Chosen by the Beasts, Claimed by the Dragon-Chapter 32: Bonding Trip

CW: Blood and gore

— REN —

I’m sitting at the top of a tree, staring out into the twilight to find my target. It’s taking everything in me not to go straight back to the festival and spend time with Zoryn, who is no doubt surrounded by her... ’friends,’ laughing and eating.

I fucking miss her, and hate that the others are getting to be around her more than I am.

But I can’t go back now—this mission is more important than my jealousy, even if my instincts are screaming otherwise.

’Don’t get distracted,’ comes Daeleon’s voice in the back of my mind.

Ugh. I wish he couldn’t use telepathy.

’I’m not distracted, Daeleon. I can see the target.’

He snaps back, ’Then why the hell haven’t you done something yet? I can’t act until you incapacitate them, Zarenien. I didn’t invite you to be cosmetic. Perhaps I should have asked the lion to come instead; he seems capable.’

’Fuck off! I’m doing it,’ I hiss internally. This old piece of shit, I swear. He knows exactly what to say to push my buttons.

I shift partially, allowing my claws to extend and my horns to lengthen. I’d rather not shift completely; it would make things too complicated. Daeleon and I are already breaking several rules, even if it’s for the sake of everyone’s safety.

The person I’ve been tailing for the last twenty minutes is just ahead, sprinting on foot toward the western mountains. We planned to follow them back to their base, but it seems they’re aware they are being followed—we’ve been led in circles.

Our plan B is to kidnap them.

I drop from the tree without a sound.

My eyes transform into slits as I focus on the stranger, and my world narrows to motion and intent. My claws hit earth, my wings half-furl for balance, and I close the distance in three heartbeats. They don’t even have time to scream.

I clamp a hand over their mouth and drive them into the dirt, pinning them with my knee between their shoulder blades. They’re lighter than they should be, especially for a beastkin—if they are a beastkin... Regardless, they don’t struggle the way prey does.

Instead, they laugh. "Blessed," they murmur into my palm. "She has chosen her guardian well."

My blood runs cold.

I twist their arm behind their back until bone grinds. "You don’t have the privilege of referring to her in any capacity."

Their hood slips as they hiss in pain, revealing shaved temples etched with faint, ritual scars. It’s an ancient script I’ve never seen before—hmm, wait, maybe I saw it inscribed on the wall of the Dragon King’s den once. I haven’t seen it since I was a kid, so I can’t be sure.

They definitely look like they’re a part of some cult, and now that their face is revealed, it’s obvious this is a man—a serpent, to be precise.

Daeleon lands a moment later, his presence slamming into the clearing like a pressure wave. Gold smoke coils around his boots as he steps forward, eyes burning.

"Bind them," he orders.

I do as I’m told without hesitation. I summon ethereal purple chains from my palms, tying their hands, legs, and arms without issue. When I’m done, they’re sitting on their knees with no way to move.

The cultist looks between us, smiling even as the restraints tighten. "So the dragon patriarch still guards her personally," he drawls. "How... nostalgic."

Daeleon’s jaw locks. "Who sent you?"

"No one sent me," the cultist answers without hesitation, like he’s proud. "I’m here alone, due to my own quiet devotion."

...Quiet devotion.

My claws dig into the earth. Why does that sound familiar?

"You’re lying. But I’ll pretend you didn’t," Daeleon’s voice drops. He goes with another approach, accusing, "You’ve been seen near the festival."

"Yes," he agrees serenely. "And near the tournament. And near the awakening."

I move before Daeleon can stop me, hauling the cultist upright until their feet barely touch the ground. "You do not get to talk about her like she’s an event."

The cultist’s gaze meets mine without fear. He studies me for a moment before speaking.

"Oh," he breathes. "So the mark has been placed."

Daeleon stiffens.

"How unfortunate," the cultist continues. "The Queen will feel that. She already feels her."

The word Queen feels foreign to hear spoken aloud. No one in the beastworld has even used that title for anyone since... well, as long as I can remember. Maybe the humans use it? But why would this scraggly little snake have a female ruling over him?

Daeleon’s control fractures just a hair. "What Queen?"

The cultist smiles wider. "We know her as the one who remembers."

"The hell does that even mean?" I scoff. Yet, when I glance at Daeleon, he has a hardened expression—like he may have a clue as to what this freak’s talking about.

Silence crashes down around us.

"She stirs," the cultist says softly. "The Empress’s echo. We felt it when her heat broke."

My stomach twists.

"You intend to take her," Daeleon says flatly.

