by Mark Eller
* * * *
Fox smiled at the sight of the drugged first mate lying in her hammock. He would wake up in a few hours with a hell of a headache but mostly unharmed. Unable to fight the temptation, she bent down, kissed his slack lips, and ran a hand over his muscled chest. Straightening, Fox sighed. She would have liked to have bedded him. It would have been easier and much more entertaining than drugging the fellow, but Taymor waited for her back home. He believed in their love. Fox wished she was equally sure on the matter, but until she knew one way or another she wouldn’t screw things up by foxing around— well, except with a god, of course. Taymor couldn’t exactly fault her for being unfaithful with a god.
Chuckling, she closed the door quietly behind her and checked for the pouch hidden beneath her traveling coat to make sure Dakar’s eye was still tucked neatly away. After all, as long as her god had sought the thing, she doubted Dakar would be understanding if she lost it now.
Fox slipped up the stairs, out onto the deck, then down the gangplank. The late afternoon sun sparkled across the deep blue of the bay like tiny diamonds. A scattering of merchants were already out shouting their wares, but otherwise the streets appeared empty. For some reason, there seemed to be an unusually nervous air about the people on and about the docks. They watched each other out of the corner of their eyes while their hands strayed near their weapons. Everyone seemed on edge, almost as if they expected an attack at any moment. Fox hesitated before continuing. Something in her gut told her to avoid this city with its rumors of demons and dark gods, but she had a task to perform, and the task required her to come this way.
“Here ye go, Lord Marwin.”
Fox turned. A burly sailor threw her pack at her. Fox nearly dropped the bag as she caught it. “Wait a minute!” Fox scowled. Who in hell did this fool think he was?
The fool in question turned to go back on the ship.
“Hey there! You’re supposed to take me to the Dancing Unicorn Inn. Where are you going?”
The sailor stopped and half-twisted to look at her over his shoulder. “Change of plans. Yylse has been officially put off limits to all members of this crew. We need all the hands we have and can’t afford ta’ lose any to no hell creatures, by order of the captain.” Turning away, the sailor continued up the plank.
Fox growled. Her face warmed. “At least point me in the right damn direction you coward!” she shouted. Her Anterian accent slipped the angrier she got.
The sailor kept going, not even bothering to challenge her insult, and she found this alarming. Illian men hated to be insulted. What was it about this port they were they so afraid of? Were the rumors true, or did the captain just believe they were true?
Fox turned her gaze to the dismal faces all around her. There had to be someone who could tell her how to get to the Dancing Unicorn. She walked up to a young man dressed in dark robes and tried to address him, but he scurried away before she came within five feet.
Fox frowned. Why was she being avoided? The problem couldn’t be her clothing, not when they were the finest to be had in Anterian nobility. In fact, there were no finer silks in all of Illian than what she presently wore. Fox did a quick visual check to make sure there were no stains on her trousers or overcoat. There weren’t, and her black leather boots were polished to a high sheen. She was the perfect picture of an Anterian gentleman.
She tried several more times to speak to someone, but most either moved away or told her to bugger off, which rather pissed Fox.
“My my, what have we here?”
A voice sounding of long, steamy nights wrapped itself around Fox’s body. It wove tendrils of hot desire, making her wet. Fox turned as if an invisible hand had hold of her shoulders.
Like a puppet on strings, Fox stumbled forward into the arms of a tall, blue-skinned woman, feeling her body explode in sensations only Dakar had ever raised in her. Without thinking, she stepped further into the woman’s embrace and tilted her head upward in anticipation of a kiss.
Smiling, the woman touched Fox’s chin with a finger. “What a treat. Such a beautiful little thing. I thought Illian men were bigger, though? Are you truly a man or did you forget to grow?”
A long, taloned finger plucked at an errant black curl from Fox’s queue. The hand continued down the side of her face, across her throat, and slid seductively over Fox’s breasts. The blue woman’s hand stopped to fondle Fox, running her thumb in slow circles around Fox’s raised nipple.
Groaning, Fox pushed her breast further into the woman’s hand. In the haze of pleasure, she didn’t notice a growing pain until it started to sear her flesh. She gasped when Dakar’s mark burned fiercely on her neck, driving back the blue woman’s magic.
Fox’s eyes widened in panic at how easily she had been taken. With a jerk, she tore herself from the woman’s embrace and stumbled backwards. Knees giving way, she sat heavily on the street and scrabbled away from the seductress.
Green hair, blue skin, lips the color of fresh blood, the woman screamed of a creature from Hell. Apparently the rumors were true.
