Page 32 of Deadly Maiden (Dragons and Darkthings #1)

Wyntre

I gasp awake to a cock sliding stealthily inside my pussy, pushing apart my walls, tunnelling in then pumping slowly back and forth. His arm is wrapped over my breasts, holding me to him. The room and my panting breathing come into focus. I’m aching for more, my pussy swollen and slippery. My clit is already throbbing.

Rorsyd is in bed with me, at last. He’s in me, at last. It’s an awesome way to welcome the morning. I fumble and find his hip, my fingers gliding on his heated skin.

With each thrust, I can feel myself getting wetter, the push of him inside me becoming easier, and I whimper even as his hand moves to my mouth where he also inserts a finger.

His cock pulses.

Greedily I open wide and gasp around that finger as he plunges halfway in and over my tongue. His knuckle sits at my lips. I suck on it, moaning throatily as he whispers dirty promises to my ear and begins to spear in, harder, deeper. The length of him feels endless.

“You’re relaxed, like this,” he murmurs, fucking himself into me again. “You feel so good.”

He shifts his hand down me, skimming my belly until he palms my pussy, fingers arranging, moving between my legs, massaging.

I shut my eyes, pressing my ass at him, folding my legs forward to give him access. I devote myself to the rhythm, grunting, moaning quietly, listening to the obvious sounds of my arousal as it lubricates the path of his cock.

“I’m in deeper than ever. Feel that.” He rams in, and his balls squash against my ass. He grinds himself into me, pulls out, then jams himself in again. Now he’s the one groaning.

Rorsyd withdraws and flips me onto my stomach, spreads my legs, reinserts himself, pistoning in and out while making the bed squeak and jump.

With my face turned to the side, half-buried in my pillow, I’m squeaking too. The sounds he is forcing me to make.

I love how he turns me on. Don’t care if I don’t come this time.

He unleashes a barrage of hard, unyielding thrusts, an assault that drives me into the bed, rubbing my needy clit on the sheets as I’m bounced about on the creaky bed.

With a final curse, he drives in and impales me, stays there with his hand pressed to the small of my back as he stiffens and comes.

I’m about to roll over and invite him into my arms when he drags me off the bed and takes me to the window where he holds me to the wall beside the window. After one sultry, full-mouthed kiss, he goes to his knees and wraps hands about my thighs then places his mouth squarely over my clit.

I make a weird noise, put my hand on his head and grasp his hair—shocked and overcome in a second at that contact, at the sight of him down there, pleasuring me.

He enters me with two fingers while he keeps licking and sucking. I’m mostly naked, my black bandeau rolled below my breasts. Open-mouthed, I watch him, working on me…for maybe five heartbeats before I groan and bump the back of my head into the wall.

With his come dripping from me, he eats me out, his tongue and mouth doing exquisitely filthy magic. The connection we have, the soulmate thing, it makes his touch there like lightning, incredible, spine-rippling lightning.

I come, writhing onto his mouth, muscles clamped, my back stiff, my thighs rigid, as I make a long almost soundless moan.

I’m still bent-kneed and pressed limp against the wall, shuddering through the last spasms of the climax when he says, “Again.”

When I protest, he chuckles and lets me sag and slide my back down the wall until I’m sitting next to him, then he drags me outward with both hands on my ass, and he fastens his mouth over my clit.

It’s too much, and I squeal and bat at him until he pins my hands to my stomach.

“Stay still. You’re coming for me, or else.” He stares at me, being mean but oh so sexy, leaning on me enough that I can’t get away. Then he searches between my legs, probes my slit, and pushes three huge fingers inside me while I gape at him.

After a fourth is wormed into me, he slowly, sedately, fucks me to oblivion with them.

“My Inner Dragon, or Inner Dick as I call him, says hi, Miss Wyntre. His idea to do all this.”

He bites me, leaving marks, sucks on my breasts until my nipples are red and swollen, turns me on again until I’m begging for more.

Then…then he shushes me with a hand clamped over my mouth and uses his own mouth to make me orgasm again.

By the end, I’m shaking and covered in Rorsyd’s marks, probably bruised on my inner thighs, and I’m sure I’ve melted into a puddle on the floor. He joins me, lying beside me as I stare up at the ceiling, then he smiles and gently kisses me.

“Too much?” He thumbs my mouth, and I capture the tip as he slides it past. Fleetingly I suck on it, which makes him smile.

