Krose was losing his mind with desire and he grabbed her hips firmly and positioned his cock at her opening and she sunk onto him without any more prompting. She gasped and enjoyed the feeling for an immeasurable moment before she started to buck and bounce on him with wild abandon. He pumped into her as they found a rhythm and the pounding was primal and indelicate and completely satiating. They found their climax in short order, an explosive moment of released tension, spasms, and Rienna collapsed over him when it was done, falling directly to sleep. Krose gently nudged her aside where she nestled in the crook of his arm and draped her limbs across him. He watched her sleep, still not sure if this was an incredibly vivid dream or some cruel trick of the elementals. He reached over and stroked her arm to be sure.
Krose frowned as his eyes stopped their exploration on her thighs, adorned with great smears of blood. His throat caught and suddenly he felt he had been too hasty. He had had his suspicions of her inexperience but it had not occurred to him that she was giving up her maidenhead this night. But then he guessed that not being able to give that gift to her husband had removed whatever worth it had left. Romance was a messy place to be rid of one; men in love tended to be overly gentle. As Krose dozed off into sleep, he was under no illusion that Rienna was starting any sort of romance with him and that was fine too.
Chapter 9: Afterglow
When Rienna woke, she was still huddled against Krose and she sneaked a peek at him to see he was fast asleep. The sky was not so dark and she surmised that first light was still an hour or so off. Her thighs felt sticky and she saw they were caked with the dried blood of her severed maidenhead. She had not felt the barrier go but there was some soreness still residing there; most likely from the ferocity of their, well… that was fucking, plain and simple. Rienna was wondering what all the fuss was about—she had no regrets but people had always given her the impression that it was a taboo thing, a thing that men craved but women just surrendered. It felt not only right, but liberating. She felt invincible right now because this unknown act was not the monster in the closet anymore. However, she could easily see how craving sex could cause so much trouble and she resolved to avoid that need. From what she heard, this was an easier feat for a woman anyway. She hoped that was true at least.
The stream beside them was sufficient enough to clear the blood away and in the tainted water, she clearly saw the ghost of Belias’s unhappy face and she smacked at it angrily, not in the mood for Sea Star’s hateful tricks. If the Belias she had already met after death was to be believed, he had already said that he was releasing her to the world of the living. No, this attempt at a guilt trip was another aggravating whim of the elementals. Krose had been right— they could be grateful to the elementals, but the elementals were not to be trusted.
She hurried into her gown and righted herself then searched through Krose’s discarded side pouch and removed a cottony handkerchief that she dipped into the stream and threw onto his blood-flecked and limp member. He shot up with a gasp as if she had thrown the whole of him into the cold stream. She laughed and shook her head at him in amusement.
“Only an hour until first light, if that. I’d rather we find Dinsch first before he finds us,” Rienna offered as he wiped at himself gingerly and with some bit of modesty.
“I wouldn’t worry about Dinsch’s sensibilities, Rienna. Fucking is something they borrowed from the rabbits and I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s piled in a heap of three or more pretty little Bryfolk girls. Maybe even a bolder human— Dinsch is no slouch when it comes to women,” Krose teased.
If Krose thought that that would shock her, he was again mistaken. Rienna smiled and shrugged; she didn’t begrudge Dinsch his luck with women. Orgies did not appeal to her but it wasn’t a foreign concept either. Trying to be seen as one of the boys meant she heard a great deal of things other women might not.
Krose got to his feet still covering himself and grabbing his leggings, allowing Rienna to look away but she did not so he dropped it. She watched him as he dressed and mused that her voyeurism was making him half-hard. She was fascinated at that bit of flesh— how it appeared so fragile one moment and so hard and demanding in the next. She could see it throb and lift with the speed of an increasing heart rate and she knew she was being cruel so she turned her attention elsewhere so he wouldn’t have more difficulty pulling his pants up. Assuming his thoughts weren’t making it impossible on his own.
