by Loki Renard
"Then I will ask her," Rogette determined. "Take me with you when you return to her with the second summoner."
"Where is Reed?"
Ayla looked toward Rog and Crispin for the answer. They shrugged. There had been so much commotion at Kira's appearance, nobody had noticed Reed slip away.
"Reed will turn up again, she always does," Rog said, stretching as he came down the stairs and positioned himself close enough to the fire to feel its warmth. He was looking at Kira with unashamed curiosity, and more than a little interest. The warrior did not appear to notice him overly much, concerned as she was with the women still clinging to her.
"This old age will not do," Kira said, reaching out to play with one of Granny Rogette's gray braids. "Not at all. I'm surprised Ayla allowed it."
"I do not interfere in the natural course of things," Ayla said. "Atrocious wished to live a normal life. And so she has."
"I did not wish to live a normal life," Rogette frowned. "But nobody asked me what I wanted. I woke up one day and I was old. Why didn't Ariadne give me the choice she gave you?"
"The path to immortality is no easy one," Kira replied. "I endured many pains and sorrows along the way. I..."
SLAM!
Kira was interrupted when the door slammed open for the second time that evening. This time it was not an angel warrior, but a very angry, very under-dressed blonde who crossed through the portal, soggy, sodden and dripping with fury. Callista stormed into the Rusty Hankor, a trembling finger tipped with dangerously sharp nail pointed at Rog.
"You're fucking the Widow, now?"
"Hello Callista, dear," Rogette said pleasantly.
"Hello, Granny Rogette, hello, Atrocious, hello Ayla, hello you whore of a man," Callista snarled.
"Calm down, Callista," Rog said soothingly. He may as well have slapped her in the face for the reaction those three little words evoked.
"Calm down! You'll sink your prick into an evil bitch, but I'm not good enough for you?"
Callista had forgotten the concept of shame it seemed, as she aired her dirty laundry and her dirty preferences over the tavern without the slightest concern. Both her voice and her body were shaking with anger.
"It's not a matter of good enough..."
"What? Is she paying you?"
There was silence, during which Callista's eyes grew to three times their normal size, great orbs filled with outrage.
"She is paying you!" She reached into her pocket, drew out a gold coin and hurled it at Rog. It missed Rog and flew into the fire instead. "Take that!" She screamed. "What can I get for that?"
Ayla moved around the table and took Callista by the arm. "Calm down, my dear," she said, using her free hand to rub Callista's bare back with a soothing touch. Unlike when Rog said the words, they seemed to have a soothing effect.
"You are supposed to be mine! I'm supposed to be yours!" Callista shrieked the words, but now there were tears coming. "That's how it works! I was Aric's and when he died, I became yours!" She barely finished the sentence before bursting into angry sobs.
"She is right," Granny Rogette said, her lips getting thin and the skin around them becoming marked with many little dark lines. "You have a responsibility to her, Roger."
"She was Aric's," Rog said. "I'm not Aric. I can't be what she needs."
Kira had turned her head and was casting an appreciative gaze over Callista's almost naked body. The Cat of Clitera was wearing a very short leather skirt that barely covered her bottom, long leather boots that rose to mid thigh and a tunic top which covered the front of her body, but left her back almost entirely bare, save for two leather strips holding it in place.
"What is it that she needs?" Kira's husky, deep tones cut through the crying. Callista looked at the warrior and gulped, but had no reply.
"Right now, I think a warm drink," Ayla said, wrapping her arm around Callista and drawing her over to sit next to Crispin. Crispin nodded to Callista, but said nothing as the teary eyed young woman slumped at the table, glancing between her hands and Kira, who had not taken her eyes off Callista for a moment since she came in.
"And some clothing," Atrocious added. "Someone stole half your shirt, dear."
"It's supposed to be like that," Rogette explained. "It's fashion." She turned to Kira. "Atrocious is still a petty peasant who doesn't understand anything outside of a pig pen."
"And Rogette is a sow who doesn't understand anything besides the production of squealing piglings."
"How dare you speak of my family!" Rogette rose to her feet, just as Atrocious did, prepared for the battle of honor. "At least I have a family. What do you have?"
Atrocious clenched her fist. "I got a knuckle sandwich for that mouth of yours, Princess Pigarina."
"Enough," Kira said, tugging them both back down into their seats. "You are much too frail for this. Have you not matured past your petty jealousies after all these years?"
"Peasants never change," Rogette sniffed derisively. "She comes into my home and disrespects me. She speaks ill of my family. She is rude and abrasive and..."
Kira put her hand up. "I think I have heard enough. You can both go to bed."
