Wind Magic

by Nicolette Jinks

  My heart pulsed. I’d seen these marks used before, they haunted my dreams. And I knew what came next. It was the spell Gregor Cole had carved into human bones, the spell that had killed Railey. Not this exact spell, no, but a very close relative. They were branches off the same base spell, if I were guessing correctly. Chilled, I read on.

  It was Winter's Lace that stopped me. I sat there, staring at the page in mute comprehension, wondering if this could be what was behind Death’s revival.

  It claimed you could 'kidnap' Death and trade his soul for another's.

  Though I scoured the book long into the night, I could find no more information about Winter’s Lace. Frustrated, I finally put the book away and tried to sleep.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Mornings.

  I hated mornings.

  Particularly mornings when I woke up with a seized shoulder and corresponding stiffness throughout my back and arm. Not to mention my neck. There was an irritation spreading through my body, one which wouldn’t let me focus. A desire for the sky and all its freedom.

  I stood outside on the deck overlooking the Reyes leap point, a sheer drop to the north of the lodge carved from the passage of a glacier, dewy air making the drop off appear to be nothing more than rolling fog. Barefoot footsteps padded behind me.

  Mordon pressed a small cup of brew into my hand. Steam rose off the liquid, little ghosts drifted from his lips with his every breath. “Are you prepared for this, love?”

  “Depends.”

  “Having second thoughts?”

  “Remember when you put my shoulder in place?”

  His furrow formed above his nose. The expression was dulled by the gray, cloudy atmosphere and might have been caused by fine flecks of rain which hit his face as if the fog were flicking him with a wet paintbrush. He grasped my shoulder, rested his cup on the railing post, and began to slowly rotate my arm. “Is it painful? We haven't used it too hard?”

  A twinge hit every time it reached a spot near my collar bone, but what took my breath away was his proximity. Dizzying. Thrilling. Weakened the knees, made me want to wrap him in my arms, sink down to the deck and take him with me. Even the thought constricted my chest. I swallowed the image before I got carried away. “The way I slept on it, I think. I'm worried it won't hold up.”

  Fingers softened on my shoulder, tightened on my arm, lips skimmed my jaw, a nose bumped my ear. Low, husky words. “We can do a warm-up flight. No one else is awake yet to see us and call for a true flight.”

  I licked my lips, wondering if we could do what I wanted to on this warm-up flight, something that involved getting close and satisfying the twin desires to be in the sky and hot against a body. His scent was heavy as a blanket, the sharp bite of pepper, the sweet nothings promise of musk in the wild woods. The time was now, stiff shoulder or not. “They're all hung over and it is nice and early. Alright. Let's try a warm-up. If I don't think I can handle it, I'll head for the deck.”

  “Understood,” Mordon said and started to take off his clothes.

  I hurriedly set down my mug. “Umm.”

  Pausing in the act of folding his tunic, he raised a single brow as if to ask what my problem was. Could he understand what this was doing to me in my present state? The flushed cheeks, the tight chest, the way I was already adrift in the sky? The sensations were so concentrated, I didn’t know if I wanted to feel them or run away.

  “Yes?”

  “You've never stripped before a flight.”

  Mordon's eyes creased with a smile. “Tradition. Just in case the warm-up develops into a mating.”

  I wasn't sure if I should look away or not because I was staring as he unfastened his trousers. He lifted his other brow. A rush of anger hit. I wanted to take his cup and throw it at him, to demand that he stop teasing, but I knew even through the anger that the impulse was ridiculous. Clenching my fist, I let out a long breath, releasing the rage with it. Clarity cut through the thickness of the moment, and in a minute, I was once again myself standing in the spitting breeze on the lip of a glacier cliff.

  “Are you going to follow suit?”

  Wordless, I turned my side to him and hastened to get buck naked. Best to make the most of this moment of control over my raging body, though I was very mindful of the rough rain-worn wood underfoot, the misty air ticklish and cold on my bare backside. All around us, the fog-drenched landscape, punctured a few sharp tree tips poking out of their dewy bed, was glowing golden as the east softened into the coming sunrise. I shivered, crossed my arms to warm up, to hide the evidence of my femininity.

