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Only a Daga-Mórrk can wield dragonflame—one so bonded with their dragon they can harness its strength and fire. Though the connection is more myth than reality.
Many call that particular moon Hae’s Perch.
“I would cheer, but I’m certain you’ll do enough of that this slumber while you’re staring at your floor-length mirror, fisting your microcock.”
“There is no reality where I’d willingly fuck you.”
You sure bout that O_-
Perhaps because I’m used to doing this without an audience besides the Runi fixing me new. Without somebody else timing their breaths to my own, as though reminding me to breathe. Without somebody else tightening their grip on my hands every time I flinch, wiping the sweat from my brow, rubbing tracks across my blanched knuckles as if to calm my rioting heart.
He was smiling. He looked me right in the eye and said “thank you” in a voice so rough I think the words might’ve hurt coming out, and I’ve never felt happiness so fierce.
A speck of snow settles on the tip of my nose, and I look up, smiling, certain everybody else thinks I’m suffering from the brisk weather. But I wonder if our Water Goddess knows otherwise. If Rayne’s waving me off with frosty tears that actually bring me a sense of comfort—chilling the fire in my veins and the anger in my heart. There’s no point to it anyway. Not anymore.
“Kaan, no. I did not agree to this!” His body stiffens, steps slowing, a low, grating sound coming from him. “Say it again …” “What?” “My name, Moonbeam. Say it again.”
Rather than blow flames onto his body, Allume scooped him up, tilled her wings, then tipped her head to the sky and lifted off the ground with my brother clutched against her. She soared unsteadily toward the deep dark where her ancestors rest, then curled into a ball, tucked Haedeon beneath her gammy wing, and solidified before my eyes—giving herself to death rather than live an eternal life without the one we both loved so much.
“I’ve got my own fucking soap,” he growls,
a braided strap of leather bound around his neck, absorbing the intricate design—a Sabersythe and a Moonplume locked in an embrace.
“So she doesn’t know about—” “No,” I say, cutting Veya off.
There’s someone out there who needs her more than any of us do, and it’s not our fucking brother,” I growl, looking straight into Veya’s glazed eyes.
If she gets reunitged with her dragon i will bawl my eyes out
I haven’t slept in cycles. Not since before I woke to Raeve straddling me, one of Rygun’s scales poised at my throat, her eyes flared with the promise of a death I’d rather have at her hand than anyone else’s.
the one that allows Clode to slip through but prevents Rayne’s frosty, snow-falling sobs from penetrating my brain. Keeps her out.
“Because it hurts knowing she’s not whole,” he rasps, casting another sweep of sting across the backs of my eyes.
My brow furrows, stare pouring into that snug hollow, almost feeling its clefts and bulges nudged against my body. Cradling me.
“I think this beast cradled you for a hundred phases, breathing life back into your broken body until you both fell from the sky. I think you broke from Slátra’s tombstone like a hatching dragon—”
“Am I?” He arches over me like a rocky overhang, leveling me with a look that sucks all the oxygen from my lungs. “Because I knew a female who died. Tragically. Whose lifeless body was sailed into the sky by the adoring beast at your back with my torn-out heart in her fucking fist,” he rasps, lifting his hand into a claw that he shakes in my face. “Her name was Elluin, and she laughed with the wind, cried with the rain. She angered with fire and bellowed with the ground. Her heart thumped in synchrony with—”
“Who hurt you?”
“Chase death, Moonbeam. And I pray your bloodlust brings you the same sense of peace I feel just knowing you exist.”
I flash him a smile. “Dear brother, are you worried about me?” “Since the dae Pah shoved you in my arms—squirming, bloody, and screaming.”
“What do you want, Elluin?” “You.” I turn my head, open my eyes. Get lost in Kaan’s ember gaze as a smile fills my cheeks. “Forever.”
A silver Moonplume and a reddish-black Sabersythe bound together, their jagged and sweeping bits fitting against each other.
“If you want me”—he presses his mouth to my ear, nipping gently—“I’m fucking yours.”
He told me this place was his gift to me but that he didn’t have to come with it.
He’s fire and brimstone. I’m shattered ice. Our collision is steam and destruction, destined to dissipate, but I’ll gladly burn beneath him until the world comes crumbling down.
“Raeve, you could flay me down the middle and I’d still fucking love you.”
“If I’m losing you again, I need to know why,” he implores, his gravelly words shaped more like an apology than an admittance.
“So,” he says, and a chill scuttles up my spine as his upper lip peels back from his canines. “Would you like me to come around and bend you over the table?” He tips his head to the side. “Fuck you right here so we can get it over with? Or would you like to draw it out a bit?”
The only beam of light I’ll ever need or want in this world, my love for her sitting like a moon in my chest. Only this moon will never fall, no matter how hard she tugs on it.
Yet here I am again, standing stationary while Raeve dances around me with my soft heart in her fucking hands, dripping blood all over the floor. Here I am again, looking at her like she crafted the world with a few whispered words, every sweep of her eyes twisting that jagged weapon lodged in my chest. Only this time, I’m not blind or in denial.
“Your hands know me,” she whispers. “Yes,” I murmur against her hair. “Know you, crave you, worship you.”
