Claws and Kisses

A scream ripped through my lungs, piercing and jagged. Sweat beaded down my temple in rivers, dampening the back of my neck, my back. The fat, wooden stick tapped hard again, and the black-tipped bone dug even further into my hip. My throat grew swollen with the constant shrieking, but I couldn’t help it. All I could feel was the pain.

Hands held me fast to the bed, pressing me down every time I jerked up. It was too hot, too hot. The blankets and the pillows had long since been thrown onto the floor. Someone was trying to force a bottle between my lips, but I pushed the liquid away, wanting only to get up off the bench. The light of the sun had long died; now there was only the dim, hollow glow of the candlelight. There were too many faces swimming in my vision—I could not tell who was who.

A flash of agonized blue eyes flashed above me. Romeo. That one was Romeo. He was speaking but I couldn’t hear him over the screams. Why won’t the screaming stop?

The tap of the mallet came again and my back arched in a tormented spasm. I suddenly realized that I was the one screaming. Tears blocked the whole of my sight. I could only make out the watery figures standing above me, holding me down. I tried speaking to them, to ask the to stop, but my voice was garbled and lost in the haze of voices and faces that stemmed around me. I could only hear bits and pieces of their conversation, but the screams were still drowning everyone out.

. . . can’t get the damn drink down her throat.

Much longer, and she’s going to pass out—

If you don’t step the fuck back, I’m going to . . .

Hours upon hours went by. The screams never stopped. Every time I looked down at my drenched, aching body, the ink grew larger. A black monster was being etched into my skin, prick by prick. Dots would overcome my vision every once and awhile, and I would pray to the gods to just faint instead of having to bear the pain. The dots would come and go, but I never fainted.

There was a man beside me, always. He sat through the entire thing, never once leaving. I didn’t know how he stood the screeching or the taps, but he was always there. I did not like looking at him—he looked as if someone was marking him, too. There was this sickened, almost repulsed look on his face. And he was always watching.

Several times now he had jerked in his chair, looking as if he was about to grab the needle and mallet and throw it out the window. My heart would leap then, and I would almost smile . . . but then the man would punch the wall and sit down again.

Purple eyes, that man had. Such pretty purple eyes.

Avel.

There was a commotion by the door. I looked, and sobbed in relief when the tapping finally stopped. Romeo was gone, but Bear was there. She was whispering something rushed to me. I shook my head, not able to hear over the yelling. Through the tangle of bodies, I made out a tanned figure by the door with wild brown hair and green eyes. The same green eyes as mine. Rhett.

He was roaring at the crowd of people. Even though it was hard to see with the dying light of the candle, I was still able to lock eyes with him. When he saw me, he began to yell even louder. His eyes were furiously scanning the giant tattoo that now marked the left side of my body. I tried getting up to talk to him, but I was being pushed back down onto the bench again. Bear was there, still whispering nonsense to me.

There was a sudden, booming snarl. Everyone, for one blessed second, fell quiet. Through the haze of pain, I twisted to reach out for Avel, to ask him what was going on. Except that he was no longer there. When I looked back at Rhett, Avel was there. Talking. They argued for a minute or two before Avel finally snapped, and my brother gave up. With one last fleeting glance at me, he left the carriage and did not come out.

I almost mewled at the sight. Avel was soon back by my side, and Romeo began tapping at my skin again. The pain was too much the second time around, and eventually someone was able to get the foul-smelling drink down my throat. I fell asleep in seconds, all the while crying and screaming for all I was worth.

Two mornings later, I woke up. Back on the bench.

The blankets and the pillows had been arranged around my body again. A horrible, pounding ache was thrumming along the side of my body. I shifted on the bench, inhaling sharply when the discomfort spiked. Whimpering a bit, I tried getting up and off the stupid bench, but hands were once again pushing me back down.

“Peace, Wendy.” Avel’s deep grumble sounded from behind me, and I tried not to flinch as his arms carefully wound around my stomach, making sure not to bump into the healing mark.

The Dragon Lord had laid me between his legs, resting my head and torso on the wide expanse of his chest. The warmth radiating from his body was a pleasant thing, and I felt myself slightly relaxing into his embrace.

“Avel,” I rasped, my voice rough from the yelling. I did not know what I wanted to say to him. I only knew that I needed someone to hold me close and tell me everything was alright now.

Either he got the message in that soft, broken word, or he somehow knew what I was feeling, because in the next moment, he was sidling me closer and pressing his cheek into my hair. “I am so sorry, me luna et stellae.” In that moment, his voice almost sounded as tired and heartbroken as mine. “I never want to see you like that ever again.”

I sagged against his frame, too pained and exhausted to hold myself up. My eyes snagged on the tattoos snaking around his arms, and I touched them gingerly. “These markings,” I said, tracing the ink lightly, awe in my voice. “You had these when I first met you. When you were just a boy.”

From behind me, I felt Avel nod. “It is our culture. When Drachen boys reach the human equivalent age of ten years old, they must get their father’s mark. It is the same for females with their mates.”

My brows furrowed. “So, technically, I have your father’s Drachen tattoo on me?”

Avel smiled into my hair, shaking his head as he shifted the furs once more so they fully covered me. “No, when I left my father’s horde, I had to get a new mark to signify that I was either apart of a new horde or that I was a rogue.” He ran his thumb over one of the tattoos marring his forearm. “Since I started my own, I got to choose it.”

I shook my head once more, twisting around to face him. There were dark purple bags under his eyes and a few stray hairs out of place, but other than that he looked alright. Worn out and weary, but alright. My lips curved into a small half-smile at the sight.

