Fancy Rained Like Grace; Chapter Two
Title: Fancy Rained Like Grace; Chapter Two
Pairings: Jensen/Jared, Drew Nelson/Sandy McCoy, Misha Collins/Rachel Miner
Word Count: 3436
Rating: PG-13, eventual NC-17
Warnings: implied mpreg/fempreg, passing mention of off-screen death, see masterpost for complete list thus far
Author’s Note: This is almost entirely lexicale and insertcode11’s fault. Blame them for everything. A fill for this prompt on spn_hardcore
Summary: Orphaned as a child and heatless, therefore mateless, at twenty-seven, Jared has spent most of his life feeling unloved and unwanted. Jensen is the Dominus of the Ramiel Flight, strong, courageous and everything anyone could want in a mate, everything that Jared was sure he’d never have or deserve. Jensen is hell-bent on proving him wrong. But nothing is ever easy when love is involved.
Masterpost
Chapter One
The first traces of heat blanketed over Jensen’s flight in a gentle, cresting wave. He was out on patrol, circling high above the peaks of the Rockies, double-checking that the people camping at the mountains’ base were keeping their distance so close to Beltane, when he sensed its oncoming.
It was gentle, a sweet perfume that curled around Jensen in a warm, familiar way, similar to the way the last wisps of smoke from the flight’s fires curled around him, and he could already see the others in his wing flying closer to the mountains. The ones that weren’t going off to the grounds would need to take their posts around the main house, protecting the does, the juveniles and the hatchlings left behind during the heat.
But Jensen wouldn’t be with them. Not this year.
Excitement surged beneath his skin, from the edges of his wings to the tip of his tail. He had waited for fifteen years for this, longer, nearly from the moment he’d seen the doe he would choose to be his mate.
It had been his last year as a calf. At sixteen, he had been biting at the bit to be a soldier in the Ramiel’s wing. Determined not to allow arrogance to be his downfall, Jensen spent the vast majority of his time with other prospective members, attempting to ready himself for the actual training the wing would put him through when he came of age.
The Ramiel Flight was the largest of the five flights that the Elders presided over. As such, they absorbed most of the orphaned dragons that the smaller flights couldn’t take care of for one reason or another.
A new group of orphans had been brought into the flight recently. It hadn’t really mattered to Jensen at the time; not much had registered on his radar other than his drive to be a soldier. It wasn’t that he didn’t care necessarily, just that he didn’t have the time to.
But the Dominus back then had always insisted the orphans be welcomed by everyone in the flight. “They’ve lost enough,” she used to say. “It’s time they gained something.”
So Jensen’s father had dragged him to the main house to meet the new additions that a sudden hail storm in the Arael Flight’s domain had left orphaned and in the Ramiel’s care.
Honestly, just the fact that these three were Arael should have caught Jensen’s attention, made him realize that this day was important, different from all the other times they’d accepted orphans into their flight.
The Arael Flight was the smallest of the five flights, but they were also the oldest and the most reclusive. Legend had it that the Arael were once the fire-breathers of lore, casting the small flight with a certain reverence that the other flights lacked.
They tended to keep to themselves for the most part, never transferring to other flights, rarely even visiting, so this little group of orphans coming to the Ramiel was special simply because many of the Ramiel had ever seen one of the Arael.
But Jensen was too caught up in his own wants back then, too focused and sure of his goals, and only his father’s insistence that they meet these new dragons brought Jensen face to face with the doe he was determined to claim as his own.
There were three orphans in total, two young calves and an older fawn. The calves were so young, more like hatchlings, really, and Jensen had found himself wondering if they would survive the loss of their mother. The older, widowed does that looked after the orphans in the main house cared deeply for the hatchlings and juveniles left in their capable paws, but there was only so much they could do. The breaking of the bond a mother and hatchling had was a terrible thing, something to be mourned just as much as the mother’s death. Without that bond, a hatchling could easily die, the life fading away from it slowly until there just wasn’t any life left.
But the fawn, no more than eleven or twelve himself, seemed to be caring for the other two, gathering them protectively to his chest. The fawn was too thin and too pale to be in good health, and he watched the adults cautiously, like he was about two minutes from bolting if someone so much as made a loud noise. Many of the adults were talking amongst themselves, too busy catching up with one another on the rare occurrence that the entire flight was in one place to notice the three little orphans that the gathering was intended to be about. The only reason Jensen even knew which of the many juveniles scampering around the main house were the orphans was because his father had pointed them out to him.
