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SEVENTEEN YEARS AGO

DAGHEL

I drink deeply from the cup in my hand, watching those moving around the central fire, the stones around our village and the overhang above protecting us from the worst of the wind and snow. It still manages to get in, but in a gentle drift of flakes that sparkle as they catch the light of the fire. It makes our village look ghostly and ethereal, which is at least pleasing to look upon when every female shies away from my gaze.

Marked by my ghostly coloring as drehl, a child of Vepra, the goddess of death, my clan has kept a respectable distance from me most of my life. Even upon reaching adulthood two years ago, none of the wyverns of Fang Peaks approached me, tracking the scent of my first rut to claim me as their bonded. Doubly cursed, I’m aware that I will never take to the skies like other males of my age group. My mother once sadly told me that, had she possessed the strength, she would have smothered me at birth to save me from the pain of a drehl. There are days where I wish she would have. And there are days that I’m thankful that she had possessed a soft heart despite the fact that it was what ultimately sent her following after my father when he died.

I drag in an icy breath and tilt my head back so that my face lifts to the snow. My eyes slide shut, and I breathe in the sweetness of a winter night. And the mingled scents of those rutting in their nearby lodges. My nostrils flare, but I don’t allow my expression to change so that no one else can see evidence of my thoughts and my pain. My slender back arcs as I tip my head back further, greeting the cold breath of winter, and a shiver rushes over my skin from the bite of cold air. I have not yet put on the mass of a mature male, my pale body remaining lithe and slender, which makes me even more susceptible to the worst that the Fang Peaks has to offer.

If I don’t bond with a wyvern and join the gathol, I may likely remain this way. It is a terrible fate. I have no one willing to provide for me and so my body is mostly bare to the elements so that the cold air pierces deeply. At this point, I cannot even say for sure if I want a wyvern bond out of true desire for it, or simply because it is a means of survival for me.

I shrug and take another large gulf of my brew. I drain my cup and hold it out to be refilled by a nervous serving female. I rarely stare at them, knowing that it frightens them, but the drink has warmed my stomach and I am far bolder than usual. The storm is growing in strength; the wind howling around the protective barrier of stone surrounding our village.

The chill in the Cold Mountains is a living thing. It reaches through the night with vicious claws and a monstrous appetite in the depths of the winter. Its dark grip is around the village and running over me tauntingly, whispering of my death. But I am drehl, and I am already an embodiment of death itself. Icy dark fingers drag through my soul, and I can feel something uncoiling in response. It makes me shiver with a deep, knowing dread even as a secret part of me whispers in fascination.

My eyes follow the movement of the shadows as they drift closer with the stutter of the bonfires. Midwinter holds death. Even with all of our revelry, there is no escape from the fact that it is a season of darkness, where the foul magic comes alive and things better left undisturbed stir. And Durethikal, the devouring spirit of winter, has returned from his long slumber to the mountain.

My breath rises in a plume of white mist in front of my pale lips, thickening as the temperature suddenly plunges. The wind shrieks angrily over the stones, but I can see the sorcerers at work in the four quarters around the center of our village, their hands raised as they call upon the magic of our people and our ancestors to protect us. The darkness groans its protest, and the sound makes the hair on the back of my neck rise.

I slowly rise from the stone bench, watching the dreary skies. A shiver of awareness crawls over me and the wind whips my hair, causing the long bead necklace to snap and rattle as it scrapes over my narrow chest. My chest expands and deflates with every deep breath I take, and my eyes widen with comprehension.

Something is coming.

I take a wary step back, and the rumble of murmurs among my kin fills the air, but I cannot bring myself to look away from that dark sky for even a moment, not even to reassure myself that everything is still well.

There is a flicker of something large moving through that inky darkness, but then it drops with an alarming speed that causes my people to scatter for their weapons. I cannot move. My mouth falls open as the darkness hits the snow, sending white plumes of icy powder into the air. It glitters in the firelight surrounding the blue scales of a familiar shape. The wings of its powerful forearms flex with its respiration, its head snaking on a long neck. The head turns toward me, and golden eyes pin me in place as I see its nostrils flare. Heat churns in my gut in reaction, the rut rising sharply in response, causing me to drop to my knees. A hissed chuckle escapes the wyvern as he turns toward me.

“What is this pleasing scent?” he growls. “From you?” Another dark rumble of laughter echoes from him. “Run, pitiful male. Let me see if you are worth the chase.”

My jaw hardens at the obvious insult, but I push to my feet as I tip my head back to meet his glowing gaze. “I will not run to satisfy your amusement. You can attest from here whether I am worth your bond.”

Locking gazes with the wyvern, I remove my belt and then my surc, the thick length of fabric winding around my waist and legs, and let it fall into the snow at my feet. My balls tighten in response to the cold, but my prick stabs the air from between my thighs, thick and long. The wyvern narrows his eyes at me, but he does not move. I stare back at him, humiliation burning through me, knowing that all the village is watching my rejection. I raise my chin proudly and give a nonchalant shrug.