  Mordon chuckled. “Hurry into your second skin, can't have you get a chill.”

  He was fine, of course. A little on the cold side, but all things considered—I was not staring. Because he was doing a terribly good job of respectfully not staring below my neck.

  I felt a little bit ashamed. Until he admired me from head to foot and up again. He held out a hand, his nails transforming into claws, his skin into scales. “Shall we?”

  I took his hand. The change shot through me, quickly and smoothly, I gained my wings and fangs and the lithe, slender dragon form. Mordon's wings were still webbing as my body took on a blushing, silvery hue. This close, he radiated heat from his far larger chest. Close as we had been in our human forms, now we were embracing chest to check, necks over backs.

  Right when I was about to step away, Mordon bent his bearded head to the base of my throat. He followed along my sensitive throat up to my jaw, leaving a delicious tickling sensation that made me shudder.

  The tickling feeling was his tongue. Licking had never been my 'thing', but apparently I made an exception now. Why not? I curved my neck along the contours of his back and tickled the closest sensitive part—his leathery wing. He did the same to me, sending tiny star bursts of pleasure through my spine.

  Yes, Mordon had definitely been right to change the tone of our flight.

  Here's hoping my wing held out. The feeling from before returned, suffocating in bites of black pepper and stomach-twisting in its honeysuckle sweetness. Musk burned places deep inside, weakened my haunches so they dipped, itched my tail so it twitched against the edge of the deck.

  The need for the sky hit me in a sudden, hard impulse. I bit him. Hard. In the tough scales of his neck, then I bit his withers, scraping fangs across his unforgiving scales in a strangely satisfying way. A frenzy built up, the need to antagonize a reaction. One more chomp, a fang pierced the thin edge of a scale. He arched his neck, let out a growl. I dashed to the edge of the deck, body low, fangs bared, instinctively expecting a chase. There wasn’t one.

  My head swiveled to where Mordon watched, his scales raised slightly, his fangs bared, but his stance ultimately solid. Unmoved. The rejection heated my blood.

  “Where do you think you're going?” he asked.

  “To the skies,” I said and leaped into the void above a pool made of a spring which had been clawed to an appropriate depth should a jump not go according to plan. But today, in the soup of cottony dew enveloping the mountains, it seemed as if I jumped into a vast infinity of nothing. To build speed, I kept my wings against my body, then snapped them out to embrace a faint breeze.

  The fall lasted a couple of seconds, then my wings filled taut with air. Pressure on my shoulder increased until it was a hot ache. As I shifted my weight to stretch it, the foggy world below tilted and I lost altitude. Seconds later, a large shape changed air patterns above me.

  “Your wing?” Mordon asked.

  “Painful, but not bad yet. I'm not sure if I can ditch Caledon.”

  “A lap or two, then we should return.”

  “I don't want to.”

  A throaty laugh vibrated from Mordon. “Let's see how you feel after the first lap around the lake.”

  He had a point.

  Carefully, by feeling the air below, I set our flight height and enjoyed the scenery. The serenity of flying was unlike anything else, a union between me, the air,
and the fog rolling below. A quiet mind, all thoughts hushed. Admiration of this world I was in and the man who was in it with me. A dreamy ballet of pushing wind, sealed ears, and the wide world of unending sky.

  Fish splashed, unseen, beneath the smoke like haze covering the lake’s surface, breaking the absolute silence of our early morning glide. Wisps rose before us, defiant challengers, ghostly apparitions which seemed to be heralding a gate from this world to the Other World. They would twist and roll as if a great guardian impossible to be defeated, but, at the briefest touch of a wingtip or a huff of the nose, they dispersed into traces of dew once more. Mordon flew at times beside me, at times behind, but I felt we were arm in arm. Then came a chill wind from the east, and it stole my peace, replacing it with pain that only grew as the curve of the lake angled the wind so that my bad wing broke the air.

  By the time I sensed we were nearing the deck, I had to admit defeat: my shoulder throbbed a tearing pain, the pain of ripping muscles. But the desire for the sky was almost impossible to turn away from.

