Page 4 of Delinquent Dette (Empty Nests #7)

Frikka

The Americas were a wonderful place, full of new life and wild fun. Travel by wing was the norm. The humans traveled by carriage, but they were so uncurious in those days. It had been a turning point in the world, when humans forgot about magic, where there were no more old gods in the lands.

There were also puritans. Which, for the sake of getting laid easily, put a damper on his family’s fun.

Though, raising young ones in the era was far more interesting than it was back home.

Two Drakes and two Dettes had come from his eggs.

It was of no surprise that Jasper was a Dette, curious and sweet.

He loved to sing and paint. Peter, too, was a Dette, though he had Sten’s rough streak and did not want to be a Dette, dainty or anything associated with it.

Torsten, Jormun, and Hallr were thick as thieves, three Drakes with completely different personalities.

Torsten was brazen and crass. He sought to fight and play hard while Hallr trailed after, as happy to wrestle as he was to sit with Jasper and read.

Jormun, from a young age, had been far more independent than the others, headstrong and even young, he carried himself as a stag, what they referred to Drakes who loved other Drakes.

Hallr had a peace about him that brought harmony. With traces of pearlescent colors in his scales, he would have been a fine candidate for a jarl.

One of the greatest things about the Americas, though?

Dettes were free—ish. No council would dare put their finger down on them, or at least the Cathay—Chinese dragons who had fought the new French dragons.

Diors, or whatever they called themselves.

Half their Drakes bent like Dettes, and they wouldn’t argue it.

“Frikka!” Sten’s booming voice shook the loose rafters of their home, a towering stone thing built in the old fashion that was reminiscent of their motherland. It was no mansion or estate, but it was grand in its own right, and home.

“What?” Frikka rose from their four-poster bed and stretched languidly, walking downstairs past Jasper, who sat dutifully by a window reading.

“Don’t you what me, Dette!” Sten stood at the bottom of the witch’s staircase, hands on his hips, blocking Frikka’s way. “Why?”

Jasper, well aware of his parents’ proclivities, dutifully placed a bookmark in his tome and snuck off, his white-blond locks framing his face with gentle curls much like Frikka had worn not a few years ago.

“Why, what? I’ve done so many things that it’s hard to narrow it down!” Frikka shrugged and sat on the stair rail, sliding down into Sten’s waiting arms.

“You set fire to the stables of that lot of félag Drakes down the way!” Sten gripped Frikka by the back of his shirt and pulled him in close, eyes darkening. It was all a show. Sten didn’t have the spine to stand up to Frikka.

“They were parading a Dette around pitching woo with coin.” Frikka stared Sten down, daring him to do something about it.

“Colborn is absolutely incensed. They were not pitching woo and you owe apologies. I’m gathering the men and we’re going to rebuild the stables on our own coin. Hallr is already cleaning things up.” The dark and stormy blue in his eyes hardened.

Actually mad this time. Rare.

“Buying Dettes is forbidden in the new world. They’re lucky I didn’t burn their house down.” Frikka sniffed indignantly.

“For Tyr’s sake, Dette! Listen to me. Not all Drakes are bastards.” Sten shook him a little, a pleading expression melting over his face. “Are we bastards to you?”

The royal we , the Nielsen Drakes that came with him.

“No, but I do not trust those French zealots.”

“They don’t even like Dettes!” Sten hissed out a low breath before snatching Frikka from the stair rail and slotting him over his shoulder as easily as a sack of grain.

“Put me down, Drake!”

“If you really cared about that Dette, you’d have attempted to free them, not caused property damage.” Sten stomped through the house, out the door, and down the house’s front lane. The Dior estate, a quick jaunt down the lane, still scented of smoke.

“Five versus one. I know my odds against that many Drakes.” Frikka wriggled and thrashed over Sten’s shoulder. “And the Dette is a Bhaldraithe .”

He hated when Dettes got sold like property, but not enough to do anything for a Bhaldraithe.

Sten halted mid-step and took a hissing breath. “Dette. I will take you. You will listen to the Dette and to the Drakes. You will apologize, and then I will fuck you. Because it is spring, I can very well blame your heat coming on.”

“How dare you?”

“I dare! Like this!” Sten flung a hand around and slapped Frikka’s ass with a stinging clap.

“Bastard!” Frikka cried out and wrestled harder, but Sten didn’t relent, just marched toward the estate.

