Page 23 of Deadly Maiden (Dragons and Darkthings #1)

Wyntre

“Behold, Langordin.” Rorsyd opens his arms wide, rocking in the saddle as Snake-eyes ambles toward the towering gates. The horse’s hooves clop louder as we reach the paving stones. “City of Sleaze, Sloth, Seediness, and Stealing.”

Guards are stationed about the gates—six or seven—and some must be enforcers, judging by the black and silver uniforms. When we get closer, the black-and-gold rose on the breast of their jackets confirms this.

“You missed sin and sex.”

“It has those too,” Rorsyd murmurs. “We should be fine. Notice the mage at the rear with a staff. He’s the one to watch. We should separate. I’ll go first. We’re visiting a friend who works in the Grippa Vineyard. He’s staying at the Rune Inn. Remember this.”

“Okay.” I don’t nod and try to look nonchalant. We hadn’t thought to share a cover story. Until now.

Snake-eyes and Rorsyd keep ambling along; he tags onto the end of a family of merchants. I can’t see anyone to do the same with. I stand out, but it’s too late.

He’s through. No problems.

“Okay. This is us, Blossom.” I tap her side, and she almost breaks into a trot. Too fast. I bet she wants to catch up to Snake-eyes. A subtle drag on the reins slows her.

A poster is displayed on the heavy timber supports of the gate, directly behind the mage.

That’s us. I may have gone a shade paler than I was a second ago.

The guards and enforcers study everyone who passes through this south gate on their way into Langordin. I think my heart stops beating as I run the gauntlet. I smile though.

Ker-thud, ker-thud , says my heart. Thank the gods, I’m still alive, just fucking nervous. Blossom clops onward, shakes her mane at a buzzing fly. Several of the guards cruise a lazy gaze over us.

Excitement trickles down my spine, joining the sweat that’s already there.

Some noise behind me in the column of people has three enforcers hurrying by, ignoring me and Blossom.

Have we passed this test? Pray, pray, pray. Not that I’m religiously inclined.

I draw a much-needed breath, realize I’ve been holding it. A few more strides by Blossom and we are in the shadow of the gate, under the yards-thick stonework, and no one has ordered us to halt. A glance over my shoulder reveals the mage has stepped out and has locked onto me.

After a final piercing stare, his gaze slides away.

Beyond where he stands, the enforcers are beating a young man, to the point where he falls to the ground and pleads them to stop. The goods have spilled from a donkey he was leading. It’s horrendous, but what can I do? No one else steps in, which is unsurprising. They’re the law, and the law has chosen to do what it is doing. I’ve been shielded from this, living in Bollingham under stoneborn protection.

“Keep going,” Rorsyd urges as he rejoins me.

My fingers are cold, and the center of my chest aches. I was scared—belatedly, I admit this to myself,.

Once we’re past the cleared inner area behind the wall—likely kept bare of buildings in case of attack so troops can maneuver—I lean in the saddle, closer to Rorsyd.

“This Rune Inn is really our destination?”

“It is.” He points higher and ahead, where much of Langordin climbs skyward on the mound of an undulating hill. “Up there. There’s sort of a circular layout to the oldest part. This section here came about ninety years ago. So, the lowest part of that hill is our destination. The hint of red is the rooftop of the Rune. I’ll get a map for us but…huge collections of buildings, there and there, are libraries.” He points out and labels a few more, then, “…and there, stark white towers at the very top of the hill with fortress-type walls between them, that’s the old palace. Here on the left and right of us is the Avenue of Courtesans, for male, female, or whatever. There on the right of the hill is the old Grippa Vineyard. The plantings are ancient and pest afflicted. The wine has lost its glamour.”

“A palace?” I can barely keep up with everything. Courtesans in fine translucent gowns call to us and parade by, showing off more skin and alluring smiles than I’ve seen…anywhere.

“Langordin was once the capital of Frenland, before the Wars of the Monsters.” He reads my incredulous expression and says, “Frenland? You don’t know it? How? It’s to the east.”

I hold up a hand. “I know where it is, just what are these Monster Wars? Also how could it have been the capital? The journey over the Hogback Mountains would be a week, by horse. How was this a part of Frenland?”

“Not Monster Wars. The Wars of the Monsters. It was four centuries and seventy years ago, to be exact and involved every land, even Wenway. The Vorple Islands rose from the sea due to the death of one of the monsters. A cult of demonancers that sought dominion over all lands, races, and species were the evil soul of that war.” His face stills. “You’re both right and wrong. It used to be a swift journey to what is now Frenland. There was no mountain then. The hog was one of the last monsters to die.”

I blink at him. “Really? Those are his…back?”

