Page 20 of Delinquent Dette (Empty Nests #7)

Sten

It didn’t take long for Frikka to figure it out—the seashell part. Longer than normal, but still. Bastien was due in that afternoon, and Sten walked in on Frikka baking that morning, already chomping away on a seashell cookie. “Not a word, Drake.”

Sten held his hands up, a half grin twisting his lips involuntarily. “I said no words.”

The affirmation didn’t make him feel better, though.

It brought a somber tone to the morning of something they’d been pointedly ignoring since his heat had ended, even when his belly had swollen a little, because it could have always been blanks.

But watching Frikka stuff another cookie into his mouth?

It solidified it. They’d be parents again. Hopefully.

They’d had eggs before, though. Seven trees stood in their memory, trees that would one by one rot and fall long before their memories did. And Sten would plant more if he still breathed.

So, when Bastien finally arrived, he wore a practiced and professional expression.

No smiles, no grimaces. His training with the other dragons—Frikka included—had given him insight.

“Not blanks,” he said by way of greeting Frikka, while at the same time packing up a tin of cookies like he owned the place.

“Who else is expecting? Not you again?” Sten gave Bastien a wary glance, but he shook his head. “Wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

“I would.” Frikka poised by the counter and crossed one leg over the other, staring Bastien down.

“Only because they’re both ecstatic and shouting it from the rooftops. I don’t go about spreading people’s private information, but the last Dette you’d expect.” Bastien gave Frikka a wicked grin.

“Leo? No!” Frikka gasped, but Bastien waved him off.

“Oh gods, no! They’ve enough pups. No! Weston and Rolf! I’ve never heard of a clutch back-to-back!” Bastien raised a hand to his cheek and sighed. “Makes me really wary of my own cycles.”

“Oh, good gods. How many?” Sten blinked in surprise.

“Another singleton. But still!” Bastien laughed before picking up a seashell cookie and nibbling it thoughtfully. As if reassuring himself he wasn’t carrying, he blanched at the flavor and almost went to throw it away before Frikka snatched it and devoured the rest in two bites.

“Don’t waste seashells.” Frikka grumbled and huffed when Bastien gestured for him to lift his shirt.

He felt for a while, fingers traversing Frikka’s belly, the tips delving in as exploratory magic breeched the surface with a barely perceptible glow. “Holy moly. Merde. Can we go somewhere where you can shift?”

Sten’s heart stopped in his chest. “Is—what is it?”

“Not sure. Let’s get somewhere where I can feel the dragon belly.” Bastien gestured, and they migrated downstairs into the nest where Frikka shirked his clothing with agitated gestures and shifted in a harsh morph of flesh to scale, the change lacking his usual smooth finesse.

Bastien approached with hands raised, laying them gently on Frikka’s gently pooched dragon belly.

Sten’s mind raced at thoughts ranging from none, to swollen tracts, to a clutch far larger than they could handle. So, when Bastien muttered, counting under his breath, a cold sweat broke over his brow.

“ Merde , you’ll make Weston’s last laying lose its record. Two eggs. But I can’t count all the blanks, Frikka. I lost count at fifteen, they’re so crowded.” Bastien huffed and Frikka snorted, staring at his belly with wide, flame-blue eyes.

“What do we do?” Sten wrung his hands in mild panic, glancing from Frikka to Bastien.

“Lay a shit-ton of blanks. I need to run this by Pepa and Uncle Marc. Do you mind?” Bastien pulled out his phone.

Frikka nodded warily, and Sten gave Bastien a thumbs-up before he dialed. He gave a whispered conversation in French, the conversation informal and brief—likely Gaspard. When he glanced over at Sten, Bastien nodded. “Oui, Pepa.”

Sten wrung his hands once more as Bastien hung up.

“They’re on their way. It’s not that much of an issue.

Pepa Ryan has had it before, and they just induce at five weeks instead of letting it go to six.

The blank shells are softer, so they administer antibiotics preemptively after laying because a few blanks will burst.”

Frikka snorted, his face a contorted sneer. He’d had blanks burst before, always unpleasant. The fevers were never kind to a Dette. It wasn’t unheard of for a Dette to die from them, either.

“He will be okay, right?” Sten gathered his nerves and pushed forward to step up to Frikka. The Dette lowered his head into Sten’s arms and stayed there for a few breaths.

“Honestly, more than fine. We have technology, science, and weird Viking magic on our sides.” Bastien waved his hand about.

“The only icky thing is the Pitocin drip, but I had a half dozen blanks my last heat and we did this to pass them. I abstained, so I was certain I didn’t have any fertile ones. Almost no downtime.”

Wild magic. Frikka snorted. But I understand the science magic has a place, and wild magic hasn’t aided me so.

“Good to know. So, if my notes are right…” Bastien thumbed through his phone, holding up a finger as he read through something. “You were given four drams of nestblossom oil. Gosh, that’s a lot. Marc approved it… I wouldn’t have, that’s for certain.”

Sten twisted his lips. He’d not been sure how much Frikka had taken, imbibed, spread over his body, anything. He trusted his Dette.

I was aware of the risks. I’m also an experienced nester. This tells us we have discovered a limit. Next heat, we can use less and see, or not. Frikka nuzzled into Sten’s chest.

“I think two will do, for now, Dette.” Sten patted Frikka’s cheek.

I wish to have a lizard army. Frikka headbutted at Sten, nearly knocking him off-balance.

“You have one. In grandchildren.” Sten wrestled with Frikka’s horns until the Dette lifted him off the ground a few inches.