But this fawn was fully aware of each and every one of the dragons around him. His wide eyes yelled, Outsiders; his stiff stance screamed, Danger.
One of the calves suddenly mewled in the fawn’s arms. It was enough to catch the adults’ attention, and they turned toward the orphans, closing in on them quickly in an attempt to soothe the calf.
Jensen saw the instant panic flash across the fawn’s face. He backed up fast, his shoulders hitting the wall with a dull thump, then shifted quickly, his pale skin giving way to brilliant golden scales, the robe he’d been wearing nearly ripping in half as his body grew and took on a different shape. He hissed loudly, wings splayed to make himself appear larger, and the adults took tentative steps back. The fawn might have been young, but he could still have done some damage, even to an adult.
“This is not how we act in front of guests,” one of the house’s caretakers reprimanded, taking a step forward. He hissed at her again, wordlessly, and she huffed. “Well, I never. What’s the matter with you?”
The fawn drew back, hackles rising as he gathered the calves so that they were placed protectively under the cage of his legs and belly.
Jensen was moving before the thought to move even registered, and he stood between the doe and the fawn, arms spread wide.
“Stop,” and all eyes were immediately on him. He just stared steadily at the doe he faced. “You’re going to get attacked if you keep crowding him. Leave. Go outside or something, I don’t know. But you’ve got to give him some air.”
The doe blinked at him in surprise before glancing over Jensen’s shoulder, over at Jared. Her face softened, and she nodded, turning toward the other dragons.
“Let’s go outside for a little while, everyone. It’s such a nice day, it’d be a shame to waste it,” she told them, ushering everyone else toward the door.
There was a brief moment of confusion before everyone began to mill outside. It wasn’t until the last dragon was gone that Jensen finally took a deep breath and returned his attention to the fawn and his apparently adopted calves.
“It’s okay,” he said softly. “I’m not going to hurt you. Or the calves. I’m sorry we scared you. We’re all just kind of excited that you and the other two are here now. Really. We’re not a bad flight, I promise.” When the fawn didn’t say anything, Jensen tried for a smile. “I’m Jensen.”
The fawn stared at him for a long time, still hunched over the calves, who were trembling beneath him. Finally, when he was apparently satisfied that Jensen wasn’t going to do anything to hurt his charges, he relaxed a little.
“Jared.”
One of the calves made a quiet humming noise.
“It’s okay, little one. I’m here,” Jared murmured as he lowered his head to the calf, nuzzling him gently.
Jensen had found himself smiling as Jared comforted the calves. The other calf, the one who had remained quiet, tumbled out from beneath Jared, toddling over to Jensen. Jensen knelt, reaching his hand out and letting her sniff his hand before rubbing behind her ear. The entire time, Jared watched him with steady, guarded eyes.
“You’re going to be a great mother one day, you know?”
“You think so?” Jared ducked his head bashfully, lowering his bright hazel eyes.
The little calf Jensen had been paying attention to pushed herself against his hand, purring, and he gently picked her up, rubbing beneath her chin.
“Looks like you’re a pretty great mother now.”
Jared peered up at him, his brow pinching in confusion. Slowly, he said, “They don’t have anyone else.”
And that was when Jensen had known.
Jared was a force in and of himself that day, fierce, ready to take on anyone that he perceived as a threat to the calves, even an entire room full of adults. And all of that for the simple fact that he saw a juvenile with a need and no one that seemed to be filling it. He’d displayed bravery, nobility, honor.
A true Arael dragon, deserving of all the dignity and reverence that came with the title.
Jensen had realized then that he would have to wait a while. Jared was several years younger than he was, after all, but Jensen had been more than willing to wait for him. He’d been sure then that he’d never find another doe like Jared would grow to become, and he was just as sure now as he was back then.
Even when Jared’s heat hadn’t come as scheduled, Jensen had been prepared to wait. It wasn’t totally unheard of for a doe to been one or two years behind the others. Nature was more flexible than that. But then Jared had been five years behind. Then six. Then seven. Eight. Nine.
And Jensen had suddenly been mateless for fourteen years as he waited for Jared.
He didn’t spend his time pining, though. While Jensen waited, he occupied himself with achieving his goals, with joining the Ramiel’s wing, rising in rank until he was the reigning Dominus’s second. Then, when the Dominus passed unexpectedly in her fifty-first year, the Elders chose Jensen as her replacement.