“Hmm. Interesting,” the woman mused. “Not many can resist me. Tell me girl, what exactly are you?”
Fox froze. Her heart beat loudly in her ears as she pulled herself to her feet. “I know not who you are, but I do know my business is not with you. Move on.” Fox met the woman’s stare head on. Dakar stirred in her mind as his power flowed through her body. Apparently, he was not happy with this turn of events.
The woman narrowed her eyes. “I am Belthethsia, and you should take care to address me with respect. Unfortunate things happen to those who do not.” The blue-skinned woman took a step toward Fox.
Within her, Dakar’s power flared hot and angry, freeing Fox from the bitch’s influence. Pulling her rapier from its scabbard with a fluid jerk, she took a fighting stance.
Belthethsia took another step closer, inhaled deeply. “What are you? What god do you serve? The power riding you is strange, not of the Seven or Two. One of the mongrel godlings, perhaps? A foreign outcast? Maybe you would be worth something to Athos— enough to get me back into Hell. Or perhaps I should drain the power from your body and add it to my own?”
Fox ground her teeth. This blue seductress was sadly mistaken if she thought Fox would go anywhere with her. Fox’s gutter slang returned with a vengeance. All pretenses of being Anterian nobility burned away in her fear and anger. “Back off bitch! I ain’t nobody’s prize.”
Belthethsia took another half-step forward, closed the distance, and stopped so close Fox could almost feel her breath. She cocked her head to the side as if listening to some silent call, before turning her gaze to Fox once more. “For now, I have more important prey. I suggest you not stay in Yylse or ever come back when you leave.”
She took off in a blur of blue speed.
Fox shook. What the hell was that thing? She’d never been attracted to women before. The sensuous feel of the woman’s hand upon her breast lingered, making Fox angry. Her surroundings came back into focus. Around her, a crowd had gathered in hopes of being entertained. One pair of yellow eyes, dark and dangerous, watched her from a furred face. Fox started. The thing was half-man, half-wolf. Fox couldn’t tear her eyes away from the repulsive beast. It moved closer, looking hungry, but for what Fox didn’t know. She raised her still drawn rapier between them as the thing glided closer.
“I’ll issue the same warning to you as I did her, thing,” she ordered. “Stay back.”
The beast’s lip curled. “My, my, Lord Marwin, and what a pleasure it is to meet you. I heard an Anterian noble was on board, a messenger from Ilian’s King. I didn’t expect such a wonderful morsel. I believe we have some business to attend to.”
Fox shook her head. “Not with you, I don’t. Step off fur face or you’ll be missing your snout. I have personal matters of my own.”
It growled. Long sharp canine’s revealed themselves in a snarl. “You would also do well to not offend me, Lordling. I own this city. If y
ou plan to get any further than this wharf, I suggest you play nice.”
Around them, the crowd thinned to ten men and the wolf beast. Each man wore the hungry, hard expression of a predator. Fox swallowed— hard. Even her god couldn’t help with this. Not in this land outside his realm.
She prepared herself for battle as the beast came closer. “I don’t associate with your kind. My king told me to be quick about his business, so move on.”
“Let’s be civilized about this,” the wolf-man said, ignoring her sword’s threat. “I have something you want, and you have something I want.”
Fox’s stomach twisted. “And that would be?”
Moving closer, the beast carefully pushed Fox’s rapier point to the side, invading her personal space. The thing was huge, almost a foot taller than Fox’s five-foot-two inch frame. From this close, its fetid breath heated Fox’s neck and ear on the side with Dakar’s mark. His tongue, wet and rough, licked slowly up her throat. Holding her breath, Fox fought down the urge to kill the beast-man.
“Mmm.” Leaning back, the beast rolled its eyes while bits of drool dropped to the cobbled street from its muzzle. “Delicious.” It blinked and focused its attention once more. “Lordling, you want your freedom, and I want your shadow.”
Fox exhaled sharply, her breath harsh in her throat. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. You can’t possess someone’s shadow.”
The beast chuckled. Reaching up a furred hand, it lightly stroked Dakar’s mark. “I thought this a legend— a story told to scare young children. But here it is— the mark of Dakar, just as certain sources told me it would be.”
Helpless against these odds, Fox watched as the beast took her rapier from nerveless fingers. “Who the hell are you?” she whispered.
The thing barred its teeth in an attempt at a smile. Its tongue hung out one side of its mouth. “Matthew Changer, but you can call me partner.”