“I am! And we have five little bastards we’re raising who need a better example than this, Dette! If Freya didn’t love you so much, I’d not tolerate half your behavior!” Sten, breaking out the gods, settled Frikka down like a safe word. He meant what he said.

“And I mean to cause them enough damage to regret crossing a Dette! And the fucking Nidhogg in there knows better.” Frikka settled down, crossing his arms. He could still pout, at least.

“Colborn was gracious and invited you over to explain. I’m not angry with him or their den.

I’m embarrassed for you.” Sten stomped, quieting Frikka until they reached the scrollwork gates of the estate, across an elaborate cobblestone carriage park, and up carved steps to an elaborately oiled door.

There, Sten pulled the rope for their bell.

It wasn’t a servant that answered the door but rather an anxious and stooped Drake, eyes a watery brown with hints of Dior gold and hair a pretty sort of auburn. “Oh, Sten. Come in. And your mate.”

“Not my mate!” Frikka huffed as Sten walked in with him.

“Not his mate, the Drake unfortunate enough to be tasked with corralling him.” Sten slid Frikka to the floor and glared.

“Apologies. I told you, Sten, it is not necessary. The damage is being repaired. Dettes can get testy this time of year.” He held up his hands and stepped back as Frikka glared.

“You are kind, Gaspard, but Frikka needs to hear from you and your den why you have this Bhaldraithe Dette locked up here.” Sten slapped Frikka on the back.

“Oh. Um.” Gaspard, who Frikka had been told was a physician, stepped back and cleared his throat, eyes flicking from him to Sten.

“Well, for one, he’s not really a Bhaldraithe.

He’s a Loch born from a Bhaldraithe Drake.

For another, he’s here on a contract—so you’re correct that we’re bending some rules. ”

Anger boiled in Frikka’s belly. Bhaldraithe kin or no, they were holding the Dette against his will for his heat. To use him.

Sten halted his anger and grabbed Frikka’s collar. “Dette! Listen.”

“Do I have to explain?” Gaspard gave Sten a pitiable look.

Sten nodded once.

“We bought their contract for a few years, very cheap to keep them from being given to the Lochs. We were owed a debt and settled it that way. And we do not want a Dette. Not him, at any rate.” Gaspard cleared his throat. “My mates are of the opinion that I am enough Dette for them.”

Frikka’s stomach knotted. He’d known the den were fully vested in one another, but mates without a Dette? And a Drake who wanted to be a Dette.

Frikka’s face must have been sour, because Gaspard straightened up, steeling his chin.

“And by virtue of having a—a knot , I have escaped that dreadful life. We are protecting Cairn. He will live out a contract here and have his heats in quiet while we visit social circles securing his freedom and hopefully finding him a mate.”

Saying knot made Gaspard’s cheeks flame red.

“See, now let’s go see this captive Dette they have.” Sten gestured for Gaspard to lead the way and walked obediently at his side. Chastened.

“Cairn, dear. The whelps’ paters are here.

Sten and Frikka, recall I told you?” Gaspard led them into a solarium with beautiful leaded-glass windows.

And in the sill was a prim little Dette, hair a shock of Irish red and face well-freckled.

Despite his beauty, the tilt of his body and certain features showed a very broken Dette.

A withered arm cradled at his side and a scar marked his forehead into his scalp line, healing his brows crooked.

At his feet was Hallr, the youngling sitting with a book on herbs, talking about all the flowers he’d seen.

Frikka had noticed it before, and in their homeland, he’d have been a candidate for jarl, or even a gotha, the way he weaved his calming magic without even thinking.

He’d make a Dette very happy one day. Hallr turned a page and ecstatically pointed from one flower to one sitting in the window at full bloom.

He yammered on in stilted English to the Dette about some purple flower, a violet .

The Dette glanced up, eyes wide with fear for just a flash before settling. “Hello.”

Frikka’s heart broke for the poor creature.

“I apologize, Cairn. Frikka doesn’t like Dette trade and contracts and thinks you’re here unwillingly.” Sten pushed Frikka a step forward. Shame curled in his belly.

“Is that what all the commotion was about? Hallr came by to comfort me. I was afraid, but he’s a wonderful child.” Cairn smiled, but the way his face twisted as he did so, showed muscle damage beneath the surface.

