Books – Page 25 – Becca Lusher

Free Fiction, Overworld, Serial, Writing

A Courtship of Dragons: Part 10

January 11, 2017January 11, 2017 Becca Lusher

A Courtship of Dragons is a M/M Romance (it could be short, it could be a novella, it could be any size, I have no idea) told in short scenes, between two young dragons, Estenarven kin Boulderforce Clan Stoneheart and Mastekh kin Rainstorm Clan Flowflight. It’s pure fluff ‘n’ stuff and not intended to be anything other than that.

|| Part 1 || Part 2 || Part 3 || Part 4 || Part 5 || Part 6 || Part 7 || Part 8 || Part 9 ||

Very short update today, but on the brighter side, this is the first part I’ve written since November. Yay, the story continues!

Although, I think Esten is slightly less enthused by this…

10
The Morning After

MASTEKH WAS ABSOLUTELY RIGHT; Estenarven did not feel better in the morning. In fact, he felt so awful when he opened his eyes to the pallid light sneaking through the narrow window, that he went straight back to sleep again. Mornings were vastly overrated anyway.

With a head banging to the painful beat of its own internal drum, a mouth in which a bear must have hibernated for the winter and skin that felt dry enough to crack, Estenarven was in no mood to move, even after he woke for the second time. Scales rubbed against the inside of his skin, making his bones ache and his head pound worse than ever. He needed to shift, badly, but this room wasn’t even large enough to contain his tail, let alone the rest of him.

Groaning and cursing his own foolishness, he slithered from the bed. Cold air instantly nipped at his naked body, but there was so many other discomforts assaulting him that Estenarven didn’t much mind it. The hard floor called to him, the old stone calling to the stone within him.

Not yet, not yet, he reminded himself, dragging his aching body over the roughly woven carpet. He considered pausing to stand up, to try and put his legs to use, but the mere thought of raising his head so high from the ground made his stomach churn. With his hold already so tenuous upon his human form, Estenarven opted for speed over elegance.

He had to get out of this room. Now. Before he ended up squashed and stuck or smashing through the walls.

Stone hummed beneath him as Estenarven reached up a desperate hand and scrabbled the door open. He tumbled out into the wider room beyond – and not a moment too soon.

The pounding in his head rose to a crescendo, his dry skin cracked and his stomach revolted as his draconic form burst through his control. Pain, pain, pain. He hadn’t experienced such an agonising shift since his first changeling days.

Uncle Stone! That hurt.

Raising himself up on trembling legs, Estenarven had just enough awareness to realise that his tail did just about fit inside his room, before he staggered forward a couple of steps and collapsed.

Stone called to stone, and he dropped into blessed unconsciousness.

More next Wednesday.
I’d best get writing again.

Take care, my lovelies!

Books, Updates, Writing

Where is Storm Rising?

January 9, 2017 Becca Lusher

Also known as Plans for 2017. Of a sort.

When I released Blazing Dawn back in autumn, the plan was to have Storm Rising (Dragonlands 2) written and ready to go around now. Well, the good news is that it is written, but the bad news is that it isn’t ready to go anywhere. Or it might be, I don’t know.

I’ve lost confidence in my writing. This isn’t unusual for me, but it’s kind of inconvenient. So for the moment, Storm Rising is on hold while I run through Blazing Dawn again. I’m half wondering if I should fully revise BD before going further with the series, I’m also wondering if perhaps I should write the whole lot out first before releasing any of them, and focus on getting the Wingborn books out first instead.

I don’t know what to do and that’s making me hesitate. Which is not helpful.

So I have a question (well, a few, but we’ll start with this one) for anyone who has read BD. Is there anything you wish I hadn’t done or had done differently?

I know there are a few things people didn’t like with it. I also know that SR does clear up a few issues (why Ushara is as she is, mostly), and that there are some things I tried to alter before release that I still might not have managed as well as people would like. The Ushara issue is particularly tricky because of perspective. The characters I’m writing with don’t know much about her and what’s going on until SR, which ties my hands a fair bit. I’m tempted at times to use Goryal’s pov, but they know everything and I’ll never be able to keep secrets again. (Also, I didn’t know everything until SR, so there is that.)

Basically, what didn’t you like? Please be as honest as you can, I won’t take offense. I’m trying to make this book as strong as possible and I’m currently doubtful that I did that before release, so I’d like to try really hard to clean it up now before going further with the series. (If you’d rather not comment below, feel free to email me aekhtales[at]gmail[dot]com. I will be exceedingly grateful.)

I’d also really like to work on releasing paperback copies of my books this year, so if I’m making changes, now is the time to do it.

And if there’s anyone out there who would like to read Storm Rising to help me figure out if it’s as messy as I currently fear, then that would be awesome too.

Oh, and since I’m doing a revised version anyway – even if it’s just clearing up typos – I’m thinking about adding a character list and glossary to the end. I have a few questions about how to go about that, but it’s probably best I save that for another day. Level of detail, mostly.

For now my plans for the year are rather nebulous but go sort of like this:

Revise and re-release Blazing Dawn.
Finish Rift Riders serial and release as an ebook.
Paperback versions of Wingborn, Rift Riders and Blazing Dawn.
Write more A Courtship of Dragons and serialise it properly.
Serialise Dragongifted (Wingborn Book 3)
Write Dragonlands 4 and 5
?Release Dragonlands 2 and 3?
?Paperback versions of Aekhartain Tales?
Write something else.

Beyond that I’m not certain. Nor am I willing to put dates on any of these (except finishing Rift serial, which should be next month sometime), because every time I project into the future something else comes along to smash my predictions to bits.

I also hope to actively start promoting my books this year too and search for some helpful reviewers. Word of mouth is amazing, but I need to put some admin work in on my side and reviews really work. So that’s on the pile too. Along with a proper Overworld map, which I may or may not attempt to put in the books at some point.

So, as always, I have many, many plans and am busy working away in the background. Hopefully it will result in something shiny in the end. I think that’s a pretty good goal to work towards.

Merry Monday, everyone. I hope your January is going well, wheresoever in the world you may be!

