Her scent invades my nostrils again, and I hastily continue my ascent, finding a perch where I can keep an eye on her without being too close. The distance helps, but only slightly.
She still consumes my thoughts.
I try to focus on my surroundings, to lose myself in the familiar rhythms of the night, but my mind keeps drifting back to Kira, to the way she challenges me, provokes me, and draws me in.
Maj'Ra females are fierce and commanding, their presence demanding respect, and in some cases outright awe. Kira is different—smaller, more delicate, but with a similar strength of will.
She's a puzzle I can't solve. A challenge I can't resist.
Hours pass, and the night deepens. My thoughts are a tangled mess, a confusing blend of desire, curiosity, and uncertainty. The urge to be close to her, to protect her, to understand her, is overwhelming.
It's not natural, as any drak would tell me.
I know I need to tread carefully, to respect her boundaries and her strength. I can only hope I can navigate this new territory without doing something stupid.
Eventually, exhaustion sets in, and I find myself drifting into a low-level sleep, my senses still attuned to the sounds of the forest and the presence of the human below.
A prickling sensation jolts me awake.
It's not external, no danger lurking in the forest around us. It's internal, a burning ember deep within me that explodes into a roaring furnace the moment my eyes fly open. Desire—raw, primal, and utterly terrifying—slams into me with the force of a charging bull.
I let out a startled sound, a strangled mix of a growl and a choked gasp. The sound, ridiculous in its absurdity, earns a snort frombelow. I glance down to see Kira, still thankfully curled up in the makeshift shelter, but her eyes are narrowed in suspicion.
"What now, Drasuk?" she mutters, her voice laced with sleep and annoyance.
"Nothing," I grumble, forcing my gaze away from her. "Just... clearing my throat."
Clearing my throat. Right.
Because that's a perfectly normal drakonid activity in the dead of night.
I clench my hands, digging my claws into the rough bark of the branch beneath me. This is unsettling. I've never felt anything like this before, this all-consuming need that sweeps away rational thought.
It's exactly why our ancestors avoided the sorts of bonds manticorids and other species have.
Shame burns in my gut alongside the fire in my loins.
Hours crawl by, each minute an eternity. I spend them perched on the branch, a sentinel consumed by an internal battle. I focus on the forest floor below, the play of moonlight filtering through the leaves.
Finally, with a growl that rumbles deep within my chest, I can't take it anymore. I have to put more distance between us. With a burst of strength, I propel myself farther up the tree, the rough bark reassuring under my claws.
The higher I climb, the cooler the air becomes, carrying a faint scent of sand and something else. Freedom?
I reach a sturdy branch overlooking the vast expanse stretching before us. Below, the forest gives way to a seemingly endless sea of sand dunes, shimmering under the pale moonlight. It's a familiar sight, a stark contrast to the lush greenery surrounding us.
A pang of longing stabs at me, a yearning for the desolate beauty of my home world.
Taking a deep breath, I allow the cool desert breeze to wash over me, clearing my head somewhat. Scanning the horizon, I check for any signs of danger, a habit ingrained in me since I was a hatchling. Seeing nothing but the silent dunes, I turn my attention back to the forest below.
A sharp gasp rips through the night, shattering the fragile peace. My gaze snaps down to Kira's form. She's thrashing violently, her limbs flailing, a strangled cry escaping her lips. Fear, stark and raw, shoots through me. I look around for threats, but don't see any.
She's having a nightmare, I realize.
I recognize the signs all too well. Night terrors are a common affliction among younger draks, especially after witnessing the brutal battles between the various vicious species on my planet and the Maj'Ras.
Even for a species as combat-oriented as us, it still does damage.
It's a visceral experience, one that scars both body and mind. While the effects usually dull with age and are replaced with latent, controlled bloodlust, the vulnerability it exposes is one of the more constant brutalities we are forced to endure.
