It would drive him to rut her until either himself or the female was dead, or the comet finally passed in a month’s time.
He growled again and snapped his head from side to side. Falthyris would not submit to the comet, would not surrender his will. He’d seen what the Red Heat did to his kind. He’d seen the consequences of dragons succumbing to it, and he refused to become one of the fallen. He refused to partake in the degradation of dragonkind.
He was Falthyris the Golden, Falthyris the Conqueror, Scourge of the Sands, Lord of the Shimmering Peaks and all the lands visible from their summits. He was called Glassmaker and Firestorm. His fury was the harsh desert wind, his spirit a fiery cyclone. No force would bring him low—especially not this comet. He’d endure on his own terms until these mountains had been worn to dust and the sea had once again swallowed the desert.
As though in response to Falthyris’s thoughts, the Heat intensified, skittering along his spine. Tension seized his muscles, chasing away any comfort he had achieved during his slumber. His claws scraped the floor harder, digging gouges in the stone, and his tail lashed out, hitting the wall with enough force to break stone and rattle fresh debris from all around the cave.
Falthyris held in his growl this time, but the air in his lungs stoked the flames in his chest. His heartfire roared in anticipation as heat built within him, quickly surpassing the Red Heat surrounding him.
Fury bubbled up from his chest, making his growing fire burn only hotter—hot enough to cause him pain. The comet’s first appearance had undone centuries of conquest, and it had been followed by centuries of watching dragonkind ravaged by Dragonsbane’s lingering effects. Though many of his memories grew hazier each time the comet returned, he couldn’t forget what had been lost, couldn’t forget that he’d been meant to soar over this world as its overlord, as the pinnacle of his species.
Though he longed to release those flames, to grant his fury physical form, however fleeting, he swallowed that desire. The unspent fire roiled like magma in his gut, increasing his discomfort tenfold.
Spouting dragonfire would undoubtedly have been a welcome catharsis, however small, but Falthyris couldn’t allow his thoughts to become so muddled by emotion. Fire that intense stood a strong chance of causing this cave to collapse, which would’ve meant not only the weight of a mountain crashing down atop him but reduced protection from the Red Heat. This lair had already been damaged enough over the centuries to leave its stability in question. Any more damage…
No.
He refused to acknowledge any limits to his strength of will, even to himself.
Wisps of acrid smoke curled from his nostrils. The Red Heat thickened the air further, its tendrils pushing a little deeper into Falthyris, seeping into his veins and warming his blood. A shudder wracked him from snout to tail, shaking off more sand and partially unfolding his wings. The fire he had swallowed moved lower and lower. All that heat coalesced in his groin.
Falthyris groaned as his cock stirred behind his slit, pulsing with a sudden, desperate ache. That faint crimson mist shimmered around him, flaring and fading, vanishing whenever he attempted to focus upon it. Dragonsbane was taunting him as though it had known all along that he would eventually falter, that his might and willpower would one day crumble.
He trembled with another wave of Heat, flicking out his tongue again—scenting for any signs of a female, eager to search, to hunt, to conquer, to rut. His cock pushed out of his slit, already slick with secretions.
With a ragged roar, Falthyris shoved himself up onto all fours. The sudden movement sprayed sand all around him and caused his back to slam into the cave ceiling.
The cave trembled, and stone cracked. Heavy chunks fell over his back and tumbled down to hit the sand bed with dulled thumps. Falthyris froze, exhaling and not daring to take in another breath. Carefully, he eased his body down. The feeling of weight on his back persisted until he was low enough for the hunks of rock settled atop him to fall away.
This lair had provided shelter for hundreds of years. How many times had he weathered the comet’s curse within these walls? Seven? Nine? Twelve? He could no longer recall. But it was apparent that those years had not been kind to this place. Or, more accurately, Falthyris had not been kind to it. The space was relatively small. He’d hoped upon claiming this cave that its size would naturally restrain him during the Red Heat, but that size now seemed to have become a liability.
Falthyris forced himself back down onto his bed of sand, willing his heartfire to burn hotter still as though it could ward off the Red Heat.
Thirty days was nothing to Falthyris the Golden. He’d endured Dragonsbane many times before and would continue to do so until the accursed comet had burned itself out. Falthyris’s heartfire would still blaze bright long after Dragonsbane was cold and dead.
He laid his head upon the sand and squeezed his eyes shut. He would simply sleep through the comet, as had been his intention. This interruption was no more than a minor nuisance.
And yet the tension in his muscles didn’t ease, and a new discomfort introduced itself—the abrasiveness of sand against the sensitive flesh of his cock, which had pushed fully out of his slit. Falthyris snarled and shifted his body, seeking some relief for his throbbing shaft, but he succeeded only in creating friction as pleasurable as it was painful.
Thirty days, he reminded himself.
Falthyris buried his claws deep, sinking them into the stone floor to anchor himself in place. His tail flicked in agitation. He curled it toward his torso, tucking it along his side to keep it from causing any more damage.
The Red Heat drifted through the air around him, seeking out every place in which it could embed himself, both in the cave and in Falthyris’s body. This was only the beginning. The Heat’s touch remained a curious caress, a gentle search, but before long, it would crackle like lightning and burn like fire. He could feel it building, gathering its strength to eventually overwhelm him.
Falthyris held himself as still as possible. The Red Heat continued its gradual build as time passed, the seconds marked by the steady beating of his draconian heart. At some point, the Heat began a slow regression. Falthyris tasted a hint of the morning sun on the air flowing into his lair.
Though it did not fade completely, the Heat waned enough for Falthyris to lapse into a brief, fitful slumber, filled once again with crimson dreams. That slumber was broken when the Heat flared and grew sometime closer to nightfall.
Throughout the second night, Falthyris’s breaths were ragged, his exhalations often punctuated by licks of fire. His claws had already carved deep into the cave floor thanks to his efforts to remain in place. The Red Heat grew considerably stronger and more insistent, gradually settling a faint but unmistakable haze over his mind.
He didn’t sleep the next day. Though the morning sun once again diminished the Heat, it was not as effective as it had been the prior day.
On the third night, he could no longer remain still. He crawled around his shelter like a serpent on his belly, unable to stop himself from raking his claws across the walls and floor. As the Heat reached its peak that night, he found himself contorting his body to furiously stroke his shaft with his fingers.
Shame fluttered around the edges of his mind, but it couldn’t find entry. Whether it was held back by his lingering pride or the Heat’s strengthening influence, he could not say.