But as Jensen’s fourteenth year of sensing the heat from the other does came and went, it was hard not to become discouraged. Jared hadn’t gone into heat again, and Jensen was forced to wonder if he ever would.
Without the heat, Jared would never be able to take a mate. He was still technically a fawn without it, considered unsuitable to be mated. Jensen understood the good intentions behind the law that the Elders had laid out, but Jared was an obvious exception to it.
Even within his own wing, though, Jensen found resistance when he posed the idea to bring the issue to the Elders. If the dragons closest to him couldn’t be persuaded, there wasn’t a hope that the Elders would be, and as Dominus, he was considered a hand of the Elders and could not go against their word without fear of losing his position both as a leader and as a member of the Ramiel Flight.
Jensen was stuck in what felt like a hopeless situation.
The wing knew that Jensen intended to win Jared; he’d made sure of that to ward off any other potentially interested drakes. His soldiers encouraged him to take a different mate, saying it was obvious that he was missing balance in his life, someone to care for him just as he cared for the entire flight. They told him to look for someone else, that there were plenty of wonderful does among the Ramiel.
Jensen knew for a fact there were some amazing does in his flight, and he was sure that any one of them would do their best to make him happy. It was just that none of them would ever compare to Jared. They weren’t as brave, as courageous or noble. They just weren’t Jared, and Jensen couldn’t in good conscience settle for someone else knowing that no other doe could live up to that.
Besides, Jensen never did anything halfway.
A week or so before this Beltane, Chris, one of the soldiers in his wing, approached him while he was on patrol, grinning. “You’re never going to believe it.”
And he hadn’t. Jensen had had to go to the river, where Jared was busy breaking up a fight between two juveniles, to smell it himself before he actually believed.
There it was though. The first tiny wafts of a doe’s first heat, beckoning the drakes to be prepared for a new doe coming into season. It was a message to the drakes, subtle and sweet, but so slight that the other does, even Jared, wouldn’t sense it until Beltane itself.
Jensen had wanted to seize Jared up right then, take him to the breeding grounds or, hell, even just to Jensen’s home, but it wouldn’t have been a proper mating, not before Beltane officially proclaimed Jared’s heat. After fifteen years of waiting, Jensen was going to do this properly.
Finally, though, Beltane had arrived.
Jensen lighted near the main house, drawing his large wings in just as the tips of his toes touch ground and rolling smoothly onto the balls of his feet.
“Show off,” one of the wing called.
He looked up at the shadowed form circling above him just before the dragon landed at his side.
“Jealousy is unbecoming, Misha.”
Jensen's fellow drake shrugged, the corner of his mouth curling.
“People only show off when they feel like they’ve got something to prove. Why be jealous?” Misha bumped his shoulder good-naturedly, ducking away when Jensen raised a front paw to swipe at him. “So. Big day, huh?”
“It’s Beltane, Misha,” Jensen said, offering a bland look.
“You know what I meant.” Misha shook his head, grinning. "I just can’t believe you’re finally going to take the plunge. Don’t you want to hang around with the poor dragons left behind again? For old time’s sake?”
"Lonely, Misha?” Jensen smirked mischievously. “I’m sure you’ll be fine without me. Besides, aren’t you and Rachel ready for another round yet?”
Misha snorted.
"Seven is quite enough, thanks. Maybe when they’ve gone off on their own,” he conceded at the skeptical glance Jensen tossed at him. “But that’s a few years off yet.”
Jensen highly doubted it. Misha had been pining for that new hatchling scent almost from the moment his and his mate Rachel’s first clutch was able to leave the nest. They were probably going to end up with too many kids to count, certainly too many to keep up with. Despite Misha’s protests to the contrary, Jensen knew that nothing would make him happier.
The other dragons on patrol gathered near the front of the main house, shuffling a little uncomfortably. Every instinct the drakes had was beginning to usher them to the does, telling the drakes to watch over them and love them in their most vulnerable time. It was what the drakes been trained to do, what they were taught was their duty since before they could even fly.
But instead of following those feelings of protection and duty, they were stuck amongst a group mostly composed of other drakes that didn’t need them. Meanwhile, mere feet away were many of the does that did need them, still fast asleep before the fires of Bel began to wake them.
As Jensen approached, a hush settled over the excited dragons, and they turned toward him, offering their full attention. Misha remained at his side as his second, but even he lowered his head in difference.