“Can you reassure Frikka here? You’re free to be honest, dear.” Gaspard rested a too-soft hand on Frikka’s arm and gestured for him to join the Dette. With a soft whisper, the French dragon leaned in. “I’m well aware of his maladies. I’m working to heal them.”

“Oh, they’re very lovely Drakes. I do appreciate your kindness. They’re protecting me, truly. I’m not ready to try for a clutch again, not after…” Cairn cleared his throat as his eyes unfocused, and he turned his attention to Hallr and his book.

“So we’re clear. You’re not here to be bred and you’re here willingly and treated well?” Gaspard’s sweet tones didn’t draw Cairn’s gaze.

“Yes, I’m fine. They’re lovely Drakes, really.” He forced another tortured smile and Frikka’s eyes stung.

Colborn walked into the solarium as Frikka suddenly felt very small. Helpless. There was so much pain in the Dette. Flashes of Frikka’s second sight showed him horrors he never wanted to see. A den gone wrong. A clutch disputed. Three eggs that he’d been maimed protecting.

“Frikka?” Sten shook him by his arm, his tone worried and soft. A sweet-scented cloth covered his mouth and nose, snapping him from the vision.

Frikka fought the cloth away and too late realized it was Gaspard holding it to him, and it drew away bloody. Frikka sniffed and tasted copper on the back of his tongue.

“A vision? That’s old magic.” Gaspard stared him down.

“Frikka’s a volur and well trained by the gothar.” Sten took Gaspard’s cloth and handed it back to Frikka to stem the flow.

“Papa?” Hallr turned from his book and stared at him, blue eyes wide. Angelic curls framed his face, so pale and innocent.

“It is nothing, boy.” Frikka waved him off but turned to Gaspard. “You have my apologies. I will aid in the rebuilding of your stables. And your Dette? I will help you fix him. There is old magic.”

“Gaspard’s magic can work miracles, but Loki himself plays in Frikka’s.” Colborn stepped by and joined Cairn on a bench, sitting quietly before glancing down at Hallr’s book.

“You don’t have to do all this for me. You’ve been too generous as is for a Dette as unfortunate in appearance as I.” Cairn laughed, but the pain lingered still.

“We insist, Cairn. Let Gaspard dote on you. He so much loves to be around Dettes. And I appreciate it, too. He always comes back to the nest smelling like them.” Colborn flicked a brow toward Gaspard and earned a heated flush and flustered flutter of hands.

“Shh!” Gaspard cleared his throat.

Hallr looked up from the book, blinking at the Dette before turning his head. A wide grin spread across his face. “I think you’re a really pretty Dette. You have hair like wild tiger lilies, even have spots on your face like the inside of their petals.”

“They’re called freckles, Hallr. It is where the sun kisses him. It leaves marks.” Colborn laughed.

Cairn flushed deeply crimson.

“See! Just like a tiger lily! He gets redder.” Hallr abandoned his book and reached up to take Cairn’s hand. “When I get old, I want a tiger lily mate like you. Or I can be your mate!”

“Alright there, you little Casanova,” Colborn said, extending his foot to nudge at Hallr. “Take your book and go clean up the stables. Get some experience cleaning up after wild Dettes before you go chasing one.”

Cairn released Hallr. “I’m really not that pretty.”

“Yes, you are! You’re like a flower! Flowers are all pretty, see!” Hallr flipped to a page and pointed at the illustration. “And it’s not my book. It’s Lord Gaspard’s.”

“And it’s yours now. Go on.” Gaspard shooed Hallr off and he gathered the book to his chest and beamed before scampering away to go shovel ashes and prepare for work on Frikka’s mayhem.

Sten watched carefully and Frikka turned, making sure Hallr listened, his steps fading off and silencing before he went running through the backyard, a blond streak across the pasture toward the stables.

“That boy’s going to be mated before you two.” Gaspard laughed and stalked over to find a comfortable seat.

“Only a Dette too dumb to know his family’s history and as wild and foul as Frikka would mate that boy.” Colborn grinned, and it did Frikka’s heart good.

“I apologize. I made assumptions.” Frikka followed suit as Sten found a seat, finding purchase on the Drake’s lap. If anything, the brute made a comfortable chair.

Frikka held Gaspard’s handkerchief to his nose as a future flashed in his eyes of more pups than he could count, one with a king’s coat, and a tiger lily Dette with silver scales.