Page 16 of Deadly Maiden (Dragons and Darkthings #1)

Wyntre

After Rorsyd pays Hunder, we leave before the next client arrives.

“That limit on the crystals—” I dodge a cart then finish the sentence. “We need a way to add more etharum.”

“We do. It is a problem. To stretch it out, we take them off at night and whenever alone or under cover.”

“Yes, and I have an idea I could try.” Though I fear destroying a crystal if it goes wrong.

“What is it?” He ducks his head to hear my words more privately.

“Later. In the box with the letter is a weapon that uses a warnite crystal containing a type of etharum called gheist.”

Gheist is also called getharum. That’s an older word for it that Landos told me, so it has to be closely related to etharum?

With a nod, Rorsyd agrees.

On exploring the streets, we find an inn toward Venin’s center. I’m impatient. I need to hear Rorsyd’s explanation about his eyes.

The inn is small and crammed between a barber and a shoe shop. It’s rundown and the walls have mold, but I simply do not care. After we give the innkeeper woman a payment on the room, we tramp upstairs, still wearing our new disguises.

The pendants seem obvious. Yet no one has looked at us as if we are anything new or unusual.

I appraise Rorsyd as I sneak past him, sideways, in the narrow hallway of our room while he holds the door open. I poke him and feel the usual ungiving rocklike muscle, am tempted to poke him lower but I don’t. Nothing seems off to my eye.

Nothing looks abnormal.

I pull off my boots, then back away with my head cocked. He has closed the door, and locks it before he follows, slowly.

“What?” Rorsyd opens his palms, clearly puzzled.

“Hunder is right. You are a masterpiece of ordinary. A tradesman. A lowly worker. A man who digs or hunts or grows food for a living. The eye just seems to slide right off you.”

“Does it now? Come here my peasant-girl wench.”

“Oy! Wench?” I pretend to be revolted by the word as he grabs my hand and pulls me toward our window area.

By the left wall is a double bed, middle of the room holds a table with two chairs. And then there is this scruffy red love seat facing the window. It reclines, basted by afternoon light, with its studs and stitching coming undone along the back. Rorsyd navigates around the right-hand end and sits.

Leastways, I assume it is a love seat? Half of it has a high back while the rest swoops lower, and it’s upholstered in slightly fancy red leather. I sincerely pray nothing dirty has been done on this seat.

The walls though, the stained ochre walls snicker at me. They pretty much tell me I am wrong.

“My lap for you, wench.” He pats his thigh.

Gingerly, I sit on said lap. “Tell me, about them.”

“Them. My eyes?”

I nod. “Wait.” I remove the medallion from my neck then slip his off. I go to the table and carefully lay them out, before I return to sit on him again. I squirm a little. Yes, his bulge is definitely bulging. I try not to look intrigued. Serious matters are in play. “Tell me.”

He parts his mouth but says nothing. His throat bobs. Embers flare and drift in his eyes. I missed them. I really, really missed those flickering bonfires.

Is my dragonshifter lost for words?

I place my forefinger over his mouth. “Let me. I can guess. I think?” If I have this wrong, it will be so embarrassing. My forehead wrinkles, my own struggles obvious.

“You think you can?” Languidly, Rorsyd takes my hair and gathers it with his fist at my nape, tight enough to send delicious prickles of heat all the way to my nipples. He sneaks a hand into my shirt, after unbuttoning to gain access, slips under the bandeau top and cups my breast. “Keep going,” he murmurs.

My toes bunch as he caresses me. My voice is husky. “You say it?”

“Now you’re quiet?” A decadent smile spreads, and he pretends to weigh my breast then makes me sigh with another brush of his thumb.

“ Mmm .” Bemused, with desire stirring, I’m looking at where his hand vanishes in my shirt.

“My eyes have changed for the first time, ever, because Wyntre, my gorgeous necromancer, you are my soulmate.” He loosens and strokes my hair, his voice steady and warm.

I lean closer, snuggling, entranced by him, by his hand, by the movement of his jaw when he talks. I kiss his jawline. I am right.

“It is a shifter thing,” he says. “You must know of how wolfshifters find their soulmates? We, too, display signs. For us, it is in the eyes. I have never done so before. For it to be you…” He breathes long, moves his fingers in my hair then gathers it even tighter. “It’s perfect. You are perfect.”

