Page 11 of Delinquent Dette (Empty Nests #7)

Frikka

Sten was a thorn in Frikka’s side, always moping about as if he had no other business to attend to. It made him want to avoid the moping brute, but he was right. No other Drake would have him in his nest. Well, no Drake that didn’t have a death wish.

The Dior Dette, the one black of scale, was gravid.

His low, swollen belly would bring three new lives into the world, more dragons—more good dragons.

For as horrid of a Drake that Eamon was, Powel had turned out to be a good Drake.

Though, the company that found themselves frequenting the estate made Frikka want to chew his own scales off.

Supposedly, Sten had bought property nearby. Their old estate wasn’t that far off, but that land held terrible memories. Also, Felix was as right of a prick as ever and Frikka did not want to have to have neighbors of those backward Drakes. Though, they did know a Dette’s place. Good boys.

Artur had been a fixture in the old days, coming down from Canada to piss everyone off occasionally.

He’d nearly made Sile’s short list, meaning Frikka was free to dispose of him, but alas, he’d come to his senses—kind of.

Still, Frikka wanted nothing to do with him.

The unmated Drake made his scales shiver.

So, while everyone was at the estate, fawning over the out-of-season Dette with three eggs, Frikka skulked about the estate to find trouble to get into.

But trouble found him. Eamon. Dette killer.

The Loch was only one by virtue of having given up the Bhaldraithe name.

As he was wealthy and high up within the council at the time, he was immune to Frikka’s wrath.

He’d starved a Dette to death, driven one mad, and had his own Dette sons taken from him for fear that he’d do to them what Leicester’s father had done.

It was only a small comfort that he’d been banned throughout Europe from acquiring another Dette and banned from leaving Europe, too.

So, when Frikka scented him in the estate, hatchday had come early. Oh, the terrible things he would do to the Drake. Trespassing on his son’s territory, sniffing around unmated Dettes, children no less.

He’d known that Eamon was searching for another Dette, and if he had bets, it would have been a safe one to say he had a hand in Tyler’s situation.

Mated and gravid as he was, Eamon would have lost an unclaimed and unaffiliated Dette.

A smarter man would have gone to the wilds to capture a crazed Dette if all he wanted was progeny and something to rut with.

Then again, some had that very idea, and Frikka had disposed of them quite efficiently and creatively.

Sile had banned several of his methods from being implemented ever again.

It’s not a war crime if they haven’t made a rule about it, yet.

His nose led him through the house, down one hall and another and eventually into the garage where he’d been dumb enough to park his off-white Land Rover.

The Drake had no taste, trying to show off wealth with a white car.

Impressing a Dette needed only finesse, a good nest and a show of strength and character.

Not…leather heated seats. Frikka pulled the handle to the door and found it locked, but a lock was nothing compared to old magic.

Thuk. The tap of an electric lock satisfied Frikka as he traced his fingers over the handle.

If Eamon had plans, it was likely to kidnap a child, and he was smart enough to evade Frikka for years. Catching the Drake would be nigh impossible… So if he couldn’t hunt him down, he’d let Eamon come to him.

Frikka lay in the back seat, scooting himself in the floorboard.

He stifled a chuckle as he thought of what Cinder would do.

A stink kitty would have been a good one.

Pooing under the floormat? Storm had good ideas, too, though juvenile.

Also, as a dragon, Frikka was far too big to do anything in a car.

Fortunately, Frikka didn’t have to wait long. And it was not one of the kids. And his assumption that Tyler was safe since he’d been mated? Incorrect.

He had to think quick. The scent of pregnant Dette and his own madness made Frikka nearly invisible to him. Tyler didn’t notice either, but Frikka was someone around him a lot. He could have tuned the Dette out easily.

Dragons could fly and were fast. Airport. If he were driving off, an airport would have been the best bet. Involve humans and it limited the likelihood of having a dragon intervene physically.

The Dette didn’t plead, as was befitting Leo’s brother. He questioned everything. Putting pieces together, he realized that Eamon lay behind his discovery and asked about Powel’s Dette brothers. Taken away by the council. Of course, Eamon had his own story.

And glory of all glory, Tyler’s magic pulsed through the car.