Very well.

I turn from him, giving the wyvern my back as I bend and snatch my surc off the ground. Gripping the icy cloth tightly in my hands, I calmly walk away, refusing to meet the sympathetic stares of my clan. It was to be expected. Nothing has changed?—

A shriek pierces the air behind me, making the muscles in my back jump and tense, but I do not have time to react. Wings snap with a crack as the wyvern takes to the air. My steps slow and I begin to turn, but a large, powerful body slams into me, dropping me roughly to the ground. Scales slide over my flesh and his claws pierce me, tearing at my flesh as he subdues me, pinning me neatly beneath him. Agony ignites on my face and I bellow as his claws cut a jagged path from brow to jaw before finding purchase on my shoulder. They dig deep and my hot blood flows over me, rapidly cooling in the snow as it pools beneath me.

There would be nothing shameful in panicking at this moment. I have seen it happen many times over the last two years as the wyverns dropped from the mountains to pick off warriors of their choosing. But I’m not afraid. An icy calm rushes through me as I brace my weight on my knees despite my face being pinned to the ground. I can sense his surprise and pleasure as he croons, but the sound is an eerie hiss as much as it is a song. His croon grows louder, and his wings descend in an intimate screen, shielding me from the shocked stares of the clan. I stiffen, preparing myself, when I feel his weight shift over me and his body arch, bringing his hips up behind my thighs so that the bulbus head of his large cock brushes my ass intimately. I shiver as the hunger of the rut climbs higher in me, scorching my insides at the sensation of his prick prodding and notching in place. His hips flex and rock forward, and I roar as the head presses deep, splitting me for the first time.

Pleasure rises upon the wave of pain, and I pant and moan as his cock sinks in further. Something almost seems to come alive and writhe around his cock, stroking the inside of my ass. Deeper and deeper it presses, and I growl when it finally buries completely within me. Its heat pulses within me and every so slowly he drags it back only to swiftly plunge, filling me entirely with the next stroke. He pumps into me, his movements coming quicker and harder, his claws a vice of misery, mingling pain and pleasure as one. The wyverns croon now has a rumbling note to it as he purrs and sings together, the sound growing deeper with every thrust, driving his cock into my depths. I grunt, my cock an iron bar between my legs. I wish I could move my hand to grip it, but I’m pinned so tightly there is no chance.

His tail moves, sliding around me at the peak of my frustration, and I moan with pleasure as its soft tip curls like a band around my cock, stroking me in time with each thrust until we are growling together. My balls draw up, tightening as his thrusts become more rampant, a pleasing ache gathering at my core as it tightens and then bursts as my seed shoots through me so hard and fast that I’m nearly dizzy with pleasure. I feel as if my essence is draining through me, releasing in waves of intense pleasure, but it doesn’t cease. It grows hotter and hotter, boiling inside of me until I am burning. And in truth, I am burning! Wyvern fire spills over, around, and through me with the wyvern’s climax, and I continue to find my release as he bellows and pumps ropes of his thick, hot seed into me, the rest splattering on the stone behind me in a large puddle.

The last spurt of seed leaves my cock, and with a groan my body drops the rest of the way to the ground, forcing his cock out one in one slick slide of flesh that sends a shiver through me. I cannot stop the smile curling my lips. At last, I have been claimed.

Claimed by Drisk.

Anya

Blood drips from my cracked lip as I grin down at the boy lying prone in the snow. My knuckles are bruised and bleeding, but I think nothing of them. All I feel in that moment is triumph. Pain will come later.

“Thought you could touch me without my leave, eh?” I bark, taking a grim satisfaction at the way his body instinctively curls into itself at my tone. “Thought you could treat me like less than a street whore?”

“It was a mistake, Anya,” his companion garbles as he stumbles back from me but not before bending to grab his friend and drag him away with him.

“Oh, it was a mistake, all right.” I sneer at them and then grin brightly. “But where are you going? You two said you wanted to play. Are you no longer interested now that you know that the game has changed?”

“W-we are fine, Anya,” he stutters, his face pale from fear and the icy cold that had descended upon the capital city. “We just want to go home.”

“Home,” I murmur disdainfully.

I have no home left. The city guard came just that morning to take my siblings to the children’s home, ripping them both from my arms. Said it would be better for them than living with a sister who was barely an adult and had no way to provide for them. I tip my head and sniff, dragging a sleeve over my nose. Perhaps they are right. They will have full stomachs and somewhere warm to sleep rather than huddling miserably beneath our blankets next to whatever sad excuse for a fire I can coax to life in the bitter cold.

And tonight—there is an evil wind tonight that whistles through the dome and sends a shiver through me. I haven’t even managed to scrape up enough coins to purchase a lump of coal to get through the longest, darkest night of the year. Yes, my siblings are better off where they are. I blink back my tears as I drag in a ragged breath and glance back down at the pair of boys in front of me. Although I know that they are probably nearing their twentieth birthdays, and are likely to have two years on me, they are still nothing but boys in my mind. Miserable, callow boys who deserve to be whipped. But I suddenly no longer have the desire to be their punisher. I still have a short time before the coal merchant closes up for the night.