  I started towards the deck, feeling sad, frustrated, and glad for the flight. Mordon fell in line with me, dragging behind as if he didn't want this to end, either.

  A bugle cut through the silence.

  My heart raced, sending adrenaline through my veins. That was the cry of a drake summoning the others. It was the excited call of some early riser who had discovered our clothes left on the deck as a signal of our intentions.

  I turned my head to see Mordon had woken up from the flight trance. Mordon picked up his pace to run level with me. He said, “We should have flown faster.”

  Another roar bugled through the air, this one coming from the lodge as someone else took up the announcement. Mordon bared his teeth in a grin. “We will have to now. They come. Do another lap. Stay low so no one else thinks to try to go beneath you. Last thing we need is someone stuck in a tree in this fog.”

  I was about to make a dry comment about how the flight was mine to control, but I was interrupted by a roar from the trees around Selestiani’s camp. Not Valerin, though, this roar was too shrill and keening. Issa, perhaps, or another female caught up in the exultation. Maybe even Firan, given that he was a wind drake, he may sound like me rather than the larger drakes.

  Mordon responded, bellowing out a noise that was amplified through the clouds.

  I rolled my eyes. Already competing for my attention.

  An orange dragon with disproportionally massive wings sped towards us. Unease trickled along my spine. I angled off to the side to meet him head-on. To my relief, he adjusted his flight so he was no longer targeting Mordon. I didn't recognize him, his pine-like scent was lost in a muddle of new names and too many signatures to single out. He was smaller than Mordon, but still twice my size, and I was leery of troublemakers.

  “Who are you?”

  He tipped his head to expose his throat, a submissive greeting intended to calm me. “I am the town crier. I come to see who is flying.”

  “I am Feraline of the Swift Clan. With me is Mordon Meadows of Kragdomen.”

  The town crier said, “We must fetch Caledon Meadows as well, if this will settle matters.”

  “It will. And tell the others this is an open flight. I will go home with the last catch, if they please me.”

  “They will be sure to appreciate that.” The town crier slowed and was well behind us again, then he was gone in the direction of the lodge.

  Mordon said, “An open, binding flight of last catch. This could quickly become wild.”

  “Only if they catch me.” I lost my teasing tone. “There's only one male I am opposed to here.”

  A familiar roar burst out from the clearing beside my tree house, marking a blue dragon’s approach through the drifting fog.

  “It's Valerin.”

  Mordon roared a reply, this one not as menacing as the one he had given the town crier.

  Valerin settled his pace next to me. “An open flight?”

  “Yes.” Mordon sounded very smug in that one word alone, as if he was the one who all the fuss was about. I could almost feel the pride radiating from him as he and Valerin flew in the V-formation behind me. Despite his lowered voice, I heard Valerin talking.

  “You are certain you want it open? With that shoulder?”

  I sighed. “We need the competition to distract Caledon. As many as we can.”

  Valerin’s wings hit the current, gliding partway between Mordon and me. “Did I hear you talking about making people uncles? I’d love to be an uncle, just in case you were serious.”

  A deep, throaty chuckle from Mordon and Valerin coasted alongside him, once again silent.

  We drew near the deck again. People were lined up, humans, drakes in human body, a few sleepy phoenixes in thin robes, a dozen or so drakes in dragon body. The ruckus from the lot made my ears hurt so I closed them as a chorus of roars hailed our arrival, beating out the cheers, whoops, whistles, and what I was fairly certain were lewd cat-calls. To meet the others, Mordon and Valerin both swung in advance of my deck-facing wing, providing a barrier between me and any new males who might be tempted to join in.

  They were tempted.

  Muscles bunched, haunches dipped, some nipped at their companions, but none took to the air. It was as if they were waiting for some signal, afraid of diving in before receiving it. Valerin snorted, but a sly glint entered his expression.

  “They aren't coming. They're afraid you won't be caught and the Meadows sons will punish them for their interference.”

