Muddy
New beginnings are bullshit. I experience them. Outlive them. I taste joy then grief, before the cycle begins anew.
Sitting on the dusty floor of the landing dock leading to the mountain home where my brother, the last dragon king, and I live, I sift through the little box of treasures. Once buried, resurfaces again. I’m here in the dank cavern, outside the comfort of our modern home atop a mountain, because I can’t stand the sound of my brother’s lovemaking with his wolf mate.
I sift my fingers through the box. Through centuries of memories, both good and bad, and wonder for the thousandth time, why I lack the courage to take my own life. I’m melodramatic, I know, but cursed dragons can’t be anything but glum. Picking up a rotting picture frame, I regard the young man staring back at me in the black and white photograph. The same face stares back at me from more photos and mementos, all from differing timelines.
A moan echoes all the way from the interior of our majestic home. Unable to take it, I strip down and quickly change forms. I don’t begrudge my brother. Drakon deserves whatever happiness he receives, but I can’t quite quell my jealously. Besides, the entire place is stinking of holiday cheer.
Lorenzo, Drakon’s mate, likes putting up decorations. Dancing snowmen and flickering lights, hell, a damn tree is in the living room. I want to puke. Christmas is long over, but the decors are still there. Until Lorenzo, Drakon hated the holidays, like me. When you live as long as we do, time and the passing of the seasons become irrelevant.
I finish changing—bronze scales, foot-long canines and razor-edged claws, long spiky tail, and leathery membranous scales—that’s me. Muddy, in all my sad little glory. Unlike my silver-scaled brother with the model looks, I’m mediocre and ordinary.
Pumping my wings, I lift myself off the ground. Centuries ago, I made an effort to keep myself hidden. These days, with Drakon and me on peaceful terms with the local wolf pack in charge of the town of Puppyville, I don’t bother. I ascend higher, flapping my wings.
I enjoy the caress of the winds against my face and slight patter of snow on my muzzle, before I decide to dive downwards, and touchdown on a small clearing in the woods bordering the town. I shift back to human, hating myself for the torture I constantly inflict on myself.
“Fucked-up coward,” I hiss under my breath.
Under the roots of an old ash tree, I find the little black bag I keep there with my spare change of clothes. The bag and clothing remains dry despite the meters of snow. They had to be, because I paid a pretty fairy to work a dry spell on them. After donning my winter gear, I make my way to my favorite stalking spot. Dragons are cold-blooded creatures, but the clothes are necessary to blend into the human world.
It’s not far, only a couple of miles. Reaching the place, I climb the tree, my feet reaching the familiar boughs and groves. The cold and snow doesn’t matter, not to a determined stalker who’s perfected his art. Hoisted on a thick branch, I peer outwards, towards my unobstructed view of my target.
Rover Willis, the current pack Beta of the Puppyville Pack in his apartment complex. Seventh floor. Third window. He bears an uncanny resemblance to the young man in my trunk of junk. Same face, or at least the basics are there. Rover is roughly furnished, slightly more damaged than his previous reincarnations.
Leaning against the trunk, I watch the Beta dress, sad to see the solid expense of his muscled chest disappear under a plain black sweater. Those powerful legs in a pair of faded jeans. By now, I know every inch of Rover’s body. Can only see, but can never touch, no matter how much it hurts.
I know Rover in and out, but the kicker? He has no idea who I am. Rover thinks I’m an annoyance. A dragon who has nothing better to do than skulk around.
I’m aware it’s easy to hop down the tree, take the elevator to his unit, and knock on his door. Not hard to grab his shoulders and violently shake him, hoping he’d remember. Like Drakon keeps telling me, we’re fucking almighty dragon shifters, the last of our clan. We take whatever we want, and whoever we want. I can take Rover captive. Clap him in chains. I ask Drakon if he realizes we’re no longer in the Middle Ages, which cracks Lorenzo up.
I can take one wolf, but what use will that be? I can’t force a stranger to love me, much less let me into his life. Asking Rover out on a date only seems to baffle the wolf.
“Sorry, you’re not my type,” Rover told me the last time I summoned the courage to ask. His rejection is the final twist of the knife right over my battered heart. So here I am. World’s best stalker, up a tree during the freezing winter.
“I should stop this,” I mutter to myself.
Same old words I won’t heed. Rover goes through the same daily motions each day. I know his daily schedule. The stable of lovers he keeps, but never commits to. His favorite color. Food he’s allergic too.
Lorenzo keeps offering to set me up with one of his friends. Kind of him, but it’s not that simple. I date, unlikely as it sounds. I do random hook-ups with mortals, shifters, other funky flavors of supernatural folk. After the high wears off, I feel numb and hollowed out. Not worth the effort, because the greatest torture is knowing there’s something better out there. My soul mate.
I love. Lose. Suffer. Rinse and repeat.
Observing Rover, I can’t help but remember the past. Winter’s a beastly time of the year. Closing my eyes, I remember the harsh cold and the night a witch placed a whammy on Rover and me...well, not Rover, but his original copy.
