4 Night Hunt

Magnus

The widow that was staying at the large manor house was willing to take us both, and we took advantage of her offer. She’s on her hands and knees between us. I have her hair fisted in my hair as I fuck her mouth. Bjorn is behind her, drilling into her wet cunt.

I feel the beast stir in the back of my mind. Fighting for control, I focus on how good her mouth feels. The other beast calls out to my beast and when I look at my friend, I know that he is aware of the same thing that I suddenly know.

Prey.

Until we find it and can see what the mark is, we will not know what type of prey. It could be a sacrifice. Or it could be a breeder.

We hold a silent conversation and agree to finish here before we go hunting. The last thing we need is for this woman to tell her friends that we cannot finish what we started.

Closing my eyes, I tip my head back and think only of how good her mouth feels. I’m sure that Bjorn is doing something similar. His tempo picks up and she moans in pleasure around my cock. Whatever he’s doing is pushing her closer to her climax.

She moans around my cock as her body trembles with her orgasm. Finally, I feel the tingle in my spine and my balls pull up. Grunting, I coat her throat with my cum and open my eyes.

The sounds of skin slapping against skin stops as he also grunts. We both pull out of her, and she lays on the bed looking quite content. I move off one side of the bed and Bjorn moves off the other and we quickly get redressed.

“How long are you here?” the widow asks.

“We leave the day after tomorrow,” Bjorn tells her as he pulls his boots on.

“Maybe we can get together again tomorrow night.”

“We’ll see,” I try to be diplomatic as I also pull on my boots.

“Magnus,” he says in warning and I catch the sight of claws at the end of his fingers just before he curls them into a fist. I nod once to let him know that I understand. Adjusting the furs on my shoulder, I motion for him to leave ahead of me.

In the hall, we head to the stairs and climb to the top. The manor house was built on the remains of an old keep. The parapets on the north side are still there. It takes both of us pushing on the door to get it to open enough for us to slip outside.

With our backs to the door, we force it closed and wedge a loose stone against it to ensure no one comes out. Quickly, we strip off the furs and clothing that we wear. I often wonder what others would think if they came across a scattered pile of two men’s clothes and their owners nowhere to be found.

Bjorn steps up on top of the raised edge of the parapet and gives in to his beast. Scales cover his body as it triples in size and shifts into a dragon. His wings stretch out and he pushes off with his hind legs. As his spiked tail clears the stones, I step up onto the ledge and go through my own change.

The familiar burn and pain of the shift courses through me. Fire flows in my veins as my body expands. I’m not as large as my friend, he is the Wyrmleader of our Thunder. His thunder. I am the orphan that his father took in and raised as his own.

Stretching my wings and twitching my tail, I push off and follow Bjorn’s beast. We can sense the mark. Our beasts start tracking it and we fly out to the woods. The pull is strong here, driving us to find the body that carries it.

The Dragon Cult is popular here in Londinium. They mark children according to their priestess decisions. We saw her in the streets, and she did not recognize us as dragons. Bjorn said that the last time he was here, it was an older woman, the one who gave him the cards. This woman was no true priestess, but a fraud making money off those who believe.

We fly out over the city, letting our dragons lead. Flying over a farm, his dragon swoops down low over the muddy ground. He bellows to me and I follow him. *She was here recently. The mud still carries her scent.

Wood from a black tree is stacked against the house.

The black trees were all destroyed back home. The cold root can mask the scent of the mark. The sap can hide it from us. All black trees were supposed to have been destroyed when Bjorn’s father conquered this land.

Flying over the grove of trees, I can barely see the tops of the black trees beneath the higher tree top canopy. The legend is that they do not need as much sunshine to grow. They feed off the blessings of volva and blood sacrifices.

I’m not sure how much of that I believe. What plant could thrive with nothing more than a witch’s blessing? I know of no living being that could survive on that.

As we are circling above, he heads back to the farm and I follow. There are fresh tracks in the mud, leading into the woods. Who would go into the woods at this time of night?

Swooping down again, I inspect the tracks as my belly is close enough to the ground to feel the cold dampness. They are not even. Something is wrong with the left leg. It could be that the mud is distorting the tracks, caked on shoes and making it hard to walk.

Climbing back into the air, I bellow at Bjorn and he calls back to me. Our prey is in the woods. We can flush it out.

A deer runs out of the woods; its heart is pounding like a drum. My jaw opens and I snag it up. Bjorn flies next to me and grabs the front half that is hanging out of my mouth. He flies away and the animal is ripped in half. This is how we always hunt. Equal and shared.

Food.

Sacrifice.

Women.

Flying back over the woods, we can no longer sense the mark. We try to see through the dense branches. If it is true that the black trees grow with the blessing of the volva, then the other half of the legend is also true. The black trees will protect the volva that bless them.

We continue to fly until the sun starts to rise, circling over the farm multiple times. No new tracks appear. The scent doesn’t change.

Before heading back to the city, we return to the farm, one more time. The only movement we see is from a rooster outside a high walled yard. Bjorn bellows out his frustration and I echo it.

Landing back on the parapet, we shift back into our daily form. We quickly pull on our pants and gather the rest of our clothes and boots. It doesn’t take long for us to pull the door back open. After securing the door, we head back to the chambers that we were given. We both drop our clothes just inside the room.

“We’ll go hunting again tonight after the ceremony and feast,” Bjorn says as he drops down on the bed.

“Are you sure about this?” I ask as I lay on the opposite side of the bed.

“Yes. Like you said, it’s either this or my stepmother’s daughter.”