by Y. M. Roger
“Your Master Tazirr,” Tazirr emphasized the word both verbally and physically at all of their points of contact – the grin on her face widening into clear defiance as venom formed at the tips of those fangs and she hissed ever so slightly, “When we are together like this, melek,” he moved inside of her and clinched his hold to the point of pain – and, once again, that recognizable hint of fear entered her unwavering stare, “I am your Master Tazirr, my Afacan,” her smile dimmed only in the slightest, but she renewed her fight to raise her face toward him – those fangs fully extended, “And you will. Not. Bite.”
Tazirr growled louder and much more deeply, his Neşeli’s threat mixing with his own, as he pulled out almost fully and thrust back dominantly against and inside of her.
“No bite!” Tazirr repeated dominantly with the thrust.
Once again, defiance coated her face as her shrill mental and verbal cry filled everywhere with her resistance – until Tazirr’s fangs sank deep into her shoulder – the huntmaster taking a long pull on her rich, Crimson liquid essence.
And Afacan’s entire body turned from one of opposition and challenge to one of need and even supplication.
Tazirr lifted his head – a few drops of her own blood dribbling down his beard – and, softening his grip on her hair, he could almost feel her desire soar. He could certainly smell it and feel it from the point at which their bodies were joined.
Her face became like his melek again as her fangs receded completely this time and she smiled sweetly, her face leaning toward Tazirr’s arm that remained beside her head – her cheek rubbing caressingly against the bulging muscles there.
Then Tazirr heard her obedient voice both from her lips and across his mind, “We no bite, Master Tazirr,” her tongue whisked out to taste his skin – to soothe only as a yilan could – as she wiggled her hips against his penetration, but lust still burned in her crimson eyes along with the soft smile that graced her lips, “But Master Tazirr bite Afacan for both.”
Afacan’s submission washed across both his mind and his skin, if that were even possible, but Tazirr would not question the bonds of mating. He only knew that – as he relaxed his hold on her leg and rolled her beautiful body gently onto her stomach beneath him – his female became more a part of him deep inside.
And he once again praised the Makers for her.
Afacan turned her gorgeous face to the side and raised that delectable hip span in offering to him as her screeching across his mind became an almost hypnotic rhythmic adulation with his long, slow thrusts inside her.
He growled in her ear as he felt her channel begin to quiver around him.
“I will always need you again, my Afacan,” he reached around to finger her arousal, “Because you are mine.”
A shrill yet caressing shriek across his mind as her breathing hitched, and Tazirr knew she was close. He picked up his rhythm.
“Always yours,” the words so seemingly tame before her heartbeat skipped again to join with Tazirr’s as together they screamed their climax – Tazirr with a shout that shook the walls of the dwelling and Afacan with his name in what seemed like three or four different voices either verbal or mental or otherwise.
Tazirr held taught as he filled his mate completely before sliding to the side and pulling her exhausted body against his spent one.
But Afacan did not fall into a deep sleep immediately – she continued to slowly undulate and rhythmically chant as her tongue licked his skin frequently, “Master. My master,” as her individual fingers and even toes joined in, “Always yours, my Tazirr,” and “No bite Master,” long, even sigh, “Tazirr still for Afacan.. . ?”
It was definitely a question not a statement – a question that completely floored Tazirr. Had he forgotten that important part?
He gripped her hair tighter.
“Yes, my Afacan,” he rumbled contentedly, “We are mates.”
Afacan continued to almost self-soothe as she rubbed against him in nearly every point of their contact. They lay there together for some time while Tazirr slowly massaged her back and her buttocks – lulling himself as much as her while her repetitive song and soothing tongue danced across them both. Until, suddenly, her breath caught in her throat and her head shot up – her entire body latched onto Tazirr’s as she spoke with her tongue as well as telepathically.