Free Fiction, Overworld, Serial, Writing

A Courtship of Dragons: Part 8

December 26, 2016 Becca Lusher

|| Part 1 || Part 2 || Part 3 || Part 4 || Part 5 || Part 6 || Part 7 ||

In which Khennik says something innocuous and the expected happens.

8
Tea

SOMEONE WAS HUMMING. Elder Khennik kin Blazeborn Clan Sunlord frowned down at his desk and the report he was supposed to be writing to his Clan elder. The suite was too quiet, magnifying the clatter of hailstones against the windows and the shudder of the window as it whistled around the tower. Lightning flickered and thunder snarled. Khennik attempted to ignore it all as he hunched over his desk beside the fire on the opposite side of the room. Usually the crackle, pop and hiss of the flames would be enough to settle him, but it was early and he was tired after a late night.

And now someone was humming.

Sighing, he dropped his quill and rubbed his eyes as the main door to the suite opened, admitting the hummer with his tray of tea.

Mastekh.

Khennik’s eyebrows rose in surprise and he rested his chin on his hand, watching his usually anxious aide back into the room before turning and closing the door with his heel. Humming.

Mastekh didn’t hum. In fact, his Rainstorm aide rarely made any sound at all, except for squeaks and the occasional stuttered sentence. Not that he was a quiet or restful presence. Mastekh might not have used his voice all that often, but his emotions were often loud. Trembling, shuffling, jittering, wringing his hands, lurking in the background, trying to be unobtrusive and always failing. It had driven Khennik distracted when they’d first been assigned to each other. However, he’d grown used to it over time and occasionally missed Mastekh when he wasn’t in the room.

Khennik wouldn’t have said he was fond of humming, especially wordless tunes that bubbled and rambled without any form or reason, but it was an interesting change. He was almost certain he knew what had put that small smile on his younger aide’s face too.

“Oh. Elder B-Blazeborn. You’re aw-w-wake.”

The happy hum faded, but Khennik was surprised to see the smile remained. Mastekh didn’t smile at him, he was usually too worried or anxious to please, holding himself tense as if always ready for a reprimand or a blow. Khennik tried not to ever give the former and he would never use the latter. The mere prospect of being mistaken for such a thuggish bully had made him often moody and equally tense at first, until he realised that the only way Mastekh would relax was if he relaxed first. So mostly Khennik attempted to ignore his aide, and Mastekh seemed happiest that way.

Not this morning. This morning he seemed prepared for conversation, so Khennik cleared a space on his desk for the tea tray and nodded congenially. “Good morning. I trust you slept well.”

Mastekh bobbed his head in agreement, placing the tray on the table with a lot less clatter and rattling than usual. There weren’t any stray water drops either. Progress.

“Estenarven is still in bed, I take it?” Khennik asked as Mastekh began pouring the tea.

“B-beg p-p-pardon?” Mastekh jumped, sending hot water all over the stone tray and across the desk. “Oh, no!” he wailed, dropping the tea pot with a clatter and flapping over the spilled liquid.

Sighing, Khennik rescued his most important papers and stood before the tea reached the edge of the table and dripped into his lap. “It’s all right, Mastekh. No harm done.” After all, this wouldn’t be the first time Mastekh had almost dumped a pot of tea all over him – nor the second. A part of Khennik had leant to be perpetually wary whenever it came to his aide holding anything in his vicinity, though he had hoped the humming and smiles would herald a new era in their working relationship.

No such luck. One offhand question and his aide had collapsed back into a bubbling, anxious, apologetic mess and Khennik could feel all his old irritations rising. He tried not to get angry, because he knew Mastekh couldn’t help being the way he was, but it was frustrating.

One tiny tiptoe forward, a massive leap back. That was how things seemed destined to always be between them.

“I’ll finish this in my room,” he said, unable to hold back a sigh as he gathered the rest of things into his arms and shook tea from the end of his quill pen.

“I’m s-s-so s-s-s-sorry, eld-d-der,” Mastekh whimpered, patting the desk with his palm and leaving dry stone behind. His hand had darkened to the shade of ginger tea.

The sight reminded Khennik of how thirsty he was, so he piled his things on his dry chair and quickly poured himself a cup with what little liquid was left. Mm, spicy. “It’s all right, Mastekh,” he murmured again, retrieving his things and sipping from his cup. “These things happen, and there was no harm done.”

Mastekh hung his head pitifully. Khennik considered reaching out and patting the young Rainstorm’s shoulder, but he wasn’t a particularly tactile dragon and the last thing he wanted was to make Mastekh recoil. There relationship was shaky enough as it was.

So he contented himself with another sigh – mostly filled with bafflement over what his young aide needed from him – then retreated back into his room. It would probably be safer for all involved if he just stayed there until the Storm Season passed and the Skylark sailed onwards again.

“I’ll be in my room if anyone needs me,” he said over his shoulder, then shoved the door shut with his heel.

What a day, and it wasn’t even midmorning yet.

More next Monday.

Take care, my lovelies!

Free Fiction, Overworld, Serial, Writing

A Courtship of Dragons: Part 7

December 19, 2016 Becca Lusher

|| Part 1 || Part 2 || Part 3 || Part 4 || Part 5 || Part 6 ||

In which Mastekh is happy.

Unsurprisingly, this is a very short update.

7
Humming

MASTEKH WOKE IN a very good mood, having slept extremely well the night before. He hadn’t expected to. After his time with Estenarven and the kisses they had shared, he’d expected to spend the whole night awake, reliving the sensations and agonising over what it all meant.

Instead he’d slept peacefully – and woke with a smile. Estenarven had been right, everything did look better in the morning. Apart from the weather, of course, but that was to be expected when spending the Storm Season in the Tempestfury kinlands.

Rising early, Mastekh slipped away from Elder Blazeborn’s suite and headed for the kitchens. Time for tea. The elder did enjoy a refreshing cup in the morning and, as Estenarven often joked, Mastekh was good at tea. There were times when he felt it was probably the only thing he was good at, the only truly helpful thing he did for the elder, but not today. Today was not a day for doubts. Today was a day for… humming.

He’d never thought of himself as particularly musical before, but for some reason this morning music kept bubbling up inside him. A rippling little melody like a mountain spring bursting up through rock and ice after the winter thaw.