“Wing,” Jensen greeted them, keeping the speech short for all of their sanity’s sakes, “the fires are upon us. Those that will fly to the breeding grounds are dismissed from their duties until their return. Those that will stay are to remain here, surrounding the main house. Guard it as fiercely as you would your own wings.”
“Dominus,” one of the dragons interrupted, and his entire wing’s attention shifted from him and into the distance behind him.
Little irritated Jensen more than being interrupted, and he turned to face the offender, frown deepening when he realized who exactly was approaching the flight’s grounds.
Chad was flying their way, his large wings cutting as quickly and easily through the air as a knife through butter. There was a reason he was the Elders’ glorified little messenger boy, after all.
He landed upon the mountain easily, his wings giving a pompous little flutter before he tucked them against his back.
“Hello, Jensen.”
“Chad, please keep your voice down. Many of our young are still asleep, and they’ll need their rest for the day ahead." Jensen smiled, but it was far from warm. "Good of you to grace us with your presence, though. And on Beltane, too.”
Chad took a deep, long breath, and Jensen had to bite his tongue to keep from growling at how obscene the drake was being. He was certainly lucky that most of the does were still fast asleep all around them and hadn’t had to bear witness to that particular gesture, messenger of the Elders of no. “And what a wonderful Beltane it’s promising to be, too. Greetings from the Elders, Jensen.”
“Messenger,” Misha said, his own voice just above a snarl, “make this quick. My Dominus may have patience for your crudeness, but I certainly do not.”
Chad wrinkled his nose at that. “Call off your dog, Jensen.”
Jensen raised a paw, silencing Misha before he could say something he, or even the entire flight, might live to regret. Misha was a good drake, a competent second, but his temper would one day be the death of him.
“I’d appreciate it if you could refrain from insulting my does and my wing. You’ll find quickly that it’s not a good combination. What can I do for you, Chad?”
Chad gave him an indignant look but finally said, “The Elders have extended a summons for you. They request your presence in their domain immediately.”
Jensen frowned. Being called to the Elders wasn’t an uncommon occurrence for him, but to have it happen on Beltane of all days certainly was.
“May I ask what for?”
Chad shrugged.
“Hell if I know. They told me to summon you, so I did.” Chad threw open his wings with a flourish, apparently finding his duties fulfilled. “Might want to get a new leash for that dog of yours, Jensen. He seems to get a little cranky with all these lovely scents floating around.”
Jensen just sighed heavily, glad to be rid of such a nuisance as Chad threw himself back into the air. He wondered if it would be too out of order to mention Chad’s vulgar behavior to the Elders, since he’d be meeting with them shortly anyway. He doubted anything would come of his complaints though. Chad was the fastest flyer in all the flights the Elders reigned over. Apparently that was enough to excuse him of anything in their eyes.
“One day, I’m going to rip him a new one,” Misha grumbled, his claws digging into the ground. “I can just sense it now.”
Jensen smiled a little, though he found the act difficult. Fifteen years of waiting, and Jared had finally gone into heat. And Jensen was being summoned.
Hopefully, they just needed to speak with him about something quickly. Then maybe he could get back before the heat left again in a week’s time. If he was lucky and hurried there and back, he might even be able to return before the first day of it was over.
He looked to Misha, then to the rest of the wing, a little tired as he said, “Guard the does. Protect the flight. I’ll return as soon as I can.”
There was a positive hum of acknowledgement among the wing. They had already gone over who would guard what area, when the first shift would be relieved by the second, what each dragon’s particular job was. They knew what to do if there was an emergency, which of them would fight and which of them would gather the does and the young to lead them to safer grounds. Jensen and the wing had Beltane down to a fine art.
‘Protect the flight’ sounded so much simpler than it was, and if an emergency actually happened, there probably wouldn’t be enough time to sit around and think about what it was that needed to be done. So his wing practiced their drills regularly, and any major time for the flight was discussed and handled with a high level of care and attention to fine detail. Especially Beltane, when half of the flight was away and the does left behind were at their most vulnerable.
Some of the younger soldiers in the wing groaned about the extra drills preceding Beltane, but most of them understood his caution. Besides, Jensen had never head of someone that died because they were too prepared for something.
The rest of the flight was beginning to stir, the first few does taking to the sky and circling the mountain peaks as the sun broke over the horizon. The bronze of their scales glittered in the sunlight, and Jensen couldn’t help but smile up at them a little.
“To your posts, then, if you’re ready,” Jensen dismissed the wing before spreading his wings, pushing off from the ground with one strong, smooth stroke.
