Sorcha's Heart

by Mumford, Debbie

  “Where are you, Sorcha?” Even Etna sounded upset.

  “I’m just passing the great gallery,” Sorcha said.

  “Hurry, child. Don’t stop to talk. Don’t linger. You must come quickly.”

  Etna’s words added another layer to the urgency beating at Sorcha’s heart, but the two pulled in opposite directions. Etna demanded that Sorcha go deeper into the caverns of ice, while the persistent need in her belly urged her toward the landing field.

  “Oh, Sorcha! It’s time! Are you coming?” Morna asked, excitement glittering in her eyes. Oona and Nuala looked at her over their shoulders as they moved toward the landing field. “What are you waiting for?” Oona called. “It’s time!”

  “Time for what?”

  The three young females gave her nearly identical looks of exasperation. “It’s time to rise,” said Morna. “Can’t you feel the pull?”

  “Yes, but Etna has called me to her lair.”

  All three lair mates stopped and exchanged uneasy glances. Oona broke the silence. “Remember what I told you? The Rex doesn’t want you to rise.”

  “It’s your choice, Sorcha,” said Morna. “Obey Etna and the Rex, or come with us and see if you can rise to mating height.”

  Anger at Etna boiled up, adding a further level of discomfort. Sorcha turned and galloped to join her friends. “What if I can’t fly high enough?”

  Nuala laughed. “Don’t worry,” she said. “This is our third rising. None of us has made it to the required height yet. Just think of it as a practice run.”

  The painful urgency expanded into a bubble of joy as Sorcha reached the field. All around her, females of every egg-bearing age crowded the ground. She glanced up and her heart leapt to her throat. Every eligible male, as well as every bonded male whose mate stood on the field, perched on the rim heights. Her eyes sought and found Caedyrn as the desire to rise peaked — and she launched herself into the air.

  Wind flowed across her body and the sun dazzled her vision. Her nerves, afire with desire, fed on each individual, delicious sensation. She forgot about the horde of females surrounding her as she pushed for greater and greater height. At some remote level, she heard Goban, Toal, and Heber call to her as she arrowed into a bank of clouds, but she couldn’t be bothered with them. Not when her blood fizzed with the need to rise as high as dragon wings could lift her.

  At last her mind cleared and she saw that this portion of sky was hers alone. She screamed her triumph to the wind and soared higher still. In the back of her mind, three males urged her on, while throwing veiled insults at each other. When the fourth voice entered the fray, her wingstrokes faltered. Caedyrn!

  “Leave her!” he roared. “She has not consented; she doesn’t understand.”

  “I do understand,” she screamed. “I am not a child!”

  Caedyrn’s attention locked on their intimate link. “You consent?” he said, each word clipped and tense. He widened the link to include the other males. “Who do you choose?”

  The fire in her blood overruled human reason. “If you can catch me, you’ll find out!”

  All four males roared and a frenzy of intoxication shot her higher still. One by one, Toal, then Heber, and finally Goban dropped away, but Caedyrn pursued her into thin, rarified air.

  “Do you accept me?” he screamed. “Will you bond with me for eternity?”

  “Yes! Gladly, but you haven’t caught me yet!” Inexpressible joy filled her. She feared she would burst into a glorious inferno if Caedyrn didn’t catch her and carry her to the ice.

  She glanced over her shoulder and saw Caedyrn racing toward her. He opened his mouth, and though the wind whipped past her ears in a deafening rush, she heard him roar. The ferocity of that sound goaded her higher and faster even as it filled her with an ecstatic, spine-tingling anticipation. She turned her attention skyward and sought to lead her would-be bond-mate beyond the earth’s embrace.

  Just as she thought her heart must burst from exhilaration and exertion, he overtook her. The slipstream of wind rushing over his wings threatened to flip her. She corrected for the new conditions and strove to get above him. He countered, forcing her beneath his great wings. She glanced up, struggling to draw sufficient oxygen from the thinning air, and faltered. His eyes burned with unrestrained passion, and the rawness of his lust robbed her of the will to resist.

  She opened her mind to him and the shock of recognition made it hard to remember to keep flying. He loved her! How could she have ever doubted his interest and desire? She remembered the moment she sang her name to him, remembered the fear she’d felt, and knew that even then it had been groundless. He existed to love her. How had she not known? She laughed as he answered her question.