“Oh fuck no.” I suck in air, catching my breath. “Absolutely was good.” I gulp. “This Inner Dragon gets a big fat star of Wyntre approval.”

“Ten minutes’ rest only, then we clean up, get a quick bite, and ride out of town.”

I groan and turn to snuggle into his warm, solid chest. “You were a monster, but thank you. Also, my legs may not work anymore.”

He laughs. “That was nothing. Wait until tonight.”

Blossom and Snake-eyes are happy to see us again, dancing on their hooves, and we ride out the gate without a hitch to where we scouted yesterday. This small green valley with side ridges overflowing with purple blossoms is quiet and off the trail. We tether the horses at a safe distance then I wait, heart in mouth, while Rorsyd shakes out his shoulders, inhales, and begins to shift.

In this moment, everything might shatter.

What if he’s wrong, and he cannot quite shift?

What if this hurts him?

After all, I’ve been messing about with his flesh and blood, using instinct not learning, using necromancy on a dragonshifter when he has not given me permission to do so.

He has stripped naked this time, tucked his clothes in the one rucksack we brought. It makes for an awesome spectacle, seeing this male hunk of muscle with a tussled head of hair so red it might itself be flame, ready himself to become something else entirely different.

I’m wishing hard, whispering the words. “ Dragon. Dragon. Dragon… ”

When the scales flutter to life and cement into place across him, color blitzes over his body as he shimmies into a larger mass occupying space that was, only moments ago, empty of anything but air.

Rorsyd becomes Dragon, once more .

“Yesss.” I’m grinning as I run to him, watching the last details solidify. All the scales, the tail, the folded wings, the giant claws, the fangs, the wickedly slanted eyes. Fire and scale and more muscle than a battalion of enforcers, all in one being.

I remember the drill and climb up in front of his leg, swinging my legs over, seating myself. I grip that tendril, then he lumbers over and grabs the rucksack and a bundle of kindling we prepared.

“Ready for flight, Miss Wyntre?” he booms.

“Yes!”

He takes a run-off, a few huge steps, the wings unfold and stretch, his neck lifts skyward, and we are off the ground. Seconds later, we’re swooping along closer to ground level than I recall.

Rorsyd is following the valley. The horses are way behind us, where the launch and shifting wouldn’t frighten them. After a mile or so, he gains altitude until the air grows cooler. I’m ready, though, dressed in thick, insulated pants and a thick shirt, a proper jacket with a hood, and a pair of gloves I pull from my pocket.

I don’t know where I’m going except that it’s south-east.

Mountains that were distant, peaks that barely poked the clouds, grow steadily nearer. Our elevation increases also, as Rorsyd angles higher.

“Is this a mountain destination?” I yell to him.

One long, slender ear pricks backward, and his deeper voice drifts back to me. “Yes. A hut I used to go to many years past. A quiet place of beauty. It has no name, apart from the mountain’s name—Gormengor. The hut on Gormengor.”

I nod. The rest of the talking can wait. The buffeting from the dry, icy winds is making me hoarse. I fasten the jacket, one last button, and snug the hood down tighter.

When we zero in on a peak, I squint and discern the hut—a dark spot among whiteness that enlarges rapidly. It’s only partially cloaked in snow and seems built from stone and heavy roof tiles. Surely, only a dragonshifter could have created it since the pathway down looks horribly precipitous, if not fatal for a normal fae.

Rorsyd cups his wings.

We land, skidding and stuttering to a halt with great shaking thuds. After sliding off, I back away as far as I can. The hut stands on a plateau, so there is room for a dragon, the hut, and quite a bit more. One might build a mansion here, if one were wasteful and so inclined.

After dropping the kindling, with a small blast of flame Rorsyd starts a fire close to the hut.

Funny how I used to fear the intensity of a blacksmith’s forge but with his dragon flame I am simply in awe. What a tangled relationship. I seem to learn something new, most days I’m with him. If being a necromancer is dark, he is the light to my darkness.

Healing doesn’t count as darkness, does it? Ever? No.

As he shrinks back to man-fae size, I make use of the waiting time and turn in a circle. The view goes on forever.

I inhale, exhale, smiling. This, standing here with nothing much surrounding me except for air, is as close to flying as I can get when I’m not riding Rorsyd.

