The Fly House (The UtopYA Collection) (42 page)

The sound wasn't human.  The shrill scream was distant, but clear.  From the direction of the Hold House.  Diem looked back at Maeve with raised brows.

"Hear that?"

"That's them?  It sounds furious."

"They are," Diem said.  "The sheathen is being held down and mated.  But she puts up a fight.  She's probably ripping the plates off the heathen.  The plates are rooted in their skin, but he'll lose dozens of them and be covered in gashes before they're done.  Some heathen have lost eyes and ears and even the ends of their tails in a hating."

"Good," Maeve said.  "The heathen deserves it for forcing her."

"Oh no, no...it's not forced like that.  She wants it," Diem said.  "A sheathen in swol is miserable.  Her back end is so swollen, she can't fly properly.  If she does, she's so off balance she might crash because of it.  The sheathen lay with their tails in the air, howling until the heathen come to relieve them.  But then, she'll fight him for the honor."

"How do you know what's going on in a dragon's head?" Maeve said.  Diem settled between her thighs and she was reminded of his own swelling.

"Because if a woman needs to mate..."

Maeve cut him off with a shove that didn't accomplish anything.  "Needs to?"

"Needs to," he said with a nod. 

"A woman never needs to mate," she said, but he kissed her mouth shut.  When he lifted his head, she took a breath to speak, but he lowered his lips to hers again.  He repeated it until her mouth was soft and pliable, her tongue searching for his, instead of searching for words. 

Maeve's body turned to glue beneath him.  His hips receded and hers pressed forward.  Her fingers curled into his hair.  He dipped his head to her breast and she rose up to meet his mouth, sealing herself to him.  All the while, his erection rubbed against her, but he did not enter her.  Maeve thrust forward, but Diem suddenly untangled from her.  He pushed her to the opposite side of the bed, wiping his mouth with his fingertips as he watched her.

"What are you doing?" she asked.

"Do you need to mate?" he asked.  One finger laced a lock of hair around it and he gave it a tug, just enough to make her scalp tingle.  He was working her up just to prove a point.  Bastard.  Giving in was defeat.

Damn it anyway.

She was absolutely going to give in.

But she'd do it on her terms.

She slithered her hand down his ribs, grazing over his skin.  She waited for just the right moment, when his hips rose enough to reach down between them.  He sucked in a breath as she grasped him, keeping her touch both gentle and firm.  She slid her cupped hand down his length and he hissed between his teeth.  Twice more and his already-hard staff turned to concrete.  His breath scattered her hair.

"Do you need to mate, Diem?" she asked sweetly.

He yanked her hands up, pinning them to the bed as he growled through his lips on her neck, "Yes."

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

Cold Season One, Year 2095

Diem heard the dragon coming. 

He'd lifted his head only an hour after the Rhas departed, when Forge had begun to call out in her swol, and he'd assured Maeve when she lifted her head too, that she could go back to sleep.  Sleep while they could.  The mating call always began as a sort of beautiful siren song, but if no heathen answered, it would become a screeching tantrum that would have them stuffing their ears with Buntle leaves, just to endure their daily activities.

Diem's eyes were open as the heathen touched down, but then came the unexpected clatter of something or someone hitting the ground. 

Human feet.  There should be no human feet.

Diem jumped up, waking Maeve as he did.  She sat up, rubbing her eyes as he yanked on his pants.

"What's the matter?" she asked. 

"Someone's landed without invitation," Diem said.  He whistled, three short bursts of alarm.  Forge replied with a snort and a blast of fire.  Maeve moved fast, jumping up to pull on her own pants and the heavy knit that Breathe had sent for her.  She shoved her feet into her shitkickers.

Diem took fire pods from beneath his shelves and dumped them in his pockets, along with a handful of the sharp rocks he used to open the things. 

"What do you want me to do?" Maeve asked.  He didn't reply.

He wanted her to just stay in the shack, to be safe, but he knew his sentiment would be lost on her.  Leaving her with nothing to do would likely insure that she'd find something to do on her own, but he had to take the risk.  It would be far more disastrous to allow her to come along with him.

"Stay put," he said, drilling her with his gaze.  "I mean it this time.  Stay here."

"Alright," she said.  He hoped, with more fervency than he'd ever hoped before, that she would obey, just this once.  And he still doubted her ability to do it as he opened the door.

Outside, Soar was stalking Forge.  Diem's huge sheathen was struggling to keep her eyes off her potential mate and on Dick-Edd, the Breed House overseer.  What was he doing here?  The overseers shunned the use of the dragons, since the dragons so often tried to kill them, but Dick-Edd had definitely arrived on the back of Span's dragon.  The Plutian picked his way through the spindlings, semi-protected by the bark from Forge's intermittent bursts of flame.  He worked his way toward the entrance to Forge's cave. 

