Nahana chuckled, pulling an odd amusement from the eloquently worded threats staring up at her. Even more so as they were part of the address. “To the Orchid, soon to be plucked.” It must have sounded better in their flat-faced heads.

The careless tap of a claw on stone drew her attention back to the young desert Sol standing in front of her. Her messenger had dared to interrupt her morning meditation to deliver the letter. He tensed visibly, fighting the urge to spread his wings and run and disturb her curated sand below. She could sense the strength of his heartbeat echo all the way over the stone garden as he minded his manners and kept silent to spare her ears. A commendable effort on his part. “You are excused. This letter is important indeed and you will, of course, face no punishment for this interruption.” With a huff of relieve, the Sol made a quick escape down the stairs before he took to the air.

Once the messenger dropped below the rim of the building, Nahana unfolded the letter and a small tuft of hair dropped out. The dark brown human fur was meant as a threat, evidence of a hostage taken or killed. “We have seized your shipment. To discuss the terms of release, meet us at the following address. Signed- ‘The Sand Runners’”

Her wing flicked outward, flattening the sand in front of her. She traced new lines with her claw as a silent but seething fury built deep in her chest. They dared to take her property. The name had never crossed her before, a new group of upstarts in town, trying to make it big. The recent disagreement between the stubborn old Sol, Scorpion, and his son must have stirred up the dregs.

Her claw pressed deeper into the sand, tracing a human skull. They must think her the easiest target to prove their eager power, as she had not been seen in Prina for months. She pierced the skull with her talon. These ambitious apes will learn why her name was spoken in hushed whispers on the wisps of wind coursing through Prina’s underbelly. “Farron!”

Her crimson scaled apprentice caught up with her on the way to the kitchen. He quickly folded his wings and grabbed the letter she handed him. She had tasked him to keep track of smaller, not too significant gangs. “Do you know them?”

Farron skimmed the letter, turned it around several times, and finally nodded with his entire neck, almost bowing. “Their leader is called Dain, and they have tried to establish themselves after the trouble in Scorpion’s territory. His gang is small, and he is a rebellious upstart from one of the noble families, a bastard most likely.”

Born into a troublesome situation, trying to live up to his father or mother. An opportunist that now thought himself a little too bold. Upon arriving in the kitchens, servants gracefully scurried past them, never interrupting their conversation, but standing and bowing at the ready whenever they passed. She flicked her wing over their heads at one of the great carafes filled with fresh water from the stream running below. Immediately, a Sol rushed to carry it over. Nahana drank down the cool liquid in deep gulps, emptying it in one go before gesturing for the next.

Farron regarded her with a curious, if not judgmental, tip of his head before continuing his explanation. “As far as I am aware, they are dangerous and our runner most likely dead.” He put great emphasis on the dangerous part, guessing her current plan of action by her preparation.

“Is there anybody in that gang of his who could be important?”

“A man named Chris Waker. He handles logistics and money, heard his name a few times. He appears to be related to Edwin Waker, owner of the Waker shipping group.”

She knew that name. They handled a lot of Prina’s logistics, but took very little contracts from her, if any at all. Bribing them was not worth it. Why his son chose to be involved with The Sand Runners was a mystery. He had great opportunities elsewhere. She grabbed another drink and gestured for Farron to carry another and watched the smaller Sol struggle to walk with the large carafe under his arm and wing.

Guiding them into a slightly more silent corner of the kitchen, Farron lowered his voice. “With all due respect, mistress, you can not simply walk into an ambush like that willingly.”

Nahana raised the carafe to her snout once more. He still failed to grasp the importance of such an act. “You are afraid.” She drew a deep breath before speaking between gulps. “Don’t be. It can hardly be an ambush, if I am aware. What would you have me do? Decline their offer? Give them a chance to sully my reputation by spreading rumors about my cowardice?” She laughed a single ha before draining the last of her water.

Farron shook his head. “Bring your guards. They are but a gang of humans. They can offer little resistance to them.” She silenced him with a raised claw. “Some lessons are best imparted personally.” Her dragonheart fluttered with grim excitement and heat rose deep from her core at the thought of their faces. Still, a bit of caution was advised. “If I have not returned before sundown, you may follow with my elite. Have the servants prepare a full bath, in any case.”

“Certainly, mistress.” Farron bowed, and she took the last carafe off him for the flight.

