Page 9

9

Lyric

W e barely felt the omega’s weight on our back as he seated himself just a couple spines down from our collarbone. I realized his bare bottom now sat straddled against our scales with nothing else between us.

Lyrican responded to my thought with a shiver. His cock moved deep in its sheath.

I’d given Jinn two blankets to wrap around his shoulders and lap. When Lyrican flew, he moved fast, even when not racing. We might encounter winds. Even in summer, the skies could be cold.

Lyrican stood and stepped over the edge of the roost, wings unfurling. For a moment we swayed on the air currents as he assessed them. Then he was gliding in the familiar path he knew, between branches and trunks, until he got to a clearing and could aim for the sky.

We felt Jinn clinging to a spike. But otherwise, his weight was insignificant. It was no different than flying wild and alone straight up into the blue.

Lyrican made a circle, scanning every horizon for danger. When he was well assured we were alone, he began to fly toward home.

The power of him could not be described. I only experienced it from within. But for Jinn, sitting on our back, able to see Lyrican move, and feel the wind, it had to be overwhelming. Lyrican had two speeds. Gliding to get oriented, then power racing. Even hunting alone, or playing in the breeze, he used all his muscles to gain speed until the air was a howl in his ears. He was addicted to moving fast with an aim that couldn’t be disputed. He’d never had a crash. He could navigate himself through obstacles that automatically slowed other dragons.

I wondered if his aches and pains would show up as we started our journey. Deep inside, I noticed small stresses and pressures in his muscles and joints, but he was focused on one thing. Protecting the omega.

I had told Jinn it would be a two-hour journey home. But that was when I thought Jinnan might fly alongside Lyrican. Now, free to go fast, Lyrican would turn this trip into an hour at most.

I wished there was a way to communicate with Jinn and see how he was doing. I was nosy. I wanted to know everything about the omega. I wanted to care for his every wound. I had just as strong of a protective instinct as Lyrican.

I focused on the sensation of the spike where Jinn had his fingers wrapped. Spines were as strong as scales, with armored skin. I couldn’t really feel his hands the way I would if I were human and he had them wrapped around my wrists or shoulders, but the pressure let me know he was holding tight. Through that, I sensed his anxiety. And maybe a little thrill. Or perhaps that was wishful thinking on my part.

But who could ever ride the fastest dragon on record and not have the smallest bit of excitement? Even injured. Jinn was safe with us. This ride was his journey to healing and freedom.

We didn’t feel the cold. Mostly. But there were areas where we could sense it. Breathing it into our lungs. Feeling it against our eyelids. And the wind’s pitch whistling in our ears was always higher in a frosty climate.

I hoped two blankets were enough for Jinn. I didn’t want to deliver him to the hospital with frostbite.

Lower your altitude a little, I said into his mind.

Lyrican glided into a slow dive. The fingers around that one spike tightened.

Home.

I want to go home, too. But you know you’re headed for the hospital, right? I asked.

Take care of him better at home. Protect.

He needs to be seen by doctors and then give a statement about Coltan to the police so they can be on the lookout.

Then home?

If the hospital lets him go, it would be safer to take him home with us, yes.

His muscles flexed. His wings pumped. He navigated the currents and eddies to push himself even faster.

Suddenly, he let out a loud, siren cry. It was his alarm sound.

I looked through his eyes to try to make out what he was seeing. Ahead of us was a tiny black dot.

Another dragon?

The enemy, he replied.

Adrenaline pumped cold in our veins. Lyrican veered off toward the right as if to go around. The black dot veered, as well.

Lyrican howled another cry and turned again. Now we were going back the way we’d come. We went lower toward the treetops. The black dot was gone. For now.

Lyrican’s claws swept the canopy. He found a clearing and landed, then ran toward cover where there was space enough for his big body.

“I’m letting you know I’m fine!” came a shrill voice. “We’re hiding, right? You saw another dragon, right?”

Lyrican nodded his head.

Jinn’s tone lowered. “It’s all right. I know I’m safe with you.”

About ten minutes passed before we heard the thumping of wings followed by a frustrated squawk. A shadow passed over and over the lit stripes of the forest floor at least ten times before finally flying away.

“He’s lying in wait. We should stay,” Jinn whispered.

Lyrican didn’t budge. It was hard to count the minutes while existing deep inside Lyrican. Time to him was merely the passing of light to dark.

After we didn’t hear another sound for what might have been ten minutes or half an hour, Jinn whispered, “Let’s try. If he’s there, I know you can outfly him.”

Lyrican preened within at the compliment. He sauntered out into the clearing and ran a few steps to take off. Once in the air again, he remained graceful and focused. It was his element.

The sky was clear. From the look of the land, we were halfway home. He lowered his head and rocketed through the air.

A road appeared through the thick foliage. I wondered if anyone saw us what they would think. A dragon with a human on its back.

Usually, dragons flew all shifted together within their own flights with relatives and family members. In human form, only children rode on the backs of parents or older brothers with a proper seat and harness. It was done for games, not travel. Like a carnival ride.

Lyrican made a clicking sound I rarely heard. I knew it was a prelude. And I was right. Without warning, a fireball choked its way up his throat and out his mouth.

What was that for?

A warning. He’s behind us.

What? Coltan?

I can smell his putrid balls.

My own fear swam through our system, interfering with Lyrican’s instincts.

Stop. He’ll never catch us. But fear makes me stumble.

Sorry.

I trusted him completely. But the human part of me still reacted as a human.

A shrill roar echoed behind us, rising to a shriek. The eeriness of that sound made my emotions prickle.

Stop. I feel what you feel. He’s trying to scare us, but he can’t catch us.

I curled up and let Lyrican do what he did best. Race.

The shrieking kept up. Like the most horrible sound of anger and terror and pain. But as I tried not to interfere, as I let go and trusted, I realized the sound was growing softer. Coltan was getting further and further away.

I trusted and loved Lyrican. I was proud of everything we did together. But today was the day that I understood him on a deeper level. That of the heart. He had always loved racing, but I hadn’t been fair to him. He needed more. Now he raced for something he cared about. Someone. He wanted more reasons than gold medals to exist. He desired another. His other half. A mate.

I’d been too busy to consider loneliness and longing on his behalf. We’d become introverted by design, to get away from the world that always wanted something from us. We’d built the roost as a getaway, a haven.

But now I understood Lyrican’s deeper reasons for the roost. It had also been built as a place where he might someday bring a mate. The roost was his nest.

I sensed the fingers twined around the spike. The little naked buttocks against the scales along our spine.

While the enemy dragon’s cries faded away, Lyrican let out a sound of his own. A deep, contented purr.