  “Human reason clouded your dragon instinct,” he said, his red eyes burning into her soul. “I’ve been waiting for this moment since I witnessed your transformation. You are my destiny, Sorcha, as I am yours.”

  He nudged her neck with his muzzle and that same, wonderful dragon instinct took control. She flipped over, grabbed his flanks with her talons and folded her wings.

  He screamed his triumph, gripped her firmly in his claws, wrapped his wings around her and penetrated her trembling flesh as they tumbled through the atmosphere.

  The purely human portion of Sorcha’s mind whimpered in terror, but her dragon instinct laughed at the foolish fears and exalted in the exquisite sensations that ripped through her body.

  Caedyrn pumped his seed into her and she responded by pulling him closer, seeking to merge — body, mind, and soul.

  Still hurtling toward the earth, Caedyrn wrenched his wings away from her and began to beat the wind. Dazed, Sorcha dangled upside down beneath him and watched as his powerful wing muscles slowed their plummeting descent, to deposit her gently on a remote section of the aerie’s glacial ice.

  He released her and her own grip fell slack. Landing beside her, he collapsed in an untidy heap.

  “I warned you,” he said, his voice a lazy river, soothing the remnants of terror from her mind. “Dragon mating is strenuous exercise.”

  She acknowledged his self-satisfied expression with a possessive nudge of her snout, whispered, “I am Sorcha, and I am your bond-mate,” and fell into blissful sleep.

  When she woke, Caedyrn insisted that they fly south to feed. “You will require full strength when we face the Rex.”

  “It’s true, then,” she said. “He didn’t want me to rise. Have we...have I done something wrong?”

  Caedyrn nudged her toward the edge and took off, his answer floating toward her on the updraft. “No, little wizard. You did everything perfectly!”

  Sorcha leapt into the air and raced to catch him. His smug laughter tantalized and drew her forward. She opened their mind-link and called to him, “Caedyrn, answer me. Why must we face the Rex?”

  She watched as he circled back to her, stroked her side with one delicate wingtip and then arrowed toward the green slopes of the mountain’s lower shoulder.

  “Because the flight must accept our bond — and the Rex will not be happy, for more reasons than you know.”

  *~*~*

  True to his word, Caedyrn sought out the Rex as soon as they returned from their hunt.

  Sorcha discovered a strange lassitude creeping into her limbs as she settled again on the glacial ice. She desired nothing more than to rest on the aerie’s cool floor. Her human mind fought to decipher the alien clues her body supplied. Yes, her belly was full, but she didn’t remember feeling this soul-deep laziness after her other kills. Besides, she felt swollen, engorged beyond the limits of her meal.

  “Caedyrn!” the Rex’s roar pulled Sorcha’s thoughts from her uncomfortable body to the present situation. “What have you done?”

  “We have mated, Sire,” Caedyrn replied, his mind-voice triumphant. “We come to be bonded in the presence of the flight, as is our custom.”

  Anger boiled beneath the surface of the Rex’s reply. “She doesn’t understand,” h
e said, dark emotion leaking through his tight control. “More than that, her essence remains human. We don’t know what will come of this. You had no right.”

  Possessive outrage flared in Caedyrn’s link and he stepped closer to Sorcha as she lolled on the comforting ice. “She is mine. You cannot undo our choice; we are bonded whether you acknowledge our union or not. The clutch will be strong. She gave a magnificent mating flight.”

  “Be that as it may,” growled the Rex, “you have betrayed my trust. You had no right to mate, Caedyrn.”

  “I had every right,” Caedyrn answered, his words dangerously quiet. “I am not rex. I am free to take a mate if I choose.”

  “No, you are not rex, and now you never will be.” The Rex turned his troubled gaze on Sorcha. “Do you accept Caedyrn as your bond-mate?” he asked.

  Sorcha returned his stare, inclining her head slightly. “I have known him to be my destiny since I first awoke in dragon form.” She turned to look at Caedyrn and their eyes locked. A thrill of excitement tingled all the way from nose to tail — and she understood part of the Rex’s concern. “I accept Caedyrn,” she said, her gaze never leaving her mate’s, “and I accept the clutch that will soon arrive.”