He dressed with swiftness after that obstacle and when he was done, he grabbed her hand long enough to pull her back in the direction of the Hole and then let go to give her space.
“Krose… last night…” Rienna started as they wove their way back.
“Pretty amazing, even for me,” Krose shook his head and decided to make it easy on her. “It was a thing, I get it, and you don’t have to explain it. It’s done and we’re still friends. Completely between you and me, okay? I wasn’t expecting this to mean you were in love and I don’t think less of you. Did I leave anything else out?”
Rienna looked a little abashed and had to stop him and get a look in his eyes. He wasn’t humoring her or bitter and his sincerity helped her relax a bit. Her feeling about Krose had been right; his adoration was still there, but his curiosity had been sated and he still valued her. One perfect moment in a string of terrors and she was grateful to Krose. Maybe it was completely backwards in moral circles, but a good screw had actually helped her make a true friend. She knew he wouldn’t turn down a repeat, but he wouldn’t be the one to pursue it either. People were messy so she wasn’t sure if that would always be true, but for now, it was solace enough. She dared to step closer and plant a soft lingering kiss on his lips. He took it for a thank you and just smiled at her before gesturing for the barrows with a nod of his head.
They started walking again and approached one of the Bryfolk already starting to clean up after the festival. Many were still piled together in sleep and various states of undress; she even caught sight of her gallant Finn, naked but for the leg of a Bryfolk girl covering his groin. Damn, but she had been a bit curious about that last bit. She had wondered how she would have reacted once it had turned into an orgy before her very eyes.
Krose caught the look on her face. “Ah, I was planning on saving you from seeing this bit of it whether we snuck off for our own party or not. Dinsch hadn’t thought of it, but it had occurred to me when I sought you out to dance with you. I know you’re a tough sort, but it’s not a thing that most humans can witness without some reservation. Fairly sure Ersenais’s is always more family-friendly.”
Krose stopped the tired Bryfolk respectfully. “Have you seen Dinsch?” he asked and the man pointed over towards an opening in the burrow.
Rienna and Krose headed off in that direction and when they stopped, it was not far from what Krose had described— Dinsch was stirring, completely naked with a pretty Bryfolk girl tucked under each arm. Rienna couldn’t help but notice Dinsch was well endowed at that but pretended as if she hadn’t even thought to look. Dinsch’s eyes blinked open.
“My welcoming committee,” Dinsch had croaked out in that lazy satiated way that she imagined wasn’t uncommon for men in their afterglow. He was careful not to wake the women who slept smiling as he held up a finger to signal to be quiet, threw on his clothes and weapons and bounced over to them. He looked up into the lightening sky and then shot a worried look at Rienna.
“Ah, ah, last night, Rienna? I’m sorry I didn’t tell you—” Dinsch started but Krose broke in.
“She wasn’t around once it started, Dinsch, stop worrying. I found her and we left well before.” They left it at that.
Dinsch groaned this time.
“Am I carrying you or do we need to gather up the stinking horses?”
Krose and Rienna burst into laughter and it was Rienna who was the one to reply.
“Just walk.”
So they did: on the ascending road leading to the shoreline and eventually the port city of Xanias.
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br /> Since Xanias was still intact once they viewed it in the distance, Ashe and his group had decided against attempting entry at night. It was a gated city and not a trusting one and small groups of strange travelers were not welcomed easily at night. They stayed well out of sight and set up a dim little camp and set out to stay until morning. Night’s humor seemed darker with every hour and night certainly didn’t brighten him up any. Ashe knew he was worried for Freesia and hoped that their group was faring well. He knew it wasn’t likely that the Hole was in danger and his nerves were pulled tight to the point of snapping, wondering if Melchior would strike at all or if they were on the wrong track. He cursed their haste and presumptions but he had also wondered if word of their dangerous journey would have tipped Melchior off and put them in more danger. Even if you can find the birds that were willing to sing, there’s no guarantee that they’re not singing right back to the enemy. At this point, a step in the wrong direction might be an even worse step to take.
