The Fly House (The UtopYA Collection)

by Misty Provencher

  Eon guided four of the six hens away into the spindlings, with a call that had the small dragons following behind him as if they were enchanted. Trust and the remaining young sheathen stayed behind. Forge nudged the remaining young further into the depths of the cave.

  Maeve watched the other dragons go; she'd never been good with goodbyes. She didn't cry. She wouldn't. But she felt the loss of them as their tails disappeared among the spindlings. It took a moment, after they were gone for her to meet Diem's eyes. She felt them on her, studying her, waiting for her to notice him, but she kept her gaze elsewhere until her eyes stopped stinging.

  "That makes you sad?" he asked.

  "No."

  His lip jumped, as if he would challenge her answer, but he hesitated. He rubbed his jaw.

  "Are you hungry?" he asked instead. The sexy timbre of his voice sent darts of hunger ripping into her. But this was a particular hunger that even a whole warehouse of food could never cure.

  "Yes," she said.

  "Then let's go." He gave a whistle and Forge snorted from the opening of her cave, but didn't come out. Trust poked his head from the opening and Maeve smiled. "Tell him to stay," Diem said.

  "How?"

  "Make the whistle that means stay. The one that will always mean it."

  "How do I remember which one is which?"

  "You make up your mind," he said. Somehow, those words made it clear. She did a short, sharp whistle. The small dragon's ears flattened as its head sunk to the ground.

  "He's like a dog," Maeve said.

  "A dog? What was a dog like?"

  "Smaller," Maeve said. "Hairy. They didn't snort fire. They wagged their tails, or licked you if they liked you—bit you if they didn't."

  "There is so much to learn about you."

  He held out his hand and she took it, but when he led her past the shack door, she tugged him to a stop. She assumed they would go inside and eat his warm gorne cereal.

  "Where are we going?"

  "To get some food. I want to show you how we do it," he said. His smile was so inviting, she let herself be led through the trees. They walked until they reached a huge pond. Diem took Maeve to the edge where the water drifted onto a pebbled beach and a grouping of boulders. He put his hands on her hips. It could've gotten interesting, until his muscles flexed and he tried to lift her to the flat top of one of the three boulders.

  "Stop," she said, slipping out of his grasp. "What are you doing?"

  "You're going to want to be..." he began, just as something padded out of the water behind him. Maeve caught the movement from the corner of her eye.

  "There's something behind you..." she said and then she saw it. It was a fish, she first thought, that skittered up from the water on four, long, webbed paws. The grisly thing shook itself dry as Maeve stared in horror. The animal had the face of a rat, but a wide, dark fin ran down the mangy, gray fur of its back. A barb was embedded in the sharp tip of its whip-like tail.

  The thing turned toward Maeve and Diem and hissed. That was enough. Maeve scrambled up, on top of the boulder, all on her own. This was Diem's world and she was going to let him handle it.

  "Ahhh," Diem said as he faced the animal. "They know it's the last day of Hot Season too. The ratfish are ready to bite."

  Maeve stood on the boulder, wishing she could get even higher and wishing Diem would join her. The thing hissed as it advanced on Diem.

  "Get away from it!" Maeve shouted.

  "It's just a little ratfish," Diem laughed. "I don't want to get away from it. I want to catch it, so we can eat it."

  "I'm not eating that thing! It looks like it has rabies!"

  "What's rabies?" Diem asked as he and the animal began to stalk a shifting circle around one another.

  "It's going to bite you!"

  Diem laughed again, but he didn't take his eyes off the thing. "It's going to try. It's the last day of the season and they're going to be under the ice soon. He wants to tear off a good chunk of me to feed his family through the seasons. Let's see if we can make this work."

  "Make what work?" Maeve howled.

  Diem made a funny sound, a low growl like a chica chica chica in his throat. Another ratfish emerged from the water. Then another.

  "There are two more!" Maeve hollered. "They're getting around you!"

  "That's what I want," he said. She was sure he had lost his mind.

