The Dragon Rebellion (M-Preg)

Chapter Twenty-One: A New Connection

Reid knew Kincaid was a Dragon. They all were. Yet, the massive black creature before him was nothing like he had imagined.

There were iridescent black scales dancing with rich blooms of color before being consumed with the total blackness that covered the entire body of the large creature. With large luminous wings, leathery and strong, tucked in tight to it's sides, it was no wonder how it could take flight. It's head was the size of a small vehicle–at least from what Reid had seen abandoned on the roads, remnants from the world before The Change–with a broad snout and large, golden reptilian eyes.

Somehow, someway, this creature...was Kincaid.

Never aloud would Reid admit this...but he was actually quite beautiful. Something right out of a fairytale. For a brief moment, Reid forgot the danger he was in, forgot that this was the source of all his nightmares, and instead stared on in awe.

But as the massive beast took a step down into the mass of pillows Reid laid upon, the fleeting mesmerization passed and fear took hold once again.

This wasn't the first time Reid had been in the presence of Kincaid in this form. He remembered awakening to the feel of him curled around him. Yet back then, he had screwed his eyes shut, not daring to look.

He had never known what Kincaid truly looked like, now there was no escaping it. Kincaid was going to either fuck him or eat him, either way, Reid wasn't surviving it.

He hoped Nayavu wasn't watching.

As the Dragon edged closer, Reid watched with baited breath, then...he stumbled. The giant creature nearly tumbled over, massive limbs struggling to find balance once again. It was laughable, successfully decreasing his intimidation factor.

Reid blinked, unsure of what he was seeing when Kincaid flopped over, rolling on his back.

The blood hadn't disappeared in this new form, staining all their pillows as the Dragon shimmied side to side like a pig in puddle.

"What...are you doing?" Reid found himself asking, the question finding its way outside the confines of his mind, as he jostled violently from the movements.

An utterly inhuman keening echoed in the room as if an answer to his question, though Reid had absolutely no hope of interpreting it. Thankfully the wiggling stopped, but now Kincaid's enormous head was upside down as a giant golden eye focused solely on Reid. Waiting for something, it seemed like.

Touch.

The command, though Reid wasn't sure if it was actual words or just a feeling, rang through his entire body, thrumming on a frequency no one else could hear.

Fuck no!

He wasn't a goddamned dog! He didn't want to be anywhere near the thing, let alone pet it!

But the longer that giant eye blinked at him, the stronger the urge grew until Reid was lifting a trembling hand to the huge head.

Kincaid's sliver of a pupil narrowed even thinner as he focused entirely on Reid and the outstretched hand.

Just inches from the glittering skin that looked like the galaxy had blossomed within him, Reid could feel the immense heat radiating off of him like a furnace.

Revulsion roiled through him, so strong both of them stumbled back and away from each other. The mutuality of the feeling had amplified its affects, making both their stomachs turn.

Kincaid stumbled again, trying and failing to roll back to his feet.

He was definitely drunk.

Reid didn't even know that was possible. It couldn't be regular alcohol, that had no effect on them. Maybe it was infused with Gemma? They seemed to mix it with everything.

"You made a mess of the bed," Reid scolded, looking at the state of the pillows when the beast finally managed to drag himself up.

Deal with it.

Reid jerked at the intrusion. That...was Kincaid's voice. A deep gutturally distorted version of it, but definitely his voice. How had he done that? Because it was clear he could not form coherent words in his current form, and the sound, it was too intimate to come from anywhere other than the confines of Reid's head.

Was this another manifestation of the bond or these strange powers he seemed to possess?

Did that mean Kincaid could do more than just talk in his head...could he read his mind too?

Reid paused, studying the Dragon apprehensively.

The creature watched him right back, this time with considerable distance between them, half hanging out of the bed. Though it was difficult to truly tell expressions, it didn't seem like Kincaid was any wiser to his thoughts than he was of his.

Too soon to feel relief, but a release of breath left him anyway. It would have been incredibly inconvenient if he were to learn of Nayavu's visits, or the small bit of control he had gained over the Gemma Crystal dust in his skin. Still not enough to break his shackles, but he'd get to that.

If only Nayavu knew how to mask more than one person. He'd have a way out, a way to escape this hellhole.

In time. He just had to be patient. In the meantime, he'd try to get as much out of Kincaid in this drunken state as he could.

He had not forgotten his unforgivable act and the mere thought of him being so close made all of Reid's hackles rise. But he had a mission. He could let himself fold into all his fears later. Right now, he needed to be strong, needed to use this to his advantage in order to never let what happened before happen again.

He wouldn't be a victim, he'd be a survivor.

"Why are you covered in blood?" Reid asked, breaking the awkward silence.

Kincaid's chest rumbled in response but there was no voice in his head to provide clarity to that answer.

"Whose blood is it?"

A wave of sadness brought tears to Reid's eyes before he could understand that it wasn't his own emotions.

The glassy eyes were mirrored in the Dragon before a soft chuff filled the room with smoke.

My warriors.

The voice in Reid's head was clearer than before. Somehow more of Kincaid than his actual voice. It was as if the sound were laced with his soul...if he even had one. Every word was accompanied with the emotions behind them and it was hard for Reid to separate himself from it.

Kincaid's grief felt like his grief...and he hated it.

I failed them.

Kincaid's Dragon form whined, low and mournful. The sound so familiar to the one his mother had made when they told her his dad had died in the resistance.

Reid didn't want to feel bad for him, he didn't fucking deserve his sympathy, but it was so fucking hard to fight when he could literally feel everything Kincaid felt.

And through the slow feed of emotions, he realized, Kincaid hadn't barged in there with anger ready to hurt Reid. He was seeking comfort from his fated.

His fated who hated him.

His fated who wanted him and his dead.

His fated who blossomed with fire that rivaled his own.

Reid shook his head as if clearing the feelings and insight that came with it from his mind. Obviously it didn't work.

One thing was for sure, he wasn't going to cave.

Not ever.

A/N: Happy New Year, lovelies!!!