Pierait’s eyes glowed like a cat’s in the dark and Ashe had wondered about that. “Do you have night vision?” Ashe asked him around a yawn.
Pierait grinned and knew without looking that he was being asked. “It’s not an easy thing to conceal when there is enough light to reflect in my eyes. Yes, it’s very much the truth though— I am told that my father had a touch of the Felisfolk in his genes.”
Felisfolk were obviously the cat Folk. Not the domesticated kitties either; Felis were stacked with genes of leopards, panthers, lions. He did not imagine Pierait having descended from such fierce lineage, at least as timid as he acted, but Pierait had a tendency towards languid catlike movement he hadn’t missed either. Heights didn’t intimidate him much either.
Ashe didn’t mean to seem uncaring, but he let it go at that. Pierait didn’t make a whole lot of sense when he got to talking about his past so far and asking about his father might be stretching it. He wondered what exactly determined whether someone is born without a soul— as far as he could tell, they were descended from the magic-born of Morgaze, but apparently any kind of racial purity wasn’t part of it. It appeared to be a sort of roulette.
Ashe realized Pierait was watching him unabashedly and stared back for lack of ways to react. Pierait looked towards Xanias in the distance.
“Melchior isn’t going to attack Xanias. He’s no more than a pawn. He was being used to draw us out and that Shade changed the game,” Pierait said without expression in that weird prophetic way of speaking. It wasn’t that he was foretelling the future; he just wasn’t capable of imagination so words like ‘think’, ‘believe’, or anything along those lines were useless to him. They had all seemed to gloss over what it meant when Pierait had first said Melchior was ‘freed’, but not really sure what to make of it.
“I’m starting to realize what you meant. Melchior was being controlled to some extent so… what? The machines will be recalled to Myceum?” Ashe wondered, because he wasn’t quite sure of anything just yet. “I just wonder if he’ll still be there or if the army went after the Bryfolk after all. Whatever is going on, someone or something is gathering us up like treasure and we’re just walking right into it.”
“We don’t have a choice. That’s the bitch of fate. There’s no provision for how you row the boat, the current’s still taking you the same way,” Pierait said, and a secret smile told Ashe that those poetic words were someone else’s and that someone was dear to him. If Pierait actually held things dear. He said he could have emotions, but he detached himself from them fairly swiftly. What exactly did not having a soul keep him from? Outside of karma, a pawn himself, he must always have a sense of right and wrong but commit to neither.
“And how do you make a choice?” Ashe wondered aloud. “There is always a choice— not making a choice is still a choice. It’s up to the person whether you fight it or ride it out. Without purpose, the Soulless just drift. But if they have a purpose, nothing can come between them and reaching it, save death.”
“That… kind of presents a problem for you though. You said your purpose was to attain a soul,” Ashe recalled.
Pierait just nodded. “My mother thought it might help me live forever. If I fail my purpose…” Pierait’s face was fearful. “They say it’s worse than death and reincarnation. You become a Fury, a being of pure rage and constant pain. If you cannot fulfill your purpose, you cannot be erased. You cannot be redeemed if you fail. Ever.”
Pierait’s features calmed as usual. “But Soulless do not cling to doubt. It doesn’t NOT serve a purpose.”
“Unless Fate would be cruel enough to make it your Purpose,” Ashe jested and they shared a companionable laugh at that.
Ashe and Pierait watched the port city glowing in the distance. Night pretended to be asleep, but he had been seething all day from Erised’s shadows playing their games. Sometimes light and shadow play tricks at the edges of your vision, but this was different. Erised’s gifts were a curse very like insanity, hearing and seeing things that none other could. He liked the night better, when the shadows spread out and left him be. He was missing Freesia far too much now— at least when she had been there, he had been so distracted by her that the shadows did not bother him so much.