Frikka had never quite figured out mechanical and technologically complex things, but the Dette had and within miles of the estate, the car shuddered.

Frikka lent his power to whatever it was Tyler tried, letting his wild magic boost the efforts of his brethren.

And with a sputter, the car stopped in the shaded part of an off-country road, beneath a copse of trees.

“Oh, never you mind, precious little Dette. I won’t trade off any Drake pups,” Eamon said, his arm reaching over. Frikka readied to attack the fool, but Tyler beat him to it.

Never underestimate what a Dette will do to protect or avenge their pups.

After all, Frikka had spent hundreds of years avenging one, and lost a whole clutch because of being driven away from his sanctuary.

Had he stayed in Denmark and had his second clutch with Sten—they’d both be Nidhogg and welcomed back into the arms of society.

His mind traversed to the crushed egg, the little one undeveloped, his bicolored pattern a promise of a greater future stopped in its tracks.

Frikka shook his head and forced himself up from the floor, snatching Eamon by his hair before he could hit the Dette. “Wow, good one! Now, come with me, Eamon. We need to talk .”

Frikka shook the Drake, slid from the car, and whipped around, dragging Eamon by the hair of his head. “Neat trick with the engine. I am impressed.”

Eamon gave a spit of a whisper, and Frikka didn’t falter. “Sniveling weak Dette. All these years gone mad over a single egg with that pissant of a slave Drake.”

Frikka tried to give Tyler a comforting grin, but Frikka could be a little alarming at times with his enthusiasm for violence. “Wanna fight, Eamon, or do you want to hiss and spit a little? Were you half the dragon Sten ever was, I might have given you a heat.”

It was no secret that Frikka had been courted by the Bhaldraithe and was on his father’s radar for being traded off.

Having a clutch had almost ruined Frikka’s value for trade, despite being proof he was fertile.

How could having a clutch make him worth less?

They wanted Dettes for two things—fucking and breeding.

It proved he did both…well. “Seriously? How stupid are you to think you can steal your son’s mate? Disgusting!”

Frikka shook Eamon until his teeth clacked.

“Not my son’s mate. Mine. I bought him. He escaped before I could get there!

” Eamon struggled at Frikka’s grasp. “Powel owes me. He was supposed to help me get another Dette, but he let the lesser Lochs soften him! Now, he steals my rightful Dette from me! He’s a fool.

Still a silver… Even after I built his fortune… ”

Tyler, who for his part looked like he was fighting his dragon not to shift and eat the Drake alive, gave Frikka a golden opportunity. “Who did you buy this Dette from?”

“Fuck you. Miserable whore.” Eamon spit and Frikka wiped it from his face, taking a calming breath. He’d snapped the neck of Drakes for less.

Frikka took a deep breath, staring Eamon down as hundreds of years of crazy built up as screaming voices in his head. Frikka’s mind raced, pushing through memories of crying pups gone silent, the sound an egg made as it crushed, and the hot breath of amorous Drakes who thought Frikka was property.

“Nope, he’s gold. Made it right as he got me. He didn’t want to say anything,” Tyler said, giving Eamon a chance to swing for Frikka. The Drake had never been in a real fight before and it showed by how easily Frikka sidestepped it.

“How did you purchase this Dette? He’s had no dragon to call family until weeks ago?” Frikka kicked his feet from beneath him.

Something in Frikka’s eyes must have made Eamon afraid.

“Heard a rumor that my son was chasing a Dette that he was crazy over, that Hallr stole in the end, and I thought if his scent was attractive to Powel, that he’d be attractive to me.

And to my delight? There’s a missing Dette brother out there!

So, I paid someone to find him and to my surprise, he was going into heat, and I couldn’t act fast enough, so I had him locked up.

And my asshole son got involved… He’s a foundling, so I legally held claim first! ”

By the old laws, perhaps. And they couldn’t punish him because Tyler wasn’t in a clan, but he had become blooded to a clan. Stealing him with Powel’s mate mark and a belly of eggs made him in violation of so much more.

Eamon sneered, his voice a whisper. “You were meant for my brother, and you murdered him over a mutt slave Drake’s egg.”

