Dragon's Pet

Minx

“Don’t you dare take off with my gold, Fire-Spitter, or I’ll report you!”

The Tempest trader is one of the bravest mortals I’ve ever met—I’m impressed.

However, despite it being a rare encounter with a mortal to actually not shit their pants around my type of breed in the Tempest Lands, I can’t believe my ill-fated luck.

I don’t have time to deal with a man eager to report me to anyone; I’m in trouble with too many people around here already.

I usually reserve my scare tactics for Dragons, mages, or pesky Blood Ravens, but now I have to treat the mortal before me to a little surprise, “I’ll come back and eat you before you report me to anyone, old man.”

I smile very slowly while my slightly longer fangs, even in human form, drip with venom.

“Good day to you—you pesky filth!” he yells out after me, and I know even in spite of the murmured insult at the end, he will allow me to escape.

I nod, smirking as I run down the cobbled street, already covered in pretty snowflakes as winter starts to settle in from the morbid and constant overcast skies above.

I hold the stolen bag of gold tight in my fist as I run with that dreaded feeling shooting up the back of my spine.

There are eyes on me.

Heading through the chilly street, I don’t feel the cold too badly. I might only be wearing black leather pants, a leather bra, and a furry hat made from a rabbit I slaughtered carefully myself, but I’m fine.

I now slow down as I head into a crowd of peasants who are busy leaving the weekly auctions from Town Hall.

In the Tempest Lands, even the mortals own other mortals as slaves—it’s not just the Tempest Dragon Breeds or mages.

I get lost in the crowd here, pickpocketing a few disgruntled, scared mortals, when they witness the Fire-Spitter tattoo on my chin.

At the edge of the crowd, I slyly make my way into an alleyway toward a side door that leads to a sauna.

I slip inside and nearly ram right into white-haired Lotus, my friend.

“Move, please.” I put my hand on his shoulder and push him aside as I hop by to the receptionist and throw the money bag at the owner.

“I’m not waiting, it’s my turn!” I flitter past annoying glaring mortals to run through the smooth-tiled corridors, until I find my favorite place.

I loved to bathe and the lakes in the Tempest Lands are no fun. They’re full of monsters much larger than me. I find an empty sauna and spa—a natural hot spring pool.

Dragons can mist from Dragon form to human form and vice versa, so I mist out of my clothes instead of tediously prying the pieces off.

As the material floats to the tiles, I solidify as my human form once again, dunk into the spa headfirst, and come up for air, laughing in relief.

“You’re crazy, as usual,” Lotus speaks from the doorway, looking at me with exasperation. “You overpaid the owner—again.”

“I like the spa, go away, girls only.” I shoo Lotus off with my hand, and he shrugs and turns to walk out, but not before he pauses and looks over his shoulder.

“What other girls, Minx? It’s just you.”

“Go. Away.” I shoo him off again, and the moment he leaves I sink into the hot water until it touches my chin.

I sigh and let some sense creep back into me.

I’m not truly as crazy as I used to be, I’m far more “normal” now.

However, the Tempest Lands are dangerous, and Fire-Spitters are appreciated for their bloodthirsty rages and unspeakable, illogical actions.

So I know how to act the part, but I am far more mellow now that I have come of age.

I just don’t like to show it—even to Lotus, my only friend.

He is a mortal hunter. He likes to kill rabbits and saw me feasting into one when I couldn’t find any other food out in the snowy forests.

He’s a couple of years older than me and mostly kind, but sort of lame.

I met him yesterday.

Yeah, I don’t really know how to make long-term friends.

But there’s a reason I can’t enjoy the company of others: I’m always on the run.

Those eyes I felt on me in the street I have felt on my body off and on for years now.

Occasionally I’ll catch a glimpse of either twin in the far distance. Rawk and Zoraul.

I shiver in disgust as I think of my mate’s names. They scare me—because of what they mean. Ownership.

I was once a pet to a princess Shadow Assassin. Amadahy was kind over the years but she still had ownership of me and referred to me as her pet.

I spent years thinking we were friends, and then I found out she only really kept me around for my Dragon Breed.

I am a Bellum Minima Dominus—a little warlord. I can command other Fire-Spitters into war. I was of use to Amadahy more than anything else.

I had a fight with her about it four years ago, when I was fourteen, and I left to go my own way.

I certainly was not afraid of my purpose, however, for if a war was needed, I would help lead.

But there was no war, and I just wanted freedom to find out who I am on my own. Unfortunately, when I met Lotus yesterday, I turned eighteen.

Eighteen is the age that my mates are going to claim me—they leave notes for me every now and then.

Now the Twin Leading Breeds, Rawk and Zoraul, could appear any second. But I’m not ready to submit to anyone… I don’t know if I’ll ever be.