Further adding to the already ample supply of water for her ability, she visited her armory to be fitted with her light chain. Crafted from sturdy steel, the harness protected from bolt and arrow alike, and the added rings of gold and tiny gems could lead others to mistake it for pure decoration. She chose a slim leather satchel to be worn below, pressed against her chest. Inside the bag, she kept a few bandages and pure alcohol, just in case.

She jumped from her balcony without further instructions, trusting Farron to keep the daily business in check. It was still early, the air clear and the sun hot on her back. With vast sweeps of her wings, she rose until the air grew thinner and the sky icy. The journey would only take a few hours by herself and she planned a singular break at a small village, not because she required it, but to preserve her strength and replenish her water.

Her time in the air provided ample opportunity for stray thoughts to take hold and plans to be woven. In the grand picture, today would matter very little. She set out for her own pleasure and fury more than diplomacy. Up in the air, free from all worldly bonds, their transgressions appeared so small. She let the air carry her with little effort. At times like these, being higher than the clouds and a mere speck of dust in the eyes from below, she wondered if she was not the ruler of the desert already. The skies were hers, the sands would follow.

Once the village came into sight, she descended in great circles and landed smoothly just outside the street. After accepting an offering of sweet pastries from the local baker, the only industry in the village, she dozed a little on a vast dune, meditating on the village noises and the critters scurrying about in the sparse vegetation that sprung up near their water source. She meditated on Farron’s worry. Admirable but misplaced, he had yet to take her lessons about fighting to heart. Which made him less of an immediate threat to her, of course, but one day he aspired to take her place and with no martial prowess, she suspected he might hide behind the competence of others. Especially if she were to install him into Prina after her takeover.

********************

Nahana landed gracefully in front of the city gates soon after, announcing her presence with her vast, spread wings. Two guards trembled in their shadowed nooks beneath the wall, although their spears remained pointed towards her head.

“You will let me pass,” she demanded and in the time she took to settle her wings and drape them over her back like bolts of finest silk, they realized whom they faced. She offered them no second glance, and they pretended to see straight through her. Their tremble they could not hide, however, metal clicked against metal, thousands of tiny claws tapping their armor like raindrops. Times like these had her long for the nose of a Sol, to drink in the terror her mere presence commanded.

Neither ape nor animal crowded the wide streets, yet their presence could not evade her ears as they took the long way around her. Finding the address took little time, and she soon found herself in front of a seemingly abandoned warehouse several wingspans wide and high.

She tipped open the tiny human handle and barged through the door like a squall of water. The small group of humans inside startled as they rose from the table, huddled around a map. They did not know she approached. No lookouts?

Two members close to the door wore actual chain, enough to stop her claws and teeth. Armed with crossbows, they regained their composure the fastest and both trained the steel tipped bolts right at her.

Six other members, nothing she couldn’t deal with, but first- the air around her head started to bubble and burn into a deafening crescendo before her thoughts finished. She twisted away, but the sound pressured her ears into closing and through her clouded vision she saw, but had no time to react to the heavy net falling from above.

Find the one responsible; her head droned, and she saw the scarfed individual a little back, a pathwalker. Her dragonheart ignited on its own and flooded her mind and muscle alike with fire that burned pain to ash and lit up her senses. The net rested heavy on her wings, but not heavy enough to stop her if she tried to break free. Power surged, as did fury, but she quelled them with the realization that they did not want to kill her, not yet.

She’d indulge them for the moment and watched their frantic shuffle and glimmer of hope and pride glow stronger as they pulled her up a wall by her front legs via a pulley system. A few moments later, she stood on her hind legs, wings pressed almost painfully against the wall. Having her belly exposed as though submitting to a group of lowly humans, she ought to feel ashamed, but the anticipation, tangible on her tongue, burned much sweeter than a dignity she seldom cared for in the presence of corpses.

As the initial chaos mellowed out and they all but stood and watched her, one human, a broad male with thin black hair, stepped up. “This was so much easier than expected. See, I told you that dragons are but beasts.”

Her ears still rang as she summoned her voice, speaking low and assertive melodies despite the circumstances. “What a quaint little plan. Usually, I am greeted with greater manners. A bowl of fine wine wouldn’t be amiss in a reception before discussing business. Are you Dain?”

