Dragonel

by Tiegan Clyne

  “Can we watch TV?” he asked.

  “If you take your hand off your junk, yes.”

  “It’s been hours since I got off,” the wolfring complained.

  “I know. It’ll do you good to wait a while.”

  Rupert pouted. “But I don’t want to.”

  “Then go upstairs and take care of it in private.”

  Sebastian had to smile at the long-suffering tone in Christopher’s voice. The wolfring sighed and stopped touching himself, although he did take a moment to shake his heavy cock at Sebastian.

  “He’s not interested,” Christopher advised drily.

  “Maybe let him say so himself.”

  Christopher’s voice turned icy. “Rupert, don’t push me.”

  The wolfring sobered immediately. “Yes, sir.”

  Their captor picked up the television remote and turned on the set. A news bulletin was playing, showing a sleek jet streaking across the sky and dropping a payload of misery onto an already burning compound.

  “Oh, no,” Christopher breathed. “They’re bombing Crown Holdings.”

  The news anchor droned while the carnage played out on a screen behind her. “Since eight o’clock this morning, the Flying Dragons from the Mythric Kingdom have been raiding Numea. A Numean flight group attempted to intercept, but all those planes were shot down. Surface-to-air missiles have been utilized, but the Flying Dragons’ planes are shielded somehow, and none of the shots have gotten through. Currently, the Kingdom is assaulting the compound of Crown Holdings, the primary cryptomorph breeding facility in the County. Back to you, Greg.”

  The image on the screen shifted, changing to show a live feed of a frantic-looking reporter hiding behind a vehicle, gripping his microphone in a white-knuckled fist. “Beverly, as you can see, one of the Flying Dragons has landed, and a complete ground task force is now moving on Crown Holdings…”

  The reporter was interrupted by an explosion, and the camera operator abandoned the shot of the reporter to show a group of humanoids in black tactical suits approaching the front doors in tight formation, their weapons held high. Sebastian knew that door. He had walked through it to get onto the van that had brought him to the Countess’s estate.

  Another explosion rocked the compound, and the camera shook as the operator struggled to keep his or her balance. The double glass doors to Crown Holdings opened and a stream of prisoners poured out, running toward the soldiers. Rupert cried out in alarm and Sebastian gasped as the soldiers mowed all the prisoners down, nearly cutting them in half with automatic fire. Christopher leaned forward, his elbows on his knees and his face in his hands.

  “They’re killing us,” Rupert said, beginning to cry. “Why are they killing us?”

  “But those are humans,” Sebastian said, stunned. “Aren’t they?”

  “No. They’re cryptomorphs. Only the really special crypts - like you, Rupert, and Patrice - display their non-human bloodlines so openly.” Christopher sighed. “All that research, all that work, gone…”

  Sebastian stood up and pointed at the television. “Those are living beings! They’re not research!”

  “I know that, damn it!” He leaped to his feet as well and turned off the television. He flung the remote back onto the sofa where he’d been sitting. “Living beings that I helped to create through my research!”

  Patrice appeared at the top of the stairs. “Are they coming here next?”

  “No. They don’t know about this house.” He paced tightly, his hands on his hips.

  “Are they killing everyone?” Rupert asked plaintively.

  “Probably.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know!” He gestured sharply, and the wolfring fell silent. “They’ve never done this before.”

  Sebastian picked up the remote and turned the television back on. Rupert began to howl, drowning out the sounds from the screen, but he could still see the murderous rampage by the Kingdom’s soldiers. Bodies lay scattered all around Crown Holdings, being set alight by Kingdom soldiers with flamethrowers. One of the bodies twitched when the flames began to catch, and Christopher tore the remote out of his hand, turning the set back off.

  “Nobody turns that back on again but me!” he ordered.

  “Yes, sir,” Sebastian responded, sick to his soul.