"Taking her is a means to an end," the cultist replies. "We do not wish to keep her; we intend to offer her."

I see red.

My grip tightens enough that they choke, but he doesn’t even fight it. He just whispers, voice reverent even as his breath stutters, "She will choose again. And when she does, the Queen will open for her."

Daeleon steps forward, towering over them. "You will never come near my child."

The cultist’s eyes gleam. "You cannot keep her from what she is."

Daeleon’s voice drops to something lethal. "Watch me."

I release the cultist only when Daeleon signals me to do so. My hands are shaking with barely controlled rage because I can feel it now. Faint, distant, like a tide pulling at the edges of my bond.

Zoryn. Laughing, eating, at ease with her friends... unknowingly being watched.

Daeleon meets my gaze, and for the first time since I’ve known him, there’s no command in his eyes—only grim certainty. "This changes nothing," he says quietly. "You stay by her side."

I swallow. "I wasn’t planning on leaving."

If anyone dares to bring up this mysterious ’offering her to an unknown Queen’ thing again, I’ll burn their faith to ash.

"Little cultist," Daeleon addresses the man again, his voice pointed and accusing.

The figure looks at him, "Yes, patriarch?"

"You’ve admitted to planning to steal my child and offer her to a false deity," he says, "and that you’ve been everywhere you shouldn’t have been at the festival, without proper identification."

"The Queen isn’t false—" the man starts, but doesn’t get the chance to finish his sentence before Daeleon grabs him by the chin, squeezing so hard I’m surprised his jaw doesn’t shatter on impact.

"Am I correct so far?" Daeleon asks, his eyes glowing a violent shade of red. I shudder instinctively—holy shit, he’s scary. I need to remember not to piss him off, even if I really want to.

"No—" the cultist starts.

"You’re testing my patience, worm," the Dragon Lord growls, claws beginning to elongate from his fingers. He drags one down the side of the man’s face, leaving a trail of blood in its wake.

The cultist shivers—from fear or pain, I have no idea—but he still refuses to budge.

"Fine. I will extend to you one last chance to redeem yourself: who are your accomplices on this mission? You need not expose your entire cult, only the ones at the Moonfall." Daeleon’s patience has already run out, I can tell. He offers, "I’ll spare your life if you do."

"O-okay," the man musters. Daeleon releases him from his grip, and he immediately starts to cough blood.

After his bout of wheezing, our perpetrator reveals that he has been working with four other individuals, who are at the festival. He refuses to give names, but he offers in-depth descriptions of each.

Daeleon nods, "Well done."

"Can you remove the chains?" the cultist murmurs.

I glance at Daeleon for orders, and he gives me a nod of approval. The cultist falls to his hands and knees, unsteady after being tied up for so long, but he eventually gets to his feet. He seems relieved, but also has this weird, empty look in his eyes—like he’s nothing but a shell.

There’s no way he will be up to anything good after this... I’m surprised Daeleon is letting this man g—

"AGH!"

Daeleon steps forward with a soft smile on his face and slices this guy’s head clean off with nothing but his index claw. The severed head falls to the ground, blood spilling all over the grassy clearing. His body falls over a moment later, slow to catch up with its death.

"Oh," I say. "I was wondering why you spared him."

"Of course, I won’t spare worthless trash. No one who even thinks of my child like that will get to live," Daeleon replies flatly, tapping his dirtied claw on a tree to get the blood off. "I just like seeing the hope in their eyes before I end their life."

"...Shit, man," I mutter, rubbing the back of my head. "It’s badass, but that’s pretty fucked up."

"I won’t take criticism from a guy who killed four teenage humans who were rude to their mother," he retorts.

I groan, "I was younger back then! Besides, I think that’s justified. Mothers should be treated well, no matter what race."

"I didn’t say it was unjust," Daeleon shrugs, then smirks, "I just wanted to remind you that you’re no holier than I."

"Fine, you’re right—but..." I start, and we both look at the limp remains on the ground. "We should probably get this back to the elders, right?"

"No point. We don’t even know this thing’s name; there’s no reason to drag it back with us," he answers, referring to the deceased cultist as an object, not a person. "We need to return and start searching for its accomplices, though. Zoryn could be in danger as we speak—it’s lucky that mess of boys is following her around."

...Ugh.

As much as I hate it, he is right. Even if I’m jealous, I’m at ease knowing some capable people would protect her if necessary.

"Alright. Let’s head b—" I begin, but Daeleon teleports away before I finish, "back to the festival..."

My father-in-law is kind of a dick. Talk about a terrible bonding trip.

I shake my head and summon my powers to return as well.