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Chapter Text

Cregan Stark had hunted many things in his life; Manipulative fae who trap humans into deals with sweet, twisted words, harpies that plucked babes straight from their cribs and devoured them whole, demons whose sole purpose was to drag mortals back down to the Hells and spend the rest of eternity flaying them alive.

Each one found their end at the tip of his blade, swiftly and without remorse. That was the Stark way, something his father impressed upon him from a young age. It kept him alive these many long years he’d spent hunting beasts that crept out the shadows.

And then, slaying the beasts had become routine, mundane. He would receive an urgent letter calling him far from home, say goodbye to his sister and return with a punch of silver in his pockets and another notch on his belt before she could truly feel his absence.

But when he received a desperate summons from Harrentown, it was clear this monster was unlike those he’d faced before.

Something monstrous had taken up residence in Harrenhal—a black omen if there ever was one—and was filling its belly with the men sent to stop it.

Very few faced the thing and lived to tell about it. Those who did not die in the hospital bed, eventually succumbed to madness; babbling incessant nonsense about the creature to anyone who would listen.

Some said it stood on its hind legs and was as tall as a house with the strength of twenty men. Others claimed it slithered on the ground like a serpent and had venom filled fangs that could slice through bone like butter.

A long dormant excitement coursed through his veins at the idea of facing such a creature.

Which is how he found himself standing outside the devils lair, his heart hammering against his ribs as he stepped onto the grounds of Harrenhal for the first time.

It was just as imposing as the stories claimed. Stone towers stretching high into the sky, crumbling walls covered in ivy and long stretches of dark corridor that sent a chill down his spine. His hand stayed on Ice’s hilt at his hip.

But there was no need to even draw his weapon as there was no sign of the beast or its nest–no remains left behind from its victims.

It was as if he was the only living soul within the castle. If he was a worse hunter, he might believe that.

But he was a Stark–meaning his senses were sharper than most. And he knew, without a doubt, that the beast was watching him. The weight of its eyes weighed heavily on his back as he wandered through the cursed halls.

He walked until the air felt heavy, until he could practically feel the beast's fangs running down his back.

A faint puff of air hit the back of his neck.

Cregan stopped, turning slowly towards the darkest corridor to his right and lifted the lantern he clutched in his fist. For a brief moment, he expected to see the beast stalking him. But there was only darkness.

“Leave this place, beast. Never return and I won’t harm you. If you stay…” He dropped his free hand to Ice’s hilt. “I shall cleave your head from your body and display it on my mantle.”

Silence.

“It is your choice, demon,” He shrugged. “But I will not be as easily dispatched as those who came before me. I am content to wait as long as I need to.”

He turned on his heel and walked away, the feeling of eyes burning into his back with every step.

He didn’t have to wait long it seemed.

On the fourth night in Harrenhal, Cregan awoke to claws at his neck and a warm body looming over him.

“You are not welcome here.” The beast hissed. Its violet eyes glowed in the dark.

“Neither are you,” He breathed, not daring to speak above a whisper and spook it.

The thing was strong. He could feel the bruises forming where its grip was tight around his arm. As it stands, the thing could rip him to shreds right now and he would be powerless to stop it.

“What manner of creature are you?”

The claw pressed harder into his windpipe but didn’t break the skin. “Leave this place. This is your only warning. Ēdrunon.”*

The metallic tang of magic filled the air and before he could protest, Cregan’s eyelids fluttered shut.

Damned magic.

Cregan angrily ate his breakfast the following morning, cringing at the taste of the spell on his tongue.

None of the townspeople had mentioned the beast could speak the king's english or wield magic. Then again, they likely didn’t get close enough to find out and live to tell the tale.

But the creature had left him alive and intact, a gift that it didn’t afford anyone else.

So, why him?

Cregan ignored the creature's orders to leave. As a Stark, it was his lot in life to be an honorable man. He had made a promise to the people of Harrentown and he intended to keep it.

As a hunter, he was captivated.

The creature had left him alive. It was intelligent. It possessed great strength but its claws were delicate against his throat.

It was invigorating.

He was up before the sun the next day, eager to track the beast down. But, of course, it was nowhere to be found. It was once again hidden safely away in its lair, watching from the shadows.

In the end, Cregan decided to use a tried and true method to lure out his quarry: hunger.