Below, the trees spread up the slope until the elevation means they cannot grow, but they flood the plains below. Farmland is down there, squares of crops. Roads are faint squiggles, and there, further away, a golem town is forging along its ordained path. Darsum, maybe?

Rorsyd comes to me, and the joy on his face is everything I need. He drags clothes from the rucksack and dresses, pulls on shirt, pants, boots, and coat. Our breaths mist the air.

I will tell him today, what I’ve done to him. I will hope for understanding.

Surely, that is how it will be?

“Darsum?” I point.

“Yes. Your father is close.”

“I wish we could go there.”

“We could, but it’s not advisable. Things are in motion. If the king doesn’t have some inkling of what is coming, I will be shocked.”

“Me, too. Sadly.” Andacc and his C of U had twenty years to plan, but will it be enough? My stomach rumbles, and he holds up the rucksack.

“Lunchtime.”

I know we will be talking about war and more. I’m dreading the direction I will have to take, but I must do this. I gnaw the inside of my cheek and follow him to near the hut where the fire burns in an outdoor fireplace built into the stone. Being a dragonshifter he probably had little need of this.

He lets me have the rucksack to sit on and uses a boulder for his seat.

The fire is for heat rather than cooking, though we brought a kettle that he hooks on a rod and positions over the flames.

The ground is sparsely covered in snow, and dirt shows in patches, as well as hardy grasses.

On a rug we set out the meats and fruits, the fresh, pre-buttered rolls, some jams, and our mugs of fresh tea. For some reason, munching into food calms me. My jitters have settled. Should I let him go first?

I wait for Rorsyd to say what he wants to.

On this windswept eyrie, beyond the hustle and babble of the towns, all is quiet. Serenity breathes in the wind, in a pair of eagles soaring above, in the crackle of the fire and the embers that flare and die as they spiral upward. There is a peacefulness in the absence of anyone else.

Though Anathema is here, somewhere, my faithful companion, my sentient darkthing. We left Kyvin behind, though, which bothers me. The undead is so unfettered by the common hates and habits of the living—na?ve, innocent, childlike. I caught him trying to read a book the other morning, tracing the lines of words with his pale finger. I doubt he understood what was written. I sorrowed over the fae he used to be, the life he had. Another time, I found him lying on his back, staring up through the trees with Anathema nestled on him.

Should I fear malevolence arising? I doubt it.

There has to be a reason why he was sent to me. The raven disintegrated but not Kyvin.

Rorsyd drags his boulder closer, a minor feat of strength that still impresses me. Ruefully. I eye the scoured path it took in the snowy earth and, beyond that, the bigger furrows he made on landing.

“Damn, Rorsyd, you churned up the ground.”

“Anything to get near you. The snow will cover it.” He leans in and takes my gloved hand. “You’re not too cold?”

I shake my head. “No. I like it up here. It’s so beautifully quiet.”

“Yes, and yet you know I wanted to talk about war.”

“To convince me not to get involved.” And to flee.

“Yes. I told you of the horrors I’ve seen, but this is also what I need to say. I know that you are a person who must make her own decisions.” He looks me in the eye.

“Thank you.”

“And know that I will go wherever you go. That is immutable, no matter which path you choose.”

I have to think that one through. I haven’t considered this. “That’s some responsibility there. That I could drag you into something you don’t want.”

“I see. I don’t mean to do that.” He pulls off my glove, cups my hand in two of his, completely engulfing mine, then he kisses my fingertips. “I love your skin.”

I have to snort at that one. “Okay. Back to the serious stuff. What did you want to say, and…” I must make myself do this before I run from it, again. “And then I have something important too.”

“As well as choosing whether to go to war?”

“Yes.” A snowflake drifts by and makes me wonder at our fragility. It will be gone when the sun rises fully, or tomorrow if not today.

“Oh. Something I wanted to show you first. See that peak there, at the end of that run of mountains?” He points south along the range.

“Maybe? I see a gray-blue point.”

“That is where my hoard resides. I will take you there one day, show you my vast wealth.”

“And?”

“And?” He looks puzzled.

“What do you want to do with it all?”

“ Uhhh .”

Now I get it. He’s a dragonshifter. The very existence of his gold hoard is a reason in itself. This is not the time to tell him we could feed the poor, finance some good things, help others with it.

“Okay, moving on. Your reasons for me not joining Andacc are? Apart from the threat of a horrid death.” My voice softens. “And that would sway me if this was not a war against injustice, oppression, and evil.” The last one is the biggest. “You’ve seen more than I have, having been an enforcer.”

