Opening his maw and roaring a seething blast of chartreuse-green poison.
Right at me.
2
FUCK
Idodge Mikkel’s opening blast of poison as he comes for me. His big, black drake is fast, but I’m faster; lithe and small, I’m a barbed dart of snarling ruthlessness as I rush through the air, on his ass inside the lightning-stone amphitheater.
Storm Dragons growl all around now as they watch our fast, furious fight. Even though Mikkel towers over me as we seethe through the air on black wings, we Blood Dragons are still much smaller than Storm Dragons; it impresses them we can fight so viciously despite our size.
And it means Mikkel and I have room to breathe in their massive amphitheater as we look for an opening; room to rush in, swipe at each other, and bite. That’s just what we’re doing, as we take each other’s measure like mean black cats.
Then truly hammer in—to fight.
Mikkel and I crash together in a tumble of wings and talons, snarling and ripping at each other now as we try to take out chunks of flesh. He scores me with a rake of his talons, but I get a massive bite on his chest before we break apart, hammering each other with our magic now, rather than our physical prowess.
He shoots a jet of vivid, chartreuse-green poison at me and I block it with the blackest wall of Bloodwind I’ve ever made. It’s more like a hurricane of Bloodwind, as it goes roaring around the space suddenly, thundering into the grandstands.
It’s only prevented from harming the Storm Dragons by a shimmering lightning-blitz barrier that spins it back. I’ve never made anything so ruthless before, however; shock fills me as I pause in midair, astonished.
But Mikkel takes the moment to rush in, hammering a volley of poisonous chartreuse-black Bloodspears at me with his tail, scoring a bright line of pain over my heart.
Even as I dart out of the way, I know he got me; I snarl as I resist the pain eating like fire-ants through my flesh and scales now.
Mikkel’s magic is like acid, blistering me; I know his intent wasn’t to kill, however, because it’s not gone deep. My own Bone Magic is already countering it, as I feel the pain subside. It wasn’t a volley to kill, only to test my mettle.
What it does, however, is piss me off.
I come for Mikkel in a torrent of Bloodwind now, life-mating be damned, as I put him on the defensive with my livid might. He throws up blistering black-green Bloodshields, turning my cyclones of Bloodwind back as I roar and whirl in, trying to get him.
I cast a hundred black Bloodspears at him now, hurling them like a porcupine, as I try to break his shields. He combusts his shield and makes it mushroom out around me, trying to close me in.
I roll and dive, evading him as I flip sideways and slam another volley of spears at him with my wings. He hammers them back at me with a fast swipe of his tail, cracking through the air like a whip.
All those spears shatter into the lighting-barriers protecting the grandstands, making them bulge and strain with a wallop of thunder now from our vicious power. Blood Dragons are the pinnacle of rage and wrath in a dragon; we’re the reason the termBerserkerwas coined, and it’s appropriate, when we fight.
Because more than any other dragon Lineage, we fight to the death. And even though Mikkel and I don’t want to kill each other today, things are heating up hard now between us as we rush, dive, and clash.
We’re roaring, livid with the wrath shared between our bond as we roll, swipe, and dodge, trying to get each other with physical talons and fangs again.
I feel how Mikkel thought he’d have this fight in the bag and how frustrated he is now that he just can’t best me. He thought he could conquer me, being a big, bad drake like he is.
But even though he’s killed I-don’t-know-how-many dragons over the years, I’ve been a career warrior my entire life. Trained in the King’s army, promoted to his personal Palace Guard, then furthering my career as the Guard Captain of the Red Letter Hotel Paris, I’ve got skills.
More skills than he does, as I pull a trick and whirl a concentrated strike of Bloodwind right at his furthest wingtips now, in just the way I know will ripple his wing-harmonics and destabilize his flying.
It does; with a surprised roar, Mikkel crashes down to the sand in a tangle of green-black scales and wings. I’m on him, smashing into him as I pin him on his back.
Digging my talons into his belly, and roaring like thunder into his face.
I’ve won. This wasn’t a fight to kill, only to prove who is master and who isn’t, in our Bloodbond. I’ve mastered him now, making Mikkel crash-land onto his back on the earth and pinning him belly-up.
Even as I sear a cyclone of Bloodwind all around us now, white sand whirling up into my oilslick-black madness, I seize Mikkel’s neck in my jaws. Digging in with my fangs, I draw blood, snarling and making my growl vibrate all down his spine as I show him who’s boss in our bond.
What I didn’t count on is how much me dominating him makes Mikkel heat, however. Wildfire fills his veins suddenly, as everything inside him roars up not to master me now with fighting.
But master me in a different way—with fucking.