To the best of his knowledge, the beast had not hunted since he’d arrived four days ago–as his nightly patrols remained silent and uneventful–meaning, the beast was hungry, likely verging on starving.

And he knew, more than most, how desperate animals became when hunger clouded their minds.

He spent the better part of the day hiking into the surrounding woods and managed to snag a decent sized buck just before sundown.

The sight of it made his mouth water—he always packed light on these hunting trips, the scent of human food sometimes scared away the beasts—but he didn’t dare take any of it for himself. If this went according to plan, he’d be back at the Harrentown Inn, gorging himself on braised pork and mashed potatoes by tomorrow night.

He deposited the deer on the second floor landing and sliced its neck, letting the rusty smell of blood fill the room. This was enough to lure any predator.

Cregan took position in one of the nearby rooms and waited.

The creature appeared at the hour of the wolf.

The echo of soft footsteps heralded its arrival through the darkness. Cregan gripped Ice’s hilt and held his breath, ready to charge forward—

Oh.

He lowered Ice to the floor. Instead of a snarling beast emerging from the hall, it was a young man who couldn’t have been older than a year and twenty. Highborn too–the material of his clothes was far too nice to be common.

Had a nearby Lord sent a boy to slay the beast? Perhaps a son of a Duke trying to prove his mettle?

Then, the boy stepped fully out of the shadows.

In the light of the moon, Cregan could now see that this was no ordinary young man. He was not as tall as a house, there were no fangs protruding from his mouth, but he was a monster nonetheless.

Black horns grew from his forehead and curled like a ram's, with just a hint of shimmering green scales surrounding the base. A heavy drag against the stone suggested a tail hidden away in the shadows.

The boy prowled forward, sniffing the air as he circled the deer slowly. He seemed intelligent enough to know a clear trap when he saw one, but he didn’t back away, much to Cregan’s surprise.

The boy seemed almost…intrigued, to say the least. He gently stroked the stag's matted fur with long, black claws that gleamed in the moonlight. Claws that were attached to a human looking hand.

And the expression on his face! Cregan could only describe it as a mix of awe and irritation that made him even more curious.

What kind of creature willingly stepped into a trap?

With Ice in hand, Cregan slowly began to move towards the monster–silently praying to the old Gods and the New–that his steps stayed light.

Of course, the Gods never had listened to his prayers before.

His boot scraped against some loose gravel. The sound echoed through the cavernous room and Cregan’s heart stopped. The beast stiffened, looking up from the stag with eyes as wide as dinner plates.

The world came to a grinding halt.

This was no monster, this was a man; a beautiful man that was made by the Gods just for him. Dark curls brushed against his delicate shoulders, a dusting of freckles were scattered across his pert nose and high cheekbones, almost like a porcelain doll. His lips were pink and plump, forming a perfect O in shock as they stared at each other. And the boy's eyes weren’t violet anymore, no, now they were brown and warm and utterly hypnotic.

Slow, hazy warmth filled his whole body from the top of his head down to the tips of his toes. How could he have been so blind before? This boy was his soulmate, it was as plain as day.

He lurched forward and fell to his knees, a needy, inhuman whine spilling from his lips. The distance between them was going to drive Cregan to madness.Why oh why was his mate so far from him?

Luckily, his mate seemed to share his feelings. One moment, he was across the room, the next he was hovering above Cregan, his eyes more black than brown.

Now fully out of the shadows, Cregan could clearly see just how impressive his mate truly was. Large leathery wings stretched high into the air, both tipped with sharp claws that looked even more threatening than the ones on his fingers. A powerful tail twitched on the ground like the boy was ready to crack Cregan’s skull with it if he needed to.

A dragon. A dragon in human form.

“Mate?” The boy hissed.

Cregan nodded, slowly reaching up to touch the boy's cheek but his mate jerked away.

“Mate.” He affirmed, keeping his hand outstretched.

The boy looked back and forth between his face and his hand before leaning forward and sniffing cautiously. Cregan wondered if he could smell the burning need in his blood.

It felt like ages before the boy wrapped his claw tipped fingers around Cregan’s wrist and brought it close enough to run his nose along the thin skin there. His mate’s eyes fluttered shut and a low purr emanated from his chest.

That was when Cregan realized there was a tightness in his trousers.