Chapter Three
Pairings: Jensen/Jared, Drew Nelson/Sandy McCoy, Misha Collins/Rachel Miner
Word Count: 3436
Rating: PG-13, eventual NC-17
Warnings: implied mpreg/fempreg, passing mention of off-screen death, see masterpost for complete list thus far
Author’s Note: This is almost entirely lexicale and insertcode11’s fault. Blame them for everything. A fill for this prompt on spn_hardcore
Summary: Orphaned as a child and heatless, therefore mateless, at twenty-seven, Jared has spent most of his life feeling unloved and unwanted. Jensen is the Dominus of the Ramiel Flight, strong, courageous and everything anyone could want in a mate, everything that Jared was sure he’d never have or deserve. Jensen is hell-bent on proving him wrong. But nothing is ever easy when love is involved.
Masterpost
Chapter One
The first traces of heat blanketed over Jensen’s flight in a gentle, cresting wave. He was out on patrol, circling high above the peaks of the Rockies, double-checking that the people camping at the mountains’ base were keeping their distance so close to Beltane, when he sensed its oncoming.
It was gentle, a sweet perfume that curled around Jensen in a warm, familiar way, similar to the way the last wisps of smoke from the flight’s fires curled around him, and he could already see the others in his wing flying closer to the mountains. The ones that weren’t going off to the grounds would need to take their posts around the main house, protecting the does, the juveniles and the hatchlings left behind during the heat.
But Jensen wouldn’t be with them. Not this year.
Excitement surged beneath his skin, from the edges of his wings to the tip of his tail. He had waited for fifteen years for this, longer, nearly from the moment he’d seen the doe he would choose to be his mate.
It had been his last year as a calf. At sixteen, he had been biting at the bit to be a soldier in the Ramiel’s wing. Determined not to allow arrogance to be his downfall, Jensen spent the vast majority of his time with other prospective members, attempting to ready himself for the actual training the wing would put him through when he came of age.
The Ramiel Flight was the largest of the five flights that the Elders presided over. As such, they absorbed most of the orphaned dragons that the smaller flights couldn’t take care of for one reason or another.
A new group of orphans had been brought into the flight recently. It hadn’t really mattered to Jensen at the time; not much had registered on his radar other than his drive to be a soldier. It wasn’t that he didn’t care necessarily, just that he didn’t have the time to.
But the Dominus back then had always insisted the orphans be welcomed by everyone in the flight. “They’ve lost enough,” she used to say. “It’s time they gained something.”
So Jensen’s father had dragged him to the main house to meet the new additions that a sudden hail storm in the Arael Flight’s domain had left orphaned and in the Ramiel’s care.
Honestly, just the fact that these three were Arael should have caught Jensen’s attention, made him realize that this day was important, different from all the other times they’d accepted orphans into their flight.
The Arael Flight was the smallest of the five flights, but they were also the oldest and the most reclusive. Legend had it that the Arael were once the fire-breathers of lore, casting the small flight with a certain reverence that the other flights lacked.
They tended to keep to themselves for the most part, never transferring to other flights, rarely even visiting, so this little group of orphans coming to the Ramiel was special simply because many of the Ramiel had ever seen one of the Arael.
But Jensen was too caught up in his own wants back then, too focused and sure of his goals, and only his father’s insistence that they meet these new dragons brought Jensen face to face with the doe he was determined to claim as his own.
There were three orphans in total, two young calves and an older fawn. The calves were so young, more like hatchlings, really, and Jensen had found himself wondering if they would survive the loss of their mother. The older, widowed does that looked after the orphans in the main house cared deeply for the hatchlings and juveniles left in their capable paws, but there was only so much they could do. The breaking of the bond a mother and hatchling had was a terrible thing, something to be mourned just as much as the mother’s death. Without that bond, a hatchling could easily die, the life fading away from it slowly until there just wasn’t any life left.
But the fawn, no more than eleven or twelve himself, seemed to be caring for the other two, gathering them protectively to his chest. The fawn was too thin and too pale to be in good health, and he watched the adults cautiously, like he was about two minutes from bolting if someone so much as made a loud noise. Many of the adults were talking amongst themselves, too busy catching up with one another on the rare occurrence that the entire flight was in one place to notice the three little orphans that the gathering was intended to be about. The only reason Jensen even knew which of the many juveniles scampering around the main house were the orphans was because his father had pointed them out to him.