  The excitement coursed through my veins, dulled the pain, awakened the old thrill Mordon had stirred up earlier. Ready to lash out my frustration at again being denied, I took a breath. What Valerin said seemed to hold true. The others were willing, very willing, but not brave enough to take a risk. Seeing Valerin beside me wasn’t enough, they knew I was friends with Selestiani, and that Mordon would tolerate him. Would he accept other competition? Or was his possessive streak going to show with the hormones deepening the stakes? Sidling through current broken by the males, I slipped in close to Valerin.

  “If they're afraid I'm not serious, we need to give them some proof,” I said in a purr.

  As Valerin was registering what I intended, I bit him at the base of the skull and pulled up sharply upward. Mordon laughed, watching as we left him alone in the sky rent with a fresh uproar amongst the observers. Someone clanked a bell, the same iron bell supposed to be used to signal emergencies, now being clappered fiercely back and forth.

  Though his body jumped once in surprise, Valerin soon relaxed and went along very willingly. I let him go and he eagerly matched me wing beat for wing beat. My heart raced. I couldn't believe I was doing this. It felt surreal and all too real at once. It felt dangerous, thrilling, dirty. And It felt like freedom and rebellion. It felt like power.

  “So you know,” I said, “this is my first dive. You break away first.”

  Valerin snapped his teeth, a surprised reaction. “You and—”

  “No, and it's his fault for not trying earlier.”

  Valerin puffed up his body as if I'd paid him the biggest compliment of his life. Maybe I had.

  The atmosphere was changing, the sky darkening as it did in the minutes before the sun would make its first tentative peek over the earth’s horizon. Birds, rudely awakened by the commotion of a drake’s mating flight, flapped out their irritation in their nests or tried dive-bombing Mordon in groups. With the change in atmosphere came thicker fog migrating off the waterways and onto land. I lost sight of our observers on the deck, lost sight of Mordon, and of everything except the blue dragon and the first rays striking the clouds above the mists.

  When Valerin slowed his ascent, I did, too. We circled closer and closer to each other in a gradual spiral. Nerves twirled in my stomach, made me question what I was doing here. By here, I meant all of it, including Mordon and Kragdomen and magic and everything. I could run away, keep running until I had no where else to go and n
o strength left to continue. The idea, brandished like a torch in the middle of the night, took hold. I darted, felt the way the air sliced cleanly around my wings, the way it cupped my belly, ruddered at my tail.

  Teeth sunk in behind my neck, and just like that, everything changed again. With the pressure of fangs sending thrills through my body, I was all at once docile, preening at my mate. He was certainly a strong male, well-formed, reasonably intelligent. Rather clever. With gorgeous baby blues I immediately envisioned staring up at me with sticky cheeks and a pudgy chin. Like a snare set and stepped in, I was trapped.

  Our wings touched.

  We dove.

  Claws grasped each other.

  We spun faster and faster, at first a clumsy embrace but then a smooth flight. Wind rattled over wings, scales, and tails. Adrenaline pounded through me as we rushed for the ground below. It was so fast, yet I felt every second as if it were a minute. Union was slick, gliding, intense. Pure, utter bliss whiting out my vision. A throb waving through my body in exquisite writhing. And then it was over. We parted.

  The world still rotated in my head.

  For an instant sky blended with ground and I didn’t know which way was up, which was down. Everything was a mottled drapery of whites and grays. Then I glimpsed a tree, I knew top from bottom by the roaring, whistling, screaming crowds cheering from the deck. I blinked, trying to wrap my head around what I'd just done.

  Dragons dove off the deck, too enthralled with the spectacle to care about Caledon or Mordon or what trouble the brothers may yet decide to rouse. The enormity of what I'd committed to hit me full in the stomach, but I was too filled with endorphins to feel nerves. Only enthusiasm.

  “Fly faster, wind drake,” Mordon yelled.

  “What?”

  Teeth closed in at the base of my skull and Mordon hauled me upwards. I'd been caught. Frustration raged in my chest; I twisted my body and beat my wings against his chest, succeeding in jostling our flight slightly and sending spikes of pain through my shoulder. Mordon tightened his grip, stronger than Valerin would have dared, until a nerve tingled along my neck and I held still.