“Are…are you okay?” she asks hesitantly and—and I understand her! Her words make sense. I spoke her language in fury when I transformed. Human. The entirety of her words and meaning are clear to me.
I try to answer, but my lips do not move. My tongue remains stiff.
I try to speak again. Nothing. My frustration builds. I wait for her to do something more, to please my ears with the sound of her voice, but she does not.
She waits for my response.
Skies!
I am at her mercy, at the mercy of everything in this world. She could easily leave, or kill me—anything could happen at this point. I need her to survive. I have never needed another being after my mother and sire reared me. Part of me wants to lash out, to bellow at this sudden weakness.
Worse yet, her hands have not moved. The spots where they lie are now burning me with the contact. I want them to move, need them to move. It is agony, not being able to take what I want, to force her into action. I moan as compellment.
“Dragon man?” she says with frustrating hesitancy.
Dragon man? I scoff. So she knows of the dragon’s bane. She knows what she has turned me into. A small bit of anger needles me. But her voice is melodious and strong, and takes away my anger.
If this female can brave the wilds and survive, she must be strong. Why do I care what she calls me?
Her hands shift on my skin, and all other cares vanish. They move from my side to slide onto my belly, warm and curious. They do not linger but move up and over my chest, testing every inch of my exposed flesh. They press lightly into me as if they are exploring something new… or checking for wounds. As they move, I try to strain my muscles beneath them, testing them for the same reasons.
There is no pain. Not anymore. Not except for my throbbing shaft.
And like warm, soothing feathers, the female’s fingers continue up and down my arms, doing the same as they did with my chest. I learn my new form from her and find that I am fit and built. I also discover that not all of my scales are gone, as there are places her warmth fades and my body is rigid and not surrendering to her prodding.
My mind reels from sensation. The last creature to touch me did so in hopes to kill me. This is different, unexpected.
Even enjoyable.
The female’s hands are soft, yet wary, like she does not want to hurt me. They end up on my face, where they explore my features. Her fingers trace my jaw, my lips—which causes my shaft to twitch—and up my human nose. They whisper across my cheeks to trace around my eyes, but stop when they reach my brow.
My dark jewel.
I still have it?
Pride and relief infuse me. Dark dragons, since they are not born of natural elements, create a central piece to draw strength from. My jewel formed when I was a young dragonling, starving for darkness to nourish me.
The female examines it, making me shiver. Pleasure stokes my lust and my need to mate grows.
Then I see her.
Her form is blurred in the impermeable darkness my body has created. I can only make out some of her features, and my eyes trail across them as curiously as her hands on me.
She is dirty. There are smudges of dust from the cave-in all over her skin. I inhale again, searching for the scent of blood through the heady aroma of her natural scent, and find it. I do not like that I smell it, finding I am worried for her—and that perturbs me further. I should not care whether she is hurt or not, but I do.
My fingers shake. I care. A lot.
She is moving. She cannot be hurt that badly. The thought does not give me comfort.
I search her face and what I can see of her body, but I do not see the wound. Wherever it is, it is hidden from me. My eyes retreat to her face, and this time, I take the time to study it.
I have never been this close to a human before. In my prime, I saw them from afar, peering down at them from the skies. They ran and screamed as I burned down their villages. Despite my mischief, I have never been close enough to discern the delicacies of their features.
Though the darkness stole the human’s coloring, I can tell she has dark eyes and dark hair, which is long, straight, and pulled away from her face to hang in a messy cinch over her shoulder. Long enough that if it were not tied back, it would be flooding over me, tickling my skin. There are things in her hair as well—feathers perhaps? Or shells? I cannot be certain at my angle.
She is wearing coverings over her chest. Leather, I assume. Animal hide? But perhaps sewn grass. It reminds me how frail humans are and that I lack my own coverings.
There are bands on her arms and wrists, and what I suspect are weapons attached to her body. Beneath them, her body appears smooth and healthy.
Except for the blood I smell.
Her eyes stare aimlessly into the dark, and I enjoy the fact that she cannot see me studying her. But many of her features remain distorted despite my ability.
I discover something odd… I wish to see more.
I am forever bonded to this creature, I remind myself. Any intelligent being would be curious to know more, to learn who they are chained to.
The female’s fingers leave my jewel and discover my horns. Horns! I am also thrilled to have retained these. Horns that I will use to protect us.
My desire to take her