“Afacan is for Tazirr,” her eyes were wide with wonder, “And Kiken is for Neşeli,” a broad smile spread across her face to mirror the one that was spreading across Tazirr’s at her innocent acknowledgement, “For true always, my Tazirr?”
Tazirr felt his brow knit at her question until he simply relaxed and framed her melekish face with his large, calloused hands and tried with all that he was to pour into words that which stirred inside of him for his Afacan.
“Yes, my Afacan,” he leaned in even closer and nipped her lower lip, “You belong to us,” Tazirr placed a slow, passionate kiss on her mouth – the deep emotions her simple question pulled from him surprising even the gruff huntmaster, “Always.”
Afacan’s eyes went wide with wonder and then heavy with satisfaction as she indulgently yet very awkwardly kissed him back – afterall, she was just learning such. When Tazirr let his head fall back onto the bed, Afacan nuzzled gently yet playfully into his beard as a warm jolt traversed down his spine almost as if someone had poured hot liquid at the base of his skull and let it trickle all the way down his back.
Tazirr, you hulking menace!! What did you just eat?! I feel like …
Although not in pain, Tazirr looked questioningly at his Afacan only a moment before he felt her excitement, felt her wonder, actually perceived her thoughts about … about how much she liked the feel of his beard against her cheek …?
“Afacan …?” he started to ask, but when her entire face was engulfed in another glowing smile and he felt that smiling warmth run throughout all that he was, he went speechless – and he felt Neşeli gasp in disbelief.
“Hungry, my Tazirr,” Afacan rolled off Tazirr and gracefully stood and reached her hands toward Tazirr – her lips only moving in what could best be described as a mumble – as both Tazirr and Neşeli actually experienced more than heard her thoughts beautifully entangled with the high-pitched thrumming of what had to be … her beast?
Our Kiken, my Tazirr, not a beast, Neşeli corrected, You were right – they are ours and will live as we do, yes, my brute?
Tazirr chuckled out loud at his Neşeli – that mating had to have been a very active battle for dominance given a yilan’s proclivity for offensive maneuvers even during what animals considered intimacy – not that he had even the least bit of concern that his Neşeli would be the victor.
I believe, my handsome brute, that victor would not be as appropriate as our Kiken’s lord.
No doubt, Tazirr thought, with another internal stroking aimed at his Neşeli as the huntmaster stood in answer to his Afacan’s beckon and pulled her muscular yet oh-so-soft body against his solid and scarred one.
“Clothes first, melek,” Tazirr leaned over and rumbled in her ear, “So that your Tazirr does not need to eat you again so soon,” he nipped her ear as she nuzzled playfully into his hairy chest – her breasts cool and inviting against his abdomen – her warm giggles playing throughout his and Neşeli’s bodies.
At some point, he needed to get some work done today on those weapons as well.
A dozing Shizu stirred restlessly and suddenly sprang into awareness – the internal action bringing the aged Junko unsteadily to her feet.
Gnysue Bweldon Nagski – only having returned to Pantheon duty from the shuttle within the past few hurs – ran to assist the venerable female whose frame was so old and frail that both he and Zeki worried she may yet crumble.
Our progeny approaches, beloved, there was exasperation laced in the Empress’ tone followed by a heavy sigh, From above.
Ju
nko jerked her head upward to stare at the ornate ceiling that was more a magical manifestation than it was physical – that fact now known to but a dwindling few.
“Why would they chance traveling by air, my Shizu …?”
Her voice so gentle yet bold as Bweldon tried to steady her frail body, but she insistently shooed him away as Empress Shizu began to chuckle only for it to be interrupted by a gasp.
Our Chiyoto’s heart belongs to another, the vision of Rafal’s handsome features clothed in his black vestments floated across Junko’s mind, But she is broken now.
Anger flared through Junko – the vestments looked of Royal attire, and she knew that face.
Just as she knew her own reflection.
And the excruciating pain caused by Benoni’s actions that Junko and Shizu had only gained through the passing ceremony of their Mamere, the hidden Umiko, radiated fully through her again.
