the mind. Push back and help you to remain in control.”
She purses her lips and the now not-unfamiliar stirrings in my crotch happen again. A tingle on my lips, desire to taste those plump entrances to her beautiful mouth.
“Why does Ladon reject them?”
“Because he’s a fool,” I retort without thinking, regret following immediately when her sharp eyes admonish me.
“Ladon is a lot of things, but not a fool.”
“Are you sure?” I ask, holding the line now that the words have fallen.
“I am,” she says.
“Then he is afraid.”
“Afraid?” she snorts. “Ladon?”
“Yes,” I say. “What else? He’s either a fool, which you assert he is not, or afraid. Why else would he be unwilling to have tools to control his baser instincts?”
She doesn’t say anything, looking thoughtful. One finger traces a pattern on the table, holding my attention. A tremor passes through her hand and she jerks it off the table to her side.
“Perhaps,” she says, covering her strange behavior. “I will have to think about that.”
“It is late, and we must be on our way early if we are to make the city tomorrow,” she says, rising from the table.
“Of course, this way,” I say, showing her to my small bed.
She tries to insist she will sleep on the floor, but the argument is moot. I will not bend on this point. And at last, she is lying in my bed behind a makeshift curtain I rig out of a couple of skins. I can just see the outline of her hip in the gap between them. With my back pressed to the wall, I study the curve of her. I contemplate what almost was between us until sleep claims me.
3
Rosalind
“As you can see, trade is in both of our best interests,” I say, picking a piece of smoked meat off the clay plate and placing it in my mouth.
“I agree, of course, but there are obstacles to be overcome,” Visidion replies.
Chewing the tough piece of meat, I watch him and wait. He’s left the statement open for me to reply, but often it is better to let the other talk more. Silence can be the greatest tool in my arsenal. Visidion is patient. Almost, I think he might win this game. I pick up the glass and take a long, slow drink, never letting my eyes break from his. A smile plays at the corners of his mouth.
My core tightens with an urge to throw myself across the table and taste his lips. Firming my grip on the cup, I resist until it passes.
“My people,” he continues at last.
“Yes?” I encourage.
“We have lived on our own for too long,” he says. “They do not believe we need you.”
“What do you believe?” I probe.
Visidion sighs, leans back, spreads his arms wide, and shakes
his head. His eyes close while he inhales deeply. His chest rises, expanding with the inhale pressing forward his impressive physique. Now-familiar tightness in my core winds tighter, his pectoral muscles tighten then relax as he lets the breath out. No. I’m not a schoolgirl. No matter how long it’s been…
He opens his beautiful eyes, meeting my gaze with open honesty. His eyes are deep pools, unshielded access to his soul. My mouth is so dry that swallowing hard hurts my throat. His wings rustle on his back.
“Perhaps I have lived too long without hope,” he says, his voice soft, placing a hand on the table halfway between us.
My hand is on his, unplanned, without thought. Instinct or driven by desire—I don’t know. His scales are smooth and cool under my fingertips. I trace a slow circle with my index finger, my eyes never leaving his. The texture of his scales ignites my interest. A shudder passes through me as my body responds to the feel of him.
“And?”
His tongue darts out and across his lips. I lean, involuntarily, desire pulling me closer.
“I don’t know what to do with it,” he breathes, leaning.
“Embrace it.”
“Then what?”
“Then we see…”
Our lips are so close his warm breath passes across me, a hint of spice to it. His emerald green eyes, pools of warm liquid, two inches away staring into my soul. He turns his hand under mine on the table and grips me tight. Closer, my lips tremble, about to touch his…
A scream cuts through the moment jerking us both to reality.
My heart pounds. Leaping to my feet, I bound for the door, Visidion at my side. When I burst through the skins that cover the entrance, the bright suns assault my eyes. Spots dance across my vision, blurring everything to rough shapes.
Visidion’s home is on the second level of the cliff homes. He pushes past me and is running down the ramp. I’m unable to follow without risking a fall until my eyes clear.
Dragon's Capture Page 2