It became impossible to ignore now that he had acknowledged it. His cock was throbbing in time with his heartbeat. He was already so close and they'd barely even touched.

Then, his mate's sinful pink tongue darted out to drag across his arm. Cregan couldn’t stop the moan that spilled out of him in response.

The boy's eyes popped open, staring down at Cregan as if he just realized there was someone attached to the arm he was clutching.

They stared at each other for a few heart stopping seconds. Would this be the moment his head was ripped from his shoulders?

Thankfully, his mate had other plans. Dropping Cregan’s wrist, the boy immediately dropped to his elbows and lifted his hips into the air.

Cregan’s mind went completely blank.

“Mate.” He whined.

He scrambled up behind the boy, stopping for only a moment to marvel at the shimmering green tail protruding from his trousers. With gentle fingers, Cregan brushed against the scales before him.

They were smooth, almost soft to the touch, but solid like armor.

The boy let out a high pitched whine and pressed back against Cregan’s achingly hard cock.

Cregan tore the trousers from the boy's body in one hard tug and was once again stunned by what he found there.

The boy had a cunt; shining and pink and utterly hypnotizing.

It’s his base animal instincts that have him leaning down and dragging his tongue through the wetness collecting there. His mate cries out and Cregan shudders as the flavors explode on his tongue; musk, sex and just a dash of honey so sweet he nearly comes on the spot.

One taste isn’t enough. He grabs his boy's hips and pulls him roughly back against his face, devouring him like a man starved.

He was no green boy, he’d spent his time in the brothels, but even their best whores paled in comparison to this beautiful creature.

Cregan shoved his tongue into his boy's hole and moaned in time with his mate. The noises he was making were more animal than man, rutting his hips back into Cregan’s eager tongue while his claws scrambled for purchase on the stone floor.

“Kostilus!”* The boy pleaded.

Cregan didn’t understand a word he was saying but he didn’t need to. They were linked; mind, body and soul.

In one quick movement, Cregan had the boy on his back and ripped what was left of his trousers off his body. The sight below was almost enough for him to finish right then and there.

The boy's cunt was completely drenched, his little cocklet was flushed and leaking, just begging for Cregan to put his mouth on him again.

But taking one look at his mate, at his flushed cheeks and wide eyes, Cregan knew he needed to mate his boy properly.

He yanked his trousers down around his thighs and his cock sprang free, flushed red and leaking onto the dirty floor. The boy gasped at the sight of it.

Cregan gripped his mate's thighs and pressed them up against his chest, before sliding home in one thrust.

They both moaned so loudly he feared the villagers would hear and come running.

He felt unhinged, driven by pure need that inflamed his whole body. There would be no going back to brothels now that he’s had a taste of true Heaven.

Cregan lifted the boy's hips, desperate to see him fall apart, and was rewarded with a loud wail from those perfect lips. He began to trust even harder, sending them both inching across the floor from the sheer force as he slammed into the hot, silken clutch of the boy’s cunt.

Then, the boy bared his throat and let out a breathy plea. “Bite.”

Who was he to resist?

Cregan grazed his teeth along his neck before clamping down.

The boy's back arched off the ground and his claws found their home in Cregan’s back, tearing it to bloody ribbons. He let go of the boy's neck long enough to groan in a mixture of pleasure and pain before his boy was begging for him to keep going.

“Must bleed,” He panted. “Harder.”

Ignoring the sting of his torn flesh, Cregan did as his mate commanded. He bit down until he felt a faint pop, then, blood was filling his mouth and spilling out down the sides.

Cregan was only able to enjoy the broken whimper he’d pulled from his mate for a moment before sharp fangs were piercing his flesh in return.

He let out a wounded grunt as his climax was ripped from his body and everything faded to black.

Chapter Text

This was it. The day Jacaerys had been dreaming of ever since he was a tiny, little thing with wings the size of his Mother’s hand: he was going to learn the identity of his mate.

He was terribly curious about who they were. The expectation was for it to be someone of his own bloodline, to further the blood of the dragon for another generation, something he had dreamed of since he was a child.

As was tradition for the mating announcement of the royal family, the whole of Valyria had gathered in the sept while the royal family themselves were gathered onto a dais.

