The Demigod Proving (25 page)

“As I said, he’s your son. And he’s also my son.”

Wrend shook his head. “That makes absolutely no sense. Are you . . . quite well?”

“I’m not insane. I’m a draegon. And so are you.”

“That’s—“

“Impossible?” She placed her hands on her hips, and stepped closer to him—so near that she had to tilt her head up to look into his face. “Doesn’t Athanaric take wolfhound souls and place them into the bodies of humans, to make paladins?”

“They don’t have to eat. Their bodies fall apart after some time. It’s not the same.”

“But it’s similar. Seventeen years ago, Athanaric caught my mate—a draegon. You were born only a few days later.”

He shook his head and continued to look at her with disbelief. “You’re saying that Athanaric took the spirit of your draegon mate and placed it into my body?”

“Yes. You and I are mates.” Heat rose in her cheeks at the implication of being his mate. Humans, of course, hardly used that word, mate. They spoke of husbands, wives, lovers. “I resolved to reclaim you, and so went in search of a suitable human body. I found this.”

She ran her hands down her stomach and hips, hoping he would notice what little curves she had. He didn’t seem to, but stared with a blank, uncomprehending look.

“Even if it’s true, why are you telling me? I can’t do anything about it. Neither can you.”

Behind her, Krack huffed—laughed. The question jarred her resolve: Wrend didn’t understand. She’d anticipated that he might not believe her at first, but hadn’t thought he wouldn’t see the point of her telling him.

“I want you to come with me. We’ll find some gravid draegons, and have them place our spirits into those fetuses.”

He shook his head and took a step back. He rubbed his left wrist, which she noticed bore no bracer.

“No. I’m the Master’s son. I don’t believe anything you’ve said.”

She swallowed hard and moved toward him, taking each step with deliberate slowness to avoid scaring him off. How stupid of her to think that all it would take was her waltzing in, showing him a draegon, and asking him to join her. Perhaps she should have been more subtle, gone about it in a different way.

He didn’t back away, and she paused within arm’s reach. She licked her lips, resisting the urge to fling her arms around his neck and pull his face to hers. His mouth looked so sweet and soft. Surely it would fit hers perfectly, and would feel warm against her. Surely it would. Surely he would hold her close.

She marveled at the desire. How could it be so strong? Why did the human body do this to her?

He looked down into her eyes, his own expression distant. His lips parted just a bit.

Goat guts!

She gave up.

She stepped forward the rest of the way, reached up, and placed her hands over his cheeks and ears. She stood on the tips of her toes and brought his face down. As their lips met, she leaned her body into his, relishing the feel against her. She could smell his skin and taste honey on his lips.

For a moment, he responded. His lips transformed from soft and supple to hard and pressing. They tightened against hers with force, and in that instant she realized that she didn’t want to devour his lips.

She wanted him to devour her.

He pushed her away, and she stumbled back, falling to her rear with a cry. Krack growled, leapt to his feet, and lowered his head toward the two of them.

“No, Krack!” Leenda said.

But Krack didn’t stop. He moved far enough forward that his snout came within inches of Wrend’s face. Leenda looked up to see the bottom of his jaw and horns just above her. Wrend stood there, eyes wide and mouth practically a line of fear. Yet he made no sound, no move to protect himself—as if he’d decided not to let his fear rule him.

“Tell him I’m making him come with us,” Krack said. His breath rustled Wrend’s black hair.

“I’m not telling him that,” Leenda said.

“What did he say?” Wrend said. “Is he going to eat me?”

Krack huffed in amusement, and moved his muzzle even closer to Wrend—who still did not back down. Krack opened his great maw and a growl rumbled from his throat. Leenda couldn’t help feeling sorry for Wrend, because no doubt Krack’s breath reeked of spoiled meat. Not to mention that Wrend probably wondered if she’d brought him here to become her pet draegon’s snack.

And just maybe he would become one.

“Tell him I’m going to eat him.”

“Krack! Get back from him!”

She scrambled out from beneath Krack’s jaw, even as Krack obeyed. He backed away, lowered onto his haunches, sat up straight so that his forelegs dangled down his chest and belly, and lifted his head into the air.

“He’s not going to eat you,” she said. “I command him.”

“You don’t command me.”

Wrend, with his eyes wide, began to turn and creep away—although he kept his eyes on the draegon.

“Wrend, it’s fine,” Leenda a said. “Everything is under control. He won’t harm you.”

She motioned for Krack to move further back. The draegon retreated several steps and laid down by the time she reached the edge of the trees. Wrend still stood with his back toward her, looking over his shoulder.

“We won’t harm you,” she said. “I swear it.”