“Evil.” He still holds my hand and gives it a little squeeze and a shake for emphasis. “You make a good case for this. This is what I have to offer, and bear in mind that last battle I was in was not the worst I have seen. The problem with rebellions is that after the dust has settled, after the wounded have gone home, minus legs and arms, after the dead are counted and even, sometimes, after the good side wins…if such a thing exists. In some wars, nobody is clean.” He grimaces. “My point is, after all of that, often the same people rise to the top. The bad rise to the top because they are willing to do whatever it takes to get there.”

“I see. Andacc seems like someone I would trust.”

“Sure. He might be. But will he be the person crowned king? No. Unlikely. He is not from a royal family. It’s possibly going to be someone beneath Madlin Darsh who will be raised to that high post. They almost always get corrupted. Few kings are moral and good people.”

My mouth twists before I even think. “That’s depressing.”

“But true.”

“I will consider this, but maybe I want to believe there is good out there among people who gain power? Like you.”

“And you.” He pulls me closer and kisses me. Such a kisser this dragonshifter.

A little breathless, a little aroused, I gather myself. I’m next. He’s said what he wanted to.

“So, Rorsyd. Maybe I’m not as good as you think. This thing I have to say might make you detest me.” I bring his hands closer to press my lips to the backs. I’m trembling.

He lifts my head with a finger under my chin. “Never. What is worrying you?”

“I…” I swallow. “You know how this shifting ability comes and goes? I’m to blame.”

“Blame?” His frown is a deep one, drawing ridges on his forehead. “You’re interfering? Somehow? Stopping it?”

“No. I healed you, twice.” I glance up, meet his eyes. “While you slept. While you were unconscious and drunk, and after you killed the enforcers.”

“Wait. That’s not possible. I shifted for the first time in twenty years before you did anything.”

“That.” I shrug. “I don’t know why that time. Desperation? But the others were due to me. Inside you there is scarring and dead matter. I think because you’re immortal your body tries to heal but can’t, so part of you is stuck unhealed—not living, but also not putrefying or infected either. I’m sorry. I should have asked you.”

His face is scarily still.

“Not living? I have dead dark matter inside me?”

“I’m not sure if it’s the same. But similar.” Very much so.

“Ugh.” He releases my hand. “That you can heal me is good, I guess? It is. But you did not ask! That’s a violation of trust.”

I knew it. Fuck. “You hate me?” Please, please, no.

“No. Of course I don’t.” But he stands and walks away across the patchy snow, facing away from me for so long my heart begins to hurt. Then he spins and comes back.

I don’t see anger there. I’m sure I don’t.

“I could never hate you. I’m just circling up there with those eagles, a bit lost. You healed me, even if temporarily. I’m not whole without being able to shift, but you have been playing with darkthing matter inside me. You should have said. How do I get rid of this?”

“I don’t know. Doing that might kill you. It might remove your shifting ability entirely. I don’t know! ” Gods, I shouted that. “Please, tell me if I am forgiven. It was wrong, and I knew it and…I love you.”

He opens his arms then closes them around me, and rocks me against him, mumbles into my hair. “It was wrong, but I would never have thought you were doing this because it seems impossible. Promise me you will always ask before doing anything else like this.”

As if there is anything like— Okay, I am a necromancer. I have no idea what I might do, find, or discover.

I nod. My hair rustles against his jacket. “I promise. I will ask you.”

“Good. Yes. You are forgiven. What do I do when I try to shift and fail?”

“Ask me? You know I’ll just keep helping you until you say, no more.”

“Until one day…your healing might stop working.”

“I hadn’t thought of that.”

“I need to check myself, to see if the flaw has returned. I thought I was slowly healing by myself.”

Now I hear sadness.

“I’m sorry.”

“We will get past this. If you had not healed me, we would not have survived everything that has happened.”

When he steps away from me to what he calls a safe distance to run his checks on himself, undressed and naked in this freezing air, and magnificent, every nerve in my body is on edge with worry. I hold my breath and wait and wait, curled up against my knees on the rucksack seat.

Nothing happens. I draw a long inhalation then Rorsyd shakes his head. He comes to me, shrugs.

“I cannot shift, again.”

I rest my hand on his hip. “I’m sorry.”

He pats my hand. “Now we know I can’t do it. Guess what?”