Grandsire and Alicent walked on first–the former king and his pious wife, who still turned her nose up at the Targaryens despite being married to the patriarch–followed by their children: Aegon, who was already too far in his cups and stumbling over his golden tail. Aemond, who was scowling at the crowd and flexing his claws like he was preparing to tear them to ribbons. And Daeron, who appeared to be so incredibly bored it was a miracle he was walking upright.

At the sight of them Jacaerys silently prayed to the Gods, that whoever his mate was, please, please don’t let it be Aemond.

Corlys and Rhaenys were next, with Baela at their side. Rhaena and Lucerys were close behind, looking so disgustingly in love it made Jacaerys sick.

Then came Mother and Daemon, clad in matching red outfits that were sure to make Alicent clutch her pearls, little Joffrey walking between them, sharing Daeron’s bored expression. He always claimed that going to the mating announcements made him want to drag his forehead along a rock, even though he had only ever been to two.

Aegon and Viserys were carried out by their nurse maids, fluttering their little tails and wings in such a way that surely meant those poor women would be covered in bruises later.

Jacaerys was last, as was tradition. He walked slowly, his wings outstretched, head held high, covered in glittering gems befitting his nickname: the Jewel of the Realm. On his brow sat a delicate gold circlet, made especially to fit around his horns. His tunic was encrusted with emeralds and his fingers adorned with chunky golden rings.

Helaena was already waiting for him below the Gods Eye; a skylight in the ceiling of the sept that allowed the Dragon Dreamers like his aunt to commune directly with the Gods.

She looked radiant and ethereal, like she floated in on a cloud. Her loose white waves fell down the back of her shimmering silver gown. Red painted runes stretched down her arms and on her face–one between her eyebrows and two on her cheeks–to bless the future match with love, fortune and fertility.

Anticipation crackled through the air. Mother reached out to squeeze his shoulder.

“Jacaerys Targaryen,” Helaena barely raised her voice, but everyone gathered could hear her clear as day. “First born son of Queen Rheanyra Targaryen, heir to the throne of the kingdom of Valyria, come to me.”

He stepped under the Gods Eye, and fought to remain still as Helaena painted a rune between his eyebrows with her finger.

“May love and prosperity find you,” she whispered, before stepping back.

“May the Gods guide your way,” Jacaerys replied.

Helaena grasped his hands and they sank to their knees together, the scent of magic tickling at his nose. Her violet eyes rolled into the back of her head, her thumbs dug into Jacaerys’s wrists.

She began to shudder violently, her back bending so far her head nearly touched the ground. His heart thundered against his ribs, waiting with bated breath for the name to slip from her lips.

She gasped, once, twice, three times, before opening her mouth wide almost like she was going to scream–

“Cregan Stark of Winterfell!”

Jacaerys’s heart shattered into a million pieces.

“There has to be a mistake.”

The announcement had been made. His mate was a human.

It was too much to bear.

He had waited until it was appropriate, then flew all the way home with tears in his eyes, where he waited in the throne room for Mother and Daemon to find him.

Mother shook her head. “You know as well as I do that the Gods don’t make mistakes.”

Jacaerys scoffed. “I’d argue that I am living proof of the Gods mistakes.”

“Watch your tongue, boy,” Daemon sneered. “I will not allow you to talk to your mother in such a way.”

“We must undo it,” Jacaerys continued, ignoring his step-father. “We must plead with Helaena to take it back.”

“There is no taking back your mate, Jacaerys. It had been predestined by the Gods.”

“Oh, fuck the Gods!”

In a flash, Mother was across the room, standing so close that he could see the flecks of silver in her violet eyes. “I will not tolerate your attitude, or your blasphemy, Jacaerys."

“Mother–”

“The Gods saved us from The Doom when half of Valyria was destroyed! The Gods blessed us with the blood of the dragon!” Her eyes softened. She reached up to caress his cheek. “And, yes, the Gods blessed me with you, my sweet boy.”

“But, you don’t understand,” Tears sprang to his eyes. “I am the heir to the throne. My future children will be expected to carry on the Targaryen line. How will they do that with a human father?”

Mother moved her hand to stroke through his curls. “The same way you have, darling.” she said softly.

It was the closest they’ve ever come to acknowledging his real parentage, and somehow that made it even worse.

“I am not like you, Mother. My blood is not as strong as yours,” he gestured to his eyes and hair, darker than the rest of his family’s and a sign of his shame. “My children will never be accepted as rulers of Valyria.”

