Page 9

Seven

B riar wanted to laugh as she scrubbed herself.

Wick had been so eager to find her a river. His tail had swished around like a pleased dog when she’d thanked him. She almost expected him to bark when he ran off to find her some more food.

Wick was stupidly sweet. She’d never had anyone so happy to do what she wanted. Even people she had blatantly manipulated. People she had tricked.

She didn’t want to manipulate Wick. She actually wanted to trust him, which was ridiculous. She’d known the Skullstalker for a day and had let him fuck her on her hands and knees, a privilege she usually gave to people who she knew she could overpower.

She could never overpower Wick. And yet she had let him press her into the dirt, his arm locked around her middle, because what? She got excited ?

Briar sighed and emptied a handful of river water over her face.

“You’re only with him until you get to Marigold’s,” she reminded herself. “Do not let your guard down. And do not get attached.”

Something moved in the corner of her eye. She stopped, her hands stilling in her damp hair.

If there was one thing she knew, it was when she was being watched.

She turned.

A water basilisk perched on the edge of the riverbank. Its beady eyes were fixed on her, its big, scaly body coiled in a way Briar really didn’t like. She hadn’t encountered many water basilisks, but she’d seen her fair share of regular ones, usually when she was trying to sneak through a dungeon.

This basilisk was ready to strike. And this wasn’t some weak, underfed basilisk languishing in some nobleman’s dungeons. This was a well-nourished bastard with gleaming scales and strong, sharp fangs and a strong snake body that was almost as big as her.

Briar eyed her pack. It was several feet away from the basilisk in the long grass, her dagger strapped to the side.

This is what I get for not staying close to my pack, Briar told herself. Rookie mistake, Copperwood.

Briar looked around, careful to only move her eyes. There were no rocks in reach to throw at it. What were the basilisk rules again? Make herself really big? No, it was moving slowly. Usually, she had a sword to stab them with, and she never had to worry about running into them in the wild.

“Nice basilisk,” she whispered, bending as slowly as she could manage. “Don’t mind me. Just picking up a rock. Nothing to do with you.”

The basilisk’s eyes followed her as she moved. Briar stared back at it, cursing herself for being such a city dweller. She found herself in enough forests to know what to do with a damned water basilisk.

She dipped her hand in the water. The basilisk’s tail twitched.

Briar tensed in preparation. Her hand closed carefully around a river rock. It was only as big as her fist. She would need to get in a good shot, then dive for her pack and hope for the best.

She drew her arm back to throw.

The basilisk lunged.

Briar swore and lobbed the river rock. It bounced off the basilisk’s cheek, disrupting its path.

Briar dove for her pack. She could hear the basilisk hiss and rear up to follow, a flash of scales racing over the riverbank toward her. She braced herself to fight off a scaly body while she wrestled for the knife?—

—only for a loud noise to make them both look up.

Wick sailed out of the sky, teeth bared.

He slammed into the basilisk feet-first. Scales and flesh splattered into the grass, the wet noise immediately drowned out by the agonized basilisk’s scream.

Wick roared back at it. His wings flared, a clawed hand whipping out to slash the basilisk’s throat in half.

The basilisk’s cry fell silent. Its body fell into the grass, limp and partially headless.

Wick growled. His clawed foot rubbed against the holes it had carved into the basilisk’s body, as if he wanted to drag its head from its body entirely. Then he paused and turned to her. He had a sack over his shoulder, filled with fruit.

“Briar,” he said. “Are you alright?”

Briar stared. She was propped up against the riverbank, naked and dripping. But she barely noticed the water running down her back or the grass against her hip. She was too busy gaping at Wick, who was standing over her with his claws bloody and his wings arched.

Several days ago, it would have been something out of her nightmares. Now, she was touched . Even as she tried to beat the feeling down, it made her heart flutter and her sore cunt throb.

Wick lifted his head. Sniffing the air, Briar realized. He was looking at her like he was searching for fang marks.

Briar pulled up a smile, wringing out her wet hair and flipping it over her shoulder in a way that drew focus to her bare, wet body. “My hero! You should become a guard. You would get a lot of coin.”