Rage swarmed Frikka’s senses as a vision fluttered through his mind. Bhaldraithe dragons, hiding, doing back-door deeds. The king of the Bhaldraithe. A Canadian clan head for the Loch there.

Not for fucking long. He didn’t need Eamon anymore. “Smallest one, come! Get your licks in.” Frikka waved Tyler over, who declined, keeping a hand on his stomach. Probably a good call.

“No? Kicking his ass won’t hurt the eggs.

Trust me. A Drake expecting a clutch is a horny beast that’ll put you through much more than kicking this man in his stones.

” Drakes became possessive when their mates carried and Dettes no better, the rutting almost heat-like at times.

Still…Tyler declined, but he did pull a pair of handcuffs from his wrist.

“Like I haven’t been escaping cuffs since I was old enough to read. Raised by coyotes, fucker.” Tyler slapped them on the Drake and stared at Eamon before having a change of heart. A solid kick right into his knotmaker made Frikka nearly pity the Drake. Nearly.

“Ah, handcuffs… Kinky.” Frikka reached for the cuffs, but the swoop of wings and scent of Valhalla swept by him. A Drake ready to fight. Frikka nearly got hard just thinking about it.

“Don’t you dare menace that bastard, Frikka!” Sten’s shout held fierce possessiveness in it. As if Frikka fucked his victims. Any Drake that could break under his claw wasn’t worth the slick Frikka needed to take them.

“I wasn’t going to shag him! That pup is our kin now. Eamon wronged family. I want to kick his ass!” Frikka crossed his arms, and Tyler moped off to sit by the car, his breath heavy.

“Kill me, but my only regret will ever be not personally crushing your last clutch. Too poor to afford a true bunker for your nest. I might have saved a Dette for myself, who knows? But you’re too limp-wristed to do a damned thing.

Your Dette holds your coin purse.” Eamon flicked his tongue at Sten, and Frikka’s hair swept back from the breeze of Sten’s fist sweeping by.

The satisfying crunch of fist to skull made Frikka’s broken heart freeze.

“Listen well.” Sten leaned over Eamon, rage pouring from every inch of his magic.

That was the male that Frikka wanted in his nest. For as much as Frikka loved that Sten let him have his blood, it was Sten’s turn to have his.

“Frikka has his fun with his enemies because it’s far kinder than what I would do to you if I had a chance.

I’d string you from my sons’ ash tree, make you a blood eagle, and as you choked to death, I’d chop off your lingonberry-sized testicles and shove them down your throat.

” The harsh, shaking conviction in Sten’s voice did something to Frikka.

“I might mate you one day…” Frikka didn’t even realize he’d said it, but Sten took the moment for what it was.

“A maybe is as good as anything from you.” Sten didn’t smile. His face still held all the anger in the world, years of pent-up rue. But they kissed anyway.

It was not a tender thing. They bit at one another as Sten hefted Frikka by his ass and pulled him up. Tongues thrusted, his beard in the way drawing snuffles of air and groans of pleasure. Frikka vowed to never ignore the male again. This was the Viking worth Frikka’s heart.

Hallr and Sile swept in, the former taking Tyler off with Eamon, and they finished their kisses until they ended up in the back seat of the car, grinding against one another.

Sten’s hand pawed at Frikka’s side, their teeth clacked, and bodies shivered.

“Dette… We need to get back, but I’ll have you, yet. ”

“Ahem.” Sile, naked and broad as any Hmong warrior with that old blood, folded his arms and sneered.

“Fine. We will fuck later. Not in Hallr’s house, though.” Frikka pulled away and cried out when Sten shifted and scooped him up, puffed and proud.

I am so proud of you, Dette. You’ve earned your place at Nidhogg’s table as many times over as coins I’ve given you. I apologize for stealing your fight. Sten flew and Frikka left something behind on the road as they left.

Regret?

Hate?

The future was clear. Sten needed his pound of flesh, too. And one sunny evening, they’d find peace and Frikka would claim him. Because one did not own a Dette like Frikka—they were owned by them.

As for Eamon?

With everyone looking, it’d be hard to do his worst. Sile might give him the privilege of dealing with it, but that seemed less important. As for the “king,” Frikka would take care of that soon enough. With Sten.