But this fawn was fully aware of each and every one of the dragons around him. His wide eyes yelled, Outsiders; his stiff stance screamed, Danger.
One of the calves suddenly mewled in the fawn’s arms. It was enough to catch the adults’ attention, and they turned toward the orphans, closing in on them quickly in an attempt to soothe the calf.
Jensen saw the instant panic flash across the fawn’s face. He backed up fast, his shoulders hitting the wall with a dull thump, then shifted quickly, his pale skin giving way to brilliant golden scales, the robe he’d been wearing nearly ripping in half as his body grew and took on a different shape. He hissed loudly, wings splayed to make himself appear larger, and the adults took tentative steps back. The fawn might have been young, but he could still have done some damage, even to an adult.
“This is not how we act in front of guests,” one of the house’s caretakers reprimanded, taking a step forward. He hissed at her again, wordlessly, and she huffed. “Well, I never. What’s the matter with you?”
The fawn drew back, hackles rising as he gathered the calves so that they were placed protectively under the cage of his legs and belly.
Jensen was moving before the thought to move even registered, and he stood between the doe and the fawn, arms spread wide.
“Stop,” and all eyes were immediately on him. He just stared steadily at the doe he faced. “You’re going to get attacked if you keep crowding him. Leave. Go outside or something, I don’t know. But you’ve got to give him some air.”
The doe blinked at him in surprise before glancing over Jensen’s shoulder, over at Jared. Her face softened, and she nodded, turning toward the other dragons.
“Let’s go outside for a little while, everyone. It’s such a nice day, it’d be a shame to waste it,” she told them, ushering everyone else toward the door.
There was a brief moment of confusion before everyone began to mill outside. It wasn’t until the last dragon was gone that Jensen finally took a deep breath and returned his attention to the fawn and his apparently adopted calves.
“It’s okay,” he said softly. “I’m not going to hurt you. Or the calves. I’m sorry we scared you. We’re all just kind of excited that you and the other two are here now. Really. We’re not a bad flight, I promise.” When the fawn didn’t say anything, Jensen tried for a smile. “I’m Jensen.”
The fawn stared at him for a long time, still hunched over the calves, who were trembling beneath him. Finally, when he was apparently satisfied that Jensen wasn’t going to do anything to hurt his charges, he relaxed a little.
“Jared.”
One of the calves made a quiet humming noise.
“It’s okay, little one. I’m here,” Jared murmured as he lowered his head to the calf, nuzzling him gently.
Jensen had found himself smiling as Jared comforted the calves. The other calf, the one who had remained quiet, tumbled out from beneath Jared, toddling over to Jensen. Jensen knelt, reaching his hand out and letting her sniff his hand before rubbing behind her ear. The entire time, Jared watched him with steady, guarded eyes.
“You’re going to be a great mother one day, you know?”
“You think so?” Jared ducked his head bashfully, lowering his bright hazel eyes.
The little calf Jensen had been paying attention to pushed herself against his hand, purring, and he gently picked her up, rubbing beneath her chin.
“Looks like you’re a pretty great mother now.”
Jared peered up at him, his brow pinching in confusion. Slowly, he said, “They don’t have anyone else.”
And that was when Jensen had known.
Jared was a force in and of himself that day, fierce, ready to take on anyone that he perceived as a threat to the calves, even an entire room full of adults. And all of that for the simple fact that he saw a juvenile with a need and no one that seemed to be filling it. He’d displayed bravery, nobility, honor.
A true Arael dragon, deserving of all the dignity and reverence that came with the title.
Jensen had realized then that he would have to wait a while. Jared was several years younger than he was, after all, but Jensen had been more than willing to wait for him. He’d been sure then that he’d never find another doe like Jared would grow to become, and he was just as sure now as he was back then.
Even when Jared’s heat hadn’t come as scheduled, Jensen had been prepared to wait. It wasn’t totally unheard of for a doe to been one or two years behind the others. Nature was more flexible than that. But then Jared had been five years behind. Then six. Then seven. Eight. Nine.
And Jensen had suddenly been mateless for fourteen years as he waited for Jared.
He didn’t spend his time pining, though. While Jensen waited, he occupied himself with achieving his goals, with joining the Ramiel’s wing, rising in rank until he was the reigning Dominus’s second. Then, when the Dominus passed unexpectedly in her fifty-first year, the Elders chose Jensen as her replacement.