He nodded, then gestured around the room with a smug smile on his cracked lips. “Welcome to the Sand Runners. I had higher hopes for the fabled Nahana, yet you walked straight into our trap.” Stupidity or pride. His voice betrayed neither underneath all the misguided sense of accomplishment. Was he unaware of the ozone in the air? Had he never heard the stories of the Orchid’s hidden thorns?

Ignoring his boasts and insults, she studied the table and the map of the town. Empty, beside a few glasses of wine. “Not even a toast? No snacks? For your ambitions, your location is lacking. Have you no concept of hospitality?” She added a trill into her words, high and taunting.

“You forget your place,” Dain hissed at her remark and pulled the net tighter, squeezing her harder against the wall. “You are a feral beast. You can’t talk to us about manners. I have heard about you, what you do and did.”

He clearly lacked the capacity to understand what he had heard. To think that he would wield even less brainpower than his ever bold plan suggested. At her command, her dragonheart flared hotter. Perception informed truth and if that is what he desired her to be, she would give him a taste. “And here I thought you wanted to talk.”

Nahana dipped into her thoughts, past the fire of her veins and into the tides of magic. The room rested in a stable state besides the untouchable chaos in their veins and the barely perceivable inner motion of liquid at rest in the glasses. All things contained chaos, a solid was too stable, the air too loose, but liquid, liquid followed a constant motion that she could guide like dragging a claw through a still pond. She had hoped for one of them to introduce a starting chaos, pour wine, drink, something to disturb the order, but they all surrounded their leader with cautionary glances at the thick ropes and net, their focus entirely on her claws and teeth.

The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

Holding the suspense for a moment longer, she realized she needed to disturb the order herself. Quite indifferent to the many ways, she loosened the grasp on her body. They had so prominently strung her up in a display of forced submission, and now they would come to regret it. She could not help but grin in anticipation.

A burst, a short contraction of muscle and her mind could grasp the liquid sailing so forcefully through the open air. She trailed an imaginary path around it, imparting velocity with every curve, every drop of magic flowing cold from her mind until the stream became a bolt. It hissed through the air and pierced the short-haired scarf wielder straight through the forehead. He folded in on himself and dropped limply to the floor, spreading chaotic essence in great spurts she grabbed hold of as well.

“I do not care for your noisy musician,” she said almost casually as she commanded the bolt to return along with a constant string of blood. Whirring through the air, it cut through her ropes with frightening ease, like a flame through wax.

The group only reacted once the pathwalker’s body hit the floor with a dull thud. They jumped to their weapons and froze once more as Nahana dropped to all fours.

“How did she!”

Giving them not a second to think, she propelled herself off the wall towards the guards at the door, who frantically raised their crossbows. She stopped just short of ramming the left most guard and reared up, grasped his head and slid a singular claw between his helmet and chain. Red hot, his life spilled over her pfod.

A bolt hissed and tore through her wing with a dull snap, followed by a sharp sting of pain. A meaningless injury.

Firing left the guard wide open as he staggered back and tried to reload. He reached for his knife just a little too slowly as she rolled sideways into range, jumped up, grabbed his head and smashed it into the door frame. His spine cracked most pleasurably, and he sank to the floor, dropping onto the other guard that frantically clutched his gushing throat.

“Stop! Stop!” Dain yelled, prostrating himself on the floor. “I will talk, let’s talk!”

Seeing their celebration so easily shattered, their pride oozing from their frightened voices like sweat, it drove a hot pleasure into her limbs. She straightened her wings and twisted the small metal key in the lock before placing it into her chain harness. “Oh?” She dragged out her answer, slow, like a sliding claw. “The beast has bared her fangs and suddenly, a feral dragoness is an appropriate business partner?” With a thin smirk on her snout, she gestured to the pooling hot blood around her hind legs. “Is this not what you desired? Isn’t this why you treated me like a wild animal?”

“No,” Dain struggled, disillusioning himself that she was now willing to talk after all he planned before. “Please, tell us your demands.”

Nahana raised her claw and tasted the metallic blood dripping from the razor edge. The sweet essence ran down her throat like fire. “You invited me, did you not? You should be the one making the demands, although I fail to see a valid opportunity from an ape cowering on the floor. Impress me.”

Dain didn’t dare rise and failed to impress anything but her superiority. How utterly powerless they were, how dull toothed their threats. She approached the table and picked up one of their glasses for herself. “What did you do with my runner?”