* * * *
Centuries Ago
Muddy
Another arrow flies through the air, shredding more of the webbing of my left wing, but I ignore the pain. Unfurling my wings wider, I fly upwards, aiming for the blue sky, careful not to let go of the bundle carefully tucked between my claws. In wolf form, the male omega let out a weak whine. Nostrils flaring, filled with the omega wolfling’s blood, I flap harder, and continue to climb past the trees, the mountains.
Beneath me, the angry pack erupts into more snarls and threats. Another arrow rips through my wing, but the rest fall away. A dragon is a large predator, but on the ground we can be vulnerable. My brother Drakon warns me repeatedly not to entangle myself in the affairs of other animal groups. They are beneath us, Drakon says, the wolves and bears, birds of the air and creatures of the sea, but I think otherwise.
My soft heart will someday kill me, Drakon also says, and maybe that is true. I saw it for myself, the moment I touched down on a clearing in the forest beneath my brother and my mountain home. The moment I smelled fear and a cry for help, I couldn’t resist. Male omegas are rarities in any wolf pack, but this one did not consent to being a breeder.
I took him for my own, plain and simple. Because I can, and I know this little wolf won’t refuse his savior. I circle the sky, until I’m certain the pack retreats, and return to the cavern nestled between a trio of mountains. With my left wing not working well, I make a rough landing, careful to protect my prize. Drakon is there, waiting, like I knew he would be.
He calls me by the nickname our mother gave me, which roughly translates to ‘muddy’, for the color of my unremarkable scales. Seeing the wolf in my claws, he snarls. “What have you done?”
I debate whether to remain in dragon form, or turn back to human. In dragon form, I will have the advantage—unless Drakon shifts. So relenting, I turn back. Once I do, the omega werewolf follows, and a lean young man with unruly black hair and gray eyes looks back and forth between Drakon and I.
“What in hells bells is that creature?” Drakon thunders.
We dragons enjoy the favorite past time of taking captives from below, at least Drakon does. Usually, the damsel or young lord Drakon captures will end up swooning over him in no time. You see, my brother fits the bill of a dragon king, with his silver eyes and hair, and his startling features. They usually assume I’m Drakon’s manservant. Not this omega. He quickly darts to me, clinging to my leg, while he peers fearfully at Drakon, who snarls.
“Calm down, little omega. No harm will come to you, not when I’m here,” I say, looking Drakon in the eye, challenging him to say otherwise.
“We have a mutual agreement with the wolf pack residing in these woods. We can hunt in their lands freely, but taking what is theirs is not in the agreement,” Drakon says, jerking a finger to the omega, who huddles closer to me.
It doesn’t matter if the omega is using me as a shield, because it’s the first time any living thing chooses me over my perfect brother. It is a lonely existence, not even being close to second-best. Nothing about me stands out, except the fact I can turn into a dragon. If this omega needs my protection, so be it.
“I will take full responsibility for him, Drakon. He is mine.” My words echo in the cavern, full of resolve. They fill me with strange pride, knowledge someone actually needs me. I won’t go so far as to call it attraction, but it is enough.
Drakon makes a disgusted sound in his throat. “Suit yourself, but do not rely on me for help if your half-baked plan fails.” Without another word, Drakon edges to the entrance of the cavern. When he changes form, the motion is smooth like water—one moment a man, the next, a silver dragon. I look down at the omega. “What’s your name?”
“Brandon,” he whispers, looking up at me with awe. “Do you really mean what you say, my lord? Will you keep me?”
I flash him a wary smile. “I am no lord.”
He frowns. “You fly the skies.”
I offer him my hand. He stares at it for a moment, before allowing me to help him up. “Yes, I meant every word, if you will have me.”
He squeezes my fingers. The pressure and the look of pleasure on his face sends my heart fluttering with strange emotion, my body hot with need. Clearing my throat, I reach for one of the cloaks by the entrance to hide my raging erection from his sight. “Come, I am sure you are hungry and in need of clothes.”
I hear Brandon trailing after me, footsteps soft. After I heat us some hot drink and bread, Brandon tells me his story. How his werewolf parents sold him to the pack, after discovering he can carry pups in his belly, like a female omega. How he thought today was the day he might find the courage to finally end his life, when I arrived.
“I believe the gods do things for a reason,” Brandon says. Daringly, he reaches for my hand across the table, his cheeks slightly pink at the audacity. I blink, unable to remember someone holding my hands like this, much less touching me. I am no youth lacking in experience, but most of my supernatural lovers don’t elect to stay, finding more interesting mates than I.
“You do?” I ask, speechless.
“Yes.” Brandon says firmly. “My life is yours to keep now.”
“You do not know what you speak of,” I say, not meaning to sound harsh. I pull away, but he stubbornly holds on.
“You promised to make me yours, is that all boast, dragon?”
I snarl, temper flaring. “You will rue the day, omega, when you think I am a good match for you.”
Brandon smiles, his first real one for a long time I assume. “Prove it to me otherwise, dragon.”