But as Jensen’s fourteenth year of sensing the heat from the other does came and went, it was hard not to become discouraged. Jared hadn’t gone into heat again, and Jensen was forced to wonder if he ever would.
Without the heat, Jared would never be able to take a mate. He was still technically a fawn without it, considered unsuitable to be mated. Jensen understood the good intentions behind the law that the Elders had laid out, but Jared was an obvious exception to it.
Even within his own wing, though, Jensen found resistance when he posed the idea to bring the issue to the Elders. If the dragons closest to him couldn’t be persuaded, there wasn’t a hope that the Elders would be, and as Dominus, he was considered a hand of the Elders and could not go against their word without fear of losing his position both as a leader and as a member of the Ramiel Flight.
Jensen was stuck in what felt like a hopeless situation.
The wing knew that Jensen intended to win Jared; he’d made sure of that to ward off any other potentially interested drakes. His soldiers encouraged him to take a different mate, saying it was obvious that he was missing balance in his life, someone to care for him just as he cared for the entire flight. They told him to look for someone else, that there were plenty of wonderful does among the Ramiel.
Jensen knew for a fact there were some amazing does in his flight, and he was sure that any one of them would do their best to make him happy. It was just that none of them would ever compare to Jared. They weren’t as brave, as courageous or noble. They just weren’t Jared, and Jensen couldn’t in good conscience settle for someone else knowing that no other doe could live up to that.
Besides, Jensen never did anything halfway.
A week or so before this Beltane, Chris, one of the soldiers in his wing, approached him while he was on patrol, grinning. “You’re never going to believe it.”
And he hadn’t. Jensen had had to go to the river, where Jared was busy breaking up a fight between two juveniles, to smell it himself before he actually believed.
There it was though. The first tiny wafts of a doe’s first heat, beckoning the drakes to be prepared for a new doe coming into season. It was a message to the drakes, subtle and sweet, but so slight that the other does, even Jared, wouldn’t sense it until Beltane itself.
Jensen had wanted to seize Jared up right then, take him to the breeding grounds or, hell, even just to Jensen’s home, but it wouldn’t have been a proper mating, not before Beltane officially proclaimed Jared’s heat. After fifteen years of waiting, Jensen was going to do this properly.
Finally, though, Beltane had arrived.
Jensen lighted near the main house, drawing his large wings in just as the tips of his toes touch ground and rolling smoothly onto the balls of his feet.
“Show off,” one of the wing called.
He looked up at the shadowed form circling above him just before the dragon landed at his side.
“Jealousy is unbecoming, Misha.”
Jensen's fellow drake shrugged, the corner of his mouth curling.
“People only show off when they feel like they’ve got something to prove. Why be jealous?” Misha bumped his shoulder good-naturedly, ducking away when Jensen raised a front paw to swipe at him. “So. Big day, huh?”
“It’s Beltane, Misha,” Jensen said, offering a bland look.
“You know what I meant.” Misha shook his head, grinning. "I just can’t believe you’re finally going to take the plunge. Don’t you want to hang around with the poor dragons left behind again? For old time’s sake?”
"Lonely, Misha?” Jensen smirked mischievously. “I’m sure you’ll be fine without me. Besides, aren’t you and Rachel ready for another round yet?”
Misha snorted.
"Seven is quite enough, thanks. Maybe when they’ve gone off on their own,” he conceded at the skeptical glance Jensen tossed at him. “But that’s a few years off yet.”
Jensen highly doubted it. Misha had been pining for that new hatchling scent almost from the moment his and his mate Rachel’s first clutch was able to leave the nest. They were probably going to end up with too many kids to count, certainly too many to keep up with. Despite Misha’s protests to the contrary, Jensen knew that nothing would make him happier.
The other dragons on patrol gathered near the front of the main house, shuffling a little uncomfortably. Every instinct the drakes had was beginning to usher them to the does, telling the drakes to watch over them and love them in their most vulnerable time. It was what the drakes been trained to do, what they were taught was their duty since before they could even fly.
But instead of following those feelings of protection and duty, they were stuck amongst a group mostly composed of other drakes that didn’t need them. Meanwhile, mere feet away were many of the does that did need them, still fast asleep before the fires of Bel began to wake them.
As Jensen approached, a hush settled over the excited dragons, and they turned toward him, offering their full attention. Misha remained at his side as his second, but even he lowered his head in difference.