I close my eyes, feel something move under my butt. “I guessed right.”

He groans out a curse. “Before I go and spread you wide and fuck you…”

Now he has my attention. I blink up at him. “Umm, yes?”

Rorsyd chuckles. “I want to read that letter, see this weapon.” He taps my nose. “If I take you, I’m going to find it hard to concentrate on such things. Get up.” He shoos me off him and smacks my rear then is bold enough to say, “Please?”

“This is the ultimate tease.” I pout, but after a lingering run of my fingers through his thick red hair that holds in crests like waves on a shore, I saunter to my rucksack. My hips sway, even as I find the box. I hear a grunt as I bend over and secretly smile. Got you. It’s simpler to bring the box. I return with it and deliberately perch beside him and not on his lap.

“The letters first.” I open the lid, stare at the pages, holding both my parents’ intensely personal letter and Landos’ more instructional note. “Two of them. One is from Landos, the other is to me from my parents.” I raise my head. “I thought to let you see them…to read them as if you were me. Maybe this is stupid?” I wind down.

“I like this idea. Here.” He puts out his hand. “May I?”

I deliver them to him, remembering the words as he reads both letters. He’s so beautiful when he’s gentle like this, leaning back on the couch, his heavy thigh nudging against mine. And so heart-stoppingly desirable when he gets wicked.

Below pulses with heat, and I must resist squeezing my thighs together. Serious stuff, remember.

“They loved you, Wyntre, greatly. I can see that. You were a baby when this was written too. Their advice sounds good. Especially the keep your lover close .” He flashes me a grin. “Thank you for allowing me to see these. As for what to do with that advice, anytime you wish to talk about it, just say?”

He doesn’t mention anything about the sadness I must have felt when I read, but I understand how it might be a step too far for him. We talked on the way to Venin about the future, and I thought I had decided, but how does one make such a decision and know it is right?

“I may need to talk. Slaedorth is a no, for now. What I said before, about Saphora in Vancourter, you can see that came from Landos. And that he thought I should learn about necromancy.” I tilt my head. “I’m still unsure if that is wise.”

“Because you don’t want revenge.”

“Exactly.”

“Oddly, I’m more unsure now.” He holds up the pages. “I’m leaning in the other direction. Why? Because now I know you and love you.”

He pauses, and I bump my shoulder into him, smiling shyly. He loves me. I’m a bit shocked hearing that out loud, but I shouldn’t be.

“If anyone can study how to control and raise the undead, and still be a good person…” He taps Landos’ letter. “That is you. I worry we don’t know why the king ordered you captured and not simply executed.”

What?

“I was an enforcer. They are free to do whatever they need to. That includes killing. So why did they not do that to you, when you are potentially a very dangerous person? Why capture you and transport you across the kingdom? Madlin wanted to see you? It makes little sense. And so, my change of mind. Learning equals power, and sometimes we need that power to defend ourselves.”

“Okay. That’s scarier than ever. I think?” Did the king want to pull me apart, dissect me? “Me, studying necro. It led my parents to their deaths.”

“It did, yes, but with the king seeking you, we need to choose a path that is safest. And also, new issue, there is this Kyvin mentioned?” His brow creases. “Do you know who that is?”

“I don’t. I have met no one with that name.”

“Then we must keep watch for him. I want to head to Langordin next, get some of my things from my rooms, hide there while we decide our absolutely best course. It’s a city where you can hide anything, if you try.” He places the pages in my hand, holds my forearm. “Wyntre, above all else, I want you safe.”

Those words throw my emotions into chaos. A churning, messy, goopy happiness surges inside me. I choke up. Tears well as I fumble to reply. “And I, you. I love you too.”

Carefully, I set the box on the floor. From beneath the letters, the gheist gun peeks out, metal-shiny and deadly. It can wait.

Rorsyd places his hand on the side of my face, gentle, but with dark intent in his gaze.

My heart skips, delight flaring into desire. So soon. So quickly after he stirred me to tears with his declaration of love and caring. I’m swinging about like a weathercock in a storm.

Rorsyd is the storm.

“It’s funny how crazily fast this seems to be happening, if I stop to think,” he says. “But this, this is what being soulmates means. We are one.”

