Falk Clan Tales - Chapter 58: Chapter 58

Castor did not know how long he traversed the skies after fleeing the Isle of Pain. The two Dragons who’d freed him had not followed, and that was good. He did not want to fight them.
Truth was, he did not know if he could fight, let alone win. His strength was waning as he flexed his wings, using the air currents to propel him farther towards the place his Dragon’s heart felt the call of his kin.
I am coming, brothers.
Hope was the only thing that kept him moving against the bleak night sky. It was dark and gray. The kind of sky that told of coming storms. How much longer would he have to go?
He wondered, but then finally, he felt the answer inside of him. It was in the sudden burning in his chest, over his rose. Yes, Castor was getting close.
Using his inherent magic and darkened scales to hide among the stars, Castor pushed himself harder. He flew and flew until suddenly he felt as if a magnet was pulling him towards the earth. Stronger than any force he had ever felt. His blood raced through his veins and his Dragon roared loudly, shooting flames into the heavens before he began his descent.
Castor had had very little time as a Dragon. Being chained had stunted his communion with his beast, and he did not quite yet understand what the creature was telling him. So many emotions roiled through him, they were hard to discern. He had no time to react or get used to the sudden zeal that swept through him.
The beast turned and nosedived, aiming for the water to cushion his fall. The eagerness of his Dragon was palpable, and though the beast seemed to know what it was doing, Castor doubted the rough water would be any more welcoming than the surface, which appeared sandy and strewn with rocks and shells. Figured his kin would reside near a seashore.
The air was bitter cold, but he hardly felt it compared to the freezing depths of the deep blue that engulfed his two ton form. Castor’s Dragon receded and scales turned to skin as he pushed up past the freezing depths to break the water’s surface.
When he finally rose to the top, he was exhausted and fully human. It was a mile to shore, and though the water was frigid and the waves plenty, he could manage it. He had to.
Finally, dragging himself out of the cold wet depths, Castor crawled, sucking in air as the water on his hair, brows, and eyelashes froze the second they came into contact with the wind. He stood up, gritting his teeth against the sharp pain in his limbs. Naked and barefoot, he crept along the rocks and sandy path. He had no idea where he was, but he knew he had to be close to finding his brothers. He still had hope. His Dragon had brought him here for that very reason.
Yet, there was no obvious sign of any Dragons. He closed his eyes to find that beacon that had led him there, but no more did he feel his brothers calling to him. There was something, though.
Indeed, Castor was sure of it. He felt something else, something sharp and hard. Like a hot knife slicing through skin, muscle, and marrow, hooking him deep inside and pulling him forward.
Bloody hell!
What was that pain? He was no stranger to physical hurt, but this was beyond that. Far worse than any of the petty tortures he had endured in his lifetime. In Castor’s mind, it could only mean one thing.
Nicholas and Devine, those two Dragons who’d freed him, were right. He was a demon, a ChangeDragon. And worse, he was dying. Why else would he suffer from this piercing, relentless pain?
Whatever had brought him crashing down from the skies, that same force was right then pulling him towards some sort of dwelling. The building was very unlike the castle that housed the dungeon he’d spent his entire life in. It was frightfully small, yet pleasant. A two-story structure with several glass windows that fascinated him, and white wood planks on the outside.
Not a castle. But a hut, perhaps? Would Dragons live in a hut?
Shivering, he continued to look as he slowly crept up the stairs to the back door. This was the moment he’d both longed for and dreaded. The few contents of his stomach threatened to make a reappearance with each step he took closer to the abode.
What did he expect from swallowing a few seagulls while in his Dragon form? The stringy tiny birds were hardly food, but it was just to keep up his strength. He hated the things. They’d often flown in his cell and shat upon the stone walls from the one rectangular hole in the walls.
Those foul fowl were infuriatingly scrawny, and he’d thought it fitting he swallowed down a few after all the shit he had to live with for centuries. Alas, he was mistaken. The gulls did not agree in the least with his digestive system. Dragon or human.
You’re wasting time, he thought to himself as his inner Dragon puffed out a smoke circle.
Castor shook his head. After centuries of his beast being bound and locked away from him, to have him suddenly inside his mind at all times was a little unnerving. Fantastic, to be certain, but it would take getting used to.
But time was the one thing he had in short supply. It made him unbearably sad to think how short lived his freedom would be. It was tragic. He was dying before he ever had the chance to really soar.
He growled, annoyed at his own weakness. Castor would not lament his own wasted life. There would be no point. After all, meeting his brothers and apologizing for their suffering, as his mother bade him before she’d been escorted to her death, was the least he could do for both his parents.
Perhaps it would bring some closure to his kin. And maybe, just maybe, he could taste happiness before he perished.
He approached the gleaming white door with caution. This was it. Terror and excitement welled inside of him. The first was a common enough feeling, but the latter, well, that was new.
Castor shivered, sending icy droplets of sea water dripping down his face. His breath came out in white puffs of vapor, and though temperatures were low, it was nowhere near the freezing of his old dungeon room.
Stop dawdling.
Castor cursed himself for his own hesitation. He squared his shoulders, trying to prepare himself for their hatred and rejection, things he was sure they would feel.
Of course, there was a tiny sliver of hope that his half-brothers would accept him. That they would rejoice in him finding them, however, short the reunion. But how likely was that, really?