That was what he felt like – lively, vibrant and new, refreshed after a long period of cold and dark. So he hummed, exchanging shy smiles with the busy dracos who worked around him while he waited for the elder’s water to boil. Normally he felt useless, gawky and in the way of the smaller servants and their industrious work. Today they welcomed him into their pattern, murmuring appreciatively over his little song. They even thanked him when he had finished preparing the tea and headed for the door. As if any draco ever had a single thing to thank a dragon for. The servants always worked so hard – surely any gratitude went the other way.

So he made sure to thank them, in shy, stammering words, then picked up his tray and headed back to the suite. Humming all the way.

More next Monday, when we’ll be seeing things through a completely different dragon’s eyes.

Take care, my lovelies!
And may you enjoy this season in whichever way seems best to you.

Free Fiction, Serial, Updates

A Courtship of Dragons: Part 6

December 17, 2016 Becca Lusher

|| Part 1 || Part 2 || Part 3 || Part 4 || Part 5 ||

Warning: This update contains a flirtatious and inebriated Boulderforce.

It would appear this is a kissing book. You have been warned ;)

6
Banquet III

ESTENARVEN WAS DRUNK. Oh, he’d known he was been a bit merry when he was sitting with Anhardyne and Vish, basking in the attention and drinking far more wine than was probably wise. It had been right there, though, and it was a very good vintage. And he’d felt Mastekh’s eyes on him, so he may have been showing off a little.

But still, he’d kept his head. Mostly. Enough to enjoy himself while he waited for the gluttonous drake to finally finish stuffing his face and leave the seat beside Mastekh empty. It had taken longer than Estenarven had anticipated – hence the wine.

Still, he’d been fine until after he’d bid the lieutenants and fine and adventurous night and made his way around the long table. He’d been completely in control of himself when he pulled out the chair and dropped into the space.

Then he’d put a hand on Mastekh’s leg to gain his attention… and completely lost his head.

Mastekh was cool and sweet and smelled like grass after rain. The shivers, the closeness, the sounds he made.

Yes, Estenarven was drunk, utterly and completely soused, foxed, pissed, rat-arsed, tap-shackled, scale-shucked, loose-winged and every other description on the Overworld. But it had nothing to do with the wine and everything to do with his companion.

And Mastekh had absolutely no idea, if the way he was blushing was any indication. His poor dear Puddle was utterly green in the face, a darker colour spreading down his neck.

Estenarven stared at where the colour vanished beneath the collar of his robe and couldn’t help wondering how far down it went. Was his chest pale or dark, mottled or clear, was he muscled or slender, where were his scales? Every dragon had them, regardless of form, but they never showed up in the same place. Estenarven had two patches, one small smudge on his left buttock, the other a slender line that spiralled up his right thigh. Where were Mastekh’s? Somewhere naughty, he hoped, since such scale patches were often sensitive. As sensitive as the webs between his fingers? Estenarven certainly hoped so. He couldn’t wait to explore, to uncover his Puddle’s every last secret, to –

“Est-t-tenarv-v-ven?” Mastekh’s shaky breath was accompanied by a sharp, insistent tug.

Estenarven paused and looked down. By the Family, he really was drunk. He’d been licking Mastekh’s hand again, focusing all of his attention on those same webs, eyes closed, lost to the exploration.

Poor Mastekh’s face wasn’t just green now, it was practically black he was blushing so hard.

Estenarven reluctantly released his hand. “Sorry.”

Mastekh’s mouth moved but no sound came out. Poor Puddle, he’d shocked him speechless. All because he was drunk on the nearness of him and had forgotten himself, again. They were in a crowded room, and even though no one was paying them any attention – nor would be shocked even if they were – Mastekh was not an exhibitionist. He had to stop forgetting that, forgetting himself, forgetting where they were. It might not bother him, but it would bother Mastekh and that was not something he should ever forget.

“Forgive me.” He pressed a hand to his heart and bowed his head in remorse.

A cool hand slid over his cheek and he looked up, into green eyes almost swallowed by dark, wide pupils. “D-don’t,” Mastekh whispered, rubbing a thumb over Estenarven’s cheek.

He closed his eyes and leant into the touch, thinking of all the things he could do if that hand moved closer to his mouth. All the things he wanted to do, to start, to explore.

Huffing in frustration at himself, he opened his eyes and forced himself to pull away from the temptation of Mastekh’s hands. He’d never been particularly interested in hands before, not on their own, but with Mastekh everything was different.

He couldn’t resist taking hold of Mastekh’s hand again, but forced himself not to bring it back to his mouth or to stroke it. He just held it pressed between both of his and tried to think sweet, pure, innocent thoughts.

Which was tricky in a room that had grown as loud and as rowdy as this one.

Estenarven frowned, rapidly losing his happy, wine-induced haze and passing into an grumpy, irritated aftermath. “Let’s go,” he urged, pushing back his chair and getting to his feet.

Mastekh’s eyes widened, but he didn’t object when Estenarven hauled him upright.

“We can talk in the morning. Everything will be better then,” he said, weaving through the raucous crowd and making for the nearest door.

“You w-w-won’t,” Mastekh replied, cringing against Estenarven’s side as a drunken party of dragons and Riders attempted to drag him into their dancing circle.

“Won’t what?” Estenarven asked distractedly as he stepped over a passed out Rider still clutching a flagon of ale to his chest. He turned and lifted Mastekh up and over the man without thinking.

Wide eyes stared down in surprise. Estenarven blinked up, clasping Mastekh against his chest and barely noticing the weight of him. He was a Boulderforce, after all. Liking the feeling of keeping his Puddle so close, Estenarven strode the last few steps until they were out of the hall and in the much quieter corridor beyond.

Then he had to put him down, because the temptation to pin him to the nearest wall was just too great.

Mastekh kept his hands pressed against his chest, eyes still wide, barely blinking.

Smiling, Estenarven rubbed his knuckles down the Rainstorm’s cheek and pressed his thumb beneath his jaw to close his gaping mouth. It was simply too tempting left open. “Won’t what?” he repeated, remembering the question he’d asked before.