With the kiss that follows he takes me, soft at first. We breathe each other’s air while small sounds escape me. When he trails his lips from my chin to my ear, I angle my neck, chasing his touch. Skin rasps against skin. I turn to him, and he meets my mouth again. His kiss grows harder, crushing onto me. My heart thuds in my chest and throat, my head swims.

I am unsure where I begin and end, for he seems determined to fuse us together.

I’ve wrapped my arms beneath his, holding him, desperately, as if he might run.

His tongue delves in my mouth, as mine does in his, before he moves downward to bite my neck, making a path with his teeth to my shoulder. His unyielding grip on my hair drives me to more heated moaning.

After stripping off his shirt then mine, Rorsyd drags me until I’m lengthwise on the small couch. He half straddles me, one knee between my legs, one foot on the floor, and leans in to continue our kiss.

Then he pins my throat to the couch as he kisses downward, between my breasts, further, straying back to suck and lick at my nipple, where he’s bared me by rolling up my bandeau top. I writhe heatedly, blindly ruffling his hair, opening my legs wider when he reaches my belly button. Now he pulls my leggings off me, flings them somewhere. Mouth wide, I watch him explore my navel, licking, moisture cooling my skin, while his tongue circles. His hand toys with my pussy, my clit, then holds my leg.

Fascinated, and possibly on fire, I prop one foot on the floor.

Already I’m imagining that tongue elsewhere, knowing what he can do with it.

He reaches the join of my legs, and I tense, arching a little toward him, groaning as his mouth roves. I’ve a wet trail on my inner thighs and a pulsing ache in my pussy. My own wetness slicks my lower lips.

I clutch at his hair, his broad back, let my hands glide over his bare skin. Until he bites my leg. I shriek and claw at his shoulders, probably scratching him with my fingernails. He only laughs and takes more skin in his teeth before releasing it to kiss the bite. In awe, I watch, my neck craned forward. Then…he pushes a finger into me.

I hear the sounds of copious moisture slicking over his finger then unsticking as he fucks me with it, twice.

“I should show you my claw, here,” he drawls and shoves that finger higher. I gasp at the threat, this sexy weird threat that undoes my brain. I close my legs, trapping his hand in place.

He wouldn’t do that. Would he?

Then he shoves apart my legs and slowly licks up my slit, starts to finger me vigorously.

“Fuck!” I drop head backward onto the seat. I’m babbling small noises, trying to make him do what I need, trying to wrap one leg over his head. Somehow, I fall off the couch, caught by him but sliding off the leather, until my ass hits the floor.

He’s followed my lower body down, pauses in his ravishment of me, his finger stilled, not thrusting, just there, still inside. And I’m panting hard, trying not to snort-laugh, turned on but stupidly amused. I lean against the loveseat, naked, with my butt on the floor, with red marks running down my belly and leg from his bites.

“You’re laughing?” But he, too, is smiling.

He pulls on both my feet and drags me fully onto the floor. A little breathless, I’m giggling as he climbs up me on all fours to sit on my middle. Then he unbuttons and frees his cock from his pants. I stare at the thing, so huge it might be used to bludgeon unwary monsters to death. It’s a monster all by itself, and he’s stroking one hand up and down the shaft.

“The times I’ve stared at your ass when you rode ahead of me or slept before me and wanted to plough into you, asleep or not.” He grabs my nipple and crushes it until I yelp. “And that little squeaky sound you make when I bite you… My dick is so hard right now.”

“I know.” I smirk at him.

“ Tsk . Bad girl. Should I make you get on your knees and suck my cock down, all the way to your tonsils?”

Where has this nasty Rorsyd been hiding? My pussy squeezes in as if asking for his monster cock. I’m probably dripping below.

“Yes?” I say this timidly, wanting it but wondering if he will, wanting him to try.

He stands and drags me up, onto my knees, then with his hand in my hair again, puts his cock to my mouth. His claws extrude, the magik happening before my eyes as they pop through the skin.

“Those are big claws,” I murmur in awe.

“Suck it down.” The back of his clawed hand trails over my cheek.

I lock my gaze to his as I open my mouth and let the head of his cock roll past my lips, sliding in on my saliva.

He swallows. “Gods. Keep going.”

When I push forward, he decides I’m too slow, or something, and instead takes control, thrusting himself deeper. My mouth has more inside than should be possible. I gasp and splutter around him as he withdraws then begins to fuck my mouth, the rhythm slow but compelling.