  "They're behind you!" She was helpless up on the rock, pacing over the tight space in a furious panic. The animals circled Diem, growling as they gnashed their razor teeth. Maeve yanked off one of her boots. Diem glanced up at her.

  "What're you doing?" he laughed.

  "I'm going to bash at least one in the head!"

  "Stay up there, I'll be fine," he said, just as one of the ratfish lunged for his calf. But Diem was faster than a lightning strike. He jumped clear of the first creature and the second lunged. The two animals collided, instantly clamping onto one another. They twirled, growling between their set jaws, twisting to strike one another with their claws and tails. The last fish launched itself into the pile.

  Diem held his finger to his lips, signaling Maeve's silence as he skirted the whirling pile of fighting ratfish. There was a loud snap. One of the animals dropped, limp. The remaining two fought only a moment more and then there was a second snap! Another one of the animals fell dead and the last standing snatched up the closest corpse by the tail.

  "Oh, no you don't," Diem jumped toward the live ratfish as it dragged one of the two dead animals backward, toward the edge of the water. Diem brought his boot down on the tail of the dead animal, near the live creature's snarling teeth. The live ratfish unclamped from its dead prey and lunged at Diem's foot, attacking the protective toe of the boot. The second the animal clamped on solidly, Diem lifted his foot and with a hard flick, sent the ratfish flying. The thing landed, out in the center of the water, with a plop.

  Maeve couldn't even move as Diem turned and picked up the two dead animals by the tails. It was the most bizarre road kill she'd ever seen.

  "C'mon," he said. "Let's go eat."

  He waited for Maeve to put her boot back on and slide down off the rock. She kept her eyes on the waterline as she did, in case more of those things came up on the shore, but the top of water remained a smooth pane of glass.

  "I don't want to eat those things. I don't even know what I just saw," she said as they walked back into the spindlings. She was jumpy now, startling and ready to kick something's ass at every twig snap, sure that ratfish were going to rain down on her from the trees.

  "That was ratfish trapping," Diem said. "If you can get at least two on land, they'll do the work for you. Wait until you smell them cooking. You won't be able to resist them."

  "I bet I can," she said.

  "We'll see," he said, with a tilt to his mouth that made her lips itch to investigate. She was a little disappointed that he didn't propose a more interesting bet that she might be happy to lose.

  ***

  Diem knew what he was talking about. He dressed the ratfish and dug a small pit outside the shack. He brought out a fire seed and his chair, setting it down beside the fire and motioning Maeve to sit.

  "You can watch as I cook for you," he said. He was more than shocked when she obliged him and eased down on the chair.

  "I hope you're not thinking of this as a cooking lesson," she said. "Because I'm never going to cook for you."

  He chuckled, his eyes sweeping over her once before he went back to placing the ratfish on a crude rotisserie over the spot where a fire would be. "No, you won't," he said. "You are built for doing much better things for me than cooking."

  "Fuh..." The curse dwindled on her tongue with one sharp look from him. Her eyes flashed; she wasn't going to be shut down either. "Funny," she substituted with a sour, but playful, glare.

  She watched as he ripped a piece of the fire seed from its pod.

  "What is that thing?" she asked. She was all eyes and nose, he th
ought, her curiosity enchanting.

  "It is fire seed," he said. He dropped the piece of the wrinkly, bloated pod into the pit. He stomped on it and jumped back, out of the way, just as the fire blazed up as high as his knees.

  Maeve watched as he positioned the spit more precisely over the fire. He could feel the heat of her gaze moving down his back. The thought of it made him twitch in his pants, until her stomach growled. Dessert would have to wait. He dragged a spindling stump close to the handle of the spit, so he could twist the meat over the flames. Maeve watched.

  "That works the same," she said, motioning to the turning spit. "People used to use those in the olden days."

  "Olden days? You mean during the time of the archaic Earth?" The phrase sounded funny to him and strange, considering how old she really was herself. She only nodded.

  "Yeah. More archaic than me even," she said, staring into the fire. It was sad to her how the term old had become so strangely relative. "They used them waaay before I was even born."