Mastekh snatched his hands away and folded his arms across his chest, rubbing at his shoulders, face flushed green once more. He shivered and offered up a tremulous smile. “You w-won’t feel b-b-better in the m-morning.”

Estenarven blinked in surprise – then burst out laughing.

Mastekh folded his arms defensively, huffing with indignation. “Well, you w-won’t. After all the w-wine you’ve dr-drunk, you’ll have a t-t-terrible h-headache. And d-don’t come c-c-crying to m-me.”

It was one of the longest sentences Estenarven had ever heard the Rainstorm mutter, and it made him laugh even harder. “Oh, Puddle,” he sighed, draping an arm across the smaller dragon’s shoulders before he could storm off in a huff. “We really have to work on your seductive invitations.”

Which earned him a slap on the chest. “It w-w-wasn’t an inv-v-vitation you l-lout. As if I’d inv-v-vite you anywh-where.”

“A dragon can dream,” Estenarven sighed soulfully, slightly embarrassed to realise his wistfulness wasn’t entirely feigned.

“F-fool.”

“Yes,” he agreed cheerfully. “Entirely. I’m a complete fool for you.” He pressed his lips against Mastekh’s cool cheek, delighted to feel it heat beneath his lips. “And now to bed, before I ravish you right here. I know you’re not one for exhibitions.”

This time the soulful sigh came from his companion. “A d-dragon can d-d-dream.”

Estenarven could only hope his wistfulness wasn’t entirely feigned either. “Don’t tempt me, Puddle. You might not like the outcome.”

“I’ll s-s-save it for wh-when you’re n-not d-drunk, P-pebble. You m-might dr-drop me.”

“Oh, really?” Estenarven roared with mock indignation, spinning Mastekh around. Catching the Rainstorm by complete surprise, he upended him over his shoulder and started running towards Elder Blazeborn’s suite.

“P-p-p-put me d-down, you f-f-fool!”

Laughing, Estenarven ignored the kicking legs and fists thumping his back, knowing full well that if Mastekh really wanted to escape all he had to do was shift and flatten him. “I heard a challenge, Puddle, and a good dragon never turns down a challenge.”

“You’re d-d-drunk!”

Yes, utterly. Completely drunk on Mastekh and the light, silly, foolish feelings he stirred up inside. He hadn’t been lying when he’d said he was a fool for Mastekh. He would be anything for this Rainstorm, he only needed to ask.

As Estenarven jogged up staircase after staircase, Mastekh’s struggles slowed and stopped, the fists that had been thumping his back having turned to smoothing caresses over the dark silk. By the time Estenarven reached their suite, his breath was heaving, his legs were shaking and he felt rather light-headed, but his back tingled all over from the teasing touches.

Unlocking the door, he staggered inside and carefully lowered his burden.

When he straightened, Mastekh grabbed hold of his head before he reached his full height. Green eyes glowing with determination, the Rainstorm pulled Estenarven down and kissed him.

At first it was clumsy, a hard push that mashed their lips against their teeth. Mastekh clenched his hands around the back of Estenarven’s neck as if afraid he would try and escape.

Estenarven wasn’t going anywhere. Reaching back, he gripped Mastekh’s wrists and rubbed the insides with his thumbs, urging the Rainstorm to relax. Then he slid his fingers over the back of Mastekh’s hands to slip between his fingers and stroke the sensitive webs.

Mastekh gasped, firm grip relaxing.

Estenarven took full advantage, pulling back to take a breath and gain some room, then darting in to slip his tongue into play.

Ah, such play. Mastekh melted against his chest and Estenarven turned their kiss into a lazy, thorough exploration that left them both panting and shaking, holding tight to shoulders and waist in an effort to keep standing.

And they were both still fully dressed.

Estenarven had never felt like this with anyone before – certainly not without naked skin and a solid, supporting surface involved.

It was too much.

It wasn’t nearly enough.

And Mastekh wasn’t ready for more.

Estenarven eased the kiss until he could pull away, cupping Mastekh’s face in his hands. Wide eyes, more black now than green, gazed up at him, kiss-swollen lips trembling with uncertainty, anxiety already draining the passion from his face.

No, there would go no further tonight.

But he stole another kiss anyway, a sweet, delicious sip, before pulling away with a sigh.

“Goodnight, Puddle,” he murmured, resting his head against Mastekh’s.

“G-g-good-n-night, P-pebble,” came his reply.

Then they parted for their tiny, solitary rooms on opposite sides of Elder Blazeborn’s suite.

Turns out Mastekh was right: Estenarven was not going to feel better in the morning. He certainly wasn’t about to sleep any time soon.

But it had been worth every single moment.

And he would willingly do it all again on the morrow.

Next update will be on Monday. Complete with merry Mastekh.

Take care, my lovelies!

Serial, Updates

A Few Brief Changes

December 14, 2016December 14, 2016 Becca Lusher

Sorry to anyone looking for A Courtship of Dragons today. I’m having a sad, heart sore week and haven’t had a chance to edit the next part for you yet. As such I’ll be posting it on Saturday 17th.

Also, from next week, I’ll be moving Courtship updates to Mondays until after the New Year. This is because Christmas and New Year fall on a Sunday, so I’ll be moving Rift Riders updates to Wednesdays and Fridays from the 21st on. Once we’re into January everything will revert to normal.

Take care, my lovelies.

Free Fiction, Overworld, Serial

A Courtship of Dragons: Part 5

December 7, 2016 Becca Lusher

|| Part 1 || Part 2 || Part 3 || Part 4 ||

While Estenarven is having a fine time on one side of the table, Mastekh’s not enjoying himself quite so much on the other. Poor Puddle.

5
Banquet II

MASTEKH HATED BANQUETS. They were always so noisy, so full of people, so full of food. Sitting hunched in his chair, he stared down at the soup in front of him. It was cold. It had to be by now. Soup had been the first course, the only one brought in by the draco servants. The rest of the food had been piled high in the middle of the table for all and sundry to serve themselves as much or as little as they liked.

Mastekh hadn’t eaten any of it. He couldn’t. He was too nervous, his stomach a mass of confusion and anxiety.

