Storm on the Horizon

Keshet was in a mood.

She had been for months now, though it had taken Jack until quite recently to realize it was new. The nest had been the final piece of the puzzle: her ever-accumulating pile of soft, warm, and decidedly stolen things that she fussed over at all hours and protected as if she already had eggs in it.

Keshet’s temperament tended to change as swift and sudden as the wind, but it had never before swung towards ‘broody.’

“I’m not broody,” she said and nipped at them where they were currently lying in the nest, a book in hand. Sometimes, that helped settle her, having them near. “I’m not even carrying eggs yet.”

“You could.” Jack had done their research as much as any rider could. What literature there was, they’d devoured. The libraries on Ere d’la Mer, the haphazard collection of books that fell out of the Chronoscape that had been taken in by the Naki, even searching for other riders to ask what they were supposed to do — Jack had been busy, when allowed, when they weren’t trying to mitigate the damage a single dragon could do to the estate or to Jack’s other dragons who were just as much inclined towards chaos as Keshet was.

Keshet huffed a heavy sigh, curving her neck over Jack’s back and tucking her head over their shoulder. “I could,” she agreed, but she was dissatisfied still.

Jack reached up, gently rubbing the base of the fin beneath her cheek. She leaned heavily into their touch with another huff.

“I want the right one,” she said. “I want a worthy mate.”

“You won’t find them here.” It wasn’t a slight to their other dragons but a statement of fact. If Keshet wanted to court one of Jack’s other dragons, she would have done so already.

“Come with me,” she said.

“Kesh,” Jack started. They didn’t really think Keshet needed their help when it came to the biological production of her eggs.

“No, no,” she growled, nipping again, irate. “I can do that on my own, thank you. But… you’re smart. You’ll tell me if I’m wrong.”

Jack didn’t know that they could override whatever instincts dragons had when it came to choosing a mate, but Keshet was their responsibility, their dragon, their friend. They weren’t going to say no.

———————————————————————————

“No.”

“Jack.”

“No,” they repeated with a faint laugh. “Are you watching what I’m watching?”

“Yes,” Keshet said, something sparking that had been missing from every other introduction they’d made, every sweep over another dragon’s territory until they’d come here.

It was terrible mayhem. A wildfire blazed through the forest as if it were the middle of a dry summer. The air was filled with the horrible sound of terrified animals, and sometimes, beneath the canopy, Jack could see them running for safety.

And if they could see it, so could Magpyr.

Magpyr swept down, all claws and teeth and merciless efficiency as they tore apart their latest victim, taking maybe a bite before letting loose a screeching roar that made Jack’s blood run cold and hopping into the air to chase whatever next victim Magpyr could bear down on.

Jack might not have cared, truth be told, if not for Keshet who wanted to to bare her throat for Magpyr, knowing that they would rip it out. She wanted to sharpen her teeth on Magpyr’s scales, to kick them with her hooves and feel the violent scrape of their claws. She wanted, dearly, to tumble through the sky, bloodied and entwined and parting as both victor and loser — equals in violence and madness.

And the worst thing was, that when Jack took a step back from their love and concern for Keshet and looked through a lens of cold practicality, they could see it. This was how Storm dragons were made. Tempests and tornadoes, blizzards and supercells — they began with a violent collision.

If Jack said no, Keshet would accept it. She would resent it, but she would understand their hesitation. They would go back to searching. Eventually, she would find another acceptable candidate, and likely one that wasn’t committing atrocities for fun.

But if Jack said no, they would be a hypocrite; this grotesque scene made them nostalgic for the kiss of a lover’s knife, deadly and intimate.

“Alright,” Jack said finally, heart pounding in their chest with exhilaration and fear. “But first, we’re going home, and we’re going to make a plan and a first-aid kit before you go anywhere near them.”

“I won’t need it,” Keshet said with confidence.

Jack dug their heel harshly into her side, forcibly jogging her out of the hormone and instinct-driven desire. “I wasn’t asking. You’re mine, and I’m yours, remember? I’m not letting you go anywhere I can’t follow.”