“Wing,” Jensen greeted them, keeping the speech short for all of their sanity’s sakes, “the fires are upon us. Those that will fly to the breeding grounds are dismissed from their duties until their return. Those that will stay are to remain here, surrounding the main house. Guard it as fiercely as you would your own wings.”
“Dominus,” one of the dragons interrupted, and his entire wing’s attention shifted from him and into the distance behind him.
Little irritated Jensen more than being interrupted, and he turned to face the offender, frown deepening when he realized who exactly was approaching the flight’s grounds.
Chad was flying their way, his large wings cutting as quickly and easily through the air as a knife through butter. There was a reason he was the Elders’ glorified little messenger boy, after all.
He landed upon the mountain easily, his wings giving a pompous little flutter before he tucked them against his back.
“Hello, Jensen.”
“Chad, please keep your voice down. Many of our young are still asleep, and they’ll need their rest for the day ahead." Jensen smiled, but it was far from warm. "Good of you to grace us with your presence, though. And on Beltane, too.”
Chad took a deep, long breath, and Jensen had to bite his tongue to keep from growling at how obscene the drake was being. He was certainly lucky that most of the does were still fast asleep all around them and hadn’t had to bear witness to that particular gesture, messenger of the Elders of no. “And what a wonderful Beltane it’s promising to be, too. Greetings from the Elders, Jensen.”
“Messenger,” Misha said, his own voice just above a snarl, “make this quick. My Dominus may have patience for your crudeness, but I certainly do not.”
Chad wrinkled his nose at that. “Call off your dog, Jensen.”
Jensen raised a paw, silencing Misha before he could say something he, or even the entire flight, might live to regret. Misha was a good drake, a competent second, but his temper would one day be the death of him.
“I’d appreciate it if you could refrain from insulting my does and my wing. You’ll find quickly that it’s not a good combination. What can I do for you, Chad?”
Chad gave him an indignant look but finally said, “The Elders have extended a summons for you. They request your presence in their domain immediately.”
Jensen frowned. Being called to the Elders wasn’t an uncommon occurrence for him, but to have it happen on Beltane of all days certainly was.
“May I ask what for?”
Chad shrugged.
“Hell if I know. They told me to summon you, so I did.” Chad threw open his wings with a flourish, apparently finding his duties fulfilled. “Might want to get a new leash for that dog of yours, Jensen. He seems to get a little cranky with all these lovely scents floating around.”
Jensen just sighed heavily, glad to be rid of such a nuisance as Chad threw himself back into the air. He wondered if it would be too out of order to mention Chad’s vulgar behavior to the Elders, since he’d be meeting with them shortly anyway. He doubted anything would come of his complaints though. Chad was the fastest flyer in all the flights the Elders reigned over. Apparently that was enough to excuse him of anything in their eyes.
“One day, I’m going to rip him a new one,” Misha grumbled, his claws digging into the ground. “I can just sense it now.”
Jensen smiled a little, though he found the act difficult. Fifteen years of waiting, and Jared had finally gone into heat. And Jensen was being summoned.
Hopefully, they just needed to speak with him about something quickly. Then maybe he could get back before the heat left again in a week’s time. If he was lucky and hurried there and back, he might even be able to return before the first day of it was over.
He looked to Misha, then to the rest of the wing, a little tired as he said, “Guard the does. Protect the flight. I’ll return as soon as I can.”
There was a positive hum of acknowledgement among the wing. They had already gone over who would guard what area, when the first shift would be relieved by the second, what each dragon’s particular job was. They knew what to do if there was an emergency, which of them would fight and which of them would gather the does and the young to lead them to safer grounds. Jensen and the wing had Beltane down to a fine art.
‘Protect the flight’ sounded so much simpler than it was, and if an emergency actually happened, there probably wouldn’t be enough time to sit around and think about what it was that needed to be done. So his wing practiced their drills regularly, and any major time for the flight was discussed and handled with a high level of care and attention to fine detail. Especially Beltane, when half of the flight was away and the does left behind were at their most vulnerable.
Some of the younger soldiers in the wing groaned about the extra drills preceding Beltane, but most of them understood his caution. Besides, Jensen had never head of someone that died because they were too prepared for something.
The rest of the flight was beginning to stir, the first few does taking to the sky and circling the mountain peaks as the sun broke over the horizon. The bronze of their scales glittered in the sunlight, and Jensen couldn’t help but smile up at them a little.
“To your posts, then, if you’re ready,” Jensen dismissed the wing before spreading his wings, pushing off from the ground with one strong, smooth stroke.
Chapter Three