  Christopher grabbed the phone and stalked into the master bedroom, slamming the door shut behind him. The cryptomorphs looked at one another, uncertain what to do with their freedom.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Patrice was the first of them to move. She came down the steps and went straight to the door to the veranda, which seemed to be the only door that opened to the outside. She put her striped hand on the knob and yelped in surprise. Sebastian hurried to her side while Rupert hopped up onto his feet and began to pace, his genitals in his hand.

  “Are you all right?” the dragonel asked.

  “Electrified,” she answered, scowling. “The bastard set a booby trap.”

  “Probably against someone getting in from outside.”

  She snorted. “Yeah, you just keep telling yourself that, lover boy.”

  Sebastian followed her as she started roaming through the kitchen, opening cupboards and drawers. “What was that supposed to mean?”

  “Come on. You can’t be that stupid.” She looked at him and laughed. “Well, maybe you are. You’re defending him, and you’re also the one who’s sleeping in his bed. Two plus two makes four.”

  “You’re jumping to a lot of assumptions,” he defended.

  “Am I? Because you seem awfully couple-y to me.” She opened the refrigerator and slammed the door again when she saw that it was empty. “Just don’t forget whose dick you’re sucking, and what he’s done to you.”

  “I haven’t forgotten. I just don’t think he’d set a trap to hurt one of us, that’s all.”

  “Why are you defending him?” Patrice demanded.

  “I…” He sighed. “I don’t know.”

  “Because you’re as bad as Rupert. You’re just led by your dicks, all of you. As long as you can get off, you don’t care what they use your sperm for.” She gestured to her abdomen. “I do. Do you think I want these abominations?”

  Sebastian was offended. “They’re not abominations. Those are your children.”

  “They’re lab experiments. Do you know what they’re trying to do?”

  “Yes. It’s a breeding program to make more of us.”

  “They’re trying to make designer life forms.” She pointed toward the closed bedroom door. “That so-called doctor in there has been playing God with the DNA of countless people, mythrics and humans and cryptomorphs, just to make new and different pets and bedmates for the rich. He’ll do anything for money, and you can bet your sweet ass he’ll sell you in an instant if the price is right.”

  Anger flashed through him. “He wouldn’t. He’s not motivated by money that way.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes.”

  “All right, then. If you know him so well, what the hell is he, really? Do you even know?”

  Sebastian looked into her pinched face. She was in some kind of pain, and it was showing around her eyes. He could smell the faintest whiff of blood, and it concerned him. “Yes,” he said. “I do. What’s wrong?”

  “What’s wrong? Nothing is wrong.” Patrice laughed, but it was a broken sound. “What could possibly be wrong? I’m pregnant because I got strapped down to a surgical bed and some so-called scientist implanted embryos in me. I don’t even know if these things are really mine. And he’s the one who did it.”

  She turned and made her way toward the stairs. Rupert was sitting in his chair, his hand nervously rubbing is semi-erect cock. She glared at him.

  Sebastian followed her. “If you’re hurting, you should let Christopher…”

  “Oh, shut up. You’re sleeping with the enemy, literally. I don’t want to hear a word out of you.” She went halfway up the stairs, then turned around
. “Although if you really want to make an impression on your boyfriend in there, you might want to tell him to be more careful about the kind of hangers he has in his closets. You never know when an enterprising female might get ideas.”

  She continued up to the room she had selected, and Sebastian heard her slam and lock her door. Rupert whined, and he turned to look at the wolfring and gestured toward his masturbation.

  “Seriously? Is that all you do all day?”

  “More or less. I need a vial.” He looked around. “I can’t cum without a vial.”

  He shook his head, appalled. “Are you that programmed?”

  “It’s why they made me, dragonel, and it’s why they made you, too. You might as well enjoy it.” He pinched his nipple with his free hand and looked around. “Is there a vial?”

  “My God,” Sebastian grumbled. “Get a glass from the kitchen or something.”

  Christopher came back out of the bedroom, his face flushed. He put the phone down. “What’s all the yelling about?”

