Page 19 of Delinquent Dette (Empty Nests #7)

Frikka

He woke to an empty nest, but that wasn’t unusual.

His heats left him exhausted for a day or two after, and Sten was the doting sort to make sure Frikka woke to a clean nest, a sweetly scented home and…

Frikka glanced around and smiled at a napkin-wrapped parcel at his side, a sandwich.

In the old days, it’d been hard bread and salted meat.

These days, it was peanut butter and jelly. Amazing human invention.

Frikka rose, eating his sandwich as he scrounged for clothing.

The sandwich was good; in fact, he couldn’t put it down and would ask for more.

As for seashells? He thought about the cookies and their chalky aftertaste, but it didn’t appeal to him, but it didn’t sour his mood, either. So, it would take time to tell.

He climbed the steps, entered the door’s code, and slipped out, inhaling deeply—searching for the one thing he always wanted—coffee.

Another magnificent human invention. He meandered his way to the kitchen, nostrils flaring, and halted.

The pot threw off the same smell, but Frikka didn’t want it.

That wasn’t a bad sign, either. He made some tea for himself instead and wandered around until he caught the sound of pups, drawing him out to their back garden, where a few scattered little ones played. “Good m—afternoon?”

Sten glanced up from a reclining chair, two pups sprawled out on his chest and lap for a little snooze. “Afternoon. I made coffee. I knew you’d be up about now.”

“Coffee wasn’t on my mind after I smelled it.” As Frikka thought, Sten’s eyes glittered with hope.

“No cravings for seashells, so we’ll see. All things are signs if you’re looking for them.” The first two clutches he’d ever had, he’d known right away because of his gift, but the act of not knowing made Frikka somewhat happy. The lack of bad visions meant that nothing bad could happen… Right?

“True. It is nice to see you, though.” Sten smiled as Frikka sat in an empty chair beside him. “Who all do we have here?”

“Storm, Cinder, Luka, and…” Sten craned his head around before shrugging a shoulder at a pup asleep with his tail dipped in the water of the fountain, a copper one, which meant it was likely a Dette, one of Zane’s, but his clan’s pups didn’t show dimorphism until puberty.

Much like Icelandic dragons, the Finnish dragons—while incredibly standoffish and a little stabby—treated their Dettes better, because they never knew which one of their pups would turn.

“Ah, Niko is going to get a rude aw—” Frikka flinched as the pup rolled in his sleep and splashed into the fountain. A few frantic moments later, he climbed out, reseated himself, and fell right back asleep. Ehh… Par for the course for Finns.

“Is Zane still not—” Frikka glanced at Sten, who shook his head sharply.

“Zane had a complication with the medication they were using to keep him from making another clutch. Blanks came early. He’s okay, just grumpy. Ruben figures that he’d fare better without pups trampling all over him for an evening.”

Frikka gave a soft, “Oh.” After a moment, he turned to Sten, whispering, “Do call and make sure that they keep an eye out for a hiccup .”

“Already warned them. Bastien is tending him and will be here in a few days to see to you.” Sten reached over to give Frikka’s hair a gentle ruffle.

It was probably a mess, but Frikka never cared.

Maybe he cared a little… He tucked an errant curl back and fidgeted.

Everything felt a little itchy and sensitive, but heats could be odd after the hormones came down.

Luka woke and stretched, slipping off Sten’s lap to go swim in the fountain, Storm following. Cinder, asleep off to the side, stretched languidly and rooted around for something until he found pants and shifted, dressing quickly. “Farfar!”

The little one came running and hopped into Frikka’s lap, snuggling in for a tight hug. The little demon child went awfully soft when it came to his grandpa. Frikka, though, welcomed the open affection.

Pups, as a whole, were given the brief explanation of a heat, a Dette needing to spend time with their Drake as the spring made them sick before blanks would come.

They knew that sometimes, it wasn’t blanks.

Cinder had the gift to be able to tell, as did Frikka, but it would take a few days to know for certain.

Had he the nerve, he could tell how many blanks he held.

Asking Cinder to check, though, didn’t seem right.

He could leave that to Bastien—lest Cinder have any questions his textbooks couldn’t answer for him.

Because Frikka would do what he did for Hallr.

He’d take him to the goat pen come mating season and let the billy goats show him.

Then again…Hallr and Leo might not approve.

He was a Dette! He’d have to learn, eventually.

Frikka lounged in the evening sun, ears pricked by the odd buzzing of a mosquito that would land on him and try its damnedest to get a drop of blood and find his skin near impenetrable—probably injure itself in the process. The thought brought him more joy than it should have.

As the minutes ticked by, filled by that special kind of noisy silence—cars in the far distance, farm equipment somewhere farther, a plane farther than that—Frikka found himself basking in peace.

Nothing like it had graced him in far too long.

So, when Cinder couldn’t stand still any longer, he fidgeted and huffed. “Farfar, I had a weird dream.”

Frikka’s heart seized up, pulse going quick. “Was it a dream with your magic?”

Cinder nodded.

Frikka rested a hand on his head. “Was it what might happen someday?”

Cinder wrinkled his nose and nodded again.

“Let me tell you a story of the volur, and where a Dette gets their wild magic. And in the end, you can decide if it’s something that I should know.” Frikka stroked over Cinder’s head and started at the beginning, when Frikka was barely more than a pup himself, and all the bad that he saw.

So, when the story finished, evening glow bugs danced near the tall grasses at the back of their property. Cinder stared out as the bugs floated and bore the weight of generations of volur before him as he huffed. “That sucks.”

Frikka nodded. When he was a pup, he’d thought it a wonderful thing, but as he grew older, the burden became clear. Cinder was just wiser, lost in thought. “It wasn’t bad.”

“Hmm?” Frikka turned his attention away from the scenery and gave his little Dior grandson a smile.

“I didn’t see a bad thing, but I think… I think it’s more fun not knowing.” Cinder frowned, drumming his finger on his knee. Frikka redoubled his hold of the little one and waited. “Crap, this means I have to get mated! Stupid gross Drakes. Niko!”

The little pup on the edge of the fountain glanced up, head tilted. “You and I aren’t real cousins, right?”

Niko nodded.

“Okay, when you find out you’re a Drake. We can get mated.” Cinder said it and nodded once.

But I’ll probably be a Dette. Dettes can’t mate Dettes.

Cinder shrugged. “He’ll figure it out. Stupid Drakes.”

Frikka eyed the little copper pup. He probably would. But at least Cinder had a better head on his shoulders.

And a better pool of Drakes to choose from.