Estenarven sat directly opposite him, across the wide expanse of tabletop, laughing and completely at ease. As well he might be in a crowd such as this. The Boulderforce was naturally gregarious and always popular. Lieutenants Anhardyne and Vish were seated next to him and they made quite the striking trio – young, beautiful, tall, but where the humans were slender and shining, Estenarven was broad and dark and –

Oh, dear. Mastekh sighed and stared down at his untouched soup. He felt like that soup, cold and colourless and utterly unappetising. Why would Estenarven ever want him when he had such a feast available?

Rumour had told him all about the young Boulderforce long before Estenarven had been assigned to Elder Blazeborn as an aide, in punishment for playing too roughly with humans. Mastekh cast him another glance and sighed again. It seemed little had changed, since Estenarven appeared as eager as ever to play with the Riders.

Not that Mastekh could blame him. Humans were vibrant and fun, and those two in particular were extremely flirtatious. And more. Mastekh had heard rumours about them too. Their reputations for excitement and experimentation more than matched Estenarven’s before Mastekh had ever met him. The dragons of Teirenlai had had only good things to say about the Boulderforce, in all areas.

Mastekh shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He wasn’t a prude, nor was he shocked or even surprised. He was a Rainstorm, after all, and all Flowflight dragons were known for being fluid in many aspects of their nature, be it relationships, gender or sexual preferences. But sitting in that hall, watching Estenarven flirt rather outrageously with the humans, made Mastekh feel young and inexperienced and small.

He may have grown up a Rainstorm, but attraction was new to Mastekh. He… he wasn’t like his other clutch mates and fellow fledglings. He’d never been attracted to them, couldn’t imagine ever being intimate with any of them. He’d thought he wasn’t much that way inclined. It happened, even amongst the fluid Flowflights. He’d been happy enough with that thought. After all, he could barely make it through the day without spontaneously melting into a puddle, so throwing romantic entanglements into the mix would surely only make things worse. Not that anyone would ever choose to get involved with him. Why would they? He could barely stand his own company, so why would anyone else ever choose to willingly spend time with him?

But Estenarven…

Mastekh was staring again. He couldn’t help it. Estenarven was everything he wasn’t. People wanted to be close to him, and who could blame them? It wasn’t just that the Boulderforce was handsome, it wasn’t even that he was friendly. There was just something about him that made Mastekh feel safe, made him feel calm, and that wasn’t anything he’d ever encountered before. No one had ever made Mastekh feel safe, no one had ever quieted the doubts and fears that constantly warred and chattered inside his head.

With Estenarven he could breathe.

But that was selfish. What could Mastekh possibly have to offer in return?

Feeling miserable, he stared across the table as a laughing Anhardyne picked up something sticky with sauce and pressed it to Estenarven’s lips. The Boulderforce opened without hesitation, licking her fingers clean afterwards.

Mastekh stopped breathing.

Dark eyes flickered his way, shimmering with the pale blue of the surrounding glow globes.

Mastekh dropped his eyes, fists clenching in his lap. He had no right to feel this way. No right at all.

But the daisy…

He’d baked rock cakes…

Nothing had been said. No promises exchanged. Even if Estenarven had kissed him, there had been no vows offered, no words given. If there was even anything between them, it didn’t mean they were exclusive. Estenarven was a free dragon. He owed Mastekh nothing.

He looked up, blinking away a wash of tears and found the seats opposite now empty.

They’d gone then. Vish, Anhardyne, Estenarven. Off to have even more fun together somewhere secluded and private. Mastekh wished them well of their evening, even if his chest felt hollowed out and his heart trampled beneath their carefree feet.

“They don’t mean anything by it,” a soft voice drew his attention sideways.

Mastekh tilted his head the tiniest fraction to see Lieutenant Nera watching him with compassionate dark eyes. Mastekh twitched his head away, unable to bear her pity, barely holding himself together.

He felt like ice, cold and frozen, but knew that ice was just a thin layer over the roiling waters beneath. If he moved too much or too fast, the ice would crack and all the hurt and fears and unworthiness would come flooding out. He’d lose control and embarrass everyone. He had to hold on. He couldn’t afford to crack.

“It’s only flirting,” Nera continued, her voice low beneath the babble of excited chatter. “They can’t help it. It comes as easy to them as breathing – Esten too. But he’s barely taken his eye off you all evening. They’re just having fun.”

Mastekh’s breathing hitch, almost a sob, but he couldn’t respond. He wanted to thank Nera for trying to be kind, wanted to tell her it didn’t matter. He knew they were just flirting, that it didn’t mean anything. He also wanted to tell her that she was wrong. It was more than flirting and it meant everything, everything bad and hurtful, and proved everything that was wrong with him.

Why else would their seats be empty? Where else could Estenarven have gone, except back to the room the lieutenants would have been assigned, along with a big bed that offered so many more opportunities than the cramped quarters available to them on the Skylark. Estenarven was a big dragon, even in human shape, he would need room to stretch out. More room than he’d been assigned in Elder Blazeborn’s suite. They could offer it to him.

Stone scraped on stone as the chair on Mastekh’s far side was dragged out. He didn’t move, couldn’t, didn’t want to know who was sitting there now. He hadn’t even noticed that the other dragon had left. He’d been seated beside an older Tempestfury all evening, one who had been interested in nothing except the food in front of him. His lack of conversation had suited Mastekh perfectly, but he wished the gobbling old drake hadn’t left so early. He was not in the mood for fending off the conversation of strangers.

A warm, heavy hand settled on his thigh and Mastekh jumped. The ice threatened to crack as he stared aghast at the newcomer.

Dark eyes, pupils blown wide, gazed back, accompanied by a lopsided grin in a broad and beautifully familiar face. “’lo, Puddle.”

Estenarven.

Mastekh could have cried. Estenarven was here. He had come to him. He could have had the pick of the room, he had already had two humans enjoying his company, but no, Estenarven hadn’t chosen to be with any of them. He’d come to Mastekh. He was here. Mastekh breathed in a short, stuttering breath, trying to hold back the tears.

Estenarven smiled at him and he melted.