"Nooo!" The combined complaint rose from both Atrocious and Rogette.
"Yes," Kira said firmly. "Bed. Now."
A dark gleam in Kira's eye spoke to the seriousness of the order. Responding to old memories of what happened when the warrior got that look, both women rose to their feet and began hobbling reluctantly toward their respective rooms.
"Now," Kira said, turning about in her seat so as to put her back to the fire and her face toward Callista. "I don't believe we've met."
"What is it you need?"
Callista glanced at Kira. "Nothing."
"That's not true. You want something from the boy over there."
"I am not a boy," Rog objected, only to be ignored by Kira.
"You're a whore," Callista said, clenching her hand into a claw. "You're a selfish whore."
"Steady on," Rog frowned.
"It's true." Callista made to stand up, but Kira reached out and pushed her back down into her seat with a touch that was not precisely rough, but none too gentle either.
"Sit."
Callista did not say anything, but sat bolt upright and stared at Kira with unblinking arrogance. The warrior returned her stare without any kind of concern. For a very long moment the two women sized one another up. All other activity in the room stilled, Ayla, Crispin and Rog watching Kira and Callista watching one another.
Then Callista put her palms on the table and slowly, deliberately, stood. Her hips swayed as she rose, the curve of her body sinuously catching the glow of the firelight. Her eyes flicked from Kira dismissively and turned to Rog as she stalked around the table to stand before him. She was no longer angry, no longer consumed with her passion and rage. She had gone cold and calculating.
There was a collective breath, a pause in time, and then a slap rang out across the room, a clean, cracking sound created by the flat of her palm against the breadth of Rog's cheek. The bloom of her strike flashed across his skin before he could so much as blink, let alone wince.
She repeated the treatment in reverse, slapping his other cheek with the full force of her hand. And again. One slap after the other whilst Rog stood there, doing nothing. Ayla and Crispin seemed similarly paralyzed, perhaps by the wicked beauty of the beast whose tight round bottom jiggled every time she unleashed her anger on his face, and whose breasts swayed with every swipe of her feral palm.
"By the goddess," Kira finally interjected. "Do you intend to let her beat you without so much as lifting your hands?"
"She... ugh... is a... ugh... woman," Rog gritted out, his grunts coinciding with each fresh slap.
"Pretty lady, stop hitting that boy," Kira drawled.
Callista responded by slapping Rog yet again.
"You're not listening," Kira observed whilst Callista slapped Rog over and over.
Callista did not li
sten until she felt hard fingers against the nape of her neck and scalp and she was pulled hard against Kira's leather clad frame, a surface that seemed unrelentingly hard and metallic.
She hissed, loudly, a feral sound that set the nerves of all present on edge, but did nothing to loosen Kira's grasp or to restore the range of her movement.
"Are you listening now?" Kira whispered the question into Callista's ear. "Or do I need to show you why you should listen?"
She tugged, tilting Callista's head back in a most vulnerable position against her shoulder. A brief bout of flailing terminated in the cat's hand being pinned to the small of her back, her body arched away from Kira like a taut bow.
Callista made a sound that was not speech, though it spoke volumes. It was a whining cry that emanated from her as she twisted and turned in what little room to move she had.
"I do not tolerate violence in my presence," Kira informed her. "Unless I am the source. Understand?" Her grip tightened in Callista's hair as her lips moved away from the young blonde's ear and drew back so her teeth could fasten on the side of her neck in a rough, sensual bite.
The whine turned into a gasping squeal, a sound of such undeniable desire that Callista fanned herself with a napkin and Rog averted his gaze.
Chapter Nineteen
As Kira handled Callista, Reed was far away and getting further away all the time. She had not liked it when Ayla arrived, she had been scared and mistrustful and it had taken some time to warm to her. But this Kira was a whole other kettle of fetid fish. Reed already knew she would never warm to her. The woman reeked of death and of some curling, furling power beyond Reed's ken. Reed knew the energy of creation well enough. It hung about Atrocious and it flowed through Ayla's veins. But this Kira. She was the unmaker.
Reed's initial decision to run had been a purely instinctual one, and she was sticking with it. She had seen many things in her lief induced hazes, but none of them had ever been so terrifying as the specter of the woman at the Rusty Hankor. The same impulse that had made her run was telling her she needed to put yet more distance between herself and Kira. But where could she go? The High Lanes were not far away enough, even the palace seemed too close. There was nowhere in Clitera City that seemed safe. Not the deepest sewer, not the highest house.