  “Patrice doesn’t like your boyfriend,” Rupert answered. “Do you have a vial?”

  Christopher went back into the bedroom to where his medical bag sat on the mattress. Sebastian followed him. “Patrice said something about hangers. I think she’s bleeding.”

  The demon looked at him with wide eyes. “She what? Oh, fuck!”

  Christopher ran toward the stairs with his medical bag, flinging a plastic specimen cup at Rupert as he went. Sebastian started to follow him, but he barked at the dragonel, “Stay down there.”

  Sebastian hesitated. A long, low groan from Rupert caught his attention, and he turned just in time to see the wolfring ejaculate into the specimen cup. His face was covered with an expression of total elation, like a junkie getting a high. Sebastian wondered if that was precisely what Rupert was, and if they’d managed to make him addicted to providing them with his seed. The wolfring opened his eyes and leered at Sebastian, holding up his hand.

  “Wanna lick my fingers?”

  Disgusted, he went into the bedroom in search of the one thing he could think would be helpful.

  Christopher went to Patrice’s door and tried the knob. It was firmly locked, and he heard her laugh on the other side. “Do you really think I’m going to let you anywhere near me?” she mocked.

  “Do you think you have a choice?”

  He twisted the knob until the lock broke and tore the door off its hinges. Patrice scurried away from the door, backing up to the window, which was as far as she could get away from him. Christopher stopped short, looking at the blood that stained the bedspread.

  “What have you done, Patrice?”

  “What do you think I’ve done?” she challenged.

  “Let me examine you.”

  He took a step toward her, but she grabbed the curtain rod off the window and brandished it like a quarterstaff. Christopher tried to approach her, but she wielded the rod like an expert and knocked him in the chin. He stumbled backward, trying to catch his balance, and she advanced on him.

  She stopped short, her eyes wide, and she clawed at her collar. Blue arcs of electricity danced along the metal, and she fell to the floor, her body immobilized. Sebastian appeared in the doorway, the collar control unit in his hand. She glared at the dragonel, and if looks could kill, he would have been nothing but ashes.

  “Fucking traitor,” she cursed.

  Christopher took her shoulders. “Get her feet.”

  Together they lifted Patrice onto the bed. Using scissors from his bag, Christopher cut her clothing away, revealing the blood that Sebastian had smelled. Christopher muttered beneath his breath and told Sebastian, “Thank you for your help, but go.”

  He turned his attention to treating the damage that Patrice had done, fuming about felid ingenuity and his own stupidity in the same breath.

  It was well after midnight when he was finally satisfied that he had done all he could with the limited supplies he had available. Patrice had miscarried the fetuses, and his first instinct had been to save them for further research, so he wrapped them in plastic and put them in a food storage container in the freezer. If neither Rupert nor Sebastian got too curious, he thought things would be all right.

  The lights were all off, and from the base of the stairs, he could hear Rupert snoring. He shook his head at the wolfring’s stentorian sinuses and went into the bedroom.

  Moonlight shone through the open curtains, falling across the bed to reveal Sebastian. He was lying on his side, his bare torso gleaming in the soft blue-white light. He was perfectly formed, Christopher thought, muscular and fit without being overbuilt. He had no body hair, and the scales on his shoulders and down his spine were golden and perfectly pentagonal. The long hair that fell in waves from his scalp lay now like a flaxen pool on the pillowcase, and his amazing golden eyes were closed. Christopher hoped that he was as naked from the waist down as he was from the waist up.

  The incubus stripped and climbed under the single sheet that was covering the dragonel. Sebastian stirred at the way the mattress dipped beneath Christopher’s weight, and he turned his face toward the newcomer.

  “How is she?” Sebastian asked in a sleepy voice.

  “She’s going to be fine, although I doubt she’ll ever be able to be bred again,” he answered. He sighed sadly. “The fetuses all died.”

  Sebastian sighed and lay his head back down, facing away from him again. “What will happen to her now?”