Dain flinched, as did the rest of the gathered. They sucked in a great deal of air, shivering. Dead then, she guessed. “Well, I figured as much. They do not last forever, fragile and inexperienced as they are.” Nahana sat down on her haunches and nipped from the glass that rested tiny between her digits. “Seeing how you never expected to strike an actual deal with me, I assume my shipment is gone as well. How do you plan to compensate me?”

She let the words linger in the following silence, eager to hear excuses.

“We can pay, we have enough beads to fully reimburse you,” Dain said, but the blonde man next to him did not appear to agree with that assessment. His limbs tightened closer to his body as he barely held back a disagreement. She studied him a little closer, one of the few with a resemblance of guts. The man’s soft face and skin bore a great resemblance to the Waker family. He had to be the one Farron mentioned. His relations might be worth a little.

“You.” She raised a glinting claw in his direction. “You handle their finance, do you not? Chris, right?”

He rapidly nodded.

“Can you pay?”

He opened his mouth and first no words left the flat tongue. Exquisite tension built in the group. They all debated if he would dare tell the truth or dare lie to her. “No,” he finally said, meek as an evening breeze.

Shock, cold as a cloud and yet charged as a thunderstorm, spread through the room. Slowly, their gazes turned from Chris to Nahana. She only laughed as the group huddled together, leaving Chris to the side almost like an offering, an outcast. They were smart enough to know that disrespect and lies would see them die.

“You have no idea what or who you deal with, do you?” Nahana turned back to address Dain, claws tapping the rim of the crystal glass and screeching along the side. “It appears you can not pay with money, so you shall pay with blood instead.” She turned her gaze to Chris, raising her wings as she did to grow larger. “Would you offer me his life to spare your own?”

“Yes.” Dain did not even struggle with his answer.

“Dain! How could you? We are friends, are we not?” Chris yelled and stumbled into a dash that ended as quick as it started as two of Dain’s henchman seized him. He quickly stopped struggling as his thin arms offered no resistance. They dragged him wordlessly forward and threw him to the floor in front of her.

She debated if the terror rising in his eyes, or the faint hope for their survival in the rest of the group filled her with greater pleasure. Such a pathetic display of leadership and power. Nahana brought her tail forward, lifting the cowering man’s chin with the tip until he faced her. “Do you know what I hate the most?” While she looked down at Chris, the icy words aimed straight at Dain and his group.

She tipped the half empty glass in her pfod until the wine ran over the rim, dripping crimson as blood onto her offering. Before the first drops hit his skin, she caught them in the rushing chaos of her ability and forced them to coalesce into a rolling ball of liquid. Her snout tipped towards Dain. “You did not answer.”

“I-” He could speak no further as the wine sliced through his throat like a blade. Only strained gurgles escaped his soft maw and he dropped first, followed by his henchman. Nahana settled the wine back into her glass and regarded the spreading mess with a satisfied grin. “I hate spineless apes. He would sacrifice one of his own for his life without as much as a challenge or struggle.”

Chris didn’t rise, proving to be just as spineless and cowardly. Not that she cared for him at all, but somebody needed to correct the perception of her. “Rise,” she commanded and, as though struck by a lash, Chris hopped to his feet.

“Now what to do with you, the price offered in exchange for your loss?” She grasped his lower body with a single pfod, pressing her claws into the tender flesh of his thighs until fiery blood stained his clothes. “Are you aware of the punishment a loser would face in the arena?”

His pale face grew even paler as he nodded as quick as his body would allow. “Yes,” he stammered.

Her other pfod grasped his hair and pulled his head back until his throat laid bare before her teeth, covered in cold sweat. “The winner takes what she wants. They were always obsessed with breeding and dominance.” Chris gulped hard as she continued. “More muscles, smoother scales, smaller wings. Beauty. Yet they always denied me such pleasures despite my dominance in the sands. An innocent, thriving Orchid is worth so much more than a plucked one. And isn’t that what you threatened me with all along?”

The boy winced as if struck and in his gaze she could see imagination run wild. She released his hair and pushed him away in disgust. “Do not fear, I do not fornicate with apes. But do not misunderstand, you are mine and only by my generosity do you still live.”

He stumbled before getting back to his feet. If he had organized most of their dealings, he would prove useful to Scorpion. Or he would rush back to his father’s estate with his limp tail between his legs. His father would own her a favor. She wished he spoke on his own, but while his mouth moved, it was only to draw shallow breaths. A grin curled up her slender snout. “Such is the way of power. It is not given or negotiated, as you companions believed. No, it is taken.” She nipped on the tiny glass of wine, then rose to her full height. “For the moment, you shall be my property. Consider it a blessing for the task that will buy your life.”

