Page 2 of By the Horns (Royal Artifactual Guild #2)

Choking on air, I grab my bucket and haul it toward the next room. The moment I’m inside, I slam the door behind me and lean against it, gasping.

“Who’s there?” asks someone with a deep, irritated male voice.

Shit. Mucking shit. I must have awoken the healers’ patient.

Sure enough, when I look over, there’s the big, pale white form of a Taurian sprawled over the bed, which seems far too small for him.

He’s naked except for a sheet tossed over his loins and what looks like a cloth covering his eyes.

His bed has an overly tall footboard, upon which his hooves press.

I guess that’s more comfortable for him on his back than lying flat like a human would, because his legs bend backward at the knee.

He looks mucking grumpy that I’m here, too.

“Sorry, sir,” I chirp, sliding into my old friendly-helpful-maid persona. I step forward, clutching my bucket, and notice that his eyes aren’t just covered, they’re blindfolded. Good. He won’t be able to say it was me who interrupted him. “Name’s Sarya.”

Maybe I shouldn’t lie about my name, but I figure he doesn’t need to know who I really am.

If I annoy him, the last thing I want is someone reporting back about how terrible Gwenna is.

I set down the bucket near the window and then glance back toward him.

This is the guild medics’ main hospital, so I reckon that he’s a guild artificer.

He’s enormous, this Taurian man. There’s a glinting golden ring in his bovine pink nose, and his shoulders are so broad that his arms hang over the sides of the narrow bed.

His horns jut forward over his bandaged brow and look sharp and deadly.

Someone, one of the nurses perhaps, has tied a bright red ribbon in a colorful bow on the end of each one so the staff notices if he swings his head.

I don’t think they’re necessary. He’s impossible to look away from.

I’ve seen him around guild headquarters, but I don’t know his name, just that he’s one of the guild’s hardworking Taurians.

His barrel chest is nothing but muscle and the occasional scar, with two flat nipples decorating his delicious pectorals.

The hooves on the footboard are equally enormous, and his tail swats the side of the bed with irritation. He’s magnificent.

Grumpy as muck, but magnificent.

The Taurian grunts, shifting his big body on the bed. “You’re the female they sent up?”

To clean the windows? “Aye, that’d be me. I’ll get you taken care of and then I’ll be on my way, promise.”

“Good” is all he says, and then he drops the sheet covering his loins to the floor and gestures at his fully engorged cock.

Raptor

I’m a terrible invalid.

It goes against everything I am to lie abed all day, doing nothing at all.

I should be in the tunnels, digging for artifacts.

I should be scouting for new paths. Five hells, I should be drinking in a tavern for all I care.

Just not in bed with my eyes glued shut by a thick paste under a bandage.

Granted, the paste is cool against my burnt skin, and the healer assigned to my care reassures me my vision will come back soon, but each day that I’m here, I can practically hear the coins clinking.

The guild loves to charge for everything.

Meals. Uniforms. Medic services. Everything.

I’m going to be in so much mucking debt after this, just to get back to normal.

It’s my own fault. I shouldn’t have let the new guy in our Five handle the artifacts. I should know to duck and cover when someone says, “I wonder what this button does.”

I’m lucky all I got was a pair of flash-burnt eyes and some scorches on my hands. I’m told Romald—sorry, Bustard —didn’t make it. That means our Five has an opening again, and it means we’ll have another new guy. I mucking hate new guys.

Shifting on the narrow bed, I try to ignore how my back aches.

Truth be told, more things are aching right now than just my back.

My cock throbs like a swollen tooth. My knot hasn’t been drained in days now, and it’s been a lot longer since I’ve had a dose of the illegal potion that keeps my ever-present hungers in check.

I can’t exactly go out and get it myself, not without my vision, and it’ll be at least another week before they release me from the clinic.

Nor can I demand someone go to the underground mancer’s shop and ask for my weekly dose.

Without my regular dose of the potion, my needs have come rushing back.

The god’s hand—which the potion stays—has returned with a roar.

My sexual hungers are making me twist in agony.

Most Taurians are only god-touched during the Conquest Moon, but some of us are god-touched permanently, and it makes us insatiable.

“Can I get you anything?” the healer asked me earlier.

“A woman,” I managed. “A sex worker.”

“Oh.” The healer seemed flustered at the request. “Is there a Taurian moon—”

“No.” I pull the sheet off and show the permanently swelled knot at the base of my cock. “God-touched.”

“Oh. Oh, mercy.” The elderly healer made a few other fluttery, anxious noises, but I couldn’t see her face to know if she’d agreed or not.

It’s been hours now, though, and I was about to get up from the bed—wounds and all—and demand that someone send a female to me.

Anything to get this wild ache out of my groin.

I can’t even take care of it myself because my mucking hands are bandaged.

But it seems as if my request has been fulfilled after all.

I lift my nose, trying to pick up her scent.

Normally human females smell like sweat and musk and all kinds of delicious things.

This one just smells like…soap. Soap and cleaning supplies, and lemon.

They love to soak this hospital in astringent things, though, so my senses might be numb after days of being here.

She sounds female at least. “You’re the female they sent up? ”

“Aye, that’d be me. I’ll get you taken care of and then I’ll be on my way, promise.” Her voice is sweet and cheerful, all business. I like that.

“Good.” I’m so relieved I could jump out of this bed and do a jig…but the burns on my body wouldn’t be too happy with that. Instead, I simply pull the sheet off my groin, my already stiff and aching cock leaping free. “As you please.”

There’s a little pause. “Is that a knot?”

Inwardly I stiffen. It’s something I despise hearing.

Something I hate having to go over with every new sex worker, because it brings up problems. Some fear my size, as my knot just increases the girth of my already-large Taurian cock.

Some are anxious and don’t want to be knotted under any circumstances and will scream it loudly to all who will listen and make me feel like a monster.

Most behave like I’m an unforeseen issue that can only be solved with a lot more coin.

No matter what, I’m treated like I’m a problem, and I hate it.

I go through the rote explanation I offer to every sex worker I encounter, my voice tight.

“Some Taurians are ‘blessed’ by Old Garesh to have a knot at all times. It makes our need constant.”

“That sounds…distracting.” Her voice grows breathy. A moment later, I hear the click of the lock in the door. “Lucky for you, I’m all about distraction today.”

I groan. Gods, yes. This is exactly what I need—an eager, willing partner. “I’m yours to play with, woman. Be as rough as you like.”