  "It's hard for me to imagine time before you."

  She laughed. "There should be more shame in your game. Anyone ever tell you that you're a player?"

  "No."

  "Well, you are."

  "Is that good?"

  She thought for a minute. "Maybe."

  "Good," he said with a smile. He turned the fish and the smell rose up, delicious and heavy, as the oil dripped down from the meat, snapping as the fire swallowed it up. Maeve sniffed the air.

  "That's really weird," she said. "It smells just like beef. Like a steak."

  "Beef was from cowes, right?" The word bounced oddly on his tongue.

  "Cowes? Not cowes, it's cows," she said. "You’ve never seen a cow before, have you."

  He shook his head. "Never."

  "It's so different now," she sighed.

  "Wait until tomorrow when Cold Season One begins," he said. "I'm glad Eon brought you some clothing."

  "I'm used to seasons changing. That's not different, except that you know the exact day it's going to happen."

  Diem's eyebrows lifted as he turned the meat. "We'll see."

  The ratfish was done fairly fast. Diem retrieved plates and gorne, mixing the gorne with some spices and water and cooking it over the fire until he'd made four round, raised rolls. Maeve took the bun he offered her, but hesitated with the ratfish. Diem took some in his own bowl and blew on it.

  Maeve nibbled at the roll.

  "Do you like it?" he asked and she nodded. He held out his fingers with some of the cooled ratfish meat on them. "Try it," he said.

  He didn't think she was going to do it, but then she leaned forward, her hair glowing like a halo in the firelight. She closed her eyes. Her soft, pink mouth opened to him. Diem had to focus on feeding her instead of leaning in to taste her himself.

  He put his fingers into her mouth and she wrapped her lips gently around his knuckles. He felt her tongue pull the meat from his skin and her subsequent groan vibrated in his nail beds.

  "Good, isn't it?" His voice was husky. Maeve opened her eyes and nodded as he withdrew his fingers.

  "So good..." Her voice had dropped to gravel.

  Diem dumped the plate as he reached for her. She dropped the roll. He caught her in a kiss and eased her to the ground in front of the fire. The earth was soft beneath them as he slipped off her shirt. She pulled off his. They became a jumble of hands, peeling each other's clothes away, tasting the skin beneath as if it were fruit.

  When they were naked, he laid her down on their clothes and kissed her long and deep, spreading her legs with his hips. His erection grew strong between her thighs and Maeve purred with longing when he sat back and looked down on her sex.

  He decided to test her.

  And, just as he suspected, the purring didn't last once he flipped her onto her stomach.

  She rolled over, onto her back again. Diem laid down on her, plunging his tongue into her mouth, and with his forearm beneath her, he drew up and flipped her again. This time, he pressed his chest down against her spine as he kissed the back of her neck.

  She thrust a sharp elbow into his ribs.

  "No," she grunted.

  "What's the matter?" He didn't take his lips from her skin.

  "I'm not doing it with you like this," she said. "I want to see your face."

  It was just as he suspected. She would not allow herself to be vulnerable. She needed to keep an eye on him.

  "Trust me," he whispered into her hair.

  "I'm not doing it like an animal." Her tone was tight even as he tried to soothe her by pressing his lips beneath her ear.

  "But we are animals."

  "I want to see your face," she said again.

  "Maybe you'd be surprised at how good it feels," he whispered. "Would you trust me?"

  "It's not about trust," she said, struggling to get out from under him. "It's about you trying to make me your dog."

  "Oh no, it's about trust," Diem said, but he released his hold and let her roll onto her back. He couldn't be disappointed if he tried; the scenery was best that way anyway. She tried to argue, but he silenced her with just his tongue and then with his whole body. They became one pulsing beast in the firelight, clashing with each other's rhythm. Her words turned to moans as he released her lips.

  ***

  Maeve woke without Diem beside her. The floor was warm as she crossed it in bare feet, but once she opened the door, the wintery blast hit her. She was about to step back when Diem stood from the chair outside.