“What?”

“I’m relieved. Now that I know how it all happened. I know why I could shift and then I couldn’t. The uncertainty was like a stick in the middle of my road. One I couldn’t see. Is that making sense?” He actually grins.

“No? Yes? Kind of?”

“Just heal me. If you can. We need to get down off here, and if I cannot fly us down…”

“We’ll freeze.” Or I will. And starve to death. “Lie down, somewhere. I think you being still will make it easier. Then I’ll have to touch you.”

“Touching me? This is sounding better all the time.”

“Idiot.” I don’t know how, but we are back on even ground, joking, still friends, still soulmates. The connection remains. Phew.

Healing him while he is awake adds some anxiety, but I settle in, close my eyes, and let my mind submerge. I do what I’ve done twice before and knit everything back to where it was, then I rise slowly to the surface. I remember where I am, squatting over him, my palm on his chest.

Yards away, where the edge of this plateau drops away clouds are drifting by.

“Done,” I croak. “Something I observed in there is interesting.”

“Interesting as in wonderful or interesting as in not so good?” He sits up. Levers himself to his feet. Stretches. “It’s back. I can tell that already. But something is missing. Hmmm .” He frowns. “What was your something?”

“There’s an etharum source inside you. But it felt smaller than before. I guess you must use it to shift, but that etharum has to come from Artreos. The fault line of dead matter is linked to that source. I don’t quite see how, but it may help it flow when you want to shift. It might also expedite how you draw up etharum from Artreos.”

“Huh. So I will wait then. I might need to suck up more etharum?”

“Maybe. The other times, you hadn’t shifted for a while. We need a dragonshifter anatomy book.”

He laughs then sits next to me in the snow, his body heat high enough to make me want to use him like a hot water bottle. I snuggle closer, and he pulls me onto his lap.

“You’re cold?”

“A bit.” I shiver. The fire has died down to ashes and embers.

“Then I’ll find something else to burn, and then you’re going to sit on my lap and stay warm. If we must, we can burn parts of the hut’s interior.”

One of the questions I’ve considered comes to me as we sit together, and the solitude and impossibility of this location makes me wonder even more.

I draw his hand over my stomach and snuggle closer. “Are there any other dragonshifters in the world? I hope that’s not a terrible question? I don’t know much about your history…”

The quiet stretches until I begin to doubt he will answer.

“As far as I know, there are others. One in the far west of Wenway. Go east of Frenland, and there is another. I haven’t roamed far for a century so some may have moved on or died. Immortality doesn’t stop a spear in the heart. We are solitary beings and often prefer to be alone with our hoard, strange though that may seem to you.”

“Hmmm. I can see that in you. I’m glad you decided I’m worth being with.”

He chuckles softly. “So am I, my love.”

I could stay warm for hours basking in his love. I rest my arms over his and feel my breathing slow, though the air frosts with mist on each exhalation.

We wait two hours, three, four, and by late afternoon Rorsyd is finally able to shift into dragon form.

The flight back is glorious, as always. The wind rushing, the fresh untainted air, the rolling landscape, the company of freaking eagles beside his vast wings. I understand why the loss of this world-expanding freedom carves such a ferocious hole into Rorsyd. Centuries of being able to fly among the clouds above the chaos on the surface of Arteos, and then to be anchored to the earth? It would be like slavery.

I feel a thousand times lighter. The weight of the secrets we carried has been lifted. The horse ride to Langordin is filled with laughter and stupid stories, and yes, some kissing.

Yet, as the gates come into view around a bend in the road, astride a tree-shrouded part of the road, Andacc and a small band of his men wait for us. They’re letting other travelers pass them and their gaze is fixed on us. He rides forward, raises his palm.

“News?” I venture.

“Yes. Bad news. I have caught a traitor. Thander Munk tipped us off. I’ve been waiting for you to return.”

“And obviously, you’ve been watching us.” Rorsyd leans on his saddle pommel.

Andacc shrugs. “You’re important people. I said I’d help keep you safe. The other news is that Landos is missing. My messenger birds have been going back and forth all day. It’s highly possible the king’s edgemaster has him. Kroll Krasten. He was trying to get you to come to him using faked messages.”

And that’s an end to this day I had not seen. A chill spreads down my backbone. Blossom shifts under me.

I lick my lips. “Where do we go to find him—Landos.”

“And who do we have to kill?” Rorsyd asks.