  With great effort, Sorcha raised herself from the ice and faced the Rex, summoning all the dignity her years at court could provide. “I am no longer human. I am dragon; a member of your flight, bond-mate to Caedyrn and mother to the clutch I will soon lay. Will you accept me, Sire?”

  The Rex sighed. “I accept you, Sorcha, Caedyrn’s mate.” His eyes locked with Caedyrn’s. “Though I mourn the rex he would have been.”

  He turned his thoughts to the flight and widened their link. “Caedyrn and Sorcha have chosen each other, and Sorcha has chosen the flight. Will you accept them? Will you accept their clutch and all future clutches?”

  A tidal wave of excitement washed over Sorcha’s mind, and she relaxed into the well wishes and congratulations of her flight. Only later, in the privacy of the lair she now shared with Caedyrn, did she realize that the Rex had chosen not to resolve her status as ambassador for the flight, despite her new status as accepted member.

  Chapter Six

  The Clutch

  “Breathe deeply, Sorcha. Relax and let the eggs drop”

  Drysta’s encouragement filled the corner of Sorcha’s mind not absorbed in ending the uncomfortable distention of her mid-section.

  “My human nature keeps messing with me,” Sorcha said with a rueful laugh. “Human females are anything but relaxed during childbirth.” Her thoughts turned to Elspeth. Had her mother suffered giving her life? She wished her mother could be here, not just for Elspeth’s calm, imperturbable presence, but because it would mean she knew of and shared in Sorcha’s new life.

  Instead, Keeva’s mother, Drysta, murmured encouragement across their private link. Etna had claimed her right as Sorcha’s teacher to attend the clutching, but Sorcha, still irritated by Etna’s attempt to keep her from rising, had denied her request.

  Well, then,” said Drysta, “rejoice that you are a dragon now.”

  “Oh, believe me, I do!” Visions of her beloved Caedyrn flashed through her mind. She would always miss her human life and form, but life as a dragon held excellent compensations.

  “You’re doing fine. Soon this awkwardness will be behind you and you’ll have the joy of a healthy clutch.”

  “Oh!” Sorcha cried aloud, making Drysta wince. “Oh, I think one’s coming!”

  “Quietly, little sister,” laughed Drysta, “use the link. Now, stand up straight. That’s right, elongate your body and let the egg drop.”

  Gods and goddesses! Sorcha’s first egg plopped into Drysta’s waiting claws.

  “Perfect,” sighed Drysta, laying the egg carefully in the prepared depression beside Caedyrn and Sorcha’s nest.

  “Thank you for being here,” Sorcha said as she curled back onto the ice. Caedyrn had wanted to stay while Sorcha laid their clutch, but she had turned on him and driven him from their lair with feminine volatility. Only another female, preferably an experienced mother, could guide her through this process.

  Her mind turned again to her own mother. How had Elspeth managed? Deserted by Sorcha’s father, abandoned by her mentor because she refused to give Sorcha up as wizard tradition demanded, shunned by her village because she had neither husband nor master; Sorcha had never fully appreciated her mother’s sacrifice until this moment, when she could gaze upon the promise of her first child. A moment’s melancholy seized her as she realized that, for all Elspeth knew, Sorcha, too, had abandoned her. She resolved to find a way to visit her mother as soon as this clutch was safely hatched.

  The need to drop another egg drove all thought from her mind. She rose up onto her hind legs, blessing the ancient dragon who had carved this spacious lair, and expelled one egg, and then another.

  “Excellent, little sister,” Drysta crooned. “Three are safely out. A large clutch rarely exceeds seven, and since this is your first, you’re probably nearly finished.”

  “I don’t feel nearly finished,” Sorcha panted. “I still feel bloated.”

  A bright thread of amusement shimmered across Sorcha’s mind. “I remember. I thought I’d never be done dropping Keeva and her sibs, and yet here I am. You’re doing fine, Sorcha.”

  Sorcha rose, elongated, and felt a fourth egg slide from her body. Relief and exhilaration swept over her. She rode the crest of that wonderful sensation, and wished her human friends could experience such satisfying deliveries.

  Keeva slipped into the lair and approached Drysta. “Can I help?”

  “Oh, Keeva,” Sorcha sighed. “Thanks so much for loaning me your mom!”