Chapter 10: A Night to Remember
Night had always been fascinated with girls. When he was still a child of six, there was a big-bosomed woman always nearly spilling out of her corset in the Cirque; her name had been Amelda and she was thick but luscious with curves. She was the ringmaster’s wife and middle-aged but she was vivacious and fascinating to him. He also liked Irie, a twiggy girl just coming of age with perky little breasts too small for a bra, but she always wore thin dresses and cold winds perked her little buds against that fabric a lot. He didn’t really have a preference where women were concerned; he loved the way they fussed about and he loved the way they always gave him his way because he was just so darn cute.
As he reached his teenage years and he learned more about them, he loved them even more. He loved the way they batted their lashes at him, the way they tasted and smelled, the way they whimpered and moaned, and the way their quick little fingers felt slipping around his—
Well, he just loved everything about them.
Females never said no to Night and it got him in a lot of trouble. It wasn’t just the wives of other men or the young privileged virgins with overprotective fathers, men just didn’t like how easily women acquiesced to his every wish. Night’s one saving grace was that he was quick and cunning, but Night didn’t like running. More often than not, he stood and fought and some other girl would pity him and tend to his wounds and his desires.
When Jasyne had come through the Cirque years before, Night had begged him to teach him how to stand and fight with more success.
The best part of the style was that he didn’t have to kill anyone— Jasyne had taught him that the weight of the silk could be used to knock someone out or just trip them up and tire them out. The point of the style was that size or strength didn’t matter, that speed and cunning were just as valuable. Although Night was tempted to tell him that that philosophy doesn’t work with women, he bit his tongue.
Night had always been an acrobat; he had been left with the Cirque and was just another bastard with no story. Even his name had come about carelessly— he’d simply been found at night and he had that black, black hair even as an infant. He had big dark purple eyes and those impossibly long eyelashes that girls longed for and men usually ended up with. Even as a child, he had a knack for mischief and a cleverness to match. Taking up the style had not been difficult as he was used to precision and he was also used to obeying orders.
Days were long as an entertainer and evenings he would spend working with Jasyne. When Jasyne had disappeared, Night didn’t even get any assurances that he had learned everything there was to know, but Night had been slacking off anyway once he had discovered just how entertaining women could be. He would spend his evenings in the beds of pretty, giggly, fle
xible, and curvy girls. Even at the age of fifteen, he had talked Amelda into giving in. A secret that never ever was discovered.
Then came a night that Night could never forget. Hushed whispers and frantic disjointed gossip was flying about everywhere; people were rushing to Amelda’s tent and she turned them all away angrily, even Night. So much of that night he had spent trying to figure out what was going on.
What it had boiled down to was that Amelda had found a young girl, thin and near death, shivering, bruised, and streaked with blood. It had been raining hard earlier that night when Amelda had seen the girl’s body poking out from under a bunkhouse, deep gutters in the ground showing that she had dragged herself under there and passed out. Amelda thought that the poor girl was dead. The girl had stirred a little and whimpered but was too weak to do more than fall back into unconsciousness when Amelda started to pull her out from under there. Despite all of the damage, Amelda could see that this girl was a rare beauty, which is the only reason why she had told her young paramour another secret she never told the others.
This girl had been badly beaten and raped and from the looks of the damage, she was not likely to bear children. Even sex might prove to be too painful with the scar damage, new and old. The girl hadn’t just been attacked that night; she had been sustaining abuse for years. From the looks of the chunks of flesh under her nails, her attacker(s) must have either decided to get rid of her or she had just been fed up with it and decided that she would rather try and die than let it continue. She was covered in old scars— burns, cuts, jagged, clean; Amelda sobbed just cleaning the frail girl up and even after she patched her up the best that she could, she wasn’t sure the girl would make it even another day or two.
The Truth about Heroes: Complete Trilogy (Heroes Trilogy) Page 14