Page 21 of Delinquent Dette (Empty Nests #7)

Frikka

As Frikka ran his hand over the taut surface of his belly, fawning over the small, round shape of it, it occurred to him that he carried much smaller than he would have thought for having so many blanks.

Certainly his tracts were uncomfortable, but with only the two live eggs, it didn’t make much of a difference.

The only thing that really bothered him was waking that morning and being denied food. He was hungry enough to suck Sten’s cock just for the calories, but from what Bastien said, if he were to retch… The thought made a trickle of nausea rise in his throat. Nope! Nej! Not happening.

Sten rolled over in their nest, the blankets clean and scented of cedar from whatever wash they’d used. It paired well with Sten’s natural pine and bread scent. Rather like a good sourdough on a new cutting board. Frikka inhaled deeply. “I want bread.”

“You cannot have bread, Dette. The doctors come soon and I would be an ass if I let you eat something. We’re taking no risks.” Sten gave Frikka an affectionate nuzzle.

“Then I will have bread after. I’ll hold our two eggs and listen to their little minds join the world while I eat all the bread.” Frikka sighed with contentment.

“Could have eaten more bread yesterday.” Sten laughed and stood, shuffling off to get himself some clothes or bathe.

Either was likely. Frikka had bathed the night before in preparation of what was to come.

He didn’t even bother putting clothes on.

Soon would come the time when they had little ones about and he’d have to wear the pants again.

He missed the days of youth when running about with a skin cloth on was enough.

“I cannot hold more than a slice. The eggs may not be sticking out, but the space they make in me, by our magic, cuts things off.” Frikka had looked at X-rays of gravid Dettes before, and there were strange shapes and voids in bellies, but they never really made sense or occupied the space right.

They made more sense inside of a dragon’s belly where they didn’t occupy some mystery gods-forsaken void.

Sten grunted off somewhere in the distance when the shower hissed to life. He rubbed the surface of his belly and sighed. “Soon, little ones.”

But it wasn’t soon enough. Frikka’s stomach growled with hunger, ending his peaceful moment. “Still want bread.”

The great part about being the sort of dragon that sleeps in and has an active night life was that they missed out on early morning things like milking cows, threshing wheat, getting the mill going, or waiting around on doctors who made hungry Dettes suffer needlessly for hours unfed. “Just a nibble?”

“No. Gaspard said so. I will not jeopardize you.”

“Bastard Drakes always denying me my wishes!” Frikka huffed as the doorbell rang and Sten jogged off to let whoever it was in. Likely the doctors. Frikka checked his phone, and, punctual as ever, it was 1:59. Seconds shy of their 2 p.m. appointment.

“Keep bitching, Dette. I can hear you from up here!” Sten’s muffled voice carried through the halls.

“Thank you for not making me shout to get my point across!” Frikka glared as Sten returned, Gaspard, Marc, and Bastien in tow with cases of equipment, most of which he hoped was unnecessary.

Especially the clanging bag that jangled when Marc set it down.

Frikka eyed it with bitter rue. “What is in this bag?”

Marc kicked the bag, letting it rattle once more.

“What you have to look forward to if you do not cooperate.” He opened the top of the double-clasped bag to reveal a myriad of instruments of torture, one of which was what appeared to be something between an F-clamp and a women’s gynecological device.

Frikka eyed the thing with absolute murder brewing in his gut. “That will not go anywhere near my openings.”

“Good. Then don’t bite anyone, get toasty, or try to murder the three of us.” Marc sneered.

“What about me?” Sten waved a hand, looking for all the part as disgusted as Frikka felt.

“If he goes mad, we knock you over so he gets you first and keep running,” Gaspard said as he sat up a rather large IV fluid bag and rotated through a few syringes, pumping different things into the fluid.

“French,” Sten said. He made a noise of disgust in the back of his throat and sidled away from the offensive bag.

“And if I cooperate?” Frikka glanced from Sten to Marc once more.

“That bag stays there, and we go home this evening while you nap with your two little eggs.” Marc waved Frikka off as Bastien tidied up and invaded their nest, laying down large plastic pads with absorbent material adhered to them.