His eyes lit up with rekindled hope. “What do you require? Mistress.” He hastily added and bowed.

“I will draft up a letter that will explain your transgression and my correction. You will deliver it to Scorpion. After delivering the letter, you will be free to go where you please, relieved from my service.”

“Scorpion? He would kill me on sight!”

New, delicious panic. “Oh.” Her grin raced further up her snout. “No, he will know you are my property.”

Chris flinched at her spurt of laughter as she gestured to the open floor a little further back. “Kneel.”

####################

What little wind blew through Prina’s streets carried the metallic scent of blood into Farron’s nostrils. Even without the address, it would have proved easy to locate Nahana.

He braced himself as he grasped the human handle on the warehouse door. Instantly he was assailed by a mixture of scent so suffocating that he had to turn away and breath only through his mouth, which proved ineffective in quelling the overwhelming sensations. Spilled blood, coppery and metallic combined with the blackened dread emanating from the various human corpses on the floor. He knew the scents of struggle, of death, but what overwhelmed him was Nahana’s personal scent that claimed the room for itself, along with a frightening arousal that had his scales stand up straight. The ambush had all been a sick game to her, entertainment for her debauchery.

One of the younger guards he had brought along as a show of force reacted even more violently, coughing and struggling to keep his stance behind him. Every Sol could tell just as well as he did, and their fear seeped from their armor like mist at the sight.

“As you see, I have made my point.” Nahana’s voice echoed from the dark and it took until his eyes adjusted to make out her slim form lounging on a large table in the middle, like a pristine pearl in the guts of the room. She slipped off and landed with a splat in the thin pool of blood covering the floor.

“You may deliver my message now,” she said and nodded to a blonde human wearing surprisingly fine garments. Farron had missed him sitting alone at the table. From the descriptions he had memorized, he must be the son of the shipping company. Nahana must have a greater goal in mind with him.

The human passed Farron without as much as acknowledging his presence. His wide-eyed gaze remained firmly fixated on the outside and he clutched a piece of paper as though his life depended on it. Maybe it did. Another thing impossible to miss was the state of his shirt and cloth pants. They had been drenched in pungent liquid, as had his hair and everything besides the letter.

“Mistress.” Farron gave a slight bow but watched the human scamper past the line of guards. “You spared him.”

Nahana gave a satisfied, if not pleasured, chuckle. “Scorpion will appreciate my little present. I spared him a lot headache by destroying this minor operation.”

“You sent him to Scorpion? He will die.” The shipment was meant for the old Sol after all and he would not receive the message well, especially not if delivered by a human.

With a gentle yet terrifyingly cold brush of her wing, Nahana passed Farron. “As a Sol, you of all dragons should realize Chris as my property and thus will survive. It may buy us a favor with his father’s company in the future.”

Of course. Farron had taken her acts as a sick display of power and dominance over the weak, but letters and signatures could be forged, smell could not. Scorpion will know without a doubt that Nahana sent him. It could have been achieved with far less drastic options, but he knew she reveled in such degradation, and it was best not to question her.

“Have you brought Fen along by chance?”

Fen, an older Aer, long in her service. What he lacked in cunning, he made up with strength and flexibility. A favorite for more than his combat prowess. “I did.” Farron had anticipated several options. Half of which saw Nahana emerge unharmed from the ambush, yet he could make out the faint traces of her blood as well.

Her tail twitched. She did not hide her emotions and thoughts as she stepped out into the sand. The world would see how she took what she wanted, and surely this ambush had been observed by interested parties. “Fantastic,” she trilled and spread her wings to full size. “My mind is sated, but my body is wanting. Fen shall personally escort me, have somebody carry his armor.”

“Very well,” Farron said. He would have the younger, unarmored guards carry the extra weight. “The bath is drawn as well.”

She gave him a nod of appreciation before lifting off, chased by the dark scaled Fen, who still struggled to unhook his armor.

Farron gave one last look and sniff to the warehouse. It would remain as is, a grim reminder that his mistress was not to be trifled with. The display would strike fresh fear into the town and other ambitious upstarts. He could only appreciate with what ease she struck terror into all. Death and pain is what she brought to those opposing her, a valuable lesson in his mind.