Mother held his face in her hands, determination in her eyes. “That is not true. You have the blood of the dragon in you, my sweet. And so will your children. Anyone who dares to deny that will find a new residence in the Black Cells.”

Her words offered little comfort, but fighting more would only result in heartbreak. He knew there was no changing his fate now.

“I shall leave for Winterfell in the morning.” he murmured.

Jacaerys never made it to Winterfell.

A storm hit only a few hours into his journey, and when he went to fly below the chaos, he was spotted by humans, who managed to get an iron tipped arrow through his wing.

He very nearly cracked his skull like an egg on the ground, but managed to guide his uninjured wing well enough to soften his fall.

The humans who shot him made the mistake of trying to finish the job. He made quick work of them–human bones snap like twigs–before looking for shelter. He couldn’t believe his luck when he found the abandoned castle.

It was perfect. He could taste the dark magic lingering in its halls and the stench of human fear that hung in the air. They would avoid this place, he was sure of it.

As he laid in his nest that night, he couldn’t help but think that this was a sign the Gods had been wrong about his mate.

One could only hope.

It didn’t take long, maybe a couple of days, before the bodies of the men he killed were discovered.

It was still early enough in the morning for the sun to barely crest over the horizon. A thick fog hung in the air, concealing Jacaerys in the trees where he watched the hunting party stumble upon the carnage. He’d been hunting for a decent meal when he heard their shouts of distress.

One of the men pointed at him. Jacaerys ran. The men's shouts chased him through the trees.

It was hard, he wasn’t used to running like this. Especially not over such uneven terrain. His wings dragged uselessly on the ground.

It didn’t take long for the dogs to catch up.

They snapped at his heels, their snarls and growls echoing through the trees.

One of the dogs got to his leg, sinking their teeth into his calf like a blade through butter. He cried out as he fell, pain shooting up through his entire body.

The dogs descended, tearing at his skin, his clothes. The men’s shouts came closer.

Jacaerys screamed a protection incantation. The dogs were blasted off him and back into the fog.

He scrambled to his feet and ran for his life.

Taking stock of his injuries, Jacaerys sobbed in despair.

His calf was easily healed, a quick spell and it was good as new.

But his wing? A normal arrow was already a nightmare to heal, but an iron arrow was damn near impossible.

He’d be lucky if he ever flew again.

The humans didn’t give up.

They knew he was hiding out in the castle, as they sent men in to kill him nearly every day. None succeeded.

He couldn’t bring himself to eat them. The meat was far too stringy and no amount of charring helped the flavor.

This is how he was going to die; broken and starved in a decrepit castle.

Another human was in the palace.

Jacaerys watched him from the shadows as he wandered through the halls with a massive sword on his hip.

This one didn’t reek of fear like the others, it was excitement that Jacaerys smelled on him. How odd.

And then the man threatened to behead him, and Jacaerys knew this man was not a concerned villager.

He had heard of their kind before; humans who hunted down non-human creatures and slaughtered them for sport. Monster hunters, they called themselves.

Valyria was well hidden, so Jacaerys himself had never dealt with them before. But Aemond lost his eye and nearly his life when one caught him unawares.

Jacaerys would not make the same mistake.

Jacaerys assumed the hunter would give up after days of coming up empty handed.

He didn’t.

It was infuriating.

After four days of watching this man wander the halls looking for him, Jacaerys knew he had to act. He crept into the man's camp in the dead of night, prepared to slaughter him in his sleep, when he finally got a good look at his face.

He was handsome for a human. High cheekbones, a square bearded jaw, full lips that looked pillow soft. His long dark hair was splayed out on his pillow, shining in the light of the meager fire next to his sleeping roll.

Some deep urge had Jacaerys kneeling down next to the man's sleeping body and running his fingers through his hair.

The man snorted, his eyelids fluttered and Jacaerys knew he was about to wake up.

Jacaerys didn’t kill him. He couldn’t bring himself to do it. So, he just threatened him instead and hoped it would be enough to send the man on his way, before disappearing back into the darkness.

The smell of fresh meat draws him from his nest.

It’s a stag, recently killed, and dragged in from the woods, lying on the floor. Had the hunter done this for him?