“And what are those supposed to be for?” Frikka scoffed when Bastien gave him a look . “Okay, but why not use towels or something? Garbage in my nest…”

“Because I don’t want to have to clean up more than I have to after this. I would rather you not have to move from this nest and stay with your babies.” Bastien kicked a few blankets straight before adding one last pad.

“Staying in the nest is good.” Frikka scooted over a little as Gaspard positioned a pole for the fluid bag, and Marc laid out a separate sterile pad for instruments to be at the ready.

Frikka watched with dread and anticipation boiling in his chest—normally it’d be his gut, but there wasn’t enough room in there for a full breath, let alone anxiety. Still, he rubbed the surface of his belly gently, eager to feel the moment they left his body, and their bond could establish.

“Alright, now. Frikka, we’re going to have you shift and lay on your side, try to keep your business end over the pads, and we’ll reposition them as needed. I’ll have to run the line in your tail, as that’s the only place I can get a good vein easily.”

“Fine, fine.” Frikka took a deep breath, centering himself with his dragon.

Some dragons were the same, inside and out.

Others had two spirits, which was the most common, and Frikka was no different.

Though, Frikka’s dragon was far more reactionary, had no sense of decorum, failed to plan three steps ahead, and often fought with him.

They were not the most cohesive of partners in life.

But, that was also who Frikka was, too. He’d learned to put a good mask on. His dragon had no mask. So, barring anything else, he shifted.

The change, ordinarily, was a painless one, like liquid pouring from one vessel into another.

Molecules rearranging. While gravid, though, the sensation of the eggs shifted with him.

And in their human form, eggs tended to be part of the dragon, locked in an intermediary state of shift in the womb of an omega.

As they expanded, sometimes they filled out faster than the body around them, which made shifting somewhat violating—though a useful trick for some Dettes to spur labor on.

So, when Frikka shifted, that sensation, usually uncomfortable, magnified due to the sheer amount of blanks he carried.

The jarring sensation made him choke and gag, sparks popping at his mouth when he coughed.

“Easy, Frikka!” Sten rushed over to hold his face, calloused hands gripping his jowls with practiced ease. “Easy.”

Sometimes Frikka liked it better when Sten called him Dette . It reasserted that Sten saw him as a Dette, while also respecting him as equal. But when Sten used his name? It put distance between them. It hurt.

“Shh, I know. We’ve been through this, and we’ll get through it again. This time, you have me.” Sten pressed his head against Frikka’s, the spot of warmth his flesh form brought centered him.

Can you shift? Can our dragons be together? Frikka kept his head turned as Gaspard sanitized an area on his tail and forged ahead with a thick-gauged needle. The sting barely registered.

“When the doctors say we can.” Sten kissed Frikka’s forehead, a gentle thing like a feather’s touch against his scales.

Such a tiny and frail creature in his flesh—powerful and large in scale.

And though he’d never admit it, a sheen of pearl always caught in the light over his scales, nacre-like and alluring.

Frikka was certain that was what gave them the chance of making bicolored children.

Though, the trait that Sacha and Gabriel carried had amplified it in their pups.

Leo, being a carrier and expresser of the trait, made Frikka wonder just how far back the jarl’s coat went, from what clan it originated, and if Leo held a little piece of Scandinavian dragon.

It was a question for another day, though.

So many things burdened Frikka’s mind when he carried.

“Alright, starting the drip.” Gaspard’s voice melded into the background as he held up his wrist and watched the face of it. Frikka cut his gaze over as the Drake held up a single finger, telling him to wait. “And you should start feeling something about…now.”

Frikka shifted his body and tried his best not to move his tail, but all that happened was a muted sensation fed back to him like his legs were asleep.

The prick of his heavy eggs dulled as well.

But, when he went to sigh in relief, the sensation went on forever, as if he couldn’t get a deep breath, causing him to huff in mild panic.

“It’s okay, Frikka. It feels a little cottony in your lungs. I know.” Bastien’s comforting words eased Frikka’s struggle. “I think it’s fine if Sten shifts to be with him, do you, Pepa?”

Gaspard glanced between them. “Let’s give it one more minute until its fully kicked in. I don’t want them to tail lock if we can help it.”

Sten had done so with their last clutch, aiding Frikka through the worst of his laying.

What if…it’s bad again? Frikka found it difficult to project those words.

“I promise it won’t be bad,” Marc said offhandedly, earning a swat from Gaspard.