  The young female’s eyes widened as she caught sight of the four gleaming eggs. Pride surged through Sorcha as she stretched high and expelled a fifth into Drysta’s waiting claws. “Very nice,” crooned the matron, placing the new arrival with its sibs. She turned to her daughter. “Inform Caedyrn that he has five eggs so far, and ask his permission to attend the clutch. If he agrees, you can guard her children while Sorcha rests.”

  Sorcha smiled at Keeva’s eager expression as she slithered from the chamber.

  “I hope you don’t mind,” Drysta said. “She’d hoped to bond and have a clutch of her own — being near your eggs will soothe her.”

  “Really? I would expect her to want to avoid my eggs. The reminder would be painful for a human.”

  Drysta looked shocked. “Well! How odd. Trust me; every unbonded female in the aerie would consider it an honor to help with your clutch. Keeva will be envied.”

  “Oh, goddess,” Sorcha breathed as the sixth and final egg slid into Drysta’s protective embrace. “I’m finished. I didn’t realize I’d be able to tell!” Euphoria swept her body and she settled full length on the ice, a pleasant lethargy enfolding her mind. Congratulations, Mother, she thought. You’ll soon have six grandchildren, and I’m going to make sure you know it.

  “Well done, Sorcha. Six eggs is an excellent first clutch. May you produce many more.”

  “Thank you.” She arranged her strangely empty body around her eggs and, satisfied that no one could approach her clutch without treading on her, she allowed herself to slip into blissful slumber. A dim recess of her mind acknowledged Caedyrn as he entered their lair, inspected his mate and their eggs, and then curled himself protectively around his family.

  The next few weeks melted away in happy contentment. Drysta explained that the clutch would hatch approximately two months after being laid. Keeva spent a good portion of each day helping Sorcha care for the clutch. The dragons bathed the eggs in fiery breath every few hours before turning each one, carefully exposing a different section of shell to the cooling ice.

  Fire and ice. Even before hatching, dragons lived in the precarious balance between those extremes. Occasionally Sorcha worried about that other knife-edge her children would face. Just how much would her human essence affect these soon-to-be hatchling
s?

  Time would tell, but she knew that she and Caedyrn would protect these precious lives with their own if necessary. Each night, just before falling into their own much-needed slumber, Caedyrn and Sorcha lovingly fired their eggs, turned them tenderly, and then curled around them to maintain their balance through the midnight hours.

  Chapter Seven

  Destiny

  That same delicate balance between extremes ruled the lives of the adult dragons. Living in the frozen wastes allowed the dragons to control their magical fires, which in turn allowed them to feed infrequently. Their energy reserves amazed Sorcha, and the glacial cold reduced their need to slake their power in blood.

  But, inevitably, the need to feed drew Sorcha from the comfort of the aerie and the care of her clutch. Not her own need, but Keeva’s. Her nursemaid, unwilling to leave the clutch, had nearly depleted her energy reserves. Because she’d waited too long, desperation had driven Keeva to take an unwise risk. She had attempted to snatch a ewe from a flock sheltered securely near the village that nestled at the base of their mountain.

  Sorcha raced to the aerie entrance and leapt to the sky when she heard Keeva’s scream of pain and terror. She arrowed toward the land of men, with Caedyrn bellowing in her wake.

  “Sorcha,” he screamed, both vocally and through their private link. “Wait. The flight will deal with this. You can’t save her alone!”

  “I can,” she said without a pause in her furious wing strokes. “I must! If I can’t, why did the Heart of Fire force this transformation upon me? Ask the Rex to let me try before his warriors interfere.”

  “You’ll die with Keeva,” he whispered into her mind, “and my life will end as well. Who, then, will care for our offspring?”

  The entire flight saw the scene through Keeva’s eyes, and Sorcha felt the Rex’s reluctant restraint upon his dragons. The villagers had been ready for the young female. While she sat on the ground, claws slicing the ewe’s white wool, men had catapulted a huge fishing net over her. She’d twisted at the mechanism’s sound and the net had missed her head, but her wings were fouled and she couldn’t get off the ground. While she fumbled against the restraints, armored knights staked the net into the ground. Keeva lay in her captor’s power; unable to escape, unable to feed. The mauve female was doomed, whether the men knew how to slay her or not.