“Only the northernmost part.”

I may need more details later. Make that, will need.

“Our history teacher was not the best then?”

“The winners rewrite the events. It was a cruel war, as wars often are. Our side won. The dead mostly turned to stone and earth. Anyway, off to the inn. I’d rather be out of the public view as quickly as possible. That mage was staring.”

He was. I think back and wonder about the commotion that turned the guards from me.

Was that a tingle of etharum use and magik I felt?

The Rune Inn is actually the Scribbled Rune Inn, I discover when we arrive. Scribbled on the sign is a big but legible mess of letters. Above the text is a weathered painting of a drunken scribe, sprawled on his back with a spilled tankard and a quill beside his head.

We’ve put the horses into a nearby stable Rorsyd assured me was associated with several inns. Blossom will be rubbed down and fed well, and we can visit with carrots tomorrow. He thinks I’m ridiculous but she’s the first horse I’ve ever had the time to get attached to.

“Here I was imagining this was a reputable inn.”

“It is. If you want good wine and beer. There’s a bar on the bottom floor. Not so good for food.”

Once through the arched doorway and a short entryway, we enter a low room with exposed beams and a smoky atmosphere containing more than twenty patrons. In a gloomy corner to the left, a man and woman sprawl and puff lazily on lily-leaf cigarillos. A whisper of the oily scent drifts by, teasing fantasies, drowsiness, and dreams. The conversations are an amiable babble.

Even so, I can feel the attention as we thread between the chairs to the innkeeper, where he stands behind the bar writing in a ledger. A waiter follows us until dismissed by the bartender’s head jerk.

With a slide of gold across the counter and the signing of our false names, we get a room on the third floor and a courtesy meal for the night.

“Drinks are extra,” the innkeeper says, already back to totaling numbers in his ledger. “Ginny will show you up and give you the key. Leave the room in good order when you go in four nights. Or else I send Basil after you and the watchmen.”

The bartender grins and points to a big, bearded man reclining against the right-hand wall. A pair of golden knuckledusters, a sheathed short sword, and a dagger decorate his waist. Dark hair sprouts on his forearms.

“Will do.” Rorsyd doesn’t blink at his assumption of our slovenliness or criminal intent. I guess it’s the usual spiel.

He looks about as we head for the stairs, and I wonder if he’s searching for known faces.

Ginny leads us up three flights of narrow stairs that coil around and around. If the place burns in a hurry, I guess we’ll be shinnying down a drainpipe. At the top, the second door along the corridor opens onto a small space with a middling-sized bed, a chest of drawers, and a basin and pitcher. The window is slanted and cut into the roof, but it is clean.

“If you want, a bigger room is available from tomorrow noon. Just need to pay a bit extra.” Ginny cheerily cocks her middle-aged hip, flips back her long, brunette plait, and hands us a key. “One key only. Lose it and pay.”

“I shall guard it with my life, Ginny.” Rorsyd gives her a quarter bow.

“Ooh, he is lovely, ain’t he?” She grins at me, winks at Rorsyd, who seems utterly unworried by the flirting.

“He is! Also, he’s mine.” I hook my hand in his elbow, clasp it in both hands, and she giggles and turns back to the stairs.

“Supper is in an hour! Latecomers get scraps.”

She clatters down, disappears from view.

“I’m yours, am I?” He tsks at me. “Salacious girl. In.” Then he pushes me ahead of him and smacks my behind. “I figure you could do with some relief. You looked tense, back there.”

The slap and the sting are unexpected, and I turn to protest. Well, to pretend to protest. He meets my first syllable with a kiss and pins me to the wall, taking off my pendant then his and tucking them into a pocket.

“Better,” I croak, when his lips leave mine for a moment. “I like this version of you.”

His thick eyebrows rise. “The rough-and-dirty version where I aim to fuck you senseless?” While I’m still digesting that awesomely filthy sentence, he cups my breasts, yanks my shirt upward and unbuttons it. The kiss becomes deeper and heated, our tongues roving, clashing, fucking each other’s mouths.

My throat gets bitten. It’s one of my favorite things, and I arch against him. In reply, he grinds into me until I’m softly moaning and ready for him to do anything , as long as I get him inside me.

We’re still kissing, and I’m walked backward until my knees hit the edge of the bed. Gasping, I topple onto it. Rorsyd pushes me flat, onto my back.

“Stay there.”

Already my breathing is ragged and fast, and I can feel myself getting wetter, swelling below, my pussy lips parting.

Coquettishly, I press my finger to his chest, as if that could stop him.

“I can tell where this is going, but shouldn’t we wash after that ride?” Just to see where it gets me, I curl out my tongue, touch it to my top lip then lick around my mouth, slowly. “Maybe you should stay,” I purr that, try to shove him backward, and fail. The man is a solid mountain.