Doubts assailed him, but he was no coward. Reaching out with a closed fist, Castor Falk braced himself for disappointment, and finally knocked on the small wooden door. It was the longest thirty seconds of his life, but he counted them away one by one.
“Coming!”
A voice cried, and his stomach did that thing again. Castor’s heart began pounding inside his chest. What was this? A female? Perhaps one of his brothers’ mates? Lucky Dragons!
He waited impatiently, with trepidation at the sudden dampening of his palms and racing of his pulse. Fuck! Whatever disease his being a ChangeDragon meant for his own life, it seemed to speed up.
Castor was going to die. There was no doubt about it. But maybe, if he were luckier than the past would have proved, fortune would smile on him this one time so that he may meet his end, knowing his brothers were well and happy with families of their own!
“Hello?” A voice like a siren’s song reached his starved ears like manna from the heavens.
“Oh my GAWD!”
That accent! Unlike any he had ever heard. Cute, though, but still a tad shrill when she screamed thusly.
“You’re naked!”
The female continued, her enormous brown eyes bulging as they traversed his male parts. And he understood why. His organ was suddenly pulsing. A feeling he had never felt.
Castor could not move an inch. Not even to cover himself. He was frozen to the spot. Aside from breathing, he remained a statue. He gawked at the dark, chestnut haired beauty, mouth open like a fish out of water.
Never in all his decades in the dungeons of the castle had he ever seen hide nor hair of the likes of her. He had seen women, yes. Dragomir did love showing off his prizes.
The son of a traitor to the throne was of much interest to his concubines over the years. But those painted women were hardhearted and cold like the man they gave their bodies to.
Not her. He thought, staring at the beautiful creature before him.
She was all things soft and round and perfect. Her full figure commanded his gaze, beckoned his fingers, and struck his heart like a blow from a hammer.
Bam!
A surge of energy struck him right in the gut. His very blood seemed to burn. And his skin, too. Castor growled as he felt his stomach churn and squeeze with electrifying heat.
What sorcery was this? What curse has struck me low?
The flesh under his wilting garnet rose, sizzled and burned like an iron fresh from the fire. The female gasped, her dark brown eyes went from shocked to concerned as he fell to his knees on the snow covered porch. Small hands reached out to touch him and the result was like lightning searing his skin.
“You’re freezing!” she shouted, yanking her hands back.
“Quick! Come inside. Hurry!”
The female was the most glorious thing Castor had ever seen. Emotions never felt before threatened to drown him. An inferno of desire, need, lust and something more raged inside.
Castor wanted to speak. To bid the fair lady not to trouble herself with the lowly likes of him, but he was actually struck dumb.
Speak? No. He could not utter a single word. He’d never had much physical contact in his life, especially not anything so kind as a caress or embrace. But that was what he wanted. With her. The feeling so strong he had to fight to keep himself from reaching out and pressing her flesh to his.
All of his blood seemed to be rushing and running through him like a raging river. He felt it all the way down to his balls. The two orbs squeezed and tightened, tucking against his body.
Was this it? Was this to be his end?
Maybe she was indeed an angel come down from the heavens to send him off to the unknown. Dragons had many gods, many stories of the afterlife and the Underworld. Even a lowly prisoner such as he heard the tales. Time and again, some servants managed to smuggle books to his cell.
Who knew which one was the right one? Maybe none. Maybe all.
Muscles twitching and shaking, he fought against the pain of death. For that was surely what this was. Castor had to fight it, just so he might speak to the fair creature. If his course had been correct, then he’d arrived at the home of the Falk brothers, and she was mated to one of them. A beauty such as she undoubtedly belonged to one of his kin.
He’d formerly thought them lucky Dragons, but now knew they were infinitely more than that. If she belonged to them, they were the luckiest damn creatures on the whole fucking planet.
He felt her hands wrap around his bicep and the sting was damn near unbearable. Heat threatened to consume him, and for a moment, he feared he would harm the fair creature.
Never.
His Dragon seemed to push the word inside his brain. Followed by another, something he did not quite comprehend. Not at first, anyway.
Es Meus.
The enormous beast inside of him growled the word in Dracan. Castor was not all that familiar with the ancient language. But it meant something, this phrase. Something profound.
He closed his eyes on the pain that followed. No! It couldn’t be. Castor could never be so low as to covet his brother’s wife. Whichever one of them she belonged to, he would do the honorable thing.
Castor would give the man his head on a silver platter for his own dishonorable thoughts. And what thoughts! It was worth it, just to think them.
His Dragon’s fire churned as passion flared for the beautiful creature. He imagined their naked bodies touching, writhing, joining. Visions of which he had never felt, only ever heard whispers of, flooded his brain.
Fuck, yes, please.
He’d had 500 years to wonder about sex, but he’d never felt anything like this. If this was desire, no wonder men died of it. And he too would die of it. Gladly.
“You have to help me, pal,” the angel grunted as she tried to pull him inside.
He saw her shivering in her thin night clothes and, as if to punish him for his carnal thoughts, Castor felt pain anew. It sprang upright between his legs. A tension so hard it made his staff rigid and his balls near to bursting apart.
Dying really sucked, he thought before he blacked out.