And then I give in—loving the way he slowly pounds into my flesh.
Ström lets us fuck for a quiet while, as Bjorn and I rut, and grunt, and catch our breath together. But then Ström’s hands find my nipples; pinching and rolling them, he reminds me he’s still here, still a part of this trio and wants in on things.
I want him in on things, too, as I arch back now, breaking my kiss with Bjorn to find Ström’s soft lips over my shoulder. Bjorn’s thick girth is still inside me as I change position slightly to offer Ström my ass. He sandwiches me with a tight grip, pressing in hard at my nether opening.
And slides right in.
I gasp as Ström enters me, so full and hard, sheathing himself deep inside my ass as Bjorn buries himself inside my front. It’s a towering feeling to be shared by these two drakes; as Ström thrusts subtly inside my ass now, I go wild with sensation, every possible feeling I get during sex heightened by how thick and stretched I am by them both.
It’s ecstasy; I shake and shudder between them, heating like a bonfire now as I mewl and keen, my sounds devoured alternately by Ström’s and Bjorn’s lips. They find a rhythm together, taking me at the same time, again, and again, and again.
At last, I come hard between them—catapulting me up to the skies as my body spasms in our spontaneous fuck. Ström and Bjorn come too, at the same time as I do.
I feel it as we all spiral together, metaphysically creating that strange ouroboros I keep seeing inside my mind’s eye when we fuck. But our triune power is quieter now, sweetly blazing through us all as we settle into our afterglow.
We’re so done, our dragons spent from everything that’s happened these past weeks. It just feels good to cuddle in a tangle of warm, exhausted flesh now.
I sleep, held by my two drakes as their cocks soften inside me.
And I don’t move the entire night.
15
CYPHER
Morning finds Bjorn, Ström, and me up and breakfasting, the three of us already focused on the day ahead. Though last night was rough after we left Ström’s family dinner, all of us are feeling quite a lot more refreshed now, thanks to our lovemaking last night and a decent sleep.
Drinking coffee and snacking on a breakfast spread of scrambled eggs, venison sausages, and Swedish pancakes with lingonberry jam, I’m dressed in a comfy grey slouchy sweater and jeans now as I pad barefoot around Ström’s apartment.
Ström and Bjorn are dressed similarly, in casual cable-knit sweaters and jeans, though Bjorn’s black sweater has a tactical design with its zipper front and reinforced elbows, while Ström’s cream sweater with the crossover cowlneck is far more chic and metro.
We’ve gotten everything from the altar out of its protective glass and have sorted through all the items. They’re set up in zones now on Ström’s big glass dining table; the main area of his living space has become our war room, multiple laptops open as we use magical Blood Dragon databases to search for arcane artifacts similar to the ones we have here.
But everything we’ve got is far older than most known artifacts from our people; there aren’t even any similar matches to the strange objects my ancestor used in her ceremony to create the Black Dragon. And there are no matches at all for the ancient Blood Dragon dialects written upon the various vellums, codices, and scrolls.
All of it, writings we’ve yet to decipher.
We think we’ve identified four different dialects on the informational documents we’ve got, though even Ström can only barely read one of them. That’s the one that details our family bloodlines, tracked down through the generations from their progenitors in the Black Dragon Five.
But even that document is in a Bone Magic dialect so ancient, Ström can only get one word out of five. And though we were able to break the wards and Bloodrune curses upon the doors ofUnhaemmertenwhile we were down there, plus similar cursed locks upon the altar itself, it’s clear these documents were written by somebody who was not the same as those later runes and curses laid down in the dead city.
We could read the wards in the city of the dead with my Bloodwalker magic when I let it go wild inside me. Everything we’ve got here, however, is gobbledygook.
No matter how hard we raise our joined power to figure them out.
“It’s no use.” Bjorn sighs now, tossing down the latest vellum we’ve tried to read with our trio’s power, as our magic simmers away to nothing in the bright morning. Heaving a sigh like him, I take up my coffee and sip it, even as Ström picks up some pancakes and pops them into his mouth.
“Yeah, we’re fucked. We can’t read anything of what’s here,” Ström says as he chews. He nods at the vellum Bjorn’s thrown down. “I thought for a moment I had something with that one… just a few words in an ancient Bone Mage dialect popping out at me. Then they were just… gone.”
“Whatever all this is, it’s obvious they were probably written by my ancestor and her mates, rather than the Blood Dragons who came after the destruction ended,” I say now as I sip my coffee. I nod at the only scrollwe’ve been able to even partially read, the one Ström got info from while we were insideUnhaemmerten. “That’s the only one that’s written in a Bone Mage dialect even close to what we can read today. It’s clear the altar was sealed right after the Black Dragon was thrown down, with all my ancestor’s things inside it… but then somebody was able to pop that genealogy scroll in there much later—maybe even a few thousand years, after our modern family bloodlines emerged—which is written in a dialect somewhat close to what we can understand.”
“Not close enough.” Bjorn snorts as he nods at Ström. “Even he can only get one word out of five, and most of those are just family names. It’s clear the ancient Bone Mages and Bloodwalkers had their own languages, used for their purposes. I think we were only able to understand the wards and locking sigils on the doors ofUnhaemmertenso well with our joined power, because they’re not actually recorded writing, but a magical sigil-variant. Our power can figure out magical stuff. Basic, non-magical records and languages… not so much.”
“Bjorn’s right.” Ström looks at me as he gives a wry smile. “I think we’re at a dead end, Rikyava, much as I hate to say it. Unless there’s someone out there who knows these ancient, dead languages… I think these scrolls and vellums will remain a mystery, even as much as your ancestor’s magical items are, whatever their ancient uses were.”
“Balls.” Crossing one arm under the other elbow, I sip my coffee. “Who do we know that has made a study of ancient Blood Dragon languages?”
“Other than Maryse?” Bjorn scowls. “Not many people.”