“Get out of here,” I growl. “But don’t let me catch you two coming anywhere near me again… Wait,” I snap, my eyes narrowing on them as the one starts to drag off the other. “Do you have any coin on you?”

I sigh in disappointment when he nervously shakes his head. Figures. I turn away to pick my way down the narrow alley.

“Looks like it’s going to be another cold night then,” I mutter to myself.

“Not necessarily,” a cultured, feminine voice says from my left.

I whirl toward it and squint when a soft winding sound and the sharp click of flint against metal startles me and a bright flame illuminates a woman’s cold, blue eyes. She smiles at me and then brings her cigarette to her lips. The flame of her cog-igniter to the tip of her cigarette, and a curl of smoke rises from the tip as she takes a drag on it. She blows out the smoke and studies me, a thoughtful smile painted on her face.

“What if I told you that you would never be cold again?”

A bark of laughter escapes me, and I cross my arms over my chest. “I would ask what your angle is.”

“No angle. I am merely intrigued and offering an… opportunity.” She glances leisurely around the alley before focusing on me again. “The streets are not a kind place, especially for a girl without protection and support of a family. How long do you think you will last before you take boys like them up on their offer to beg for a couple coppers for the few minutes that they spend rutting over you?”

I shrug but cannot ignore the way my stomach tightens anxiously.

“What is it to you? I can hold my own. Something will come up.”

“I’m sure,” she purrs as she moves away from the wall and steps toward me. “But we all have to eat. And stay warm when the winter gladly feasts and gnaws at our bones. No one can hold out against that misery for long, and I’ve seen many young women just as beautiful as you end up in the opium dens in vain attempts to escape the drudgery of their existence, allowing any dirty cock to take them against the wall for the coins that will pay for their addiction.”

My throat works as I swallow. “What exactly are you offering?”

“Just freedom.” She tips her head as she considers me. “You have something special—an iron will to survive that I would hate to see turned on you to consume you from the inside out. All the while, you allow yourself to die a little more inside with the passage of time.” She takes another drag on her cigarette and gestures at me with it. “You have the makings to survive, however, with just a little help to point you in the right direction.”

“And you think you can help me?” I’m skeptical, to say the least.

Her smile returns and she nods. “Helping you will be easier than helping most. You have the strength to do what needs to be done to secure your own future. All I need to do is bathe you and make you look presentable, and men of means will line up to pay for your time. I will even invest money in getting you properly educated because once that happens, doors will open for you that you have never imagined as gentlemen flock to your side.”

My lip curls as a wave of disgust turns my gut. “Despite all your fancy talk, you mean to make me a whore.”

“I mean to make you a courtesan,” she snaps, and I can tell that I’ve offended her. “A courtesan is no mere street girl selling herself on the corner. You can have your choice of clients and enjoy a life of luxury. The most important step I will teach you —how to attract a benefactor. A smart courtesan can see herself comfortably married to one of her admirers, where you will never have to worry about where your next meal comes from. But more importantly, you will never suffer the cold again.”

I mean to tell her off, to take her fancy courtesan title and fuck straight off to hell, but I pause at those last words. For as long as I can remember, I have been cold when the winter came, after suffering with the heat all summer.

“You are certain I will never be cold?” I whisper.

Her smile widens, and she loops her arm with mine, dragging me to her side. “Never again, my dear girl. Now, tell me, what is your name?”

“Anya,” I reply in a bit of a daze.

She tuts softly and shakes her head. “A courtesan needs a name far grander.” She thinks for a moment as we walk together down the alley, the sound of our footsteps echoing faintly. “How about… Anastasia?”

I whisper the name to myself. It doesn’t feel like me. It feels like I’m pulling on a stranger’s skin and masquerading as her. And yet it makes me feel a little more comfortable with the situation. As long as I can be Anastasia, I think I can distance myself from all of this. Anastasia is the courtesan entertaining the gentlemen. I give a jerky nod and she squeezes my arm.

“Good girl. Now let me take you home, introduce you to the other girls, and get you fed. A hot meal will do you good, and tomorrow we will begin.”

“And who are you?”

“You may call me Madrina, my little Anastasia.”

True to her word, I ate well and slept even better when cocooned in the warmth of the thick blankets given to me and warmed by the cheerful fire in my little apartment in Madrina’s courtesan house. And although I wake up a bundle of nerves, the whirlwind of shopping among the clothiers and perfumeries, followed by a visit to the doctor, flows along in such an orderly manner as Madrina is deferred to that I become more and more comfortable in my intended role. I can be a courtesan. I continue to chant this to myself when my virginity is sold, and tears prick and fall freely from my eyes as a gentleman’s cock pierces me and stretches me painfully in the midst of opulence.

I can be a courtesan. I will be a courtesan and never suffer again.