“Who are you?” he said.

“I’m Leenda. Please, come back and talk with us.”

He shook his head and looked past her, at Krack. Her plan had been a poor one. She hadn’t anticipated his fear or Krack’s aggressiveness. She also hadn’t thought she would want his kiss so badly.

“Stay away from me,” he said.

With a final look at her and his son, he ran off into the trees. In only a moment, he disappeared in the darkness. She considered going after him, but the thump of Krack dropping to his forelegs made her turn. With a snap, he flung his wings wide.

“Well, my work here is done,” he said. “I’m leaving.”

Chapter 30: Becoming a mother

If you do one thing right, you mother will expect you to do everything right.

-Krack

“You can’t leave,” Leenda said.

She held out a hand in a pitiful gesture; she might as well try to stop a river by extending her hand as stop a draegon. Yet she’d already lost Wrend tonight—at least temporarily—and she refused to lose her son as well.

He stepped close to her. With his wings spread wide, he concealed most of the sky, although some starlight filtered through the canvas wings, emphasizing the veins that branched throughout the wings in an organic latticework. His fur gave his body a blurry boundary. His eyes glinted with menace.

She almost shrunk away. No wonder humans feared draegons. No wonder the gods had driven them into obscurity.

“Why should I stay,” he said, “if you’re not going to let me help you?”

“Of course I want you to help me.”

“No you don’t. You stopped me from helping you. You told me to back down.”

“I didn’t want you to scare him. That didn’t help.”

He stared down at her for several seconds, his expression flat and unreadable in the darkness. Then he brought his face low, even with hers. His horns, which curved down from above and behind his eyes, to a point below his hairy chin, nearly touched the ground. His warm breath smelled of beef.

“Well, I’ve done what I agreed to do,” he said. “Why should I stay any longer?”

 
“Because your work isn’t done. Not until you’ve helped me reclaim your father.”

“I have no father. He was lost to me years ago—along with my mother.”

The words’ accuracy pained her. She didn’t know how to respond. Twenty years before she could have, but she’d spent too much time in a human body, thinking human thoughts, to know how to be a draegon mother anymore.

“Krack, you have to help me. We can’t leave your father behind.”

“He doesn’t even want to come with you. Why should we force him? He seems happy as a human.”

“He’s not happy as a human.”

She said it with certainty she didn’t feel. Wrend knew no difference between living as a human and a draegon; why would he choose to be a draegon again?

The question troubled her. From her perspective, the answer shone bright and clear—because draegons were inherently nobler and stronger than humans. But from his point of view, he would leave his entire life behind. Even if he came to admit that he had a draegon’s soul, why would he change? What advantage would he find in it? She didn’t know, but she needed to give him a reason. A compelling one.

“Oh, no,” Krack said in a sarcastic tone, with grunts and clipped-short growls. He tilted his head from side to side. “He’s fed all the food he wants and lives in comfortable surroundings, with servants to do his bidding and no enemies to fear. How could he be happy living like that?”

Leenda shook her head, trying to clear it of the doubts and fears Krack had planted. She couldn’t let this argument be about Wrend’s eventual willingness, or lack thereof, to become a draegon again. She would convince him. Somehow, eventually she would. Right now, she needed to talk her son into sticking around, so she could teach him how to become a proper draegon.

And that was exactly the opportunity she’d been presented with—to teach him how to be a draegon.

At her extended pause, he’d begun to turn away. But even if he’d become wild and untamed, he still had the soul of a draegon. He still bore the pride that all draegons possessed, and she could use it against him to help him become a better draegon.

Again, guilt became her best tool.

He'd turned enough that one wing hovered over her and his head faced away. She stopped him with her words.

“Krack. One draegon does not leave another in need. That’s the kind of thing a human would do, not a draegon.”

His long neck snaked around, and he tilted his head to one side. He considered her for several long moments.

“I wouldn’t know. The draegon who should have taught me abandoned me—left me with a tired old hag that didn’t care whether I came or went.”

Guilt, it seemed, was also his weapon of choice.

She pursed her lips and swallowed hard. Somewhere in his comments and in the logic of the conversation hid a way for her to convince him.

“You seem to regret my absence.”

He looked away. “I did, at one time.”

“But no longer?”

Her heart thundered at the prospect of him answering, especially as he remained silent for a long while, looking out over the desert. The starlight cast a slight glow over the sagebrush and grass, just enough to give the ground an uneven look. Krack shifted his paws in the dirt and his tail adjusted away from a bush; the noise of his movement seemed loud in the stillness.

“In the mountains,” he said. “There’s no one to talk with. No other draegons.”