In Valyria, before you and your mate were considered officially mated, you would exchange kills to show you can provide for your mate and your future children.

He circled the beast once before kneeling next to it, running his claws through its matted fur. Did the hunter know what a kill like this would mean?

Was the hunter…propositioning him? Jacaerys scowled at the stag. This man clearly had a death wish.

The sound of rocks scraping across the floor caught his attention and he turned to find the hunter creeping up from the shadows.

He curled his lip back over his fangs, ready to rip the man's throat out, when their eyes locked.

Oh.

Oh.

Jacaerys watched his mate sleep from across the room. The mating bite on his neck throbbed.

It was killing him to be so far from Cregan, even if it was only a few feet, but he needed to gather his thoughts, and that was easier to do when his mind was not clouded with his mates scent.

It was bad enough that his mate was a human, but a monster hunter? That was something he could not accept as easily, even with Cregan’s seed still leaking onto his thighs.

If they went back to Valyria, would Cregan try to kill his entire family? And to that thought, when he woke up, would he try to kill Jacaerys?

The soulmate bond would prevent Cregan from doing any real harm, but what if his hatred for non-human creatures was so great, that he overcame the bond and slaughtered Jacaerys right here?

And what of their children?

Jacaerys placed a protective hand on his stomach. If Cregan’s seed did take–and it would, the Gods would make sure of it–would he hate their children, too? Would he slaughter them like dogs in their cribs?

That idea alone was part of the reason he hadn’t healed Cregan’s back yet. He needed him somewhat incapacitated when he woke up, even if it was like torture seeing the claw marks he’d left in his mates flesh.

Jacaerys cried quietly in the corner and prayed for guidance.

When Cregan finally woke, it felt like an eon had passed.

Jacaerys was cooking when he opened his eyes—a simple soup from herbs he’d foraged nearby, he couldn't serve Cregan meat without knowing his intentions first—and he felt his mate's gaze like a physical touch.

He glanced over his shoulder and found hazy silver eyes watching him.

“Where am I?” He croaked, his voice barely above a whisper.

“My nest,” Jacaerys hated how timid he sounded. “I feared you would never wake.”

Cregan studied the room but his eyes looked far too glossed over to really see much of anything.

“You’re my mate.”

It’s not a question.

“Yes.” Jacaerys turned back to the fire to avoid seeing the disappointment in Cregan’s eyes.

“I thought–” He winced. Jacaerys bit his cheek to keep from mirroring the sound. “I thought soulmate bonds were dead magic. The bond isn’t even supposed to affect humans.”

If only.

“It’s rare, but not impossible.”

Cregan hummed. “And who…or what, are you?”

Jacaerys pulled the bowl off the fire and turned to face Cregan. His eyes were closed and he was pale, a sheen of sweat covered his face and neck. He was weak. Jacaerys would have to heal him soon or risk losing his mate.

“I am Jacaerys of House Targaryen,” He closed the distance between them and lifted the bowl to Cregan’s lips. “Drink.”

Cregan eyed the bowl warily. “What is it?”

“Soup.” When Cregan didn’t move, Jacaerys scoffed. “If I wanted you dead, poisoning you would not be the method I chose.”

Cregan studied him for a moment before leaning forward and accepting the bowl between his lips. As he drinks the liquid down, Jacaerys can’t help but let his eyes wander to the matching mating bite on Cregan’s neck.

There was still dried blood on his skin, and the spot where Jacaerys’s fangs went in had sufficiently bruised.

Just the sight of it sent heat through his core.

Cregan pulled away and laid back down with a wince. “Thank you, Jacaerys.”

“You-You’re welcome.”

He hurried back to the fire, if only to keep his hands from reaching out to touch Cregan again. They still had many things to discuss, and touching would only make that discussion more difficult.

“Am I going to die?” Cregan asked softly.

Jacaerys stiffened. “No.”

“I–I must confess I feel rather faint,” he chuckled. “It seems you were rough on me, Jacaerys.”

Jacaerys’s cheeks flushed at the memory of his claws sinking into Cregan’s soft flesh. It split so easily, like a peach.

“I apologize, Cregan. It appears I was rather…over-zealous during our mating.”

“I’ll take it as a compliment.”

Gods above.

Jacaerys opened his mouth to admonish the man for his bold comments, but Cregan began to cough violently before the words could leave his lips.