“I am not made to be a guard,” Wick said after a moment. His gaze had dropped to her breasts, she noted with pride. His attention was easier to deal with when he was interested in her body, not in her safety.

Briar climbed out of the river. “You’re getting basilisk blood on my clothes.”

“What? Oh.” Wick stepped away from her pile of clothes. His claws had been dripping blood onto her pants, which were thankfully black for the very purpose of hiding blood.

He looked so concerned about her clothes that her heart clenched once more.

She stepped up to him. Despite all her intentions, her voice was annoyingly earnest as she said, “Really. Thank you for protecting me. I would have been basilisk food if you hadn’t shown up.”

Wick blinked. He held out the bag of fruit he had dangling from his non-bloody hand.

“I have fruit,” he announced. “Like you wanted.”

He held the bag open. Briar looked inside and saw a bundle of incredibly unripe apples, small, shiny, and green.

“Thank you,” Briar said, still irritatingly touched. She forced her useless sentimentality back and made her smile sultry. “Fruit and protection. I need to thank you more thoroughly.”

“You do not have to,” Wick said.

Briar wanted to shake him. To demand that he act like a regular person, to drop all the sweet politeness and act more like the monster he was.

Give her a proper reason to feel unsafe with him.

If he kept being this good to her, there was nothing to do but get attached.

And she didn’t want to see how that ended.

But failing that, she would channel all her stupid, gooey feelings into something she could handle: good old-fashioned lust.

“No,” she said softly. “I think I will.”

With that, she sank to her knees in front of him.

Wick’s tail swished uncertainly. “What are you doing?”

“Guess.” She unknotted his loincloth, rubbing the material between her fingers. It was surprisingly clean for someone who slept in a nest.

The loincloth fell to the grass. Wick’s cock was half-hard against his thigh, and Briar was a little smug at his fast reaction.

“But,” Wick said, his tail swishing anxiously. “We’ve already?—”

He cut off with a groan as she took his cock in his hand. She stroked it and watched it plump up under her touch. Her cunt tingled, still wet with his come.

Not now, she told it.

She stroked faster. His cock rose, but it didn’t rise very far. It was too heavy to stand up against his stomach. The ridges were thick against her fingers, red and puffy.

Briar’s mouth watered. She was still faintly appalled at herself for being attracted to a Skullstalker, a creature they used to scare children into behaving. But a nice cock was a nice cock, no matter what species it was attached to. And no matter how much it would make her jaw ache.

She tucked her wet hair behind her ears and leaned in, sliding her tongue through his slit.

Pre-come burst on her tongue, salty and bitter. She grinned and lapped it up.

Wick let out a low rumble. His hands clenched at his sides.

Briar huffed a laugh and pulled away. “You can touch my hair. Just don’t push or pull me, or I’ll bite.”

She clicked her teeth together.

Wick nodded determinedly. Both his hands slid into her hair, his claws brushing her scalp. They were only half retracted, and Briar found she liked the light scrape.

She sucked the head into her mouth. Wick’s hips jerked, his claws tightening in her hair.

Briar thought about pulling away and giving him another warning. But then he stilled, and Briar continued.

She liked knowing he was holding himself back. That he wanted her so badly he couldn’t control himself, but he was forcing himself not to take it all.

The necklace glowed comfortingly between her damp breasts.

Briar pulled back to give the tip of his cock a kiss and then sunk deeper, bobbing her head properly.

She could barely fit her lips around him; forget about getting him into her throat.

But he kept making small, shocked grunts like it was the best he’d ever had.

Briar let herself sink into the rhythm of it. But her jaw was already starting to ache, spit dripping down her chin from how wide she was stretched.

She pulled off reluctantly. Wick’s hips jerked again, and his slick cockhead slid against her cheek.

“Eager,” she said breathily.

“Sorry.” Wick squeezed his eyes shut, but not in time to hide the pulsing fires in his eyes. He was shaking like she had taken him whole, not barely making it past the head.

She licked the first ridge, getting it shiny with spit. He still tasted faintly of her, and Briar heard herself groan.