This game is fun.

“I don’t think so.” He crawls over me, stops there on all fours, his hands planted either side of my neck. “You look too good to leave alone,” he grumbles, then he pins my wrists above my head, gathering both under one hand. “I might have to tie you to the headboard forever.”

Oh. My. Gods. This is his idea of relief? I am so voting for it.

“I’m not eating your pussy this time. I’m just going to fuck you. Why? Because I can.” His eyes are smiling though his mouth barely curves. “Because you teased me all day with that ass in the saddle, bouncing before me. You’re going to be my little toy to be used.” He says it all in a matter-of-fact tone.

I never knew how hot this could be. I gape at him, press against his fist, squirm my ass on the bed.

His eyes are devilish as he yanks at my pants, bringing them to knee level, and I know the very second when he realizes he can’t pull them off completely without releasing me.

Amused, I chuckle, and again try to move against his wrist-holding hand. I can’t budge him, but I’m loving the struggle.

Rorsyd tsks and smiles, shakes his head.

He releases me and flips me onto my stomach, settles his weight on my butt.

With my head turned sideways, I can see he’s sitting facing my feet. The dragonshifter is far too heavy to buck off or wriggle out from under, but I do try. I’m getting more and more aroused, more flustered. He draws off my pants and underwear, throws them to the floor, then bites one ass cheek, right in the middle.

I squeal at that. I’m bucking when he plants a heavy hand between my shoulder blades, turns again, and lies over me. His knees spread my legs and his clothes rustle.

Then his cock probes me.

It’s at my entrance, nearly goes in, then he slides himself up and down, drawing a blunt track between my lips. He’s lubricating himself on what I can feel is there—my own wetness. Whenever he is close to penetrating me, I hold my breath.

But he doesn’t, he keeps sliding, faking it, making me groan.

“Heyyy, Mr Dragonshifter. Do you have permission to enter?” My voice is rough, ragged, low.

With my right hand, I fumble to feel him. I spread my legs some more, but my hand can only reach the side of his body.

“Not yet. I’m going to make you beg for it,” he says that to my ear then pins that hand beside it and licks me, sighs. “You always taste good.”

A groan from Rorsyd heralds another push of his cock.

I shudder as he parts my lips and slips the very tip inside me. The blunt head is just sitting there. Is he waiting? Why is he waiting?

Frustrated but happy, I close my eyes to better appreciate this. I imagine I feel it throb, but maybe that’s me.

My pussy squeezes in, clamps tight—something I cannot stop myself doing. He nudges in further, withdraws, and bites my right shoulder.

I sigh instead of squealing.

I should be complaining, but it all feels so good.

“Well?” He inserts himself again, leaves it there, barely, not quite in, and certainly not anywhere but nestled at my very entry.

“Say it.” He licks the bite spot, nibbles me slowly, goes to my neck again then my shoulder, making a path of small possessive bites where he holds my flesh then releases it, moves on.

“Gods.” I arch, unable to resist.

Then… then he finds my other wrist and wedges both my hands into the pillow above my head.

“You’re not getting loose until I fuck you, Miss Wyntre.” His cock is twitching.

I’m getting wetter, and I rock and manage to make him sink a fraction deeper.

“Ooops.” He doesn’t pull out this time.

I huff into the bed sheet. “Yes.” I groan softly. “Do it. Please. Please, please.”

“My pleasure.” He drives into me, hard, filling me instantly. I expect some quarter, but he fucks me harder than ever, his cock surely as deep as he’s ever managed to go. The bed squeaks alarmingly and my breath is squashed from me. The slap of him meeting my ass, over and over, forms a perfect, carnal rhythm.

I don’t care if I don’t come. I’m panting, moaning, pressing myself back to meet him, knowing he will come soon, and he’s simply using my body for his pleasure.

“Oh fuck. Oh fuck.” I gasp into the bouncing mattress, try to spread my legs even more.

“That’s it.” He grunts and begins to thrust faster and faster, spearing in with a hard, amazing rhythm. Then he stiffens, and I feel him pour himself into me, lodged deep within.

This, being taken just because he wants me. It is perfect.

I sink and fall limp as he pulls out, then I roll over. “The beds a mess.”

“Don’t care.” He kisses my open mouth, fully, slowly, sealing us together. “I’ll clean you up. You stay there. Then we can go down to supper with you full of my come.”

“Dirty.” So freaking dirty. Where did this Rorsyd come from?

I kiss him back, push my tongue into him, groaning at the need, the ache still ruining me. “I hope they have laundry here. We’re going to need it.”