Could always be bigger. A whole raiding clan! Frikka laughed in his dragon form, a puff of smoke curling at his nostrils.

“We left that past behind us. We earn our money, now.” Sten laughed as he swung his legs, wrapping them around Frikka’s neck to hold on as the Dette lifted him higher.

Every coin stolen was more than earned! Frikka shook his head and lay down, smothering Sten into the nest before he rolled and shifted, pulling a blanket over him in a smooth motion.

Frikka never was one to be shy about his body, unless he carried.

That always seemed to bring about a certain shyness in him that Sten adored.

There with Frikka sitting up, blanket in his lap, Sten crawled over and kissed his Dette on his pretty lips before leaning down to kiss the gentle swell of his belly.

“It was, in a way. But it’s safer for us these days to invest. It’s like robbing humans in its own way.” Sten chuckled.

Frikka smiled, resting a hand on his stomach. He should have been able to tell how many young he carried, but he was as fearful of having pups again as Sten was, perhaps more so.

“Mind if I give you guys a few to cool off and go raid your fridge for a drink?” Bastien looked up from his phone and earned a thumbs-up from Frikka. With their permission, Bastien waltzed out, and Sten leaned into his mate and sighed blissfully.

“What worries you, Dette? Speak your mind. You usually have no trouble doing so.” Sten rested a hand on his stomach as if he could feel the life within.

It solidified something real in his mind.

They’d be parents again. Two this time. An easier number, for certain.

And they didn’t have to buy a new vehicle.

The Range Rover they’d kept as a prize was more than plenty to carry two pups.

“I think I am more worried about not worrying. I feel anxiety, yes. But there’s not a villain in my story anymore.

I have nothing to fear. The gods would not be so cruel as to do to us the worst, again.

” Frikka rested a hand over Sten’s. “All this means is that my laying will be a spectacle. It was for my first, remember?”

Sten hadn’t been permitted to watch the laying.

The gothar had witnessed it, praising it as a beautiful thing.

But permitted or not, Sten listened. When the gothar ran to the jarl’s longhouse, Sten followed, wringing his hands as six beautiful eggs were called out one by one and the blanks disposed of as tradition—drained, dried, and turned into ingredients for spells or magic work that they’d long since learned was useless.

“But I will be there. I will be in your heart, too. This time, our pups will be bonded to us in whole.” Sten couldn’t resist giving Frikka another kiss then held him until Bastien returned, a can of flavored fizzy water in hand as Gaspard trotted down after him.

“You two. How are you feeling?” Gaspard clapped his hands together, eyes bright and wide. Clearly, he was enthralled for them. “Two live eggs, and a whole lot of blanks.”

He pulled something from his pocket, a hand sanitizer and rubbed the alcoholic gel over his hands before gesturing Frikka to scoot to the edge of their nest. In older days, Frikka would have sent the male away, but he trusted Gaspard.

Frikka lowered the blanket to his hips, sat up straight, and let Gaspard feel along his belly, brow furrowed in concentration.

“That nestblossom oil is a doozie. Nothing to it. You’re two weeks thereabouts, so I’ll see you in three?

Let’s see.” Gaspard pulled away, looking at his phone.

“Okay, Thursday at two p.m. Don’t have anything to eat that morning.

We’ll have an all hands on deck procedure with Bastien and Marc.

We’ll give you a mild sedative and it’ll be just like a dream.

If we have to do anything internal, it’ll be through a needle, and you’ll barely feel a thing. ”

Gaspard typed some notes on his phone and sent Frikka and Sten his exact wording in a text. “So you don’t forget. I know I’m a bit of a mess when Ryan has a clutch, and he’s just as bad.”

Sten nodded and took a deep breath. “Anything I should be doing?”

Gaspard shrugged. “Ordinarily, I’d say to feed his hormonal needs, but this is a tender situation. If he’s amorous, take things slow, easy, and leave it to outercourse if at all possible.”

“Outercourse?” Frikka mouthed the word, brow furrowing. “Does this mean I fuck him?”

Gaspard pinched his nose bridge and took a deep breath.

“Gosh, I forget how literal you two can be. Language barriers will be the death of us all. No, Frikka. Let me spell it out. Handjobs? Okay. Blowjobs? Okay. Getting knotted and fucked stupid? No. Do not. No knots. No rutting. If you need something inside , use fingers, no more than two or three—”

“Pepa, I think they understand now.” Bastien cleared his throat.

Frikka pouted. “But I can still fuck him, yes?”

Sten pursed his lips and glanced away as Gaspard sighed heavily. “If one must…”

Gaspard was more Dette than Drake when it came to his bedroom proclivities, so he had no room to judge. Sten was accustomed to long journeys at sea with many Drakes who took turns , as it were.

When Sten glanced up, drawn from his thoughts, Frikka gave him a lingering side glance before making a gesture with his index finger and thumb in a circle, penetrating it with the index finger of his other hand. He then pointed at Sten with a wide, playful grin.

Sten stood quickly, giving Frikka his best no look. “I think my jaw will have a nice workout these few weeks.”

As if satisfied, Frikka laughed and grinned. “Thank you, Gaspard. And you, Bastien. We are in your debt.”

“I’m relatively certain Felix is in my Dette at the moment,” Gaspard snorted as he glanced at his phone and waved them off.

“Pepa!” Bastien ushered him off and bid them farewell.

Sten had his work cut out for him. He rubbed his neck and jaw for a moment, lost in thought. “Dette! Come! I have the doctor’s orders!”

Prescription aside, Sten would make do. He always did and enjoyed every moment of it .