But femdragons nest with whoever mated with her last.
The call makes me achy and restless, but I force myself to settle again.
Another will respond.
If two alphas answer the call, then a battle is assured. Once we let a femdragon’s heat enter our nostrils, our shafts remain taut until our seed is gone—or death.Living endlessly hard is worse than death,my sire once warned. Still, I wait.
And not all winners mercifully kill their opponent.
If I were challenged…
The tendril of heat builds inside me.I will not be merciful.
And there are several tribes of humans nearby,I recall. Mating rage isn’t the only thing to worry about. Last time I rose, humans were little more than a distant nuisance. When I chose to sleep long ago, the humans’ numbers were dwindling enough that they no longer posed a threat to my kind.
I would not be surprised if they had long since passed from this land.
Sometime later, the mating call sounds again. Closer still. My shaft emerges, fully hard, and the heat it exhumes warms the mud and water around it. Seed leaks from my tip. If I raise my head out of the water now, smelling the femdragon’s pheromones is assured.
She nears.
I can feel her, combing my jungle, waiting for a worthy mate to respond. Others might have answered by now—maybe even tried to mount her—but only betas. She will not take one unless there is no other option.
Pheromones erupt from my body in answer. I sense another alpha dragon male stir, somewhere far off, beginning to respond as I have. There is an alpha water dragon to the north, and two other jungle dragons to the south and west.
The heat building inside urges my unrest. It flushes through my limbs, unstiffening them from their rest. My tail moves first, my legs second. Claws extending, they pierce the soft, moist ground below them, so deep they find the dry dirt beneath the mud. They push down into it, bracing for the movement of my body.
Every limb loosens, except for my shaft—which is hard and ready.
It takes time, and sensing the other alpha stir, I know he is going through the same process.
But the femdragon is in my territory. I will claim her before he rises.
Forcing the heat through the rest of my body, my urgency to breed rises dangerously despite the torturously long process.
6
A Fatal Touch
“Issa, relax,”I mumble under my breath. I’ve long since lost sight of the ocean, and the jungle river has narrowed into an ongoing, curvy waterway with webbed trees sprouting from the depths and small plants mask much of the shores on either side. The sun passed its zenith some time ago, and I can glimpse it through the tangle of tree branches above. Ropes of vines fall from high-up branches above.
Everything has darkened with an eerie verdant glow, with an occasional streak of gold sunlight piercing through. It’s stunning. The river water is murky with wild water plants and bright flowers that sway. Moss and large-leaf plants grow on every available surface.
Sounds have resumed.
Not the ones I’m used to, but those of countless critters far too small or far too unaware of large predators to worry. Fuzzy flies with large emerald-green wings, brightly-colored rainbow frogs, and the occasional snake.
I’m thankful that the crocodiles are hiding, that the howls of monkeys and grunts of apes are missing. Even so, relaxing is the last thing on my mind. I’ve hunted in the jungle many times before—never this deep though—and I know what to watch for and how to defend myself.
The risk is worth it.If Aida thinks it’s worth it, then it is. I trust her with my life—with Leith’s life. Our skills are matched. I’ve fought off serpents and swarming sharks. I’ve tested my strength against roaming, rabid jungle cats and long-legged raptors. I once saved Leith from a giant crab, three times my size, that decided to make its home on one of Shell Rock’s smaller isles.
The water stirs ahead of me and I slow my paddling. Bubbles ripple the surface, small in some areas but large in others. The raft drifts as I study them.
A potently rich, mossy, musky scent fills my nose—it’s unlike anything I’ve ever smelled before. I inhale, unable to get enough of it.
Rising slowly to my feet as I take the aroma in, I peer into the water, but it’s murky, eclipsed with more flowers than I’ve ever encountered. Far beyond, the river opens back up and the water is clear, but this section—with its deep shadows and heavy forecast of tree-limbs stretches for a time.
Foreboding clogs my throat and I look for a way around, finding none unless I anchor and leave the raft behind to continue on foot. That won’t do. It’s either take a chance paddling through it or turn around and go back.