The ice covering him faded away, but he didn’t break. No flood of feelings poured forth, he didn’t lose control. Instead the waters inside him settled and calmed and he was back, safe inside his skin, wanting to be nowhere more than where he was right then.

“Missed you,” Estenarven mumbled, pitching sideways until his head rested on Mastekh’s shoulder, his face pressed against his throat.

Oh.

The calm waters began to bubble and fizz beneath his skin, sending a wash of heat rushing through him.

He hadn’t expected that.

Just as he didn’t expect Estenarven to half-turn towards him, one hand still pressed against his thigh, the other stretching across Mastekh to link their fingers together. The Boulderforce hummed with contentment, setting Mastekh fizzing and bubbling once more. Their hands were so different – Estenarven’s broad and strong, with thick fingers and calloused skin. Mastekh’s hands were slender and cool and soft – not to mention trembling as Estenarven shifted his grip to Mastekh’s wrist. Then he slid his fingers slowly, slowly down, over fragile veins and tendons, tickling against his palm then teasing between his fingers, where fine webbing extended between each to the middle knuckle.

By the Family! Mastekh shivered.

Estenarven hummed with approval. “Sensitive?”

He swallowed as the Boulderforce’s lips brushed against his throat and nodded. He hadn’t known, he’d had no idea but, gracious, as Estenarven teased his fingertips over the webs again, Mastekh couldn’t restrain a full body shudder. Nothing had ever felt so strange, yet wonderful, and oh, he wanted more.

“Est-t-ten…”

Chuckling, Estenarven slid his other hand down Mastekh’s thigh towards his knee. He circled his thumb slowly, keeping time with his fingers as they stroked the webs, Mastekh’s palm, his wrist, slipping inside the sleeve of his robe and up to the crook of his elbow.

What was he doing to him?

Family have mercy.

“Oh…”

Estenarven opened his mouth against Mastekh’s neck and licked, just as the hand on his thigh began to move upwards.

A loud laugh broke the spell and Mastekh flinched, raising his shoulder quick and sharp and catching Estenarven on the cheek. He also pressed his hand hard against the one on his thigh, stopping it from exploring any further.

“N-not here!”

Grumbling, Estenarven shifted back onto his own chair and rubbed his cheek. “Sorry, Puddle, forgot you’re not one for exhibitions.”

Mastekh hadn’t thought himself one for sensual touches either, but look how wrong he’d been. “S-s-sorry.” He hugged his arms miserably over his middle. Yet another way that he was less than other dragons.

“Don’t apologise,” Estenarven said, clucking his tongue and prising one of Mastekh’s hands loose. He pressed the palm against his lips and sighed. “Never apologise. I’m the one who should have known better.”

Yes, he should have known far better than to have ever expressed interest in an inexperienced, anxious, watery, wimpy, useless excuse for a dragon such as –

“Oh!”

Estenarven smiled against his palm, then licked the web between his fore and middle finger again.

“Oh, m-m-my…”

“Bad thoughts gone?” Estenarven chuckled, lowering Mastekh’s hand.

He shivered all over and stared at the Boulderforce. “Wh-what thoughts?” he asked, dazed and then dazzled as Estenarven smiled at him. It was wicked and sultry and all for him.

Mastekh’s insides fizzed and bubbled all over again.

“Perfect.”

The next update contains scenes of flirtation, inappropriate snickering and mild indignation. See you next Wednesday.

Take care, my lovelies!

Free Fiction, Overworld, Serial, Writing

A Courtship of Dragons: Part 4

November 29, 2016 Becca Lusher

|| Part 1 || Part 2 || Part 3 ||

As of next week I’ll start posting these regularly on Wednesdays. I’ve had a bit of run on writing this over the last couple of days (and broken 100k for NaNo!), so I have a few weeks now stored up. I still have no idea where this is going or how long it’ll turn out, but Khennik joined the POV this morning, so who knows who’ll start talking next. (My money’s on those lieutenants, but I think Jesral will too if/when she shows up.)

I’ll also make a proper page, create a blurb and cover and start posting it on Wattpad at some point. Right now I’m just letting my brain recover.

In the meantime, Estenarven’s made it to the banquet and appears to be in a fine flirty mood.

4
Banquet I

KIN TEMPESTFURY WERE a lively bunch. Especially during the Storm Season, when their powers were high and they seized upon any excuse to throw a party. Hence this banquet, which had been dragged together on short notice to welcome the human ambassador, her Rift Rider guard and the dragon delegation assigned to accompany them throughout the Dragonlands.

Estenarven had visited a few dragon courts in his three and a bit centuries of life, but he’d rarely seen any quite as relaxed as this one. A high table stood at the head of the great hall, where the dragon elders, ambassador and captains of the Riders and their skyship were seated alongside the Elder of kin Tempestfury with a certain air of formality. The rest of the hall was taken up with long tables, a hundred Rift Riders and nearly three hundred dragons, all talking at once, reaching over each other for food and frequently swapping seats in search of a more interesting conversation.

He loved it. This was just his sort of night. Good food, even better wine and friendly people: what more could a dragon ask for?

Well, a seat closer to Mastehk might have been nice. Not that Estenarven wasn’t enjoying his present companions. He’d been seated next to two of the Rift Rider lieutenants, Anhardyne and Vish, who were a lot like him – loud, friendly and frequently flirty. Estenarven had liked them both from the moment he’d first met them, and any dinner spent next to them was bound to pass in laughter and merriment. It was just a shame that Mastekh had been seated with the other lieutenants on the opposite side of the table. One that was wide enough to support Estenarven in natural form and currently piled high with all kinds of delicious food – which had the unfortunate effect of obstructing his view.

It was too wide to share anything more than the occasional glance between platters, but Estenarven had still managed a fair few of at the beginning of the evening, wondering how long it would take before the seat beside Mastekh was empty. However, as time progressed, he noted the way the humans were taking care of his Puddle and started to relax. Mastekh would be safe with Nera and Gharrik. They were quiet and steady and would never drink too much or let the nervous dragon be overwhelmed by company.

Unlike Estenarven and his side of the table.