He was by Cregan’s side again in an instant, cradling the man’s head as he coughed up blood onto the stone floor.

Panic welled inside him. There was no time for conversation, not anymore.

“Roll onto your stomach.” he commanded.

Cregan, shockingly, didn’t protest.

The sight of his back made Jacaerys wince; his skin had been torn to ribbons. He rushed to the stash of herbs and quickly gathered the materials before moving back to his mate lying prone on the floor.

“This is going to hurt before it starts to feel better,” he muttered, shoving a handful of witches' wart into his mouth. “But it will stop the bleeding while I heal you. Try not to move.”

He chewed the leaves until they formed a paste in his mouth before spitting it onto Cregan’s mangled back and rubbing it over the wounds as gently as he could.

“You said–fuck–you said you were of House Targaryen?” Cregan hissed the question through clenched teeth.

“I am.”

“That is not a House I’ve heard of before.”

“And that is how we prefer it; hidden away from those who wish to hurt us.”

“There are more of you?”

Jacaerys hesitated. While Cregan still did not know where Valyria was or how he would even find it in the first place, the knowledge of Jacaerys’s family might be enough for him to try.

Mate or not, this man was a monster hunter. He would have to be cautious until he felt he could trust him.

He pressed his fingers into Cregan’s skin until the man jerked away.

“Keep still, Cregan. Otherwise this won’t set properly.”

Cregan didn’t ask any more questions after that.

Sleep evaded him.

Perhaps it was his wounded wing, or the sound of his mate’s shallow breathing that kept him awake. But try as he might, sleep would not claim him.

It was nights like these when he fiercely ached for Valyria; he missed his bed, he missed his brothers, his mother.

If she was here, she would know just what to do. She always knew what to do, it was one of the reasons Jacaerys feared taking over her reign one day. He nearly killed his own mate, how would he be able to lead the entire realm?

The sound of footsteps pulled him from his thoughts.

He quickly sat up and craned his neck towards the ceiling. Whoever it was, they were trying to be quiet. How unfortunate for them, that Jacaerys has excellent hearing.

There’s at least three people, likely another hunting party, which makes his heart stutter, but he doesn’t move. If it weren’t for Cregan, he would already be up there slaughtering the fools who believed they could hunt him like a dog.

They won’t find his nest, that he’s sure of. It’s well hidden and the humans disliked being in the castle for long periods of time. Still, he didn’t fully relax until the footsteps faded away from him.

He laid back down on his side and watched Cregan’s chest rising and falling. They could no longer stay here, they needed to return to Valyria at once to ensure he would heal properly.

They would leave at dawn.

It was then that his eyes finally closed, comforted by the idea that soon he would be home.

Jacaerys wakes to the sensation of being watched.

His first glance is at Cregan, who is still sleeping soundly beside him. Slowly, Jacaerys sits up and surveys the room, blinking the sleep from his eyes.

But there’s nothing in the room with them besides the shadows.

Still, his instincts are screaming that something is wrong. Someone, or something, is watching them, and with Cregan’s current state, Jacaerys can’t let his guard down.

He gets to his feet, if only to assuage his fears by wandering around the nest, when he hears it. Something moving behind him.

He turns and bares his teeth at the darkness.

Then, a hitch of breath.

Suddenly there’s a flash of light that sends Jacaerys to his knees, screaming like a banshee. They have blinded him.

“The beast is down! Grab it!”

Hurried footsteps approach him from both sides, Jacaerys whips out his tail towards the noise. One of the men shouts as he falls. The sound of his skull cracking against the stone is music to his ears.

But one is still advancing, so close now that Jacaerys can smell his breath and the faint tinge of magic wafting off his skin.

That’s how they managed to stay hidden; a charm of some sort. He snarls at the fool who is now close enough to reach for him. The feeling of his sweat-slicked hands makes Jacaerys snarl loudly and slash with his talons.

The man shrieks and lets go, stumbling back far enough that Jacaerys is able to shakily get to his knees.

He’ll gut them, he’ll hang them from their entrails, he’ll–

“Jacaerys!”

Cregan.

Jacaerys turns towards his mate, but before he can take a step, something solid hits the back of his head and he crumples to the floor with a low whine.

“Jacaerys! No!”

Jacaerys reaches towards Cregan's voice before the darkness pulls him under.