Someone told him about the hoarde.  It was the only explanation of why Dick-Edd was carrying a long stick in one hand that raised the hair on Diem's neck.  Diem knew the item at first glance—it was a Dragon Hook.  One end had a scoop made of netting, seated with a handful of ice pods.  The other end of the rod was both a spear and a noose.  The thief would fling the ice pods into the dragon's mouth to douse its defending flame and then noose it to either kill it or lead it home.

Diem knew the tool well.  His father had invented it, back when the humans knew nothing of how to tame a dragon.  It was a barbaric practice they soon learned, since dousing a dragon's flame rendered the animal
defenseless.  It could fly, but its flame would be inconsistent and unpredictable, making the animal impossible to train.  If left untreated, the animal would be too dangerous to be near for humans and dragons alike.  Doused dragons became vicious from the inability to control their flame and it took several seasons to rehabilitate them, if the trainer didn't die in the process first.

But that made no difference to someone like Dick-Edd, who would collect the valuable heathen and barter the useless dragon to an unsuspecting buyer.  Dragon hooks and ice pods and subjection were all an overseer like Dick-Edd really relied on to control a dragon.  He simply didn't care about the ramifications.

Soar scooped around Forge in the dragon's circular mating dance.  The sheathen's back end was engorged and red, wanting for relief, but Diem's loyal dragon did her best to keep focused on the danger that had landed on her grounds. 

Forge's eyes flicked to Soar and then back to the spindlings, noting Dick Edd's advancement toward the lair.   Forge flamed the trees near the opening with a thick stream of fire.  Dick-Edd yelped and dodged behind a wide spindling, dropping the Dragon Hook as he bee
-lined back from the mouth of the cave. 

Soar fanned his wings to recapture the sheathen's interest.  It was not the heathen's fault, he was only following instinct, but his enchanting mating dance couldn't have come at a worse time.  The glistening on the underside of the male's wings was as brilliant as walls of cut glass, glinting in the light.  The sparkle diverted Forge's attention once again.  The mesmerized sheathen was lost to Soar as he spiraled around her.

From the spindlings, Dick-Edd watched and waited until Forge was distracted, to retrieve the hook.  He edged toward the opening of the lair once again.

"That filthy ratfish has come to steal one of the young," Diem growled to Maeve as he leapt from the porch.  "Stay here!"

It would have been faster to reach the cave if he could run straight across the training grounds, but with two dragons beginning a hating in the center, it would now mean immediate death.  Diem set off at a dead run around the outer edge, weaving through the outer spindlings, following the arc of the training grounds toward the lair. 

Seeing him coming, Dick Edd issued a whistle.  Nothing came of it for a moment as the heathen seemed just as mesmerized by his mating dance as Forge was with it.  Another whistle.  The heathen paused.  Then, Span's dragon swiftly obeyed this different master.

Soar blasted a stream of fire aimed directly at Diem.

***

Fuck staying behind.  He had told her to stay put, but he should've known better than to even request it.  Maeve spotted the little weasel in the spindlings immediately.  He was heading toward the lair, toward her dragon and the rod in his hand looked like it meant business.

No fucking way was anyone getting near her dragon.  She had no idea what she'd do when she got there, but Trust was in that cave and she was getting there, no matter what it took.

Maeve stepped off the porch and sprinted in the opposite direction that Diem had taken, following the back arc of the woods toward the lair.  She'd made it three steps when Soar's line of fire spewed into the trees, targeted at Diem.  She clamped her mouth shut on her scream. 

Diem was obscured from her view as the dragons resumed their circling.  Soar's enormous tail, as tall as Diem's shack, whipped along the edge of the tree line and then sliced down into the spindlings, only feet from her.  The ground shook with it.  Maeve fell, the smashed spindlings raining down on her like needles.  The cold and the snow numbed the sting.

She hopped up and ran again, keeping an eye on the mammoth tail as she also tried to spot Diem across the open field.  She could only glean glimpses of the trees, but no sign of Diem.

Her boots pounded over the ground, the sound of her footsteps lost in the grunting and scraping of the circling dragon's claws.  She tried again to scan the tiny spaces between the dragons for any sight of Diem, but she couldn't find him. 

And then a howl cracked the air in half overhead.

Forge reared.  Maeve gaped as the enormous dragon stood on her back feet, raising into the air like a skyscraper.  Nothing had ever been so huge
—nothing breathing, at least—that could drop down and squash her like an ant. 

But the dragon didn't drop down on her.  Soar struck for the back of the sheathen's neck and Forge retaliated.  She snapped, rounding to rip a chunk of plating from Soar's neck.  The plates fell from her jaws like dismantled panels of a jumbo jet, crashing to the ground.  The snow jumped from the impact, sending up a blinding flurry around Maeve.  She stumbled, face first, into one of the spindlings. 

Clutching the trunk, she pulled herself up and scoped her path for the cave as the snow settled again.  The opening was only five yards away, but Trust poked his head from the entrance.  Dick-Edd had the netted end of the stick drawn back over his shoulder, as if he was going to fire something at her dragon.