“A toast!” Anhardyne shouted, now seated on Vish’s lap, her stone goblet raised high. Whether there was much wine left in it, Estenarven was highly doubtful, but he still admired the fine sight the human pair made. She was tawny and gold, her fine blonde hair like a cloud around her head. Vish, by contrast, was dark and dusky, with long eyelashes that he fluttered in his lover’s direction to make Anhardyne laugh.

“To love and friendships and wine and song!” Anhardyne’s words raised a rousing cheer and she leant towards Estenarven, wine goblet first. “Drink, drink!” she urged, almost dropping the whole lot in Estenarven’s lap as Vish reeled her back in.

“Leave the dragon room to breathe, Hardy. You’ll never gain his attention that way.”

Catching the goblet before it could soak him, Estenarven grinned and raised it in a silent response to Vish’s flirty wink. Once he might have taken them up on their not-so-subtle offer. Rumour had it that neither human minded too much who shared their bed, as long as they all had fun, and it seemed that even after the pair of them had finally given into their mutual attraction, they were still open to offers, so long as both of them shared the fun.

He would have been tempted not too long ago. They were tall and athletic and exuberant, everything that Estenarven had revelled in since gaining control of his wings and his changes. But their kind of fun no longer seemed quite so appealing, and all because of the small dragon sitting hunched up on the other side of the table. Estenarven stared at Mastekh until he looked up, then raised the goblet in a silent toast and held Mastekh’s eyes as he drained every last drop, slowly licking the last few from his lips.

The Rainstorm flushed green with embarrassment and looked away, pretending to be interested in something Lieutenant Nera had to say.

A drunken giggle drew his attention to find both Vish and Anhardyne watching him with knowing smirks.

“You do like a challenge, don’t you?” Anhardyne snickered, closing her eyes as Vish ran his fingers up the back of her head, spearing them through her hair.

“I’m pretty sure those are the only ones worth having,” the second Rider chuckled as Anhardyne pressed into his hand, practically purring.

True enough. Estenarven reached across the table for the wine jug and refilled goblets for them all. “To worthy challenges,” he said, raising his drink.

“And rewards well won,” Anhardyne agreed, smiling slyly as she tapped her goblet against his.

Now that was definitely something he could drink to. He smiled and sat back, ready to make the most of whatever else the evening had to offer.

Yes, yes, Esten, but is Mastekh having as much fun as you?
Find out next Wednesday ;)

Cheers, m’dears!

Free Fiction, Overworld, Serial, Writing

A Courtship of Dragons: Part 3

November 22, 2016 Becca Lusher

|| Part 1 || Part 2 ||

Breathe, Mastekh. Just breathe.

3
The Dinner Bell

MASTEKH HAD WOUND himself into a fine state by the time the bell rang for dinner. Anxiety pinched high and tight inside his chest with every step as he paced the narrow confines of his room. He knew such restless movement wasn’t helping, but sitting still was worse.

What had he done? Oh, what had he done?

Courting a Boulderforce, him? What had come over him? How did one even go about courting a Boulderforce anyway?

Mastekh paced and wrung his hands, wondering if he’d done the right thing or made a terrible mistake. Had Estenarven liked the cakes? What if he’d hated them? It could be the sand bread all over again, when he’d tried so hard to impress Elder Blazeborn and got it terribly wrong.

Maybe Estenarven hated him now. After all, rock cakes weren’t normally made with chocolate or so much sugar. But Estenarven loved sweet things. Only rock cakes were supposed to be savoury. What right had he to change an ancient Flowflight recipe?

And what business did a puny little Rainstorm have in courting a Boulderforce anyway?

Did Estenarven even know they were a courting gift?

Aunt Water, he couldn’t cope with this. His heart was beating triple time and he was only pacing his room.

Breathe, he counselled himself. Breathe.

It was unlikely that Estenarven thought it was a courting gift anyway. He probably thought it was just something Mastekh had made while he was bored.

Whoever heard of a Flowflight and a Stoneheart anyway? While other Clans might mix romantically with other dragons, ever since the Curse had covered the lowlands of the world with a thick layer of clouds, Flowflights had kept to themselves. With so many of their kin lost in the water beneath the Curse, they had pulled inwards, determined not to dilute their rare bloodlines any further. Romances were frowned upon, mate-alliances refused. Flowflights learnt to keep to their own.

Oh, but…

Mastekh shook his head and wrung his hands, feeling them starting to drip. He was loosing control. He couldn’t lose control, not in here. His hold on his human form was improving these days, but stress made it worse and he’d always had trouble focusing. If he wasn’t carefully his thoughts tended to spiral and when they went down, they went all the way down, into the depths of anxiety and worry and oh, oh, oh –

“S-stop it!” he hissed at himself, standing still and closing his eyes.

He couldn’t lose control in here. The room wasn’t big enough. If he gave into his fears his human skin would slide off like oil on water and he’d be left cramped and cursing and embarrassed in a room too small to hold him.

Deep breath. In… Out… He had to remind himself that the pinch in his chest was just anxiety, not a heart attack. Though he wouldn’t be surprised if he did worry himself into a heart attack one of these days. It was so hard to breathe at times.

Oh, no. Oh, no! He couldn’t breathe!

Stop.

He clenched his damp fists and forced his heavy tail to vanish again, settling down his rippling skin and pulling in all of the water that kept trying to escape.

He was stronger than this. Better than this.

Elder Blazeborn expected better. He would be better.

Allowing a shaking breath to escape his tight lips, he opened his eyes and sighed. Much better.

“Mastekh?” Elder Blazeborn called from the room beyond. “Are you coming to dinner?”

Oh, no, oh, no, he was making the elder wait.

Panic swept over him again as a knock sounded on his door.

Oh, oh, he hated being a bother. He hated being late. It was so rude, so terribly rude.

He wrenched open the door and barrelled out, bubbling apologies – and slammed straight into a wall.

The wall shifted and two strong hands gripped Mastekh by the elbows, holding him steady when he would otherwise have reeled backwards.

“Oh!” He looked up into a dark, charcoal-tinged face and beautiful, laughing black eyes.

A slow smile spread across Estenarven’s mouth. “Hello, Puddle.”