  "Blessings," he said. He scooted her back inside a step as he leaned in to snatch the blanket from the bed. Wrapping it around her shoulders, he moved back onto the porch. When Maeve followed, Diem swept her up, settling her on his lap. She let him, covering her toes with the edge of the blanket.

  "That's excellent," Diem said, motioning toward Forge's lair. Maeve's dragon was ambling across the grounds toward the porch and the heathen was twice the size she'd seen him yesterday. Maeve had had to steel herself against jumping to her feet and running away as the animal lumbered toward them. It had grown in both size and the appearance of fierceness, but as Maeve tensed, Diem rubbed a small circle on her back. Trust climbed onto the porch and the dragon angled its nose down toward Maeve, pushing its flat forehead against her affectionately.

  Maeve melted.

  "No doubt, he's yours," Diem said. "If you put on your Cold Season clothes, I can teach you how to guide him."

  Maeve was off his lap and dressed before he could ask again. It was damn nice to be in pants again.

  "Put the guide here," Diem said, pointing to the soft plates at Trust's lower neck. "Wedge the rein beneath these."

  The dragon squealed as if it were in pain and Maeve pulled the rope away. Diem shook his head, nudging her forward.

  "He's not hurt," Diem told her. "Don't let him scare you. A dragon will fight every attempt to be controlled, but if you want to be its master, you have to do it."

  "He chose me. He should trust me," she grumbled.

  "Do you trust him?" Diem said. Maeve itched her arm, refusing to meet the man's gaze. The whole training session made her insides feel like they were moving out of time with the Earth, but she knew she had to learn how to do this.

  If she was going to watch out for the Archivers, she had to know how to ride this dragon. He had to obey her. And she needed equal footing among the House humans. Having a dragon was just another little bit of insurance that might help if the House humans turned on Diem and tried to give up her people after all.

  But the only way to train the dragon was to tell Diem the truth. The truth was, she found herself suddenly terrified by this larger dragon.

  "I think he might try to bite me or fry me by accident," she said. The vulnerability, the truth, made her feel weak, but her gut settled slightly with the admission too. It was wildly confusing.

  "Good," Diem's face broke into a soft grin of relief. He didn't gloat on her confession, instead he turned his attentio
n back to the young dragon along with her. "So you're saying you are worried about his mouth mainly."

  "What else should I be afraid of?"

  She caught Diem's glimpse at the dragon's formidable claws, but she was still more concerned about the flame bursting from the animal's mouth. She was sure her dragon wasn't the mauling type. How she knew it, she couldn't say, but she knew it.

  Diem watched her mulling it over and when she snapped back to action, his chin dipped with respect. For what, she had no idea. The whole training session seemed to revolve around her instincts rather than her intelligence. It was unnerving.

  Especially when Diem tossed the guide rein aside and told Maeve to climb onto the dragon.

  "He's not big enough," Maeve said. "He's not the size of your dragon."

  "He's strong enough. Get on and when you do, hang on tight with your knees."

  "And do what?"

  "Don't let him throw you off. He's going to try, but you've got to hang on."

  "Holy sh...what if I can't?"

  Diem looked away, rubbing the crease on his forehead. "He'll try to kill you."

  Maeve laughed, expecting Diem to laugh with her. He didn't.

  "There's no way I'm getting on him," she said.

  "You've got to."

  "I don't 'got to' anything," Maeve said, but as she turned to walk away—where she was going, she had no clue—he caught her by the arm.

  "You still have to do this," he said. "I'll be here. If he tries to throw you, I'll intercede."

  There was no confidence in her that 'intercede' meant that he could definitely stop the dragon from goring her to death. She scowled at the idea.

  "I don't think for a moment that you'll let go," Diem said. There was a challenge to his smirk that set the fire beneath Maeve. He stuck her in an impossible position—making her a coward if she walked away, while she was paralyzed at the thought of climbing on the thing that would try to kill her. What stirred her to action was the coddling in his tone as he encouraged her again. "Come on. I'm right here if you can't handle him."