Thread of Fate - 4. Chapter 3

Something pulled Oberon’s in transient existence back into the here and now, and as his eyes slowly opened, the faint scent of hawthorn flowers still lingered in the air, metamorphosing into the coppery tang of bloodsoaked goose down.

Seconds. Minutes. Hours.

How long had he lain there vulnerable and unaware? The air around him was cold, devoid of humanity’s thrushing inner glow. Lifting his head he found the bed empty, only a vaguely man shaped indentation and his blood soaked coat remained.

Something was off kilter in the world, Oberon pushed himself to his feet, immediately searching out the carved cedar chest on the dresser. In serene solitude it sat untouched and unmoved from where he’d left it. Swallowtail wings shimmering in golden opalescent glory lay furled close against his back, and gossamer strands of moonlight hue hair cascaded down to his hips.

No glamour, no facade. Oberon was bare to the world as he truly appeared.

The air was charged with electric tension, his wings quivering with disquiet. Behind him the barest sound, a shoosh across plush carpet met his long elegantly pointed ears. On the far side of the king size bed, hidden from his view, the sound came again.

The tension ratcheted higher as Oberon took measured methodical steps around the bed, his control slipping with every inch taken. It knew that he knew, and it was panicking and cornered.

Oberon wasn’t taking chances, not anymore. Slim fangs extended down, indentating his lower lip with tearing grace, eyes glowing lavender fire. The man whose life he’d saved was missing and this was no human presence.

Wings fully unfurled behind him, their tips brushing against the ceiling above, he turned the corner of the bedside, a swirling glowing orb of energy forming above his right palm. Lifting his hand to strike, Oberon froze in his tracks. The orb fizzled and dimmed, dissipating away to nothingness. His knees hit the thick carpet with a dull thud, wings drooping to lay sad and slack against the floor behind him.

Quaking in fear, he’d curled his long serpentine body in upon itself, coiling into a ball. Jewel-like scales undulating between shades of lapis and onyx covered his long body. Sharp black claws that left furrows in the carpet as he’d pushed himself back in fear of Oberon’s wrath.

The eyes were his undoing, robbing him of all anger only to be swiftly replaced with self loathing. A dragon with doleful mahogany eyes, those eyes had never left him, not once as he’d rushed through the streets carrying his bleeding body against him. Never again could Oberon ever not know those eyes, they were ingrained inside him.

Another thing in his very very long life that he’d managed to defile and pervert. Blighting those chocolaty depths was a ring of lavender, like the beginning of sunrise fighting against the nights hold.

“Blood binds. Binds tie…”

The words of Cernunnos came back to haunt him, Oberon held up his shaking hand, moving no closer to him.

Unsure of his actions or intentions, the dragon moved to clamber back up onto the bed, attempting to put further distance between himself and the Seelie King.

Oberon could only stare dumbfounded at the Eastern Dragon examining him from his high perch. Young and inexperienced, he pushed his bluff, black mane shaking all the way down his body.

It’s him.

The dots connected somewhere and he wracked his brain trying to make them meet and nothing made sense.

He’s a dragon.

Those five men chasing him through the crowded streets of carnival, with no care to who saw or noticed. Desperation made for stupid decisions and the what ifs that might have been if he’d not been shitfaced drunk on that particular street at that time of night...He’d have disappeared into the night, hacked into pieces and parceled off so his carcass could rot and wait to be found…Alone and scared while his life seeped away.

They’d nearly succeeded in snuffing out his life and he’d been the one to pull it back from the brink. By his blood, and by his magic, the proof of their bound fates was literally staring back at him. Laid bare by the universe, both of their true forms were revealed to the other.

“Cha dèan mi cron ort.” I will not harm you.

“Bidh fuil a ’ceangal. Ceangail ceangail.” Blood binds. Binds Tie.

His eyes were soulful and encompassingly dark, they would be as voids if not for the damning ring of lavender marking him as his.