Mastekh gulped and the anxiety melted inside his chest, warmth seeping in where there had only previously been cold. “H-hello, P-pebble,” he whispered.

“I’ll go on ahead, shall I?” Elder Blazeborn muttered, seemingly aware that no one was paying him the least bit of attention.

The sound of the door slamming shut made Mastekh jump. Estenarven tightened his grip on his elbows – and that was when Mastekh noticed where his own hands were.

On Estenarven’s chest.

Not just on the slate grey silk robe that the other dragon wore, but on his chest. Because Estenarven was careless with how he tied his sash and didn’t much care if he left a lot of skin showing. Mastekh didn’t much care either because Estenarven’s chest was like the rest of him – broad and sturdy and strong and smooth, so smooth. Warm too, with a hint of softness that was missing in the Boulderforce’s much larger and more solid native form.

As a dragon he lived up to his kin name, but as a human he had a little give in his strong muscles. Which Mastekh couldn’t help but notice as he stared straight ahead at where his fingers were flexing… and squeezing.

A low rumble hummed against his hands. Estenarven was laughing.

“Oh!” Mastekh snatched his hands away, staring down at them as if they belonged to someone else, a mortified blush rushing to his face. “I’m s-s-s-sorry.”

“Don’t apologise, Puddle,” Estenarven chuckled again, grabbing Mastekh’s hand before he could scuttle back inside his room and bolt the door for an eternity. “Never apologise for touching me. You can do it a bit more later if you like, but sadly we don’t have time for that now.”

Mastekh could only blink as the other dragon towed him towards the door.

“The banquet,” Estenarven explained, smiling at Mastekh’s blank face. “Elder Blazeborn is expecting us.”

“Oh.” This time he couldn’t hide his disappointment from the small, but eternally adaptable sound. He flexed his fingers inside of Estenarven’s and felt a warm, reassuring, wonderful squeeze in return.

Chuckling again, Estenarven pulled Mastekh out into the corridor. “We’ll talk later,” he promised, brushing a brief yet wonderful kiss across Mastekh’s knuckles.

Heat rushed to his face again, but Mastekh didn’t mind so much this time and spent the rest of the walk through the halls of Highstrike grinning like a fool.

I shall post more on Saturday, if I have any more to post.
As yet I have half a page. Need more.

Take care, my lovelies.

Free Fiction, Overworld, Serial, Writing

A Courtship of Dragons: Part 1

November 12, 2016 Becca Lusher

Something fluffy this way comes…

For anyone who needs cheering up or wants something easy and cute to read about, may I present this offering for your delectation?

A Courtship of Dragons is an M/M Romance tale (it could be short, it could be a novella, it could be any size, I have no idea) told in short scenes, between two young dragons, Estenarven kin Boulderforce Clan Stoneheart and Mastekh kin Rainstorm Clan Flowflight.

For regular readers, it fits into the Dragonlands series timeline between Dragonlands 1 (Blazing Dawn) and 2 (Storm Heart). For people who haven’t read the first book, I’ll try to keep spoilers to a minimum and introduce enough of the world for it to make sense without being too infodumpy. I’m not sure how successful I’ll be, but it is intended to stand alone.

I am posting this as I go along, writing in between my NaNo project, so edits are minimal and errors are likely. Some of it might not make much sense, but I guess that’s half the fun. Feel free to tell me what you think, feedback is always welcome.

A proper blurb will arrive at some point, but I need to get a bit further in first. For now, all I know is Mastekh + Estenarven = fluffy dragon cuteness. Enjoy!

1
The Daisy

Highstrike, Tempestfury Kinlands
2^nd Storm Month, 579 Cloud Era

THERE WAS A flower on his pillow.

Mastekh kin Rainstorm Clan Flowflight paused just inside the narrow chamber he’d been assigned for this unplanned but necessary stay with kin Tempestfury. Beyond the narrow window slit, the Storm Season raged in all its usual fury, filling the sky with force and making it impossible for most dragons and skyships to fly. Safely inside and protected from the weather, Mastekh clutched his new recipe book to his chest and cautiously approached the bed.

It was narrow and carved from stone, in the traditional draconic style, but the blankets were thickly woven wool and the pillows were plush and soft and smelled like goose down. Not that he paid much attention to the furnishings as he reached out a cautious hand towards the flower.

Small and straggly, it was just a weed. A plain, common weed. Bright white petals overlapping and crowding around a sunshine-yellow centre. The whole thing was barely the size of his thumbnail, with a dark green stalk trailing forlornly below in search of roots it could no longer feel.

A daisy.

Mastekh pinched the stalk between thumb and finger and raised it slowly towards his nose. He breathed in deep: meadows, sunshine and Estenarven.

Sighing, he smiled and held the flower up before his eyes, twirling it first one way, then the other, thinking about the big, broad-shouldered Boulderforce dragon and the way his bright smile softened whenever Mastekh came near.

And who had once kissed him as though Mastekh was the very air he needed to breathe.

A kiss, a rescue. Wonderment and joy. Strength from weakness.

That had been ten days ago and there hadn’t been any sign of anything more since.

Estenarven hadn’t been ignoring him exactly, but he hadn’t sought him out either, and Mastekh had never been the sort to make the first move. Or any move really. They had both been busy and Mastekh had begun to think it was a one off, a mistake, a case of overexcited emotions overwhelmed by the moment.

He twirled the daisy again, this common little weed that flourished in strange, out of the way places and brought a splash of sunshine inside on this gloomiest of days. A little ray of hope.

Something bubbled up inside him and he tucked the daisy behind his ear, flopping onto the bed to crack open the recipe book and flip through the pages. So many delicious treats and delicacies awaited him inside, but he already knew what he wanted to prepare next.

Rock cakes.

Grinning, Mastekh brushed his thumb over the soft petals beside his ear and studied how best to begin wooing a Boulderforce.

I know I said I’d post the first two scenes today, but Estenarven rambled on more than expected and I haven’t got time to look it over right now. Not when yesterday was swallowed up by boiler repairs – leaving me behind on this and my NaNo project – and I’ve just wasted an hour looking up Celtic knotwork that I didn’t even use in the banner.

So, long story short, more on Monday.

Take care, everyone.