“How could she, Shizu? How could they …”
Shizu soothed her Junko from within. Remember, they have not seen, beloved, and, see, they did not seek him out.
Flashes of Rafal and Chiyoto’s meeting and of their times together flashed across Junko’s mind.
But reach back further before Bononi, ours once knew true devotion as well.
Tears ran down Junko’s wrinkled and time-worn cheeks as the images continued up through Jaylis’ ambush.
“We sent them away to avoid this. Tried to protect them, my Shizu, tried to keep them isol …”
Suddenly, Junko was forced to sit as her breathing became a task unto itself. It was as if a great weight were beginning to press down on her entire body – as if the surrounding air were being displaced by something …
Junko took the time to quickly wipe the evidence of her tears from her face.
It is our heir, beloved, Shizu practically fidgeted in place – her head bowing unconsciously if only in the slightest, Our Runa has grown more powerful than we could have imagined.
The few beings in attendance stilled as the rush of wind caused by Runa’s mighty wings penetrated the magical veil that roofed the Temple. Junko continued to sit – unable to stand as the magic and power that now defined Runa passed silently through the ceiling. And, although she knew no others could see the immense dragoness as she slowly descended – her massive claws and enormous head almost frightening in appearance to her, their progenitor – Junko felt a feeling of awe flow through both herself and her Shizu at the magnificent creature their heir had become. Once all four of her massive and taloned feet were solidly on the stone floor, Runa flared her expansive and still somewhat translucent wings to settle them comfortably against her body.
Those wings would be beautifully swirled with greens and reds in less than an hurs’ time.
As Runa settled, she bowed low her head in respect to Junko who still sat trying to catch a full breath – Runa’s settling yet respectful wuffle as she closed her eyes sending cooling moisture over the senescent regent. Instantly, Junko’s breathing problems eased and she could sit without feeling taxed, and Shizu caught her breath in wonder.
Oh, Makers, my Junko, was there ever another …
Junko knew of what her Empress spoke – Runa was incomparable – there was not even a starting point from which to draw words of description. The young dragoness simply was awe-inspiring, and Junko could not help but wonder what enthronement would add to the paramount of energy that now bowed in perceived reverence before her.
But Shizu had a different insight into their breathtaking dragoness heir.
I fear our Runa has only changed in physical appearance, beloved, Shizu sighed almost defeatedly.
Regardless of Runa’s show of deference, both she and Junko clearly sensed the same defiance in Runa now as had been there when they had bid farewell those twenty-some-odd cycles ago.
As Junko mentally slapped herself back to reality – back to the simple misting from her heir’s breath that had physically affected them (was Runa even aware it had happened?) – the aged Empress, such as she was, eyed the young dragoness with a direct and questioning stare that matched her accusatory tone.
“My Chiyo is hurt,” her old features hardened with her words – there had never been much tenderness between Runa and Junko. Runa always thought that hiding was a bad idea – that Chiyoto had no chance to be her true self. Yes, Runa was always too antagonistic, too defiant.
Uncivilized, chuckled Shizu, employing the still-appropriate word that a young Chiyoto had always used in reference to her Runa.
Yet, even between Junko and Chiyoto there was never anything that could be defined as true tenderness – Junko had been too old and too regretfully resigned to a life in the shadows by the time her Chiyoto had been put in her life. The matriarch loved her Makers-sent progeny like any mamé would, but there having been no sire – something of which Chiyoto remained completely ignorant – no true desire for a progeny, Junko had never taken a true emotional investment in Chiyoto.
Especially since Junko and Shizu had together resolved to end the Empress line – only to be over-ruled by the Makers themselves.
So, this reunion, such as it was, was almost as cold and formal as anyone could have been expected – except, now at the end, faced with such magnificence, Junko suddenly felt a longing to see into the future for such a strong and powerful Empress as Runa was about to become. Would her enthronement see a rebirth of their Empire?