  “That’s really up to the Countess. She’s her owner.”

  “How can you own another person?”

  The question was spoken quietly, but Christopher heard the accusation at its heart. He had no good answer, and he knew it. “I could say that it’s tradition, or that our involvement in the lab and someone’s decision to trademark genomes make it possible,” he sighed, “but when I really think about it… I know you’re right.”

  “We aren’t animals.”

  “I know.”

  “We’re not livestock to be bred and bought.”

  “I know that, too.”

  Sebastian rolled over onto his back and looked at Christopher, who was propped up on his elbow. “So, what are we? Prisoners? Slaves?”

  He wished he had something else that he could say. “I suppose that’s exactly what you are.”

  “Then how…”

  “Slavery is legal in Pentepolis,” he interrupted. “Especially when the slaves by law are not considered to be people.”

  “What do you consider us to be?”

  His eyes stung and he blinked. “Don’t ask me that.”

  “But I need to know.” He ran his hands over his face, then dropped them to his abdomen. “I need to know what I am to you.”

  Christopher’s brain provided him with a million words, some in their common tongue, some in the language of the demons. Finally, he said, “You’re my Sebastian.”

  “Because you own me?”

  “No.” He bent and kissed him, and at first the dragonel’s lips were unyielding. After a moment, they softened beneath his touch and Sebastian kissed him back. He straightened and looked into his bedmate’s extraordinary eyes. “Because I think I’m falling in love with you.”

  Sebastian looked at him with sorrow. “You can’t love someone and own them at the same time.”

  “I don’t own you. The Countess…”

  He stopped himself. He was speaking by rote, not from the heart, and he knew it. He closed his eyes and examined what he was feeling and all the things that Sebastian made him think. Finally, he reached out and deactivated the collar. It beeped once, signaling that it was powering down, and he took it from Sebastian’s throat. He held it in his hand for a moment, letting himself come to terms with his decision before he crossed the invisible line from which there would be no return.

  He tossed the collar on the floor.

  “The Countess doesn’t own you, either.”

  Sebastian wrapped his arms around him and pulled him down int
o a passionate kiss. Christopher went willingly, his tongue slipping past those full pink lips and into the hot, wet cavern of Sebastian’s mouth. The dragonel’s hand tangled in his hair, holding him close while he plundered him with his kiss.

  Christopher eased his body on top of Sebastian’s, his cock pressing against the dragonel’s. He laced his fingers into the other man’s golden hair, and he pulled away from the kiss, breathless.

  “I don’t own you, but you’re still mine,” he told Sebastian, his voice a low growl. “You’re mine.”

  The dragonel smiled. “All yours… Master.”

  Christopher groaned and thrust his hips, grinding their hot flesh together. HIs lover’s breath caught in his throat, and he ground again before he reached down and caught both of them in his hand. He raised himself up enough to be able to see his hand and both their cocks, red and rampant in his fist. Sebastian thrust up at him, driving them together through the circle of Christopher’s palm and fingers.

  He grabbed Christopher’s wrist and pulled free. “The gloves,” he panted.

  “What?”

  “Take off the gloves.”

  They stared into one another’s eyes, Sebastian trusting him, Christopher giving him no reason not to. He moved back to kneel, one leg between the dragonel’s, and he slowly stripped the gloves away.

  “I haven’t…” He closed his eyes and pressed his bare palms against Sebastian’s solar plexus. He could feel the life force there, quivering. “I haven’t touched anyone this way in a long, long time.”

  “How long?”

  “Years.” He ran his palms over Sebastian’s skin. “Not since…”

  “Nicholas?”

  “Yes.”

  Sebastian ran his own palm down the midline of Christopher’s chest, over the smooth, hard planes of his pecs and down to the washboard of his abs. “You loved him.”

  “Yes.”

  “Like you love me?”

  “Similar,” he admitted, “but different.”

  “Different how?”

  Christopher shook his head. “Why are we talking about him?”