Wick groaned with her. He was curling into himself, his wings pulled in tight to his back.

The amulet glowed strongly between them, and Briar realized with some pride and some disappointment that he was going to come.

She wanted to keep going, to taste him some more.

Especially when he was being so polite about it.

His claws trembled against her scalp.

“I am going to come,” he warned.

In response, she sucked his cock back into her mouth. It only took one more suck before he fulfilled his promise and came, hot ropes filling her mouth and spilling down her chin and chest.

She swallowed as best she could until his cock was spent and softening, Wick whimpering above her. Then she pulled off and wiped her chin, scooping more of it into her mouth. Mostly to watch the fire in his eyes flicker hotter, but partly to taste the evidence that she had done well.

Wick’s wings and tail sagged, his shoulders heaving. “I was not inside you.”

It took her a moment to understand what he meant. Briar laughed, stepping back into the river to clean her sticky chest.

“We’re done for the day,” she told him. “That was just a thank-you.”

She wiped her chest clean and then got back onto the riverbank, pulling her clothes back on. She was still damp, but she would dry.

“Sorry, I’m so small,” she said as she laced her shirt up. “I suppose your other lovers were bigger. They would have to be, to fit that inside of them.”

She motioned at his cock, which he was in the process of hiding behind his loincloth.

Wick finished tying his knot and paused. “I have never had a lover.”

Briar laughed.

Wick didn’t. He just stood there, watching her with the expression he’d been wearing for most of the blowjob: like he couldn’t quite believe she was real.

Briar’s laugh died. “Wait, are you serious? How old are you?”

“I have lost count,” Wick said honestly. “Everyone I have attempted to mate with, I have killed and eaten.”

Briar winced. She reached for her necklace, dragging it out to lie over her shirt laces.

“Right,” she said. “I am glad we have this.”

“As am I.” Wick bowed his head. “I… I could feel the blood frenzy trying to take over. Every time.”

He sounded so cautious. It annoyed Briar. Why couldn’t he just hide his emotions like every other man? If he kept being all vulnerable like this, it would only make her like him more. The bastard.

Briar thought of his claws digging into her hips so hard he almost drew blood. Of those claws dragging against her scalp, his hips jerking, his breath coming fast, and the fire in his eyes swelling until they took over the black pools surrounding them.

And then he pulled back. Always, he came back to himself. Just like he’d always wanted. Briar winced as she imagined him coming out of a haze to find his hands covered in blood and viscera when all he’d wanted was a nice roll in his nest.

She forced her sorrow down. She couldn’t afford to feel anything for Wick, no matter how sweet he was or how much his story affected her. They were two travelers stuck on a brief journey together, that was all.

“That must be why you’re so intense,” she said, trailing a hand down his arm. “Good thing I like it.”

Wick watched her hand. “You do?”

Briar nodded. It scared her, obviously. But there was no lie in her voice as she admitted, “It’s flattering. Knowing you want me so badly, you can’t hold yourself back.”

Wick frowned. “But I do hold back.”

“Of course,” she hurried to say. “Of course you do. The gentleman monster.”

Wick’s frown deepened. He cocked his head at her, like she was particularly puzzling, and he wanted to solve her.

Briar dropped her hand fast. She didn’t want to be solved. She wanted to be safe and warm and full of life’s other comforts, but she drew the line at being known.

Even Marigold, her oldest friend, didn’t know her very well. Briar wasn’t about to let a Skullstalker see her, truly see her, just because he kept saying things that softened her tough heart.

She bent down to grab her pack. “Come on. We should get up in the air again.”

Wick paused. He shifted his wings behind him, a pained expression flickering across his face.

Briar frowned. She had assumed he was lying about his wings hurting.

“Wick? Am I working you too hard?”

“I do not usually fly for this long,” he admitted. “I will be fine.”

He sniffed the air with a concerned expression.

Briar sighed. “What now?”

He pointed. Briar turned to see dark clouds massing on the horizon. The spring air was filled with the barest chill, barely noticeable under the warm breeze.

Briar snorted. “That storm is ages away. We can get some good flying time before it hits.”