Avel half-smiled back. “What are you so happy about?”

Shrugging, I turned away from him. My fingers began to trace the tattoos again. “Ten seems too young.”

Avel did not say anything, but only continued to twist the ends of my hair. I gently prodded the guazed left side of my body, wincing as I poked a sore spot. Gritting my teeth, I asked, “Why is this the first step of the mating ritual? I’m not going to lie, pal.” I prodded again, biting my tongue in the process. “I was kind of expecting flowers.”

“This is the first step of the mating ritual because—” He slapped my fingers away from the bandages, scowling. I smirked, cheeky until he unexpectedly pulled me back to his chest, wrapping his arms around me before I could make a getaway. I scowled up at him as he smirked, satisfied with himself. “It’s the first step because the tattoo is permanent. It’s supposed to be symbolic of a long-lasting relationship.”

I swallowed, suddenly a little stiff in his arms. I don’t think the whole ‘until the Blood Moon’ thing is what dragons would consider long-lasting. He saved me from having to answer, and continued to explain. “The pain too, is a big part of it. The male dragons want to know that their females are willing to move mountains to be with them. To withstand torment if it means being with the person they love.”

The carriage was starting to feel smaller and smaller. I made sure not to turn around and look at him as I sarcastically remarked, “That would have been good to know before the tattoo.”

There was a beat of silence. Then—Avel wrapped his fingers around my chin, gently pivoting my head so that I was forced to face him. His eyes were bright and starry as he stared down at me. “Would that have changed your answer?”

I blinked. “I think you know the answer to that.”

“Do I?” He leaned closer, his lips full and scandalously close to mine.

Licking my lips, I gave a little nod. “Yes, I . . . I think you do.”

“Mhmm,” he murmured. A second ticked by, and I felt him slide closer. I closed my eyes, and waited for the feel of his lips on mine. The heat coming from his body was almost enough to forget the soreness of my side. Another second, and—

And he leaned back, flicking my nose. “Good to know.” Patting my head, he got off the bench and reached for his cloak crumpled on the floor. “How bout some eggs, little tiger? You haven’t eaten in awhile. I’ll go see what Bruce is cooking out there.”

My brow scrunched as I watched him pace about the coach, picking up items on the floor and pocketing them. What the hell was that? I scrutinized him further, not quite believing that my supposed mate had just blue-balled me. Straightening on the bench, I boldly said, “Give me a moment to change, Avel. I’ll come with you.”

Without pause, he laughed, loud and hearty. The bastard fastened the cloak around his neck, his armor polished and impeccable in the candlelight. He did not even look at me as he said, “Not a chance, Wendy. You’re not moving from that bench until we arrive at Jara. Hell, even after that, you’ll still be bed-ridden. Do you want sausage too?”

Irritated, I pushed aside the silk sheets and embroidered pillows, prepared to leave one way or another. “If I want to bloody walk to Jara, then that is my prerogative. I will not follow the orders of an arrogant, blubbering, foolhardy, scoundrel of a man.”

“Dragon,” he called over his shoulder in correction, bending over to grab his helmet from the floor, not at all taking my words seriously. He pivoted to me, his nose scrunched up in an adorable manner. “And why would you want to walk to Jara? There would probably be a lot of wild animals and bugs . . .”

He cut himself off when he saw my glare. Instead of looking sorry, he only smiled in earnest and said, “Alright, I’ll let you come with me if you can walk to the door of the carriage. Fair enough?”

"Fine." Sticking my tongue out at him in a childish manner, I gripped the side of the cushioned bench and made to stand. Immediately, an agonizing, sharp-shooting pain wound up my side. I crumpled onto the bench with a gasp and a cry. From a few feet away, I heard Avel curse and rush to my side.

“Wendy,” he exclaimed, cupping my shoulder. “Are you alright?”

The pain quickly receded, and I was only left with my wounded pride. Scowling with all my might, I half-heartedly replied with, “Fuck you.”

Chuckling quietly, he kissed me on the forehead and made for the door. “I’ll be back soon with some breakfast and more medicine.” He had barely toed the threshold before he was pointing at me and threatening, “And do not try to get up again.”

Once he was gone, I let the scowl fade from my lips, and instead replaced it with a warm smile.

“As you wish,” I whispered.

Hey, folks!

We are officially back to our Saturday/Tuesdayish schedule. I had the day off so I sunk it into finishing this chapter and working on the outline of the book. Speaking of the book . . .

I have a question for you guys. Would you rather have Avel/Wendy's story as just one long, drawn out book? Or would you rather have the story divided into two or three books? It'll be the same story either way, but I am wondering if I should maybe end this story soon and continue Avel/Wendy's story on a second book. (NOTHING is final, I am legit just thinking about it). Thoughts?

In other news, thank you so much for all the get well comments on the last chapter! I am feeling much better, and am excited to do more writing.

Also, what did you guys think of this update? I do not know if any of you are familiar with the tattoo technique that Romeo was using on Wendy (lol Romeo knows how to tattoo. Who knew?) but it is actually a Polynesian way of tattooing. They take the Au, which is a stick made of bamboo with a comb at the end (usually composed of some kind of sharpened bone/tooth) and pierce the skin with ink by tapping the Au with a small mallet.

Polynesian tattoos are extremely painful to get, and the traditional tattoos can take hours to complete. That's why Wendy, who has never dealt with real physical pain before, reacted the way she did.

Alright, that's all for today folks. I hope you enjoyed the chapter and are ready for the coming adventures!

~Elaine

(P.S. Dragon funeral next chapter!!)