She ran and she ran, but somehow she did not seem to get anywhere. Instead, she found herself back inside the witch's room at the Rusty Hankor, just as she had the last time she had attempted to run away. How could Ayla bend time and space in such a way? Reed herself had never enjoyed that power even at the height of her abilities. There was no time to ask the question, for she was under the spell's sway, no longer running, but facing Ayla.
The witch sat by the fire and looked at Reed with urgent intensity. She crooked her finger and Reed found her feet obediently traversing the space between them.
“Your tribe is disbanded, having lost its leader, your best friend has found a lover who will consume his time, and downstairs a dark angel waits. You have no powers to fall back on and those you trust can no longer be counted on to help you,” Ayla summed up succinctly. “It is time you started trusting me.”
“I will never trust you,” Reed said, gritting her teeth. “You want control of me.”
“Did you feel what Kira is?”
“I felt her intent,” Reed said. “She wants me. As you wanted me.”
“She does,” Ayla agreed. “And do you think she will be kind?”
Reed shuddered and shook her head. “No.”
“Have I been unkind?”
Reed had to think about that, and then she had to admit that no, Ayla had never been unkind. Ayla had patiently tended to her illness, and seemed to have cured it. She no longer rattled when she breathed. She had more energy. But she still did not have her powers back.
“No,” she admitted. “You have never been unkind.”
“Then I suggest you trust me,” Ayla said. “And I suggest you do as I tell you. Kira will respect my protection. She will not respect your disrespect.”
Downstairs, a female cry rose shrill and thin. It brought both Ayla and Reed out to the top of the stairs, where, looking down into the Rusty Hankor below, they saw that Kira had the infamous Cat of Clitera pinned firmly against a table top and was wielding a crop against the bare skin of her bottom.
“By the goddess,” Reed breathed. “She is like Aric, but worse.”
“I never knew your Aric,” Ayla said, “but I can assure you that once Kira takes possession of a woman, she is none too gentle in imposing her will.”
Red welts blossoming on Callista's cheeks spoke to the truth of the fact. Reed stared down, enthralled, scared and somewhat pleased. Callista had needed a good whipping for a very long time, she'd all but begged for it. Between the plaintive cries, Reed could hear the pants of pleasure, and the dancing of Callista's hips also spoke to more than plain pain. She was gyrating her ass, lifting her rear for each and every kiss of the leather.
“Kira does not know her. How can she possibly be so...”
“Possessive?” Ayla smiled and put a hand on Reed's shoulder. “Kira knows Callista's heart. She may not know the woman, but she knows what she needs. Just as I know what you need.”
Ayla's hand slid down Reed's shoulder, across her back and settled on her bottom in a light squeeze. She palmed Reed's bottom, caressing gently in soothing circles. Reed bit her lower lip to hold back a sound of pleasure. It was nice to be touched this way, with an instinctive sensuality that saw her pressing back against Ayla's hand.
“Do you still fear being mine? Or do you now see that everybody seeks a mate, and that you and I are suited for one another in a way few people ever can be?”
Reed lifted her eyes to Ayla. “I have never belonged to anyone. I have never... been with anyone.”
“A sweet virgin,” Ayla smiled. “Do not worry, I will be gentle.”
Her claim of gentleness came just as Callista let out a particularly loud shriek and followed it with a most erotic moan.
“You do not need what Callista needs,” Ayla reassured her, still gently caressing her bottom. “Callista needs a firm hand and a hard touch so she can be reassured that boundaries still exist. You, on the other hand, require a tender initiation.”
“You won't hit me with a stick?”
“I won't hit you at all.”
With nothing left to loose, Reed allowed herself to be drawn back into the bedroom. She allowed Ayla to undress her, each piece of her clothing falling to the floor until her small neat breasts were bared, as was the ample curve of her bottom and the dark downy triangle that hid her desire.
She did not know where to look, until Ayla put a finger underneath her chin and tipped her mouth up to receive a kiss that was as sweet as it was full of desire. For long minutes, the witch ran her hands over Reed's naked body, caressing every curve of her frame with a tender touch as their lips met and tongues danced.
“Aren't you going to take your clothes off?” Reed breathed the question against Ayla's mouth.
Ayla nodded and stood back, sliding her robe off one shoulder to reveal pale creamy skin and the swelling of one generous breast. Reed held her breath, watching enthralled as Ayla then slipped the other shoulder of her robe off and let the garment fall to the ground.
“Oh my goddess,” Reed breathed reverently. Ayla was beautiful. From her large, round breasts to the oh so feminine flare of her hip and the soft golden down that covered her mons, she was a work of art. Reed feasted her eyes, thinking that if she never saw another thing in all her days, she would be happy to have seen this woman. Everything about Ayla was full and bountiful, smooth but curved.