I sit up in my private sauna and gaze at my reflection in the water. My green eyes complement my very dark violet hair, while my teeth are as white as ever—my fangs sharp.

I narrow my eyes at myself in the water. I have no idea if I’m attractive or not.

I mean, my breasts have grown out minimally and I’m not sure I have curves—but that’s another thing to do with my breed.

I’m as small as my tiny purple Dragon when I shift.

My mates, however, have a ridiculously terrifying heritage. Rawk and Zoraul aren’t just Silver Breeds.

They are the only sons of the Legendary Shadow in the Sky, Storm, a seven-hundred-year-old Dragon Legend.

I had one encounter with my mates four years ago, when I met them surrounded by other friends.

I was made fun of for having a tantrum. I ended up running off screaming into the forest after I was told Rawk and Zoraul were my mates.

Back then, Rawk and Zoraul tracked me down. The memory is still so vivid for me.

I hide under a fern, crying into my trembling hands, face down into the dirt as I hear footsteps slowing and getting closer.

I’ve run so far, I am too exhausted to even mist to my Dragon form. Instead, I huddle—scared, crying, and terrified.

”Little Fire-Spitter,” Rawk says, sounding on edge and irritated, but he tries to be kind. “Stop crying?”

While he does not touch me, Zoraul leans forward and reaches out to me. I look up and snap at him, a feral little monster at fourteen.

”Don’t touch me, Tempest scum!” I scream at both of them. I’m surprised when they back off, sharing concerned looks.

”Calm down and trust in us, little Minx,” Zoraul suggests. “Let’s walk you back.” He squats and holds out a hand. “Come on…”

I eventually whimper and reach out in defeat.

The rest is hazy because they then betrayed my young trust.

Zoraul held me and lied to me as Rawk pressed a handful of his fire to my lower back. It was painless but it forever left a mark of ownership to ward off other Dragons.

They claimed me early on for such a purpose. I pulled from their grasp and ran off once again.

That’s the last physical encounter I’ve had with my lying mates.

I frown at my reflection, thinking of the notes they sent afterward—threatening to reel me in the moment I am old enough to claim.

However, I am adamant that I am not a pet and I will never be one. Ever.

“Hey…Minxy?” Lotus pops back up in the open doorway, holding a bag of chocolates. “Compliments from the owner for your extra gold…”

“Oh, my Sky Gods, is that really chocolate?” I whisper in delight—but I gasp as Lotus looks to suddenly be in pain.

He dramatically drops the bag, and it hits the floor as blood appears to drip from his stomach—a mysterious hole has also suddenly appeared through his tunic.

As Lotus lies in a moaning heap, a mirage has entered the private room.

A sword solidifies and the mirage holding it steps silently to the left…as another mirage appears to the right.

I blink and the two mirages become my worst nightmares.

My mates.

I’m shocked that they look completely different—older, taller, and more fearsome.

Zoraul is holding the sword, and he’s wearing brown leather pants with his long mane of bright silver hair wisping behind him.

A black scar runs across his entire chest and shoulder.

The right mirage slowly solidifies into giant Rawk, who has burnt silver hair, just as long as Zoraul but even more untamed.

He’s wearing gray leather pants and has a smaller jagged black scar, but it lies across his face.

They both share the same intense gold eyes.

As I’m simply taking in their sheer size, the unexpected happens.

Zoraul turns to Rawk in surprise as Rawk also turns to Zoraul with an equal reaction of disbelief.

“Leave,” Zoraul drawls, “you’re not needed. Go back to your Horde, brother.”

My mouth opens and closes as I hear the hate in his voice with that once beloved term.

Rawk laughs loudly, turning to his brother while whipping out two short swords from the straps across his back.

“Zoraul, you know because I am the very spitting image of the legendary Storm, it’s the very reason I will always be the Lord. People fear me…with good reason. Now, step out and there will be no need for blood.”

“Perhaps you should put your toothpicks away before you embarrass yourself in front of our mate, brother.” Zoraul rolls his eyes, adding calmly, “You do not belong here.”

“How appropriate, I was about to say exactly the same thing to you…since you’re just a coward who doesn’t deserve a mate to breed with,” Rawk snarls, clearly referring to a past issue between them.

Zoraul cracks after appearing hardly fazed the whole time.

I slip out of the water as they clash together, fighting one another. Zoraul swings first, Rawk defends then lunges while Zoraul dodges.

While they are in the throes of passionate hate, I get dressed and I back up toward a second door on my end of the sauna and spa room.

I watch as each brother twirls and strikes and defends, equally as tough as the other.

I wish I could stay longer to gaze at their monstrous-sized bodies—and their graceful fighting, which is…admittedly…very attractive, at least to someone like me.

I try not to think about my reaction too much in regard to the way they fight.

And so I leave, with new, profound knowledge in hand: that Rawk and Zoraul are no longer friends or close twins.

They are rivals.