"No!" Maeve hollered.  It was the wrong thing to do and she knew it too late.  Dick Edd's head rocketed around, his shrewd eyes found her fast among the spindlings.  A grin spread on his face as he cocked back the stick again. 

Maeve hardly had the breath in her to whistle, but she did it.  She forced the wet sound from her lungs, the song weak from her lips. 

Trust turned his head as Dick Edd launched whatever he had on the end of his stick.  The things
—pods, Maeve realized—scattered all around her dragon's feet.  Trust lumbered toward Maeve, obeying the command of her whistle, but Dick Edd flipped the stick to the opposite end and speared the dragon in the side.

Trust cried out.  Maeve's entire body ignited with the sound.  She bolted toward the lair, her focus concise and targeted on only one thing:  Dick-Edd.  She would tackle him like
the biggest mother fucking linebacker in the universe and dismantle him like a sadistic prison guard. 

But Dick-Edd reached down.  He fumbled for the pods he'd dropped.  He retrieved a handful, tossing them into his net.  He jabbed Trust again and the dragon backed into the lair.

Dick-Edd rushed forward with his pole held like he was about to hit a home run.  The young dragon roared its flame just as Dick Edd launched the pods into its mouth.  

Maeve watched as Trust fell flat to the ground, his neck stretched like a hose, as the dragon choked on the pods caught in its throat.  Dick Edd stood over the animal, staring down at it, watching it choke.

The Plutian was too busy gloating to see Maeve coming.  She blasted into him from the side, dropping him like a tree trunk, smashing his jaw into the dirt.  Bone cracked beneath her hand and she withdrew it in shock.  Dick-Edd turned his head, the fury blazing in his eyes.  He pursed his lips and glugged, as if in pain.  A line of spittle drizzled onto his chin and the Plutian began to scream as the spittle sank into his skin.   

Hands wrapped around Maeve and yanked her sideways aw
ay from the Plutian as another dribble of venom shot over his lip.  Her world spun as she rolled away with the body of the hands that grabbed her, curled around her.  The adrenaline roared in her ears, or maybe it was the dragons, as Soar made another attempt to pin Forge.  The ground quaked as more of the dragon's plates fell. 

Maeve was released and when she turned back, Diem had taken Maeve's place, holding the Plutian overseer down, crushing Dick-Edd's swollen face into the dirt.

The Plutian thrashed to get free.  Diem's muscles locked and Maeve jumped onto the alien's legs, as if she they were wrangling a crocodile together.  Diem pulled a fire pod from his pocket.

"Chew on this, dick head," Diem roared as he knocked the pod down the alien's throat.  Diem crushed the Plutian's jaw shut.  Maeve saw the alien's eyes go wide as Diem growled in his ear,  "That's right, n
ow you're going to know what it’s like to eat flames!"

It happened so fast.

The anguished scream and then the detonation threw Maeve backward.  Diem landed on top of her.  The slime of the exploded Plutian hit them.  Diem jumped up and shot over the ground toward Trust.

Diem pried open the dragon's jaws and shoved his arm down the animal's throat.  He extracted the pods Dick-Edd had fired into the dragon's mouth, throwing what was now a foaming ice ball aside.  The dragon sputtered without the hint of fire.  Diem dragged a fire pod from his pocket and pushed it down Trust's open throat.

"No!" Maeve shouted, trying to force Diem away from her dragon.  Her mind was stuck.  Diem had just exploded Dick-Edd with a fire pod.

"Stop fighting me, Maeve!" he shouted as he pushed her away.  Diem squeezed the dragon's throat, near the base.  "I'm trying to save him!  The bag of ignition fluid in his throat was doused!  I'm trying to revive his heat, but if he inhales the fluid, he will die!"

"Let go of him!" She gouged at Diem's arms, but he held kept his grip on Trust's throat, until the dragon burped.  Diem let go.

The dragon opened its mouth, but no flame shot from it.

Diem's head fell to his chest.  His hands fell to his sides.

In the clearing, Soar struck at Forge again.  He latched his teeth to her neck.  The heathen forced Forge down on her belly among the plates that she'd torn from him.  Soar bled openly as he climbed atop the sheathen, his claws dug into the thick, upper part of her back legs.  His flex, long and red, bore into her like a nail. 

Forge screeched beneath the heathen, but Soar pumped against her, holding her still.  Maeve covered her ears against the screeching, even as the violent mating sounds ebbed away and were replaced by a melodic purr, as elegant and peaceful as distant church bells in the falling snow.   

***

When the mating was done, Forge lie gasping on the training ground. 

Diem called Soar to eat.  Dick-Edd's body was gone in a sickening crunch, before Soar jettisoned off.  

Although the mated swol could still attract other suitors that, in Forge's weakened state, could kill her with their rigorous mating, the last thing Diem wanted to worry about was coaxing his satiated dragon into her lair.  He gave a whistle and Forge wobbled to her feet.  She dragged herself into the lair, not even seeming to notice the downed heathen.