I peek upward to see his face. His hold on me, cock in me, the pure unadulterated sexiness of seeing him get off on this, I want him in me more than words can say.

After a few more thrusts, he pulls out and hisses through his teeth, leans down, cock bobbing as he cups my face. “Turn around and hold the couch so I can fuck you hard.”

I am so not arguing with that. I turn fast and wait with my ass up while he kneels behind me. He sticks his cock in all of half the length in one pure, soul-destroying, hammering thrust. Then another. Another.

I groan, arch my rear even higher. If this is training me to take him, I’m so very into it.

So is he. My eyes roll up, and I close them, cursing at how he fills me. Lust soars. He grabs my hips, and I feel the slightest prick of claws as he slides into me and swears and fucks me hard, just as he promised.

That huge cock is spearing my pussy and I’ve no idea how he jams it in without killing me.

The loveseat moves on the floor in tiny, shuddering squeaks.

As my hands slide across the leather, I grunt and moan, clutching at the sofa. Where the seat joins the back is a crevice into which I lodge both hands, as he starts a mind-burning rhythm.

Jarred forward then hauled back into him, knees rubbing on floor, my thighs grow thoroughly wet. With my face buried in my arms, I’ve lost track of the world out there. My gasps and sobs, the groan as he pulls out, slams back in, I sound unhinged.

I am. I fucking am.

He almost slaps in full-length, then looms over me, his claws on my hips spiking me as he jets in. The heat of come spills and drips from my entrance while he stays there, pumping, twitching.

I haven’t come, but I’m spent when he pulls out and lets me slump to the floor.

A moment or two later, he turns me over and, kneeling, buries three fingers inside me, starts sucking down there on my clit. My heels take my weight as I tense my thighs, my legs. It’s not long before my legs are shaking and clamping in on his head.

I’m silently screaming as he sucks on me for that last long, shuddering second, where I arch off the floor into his mouth, his face.

Afterward, I keep my eyes closed, listening to my frantic breathing, feeling my body come down off the high. He extracts his fingers and crawls up me.

“We made a mess,” he says to my ear.

“Yeah.” My hands lie flopped over me below my breasts, bent like they forgot how hands work. I paw at him and roll into Rorsyd. “That was something.” I’m still catching my breath, wishing I could curl up with him in bed and stay there.

But I’m sticky and under my leg is sticky and wet. I kiss his chest.

“You know,” he begins quietly, “what if I make love to you while you sleep? So you wake up and feel me inside you.” His eyebrow quirks upward then he puts his clawed hand on my breast and uses just enough pressure to make the sharp points dent the skin. “Would you like that?”

I have just seen heaven, and I fear I may have a pussy stretched inches deeper and wider than before. My mind hasn’t quite recovered. That suggestion is…is…

“Please…” I gulp. My nipples have peaked. His claws dig in a little more, and his smile turns wicked. Make that wickeder. “I think, maybe, I would like that.” I clear my throat. “A lot.”

“This is good,” he purrs.

He says nothing more for a while, leaving me time to reflect on how pleased he sounded. Our lovemaking is going a little sideways, exploring new territory. It’s exciting. Definitely that.

“Wyntre?”

“Yes.”

“I wanted to talk about that weapon but forgot to, and now I realize we only have a wash basin in here, and no running water…” He leans up over me on his elbow. “We need to clean up and then find somewhere to eat.”

“Okay.” I look up at my gorgeous dragonshifter. “It’s a complicated idea I have anyway. With the gheist and the etharum. It might be best to try it outside town, after all.” If anything goes wrong, we can run? “And I’m really hungry.”

“Me too.” Then he kisses me softly.

When he draws away, I hook my hand around the back of his head and halt him. “I could get used to having a kisser like you, mister dragonshifter. Can we do that again?”

“If you pay me.”

I snort and punch his chest then he wrestles my hand down, pins the other one to the floor, and blows a heap of raspberries on my breasts and stomach.

In the middle of the laughing, it occurs to me that for a pair of fugitives running from the enforcers, we are having too much fun.

I hope that isn’t a premonition. Then I wonder where Anathema is.

He appears later, in the middle of the night, as if I wished him into existence, and curls up at the bottom of our bed, just…like…a real cat. I don’t have the heart to make him leave.

Is this a hint that I should confess to Rorsyd?

Only, I don’t really know what Anathema is.