But even as her thoughts wondered wildly, Junko’s gaze narrowed, “Why have you allowed such?”
Chapter 30
Bweldon and the three other gnysues – two older and one younger – in attendance stood with their heads bowed in reverent silence; well, mostly silence, as Bweldon mumbled in his usual on-going conversation with his Zeki. They all knew from the extreme heaviness of the air surrounding them – from the apparent waves that seemed to disturb the very fabric of their vision – and confirmed by the distinct sound of an extremely large animal’s heavily-blown breath – that the Heir must have arrived in cloaked dragoness form.
Runa ignored the gnysues completely – their presence was not necessary, and, had the agitated Heir had her way, they would not be here at all. The only thing about which Runa cared was in pieces inside of her, and she had only herself to blame. She felt Chiyoto’s trembling deep breath and prolonged sigh as her Treasure tried with all of her self-determination to pull herself together into that regal, young Heiress that she played so well.
Even though Runa hated their taxing role as such with a passion.
In fact, the only reason Runa had not allowed Chiyoto’s presence – the only reason she stood in contrived reverence facing the matriarch that had never truly accepted her and Chiyoto because they did not fit the Empress’ defeated view of reality – was because she was buying her Chiyoto time to ready herself for facing Junko.
For bidding farewell and taking their rightful – now there was a fallacy in and of itself – place in this Makers-forsaken reality.
As Junko coldly addressed her, Runa seethed with her usual defiance at any sort of formality – but she held her tongue for her Treasure. This was just until their dealings here were finished – for no more than an hur.
“Thank you, my Runa,” Chiyoto’s essence had lost its usual radiance – it was all proper and formal.
Runa growled low at her Treasure’s tone as the dragoness reminded Chiyoto mentally that she would never accept such from her.
All this as Runa answered Junko verbally.
“It is the result of a lapse of judgment on both our parts, Empress,” the words grated against Runa’s tongue as this whole production grated against her scales that would much prefer to feel the air flowing over them again, “When we depart here, it will be to return to Haven.”
Although she would rather be hunting auburn-haired prey at the moment.
Junko feigned a sardonic laugh – o
ne that made Runa’s low growl aimed at chiding her Chiyoto find an outward and more appropriate application: toward their Mamere.
The gnysues backed away a few steps – the rumble of Runa’s annoyance vibrating through the pews and the windows and the statues that adorned the Pantheon. But Junko did not so much as blink in response.
“And would that return be straight away, proud one?”
Runa stayed her tongue once again – what was it with others referring to her as being ‘proud’? It was really unnerv …
“Because you are, my beautiful Runa – proud and impatient and unyielding in most matters,” a faint pause in Chiyoto’s soothing, the feelings of which could only be interpreted as disbelieving realization, “Just like Raf …”
Runa growled again to stop the name from being spoken – she would let that one slip of the tongue go without retort given her Chiyoto’s current emotional state – as she readied herself to answer Junko in as even a tone as she could manage and change her Treasure’s train of thought.
You need to present soon, my Treasure, or this will be a very abbreviated ceremony.
Yeah, Chiyoto got that – even found she had to chuckle if only in the slightest. Runa would always be her wonderfully uncivilized protector who hated standing on pretention or anything associated with ceremonies at all. But Chiyoto just could not seem to make the bleeding stop without magic – Runa must have been right, Jaylis’ blade must have been poisoned. She sighed again in extreme sadness as she only temporarily stopped the flow with a weak but effective binding spell.
“We can discuss this further after our task here is complete.” Runa heard the ‘and do not challenge me on this’ tone in that pained internal voice – a tone that had, admittedly, only developed thanks to the same being that now fueled her own murderous thoughts. And Runa remained inwardly silent as she felt Chiyoto signal her readiness, “Say your farewell as Heir, my Runa.”
Runa shook her head as if to shoo an insect away and only slightly rolled her huge, magenta eyes.