by Kasia Bacon
Therefore, I rarely frequented brothels.
The young corporal I used to fool around with had transferred west to another unit near the Elven border, in Radvadur. Following his departure, too busy to make new arrangements, I’d hit a bit of a dry spell. Soon after, one-third of my squad had come down with a fever, which proved truly vicious that rainy season. Daily dealings with a dozen poorly, whinging lads had rid me of any amorous inclinations. Since I’d been waking with a clenched jaw and a headache rather than a hard-on, fucking ranked low on my agenda.
The majority of my garrison religiously attended Cocks & Hens’ shag-all-you-can bargain nights, held every last Freeday of the month. Twelve silvers paid at the door stretched a long way if your stamina was up to par. If not, well, they sold famous Viah Grah powders for an extra fiver onsite.
That evening, I found myself off-duty and bored. The coin, freshly received from my quartermaster’s hands, burnt a hole in my pocket.
So I went along.
LÁZHIEN
Humans and non-humans of all genders, in various states of undress and sobriety, eyes glassy from lust and assorted substances, mingled in the roomy area of the well-lit downstairs bar. At that stage, it posed a challenge to tell the whores from the punters. For a while, it appeared as if the outing would turn into a prolonged drinking session for me.
“No one tickles your fancy, Sergeant Jhagán?” The pretty proprietor—a plump, mature Něssyrian—had introduced herself to me earlier, but I’d immediately forgotten her name. “Tell me your type. We aim to accommodate all tastes.”
“I have no type.” I tossed back another shot of plum moonshine and cringed at the burn in my gullet. One thing was clear: they didn’t fuck about with their liquor in this place.
“You’d be mine for sure,” she murmured. A coy smile showed off her dimples as she skimmed her fingers across my biceps. “Such a strapping, solid lad you are. I’d show you a grand time myself, but I stopped entertaining customers”—she lowered her voice to a theatrical whisper—“aeons ago.”
A raucous ripple of laughter rang out from the wooden gallery above us, where the more pricey whores kept lodging and conducted their business. Following the source of the commotion, I looked up.
Two men and a woman had just come out of a room on the mezzanine floor. Judging by the way the joke had them all in stitches, it must’ve been top-notch.
The highborn couple, dressed in layers of greys and silvers as the latest fashion dictated, stood in contrast with the shirtless and barefoot whore. He sported only a pair of low-slung, undone breeches, offering the world a generous glimpse of his hips and groin.
I couldn’t make out their words, but I recognised that the merry gathering held a conversation in Common Elven. It didn’t surprise me. For one, it had been the language of the nobles and courtiers since the Emperor had taken the throne thirty-odd years before.
Secondly, the whore was a half-breed Elf.
A closer glance at him and my mouth went dry.
My shaft hardened as I drank in the sight of him—his lean figure, luminous skin and angular eyes. The pointy tips of his ears poked through a cascade of red hair. Not copper, ginger or auburn. Not mahogany. But blood red. Intricate tattoos on the sides of his face announced his Incubus heritage. Obsolete Imperial law still called for the marking of Tii-Matâshi, even though their Magic had declined through the centuries, shrinking their power to a fraction of that possessed by their demonic forefathers.
The redhead’s companions waved their farewells and made for the stairs. He leant over the railing in a nonchalant pose, his sculptured arms folded on top of the barrier. There was a note of arrogance in the way he examined the crowd below and shamelessly displayed his ethereal beauty.
It took a moment, but eventually his gaze fell upon me. At first, he seemed to stare through me. Then he measured me up, blatant and hostile somehow, as though ascertaining my worth, leering at me in a downright insolent manner.
I couldn’t look away, turned-on and irate at the same time. Insane as it might have been, I felt the physical touch of fingers running over my body. The sensation set my flesh on fire.
Perhaps the stories told about the Tii-Matâshi held a grain of truth.
Next thing I knew, his mouth set into a condescending smirk. He averted his eyes and pivoted on his heel. Before he disappeared, I observed his lush hair swish to the side and cover his shoulders and back like a fiery silk cloak.
The slam of his door felt very much like a slap to my face. I flinched.
The man was a half-naked whore who earned his living on his knees and elbows. He’d just serviced not one, but two clients. The stickiness of sex, the ripe smell of it, must’ve still lingered on his skin. Yet it was I, drill master with the Imperial Forces with the rank of sergeant, who’d ended up appraised like a bull at a cattle market—one who didn’t quite make the cut, to cap it all. And he’d tossed his ridiculous hair at me, for fuck’s sake. A mix of rage and want clenched my gut.
The owner’s snicker helped me snap out of it. “Ouch,” she said, covering her lips with her hand. A fit of laughter shook her dainty figure. “I think he likes you.”
Somehow, I disagreed.
She dropped her gaze to my crotch. “Well, damn. That’s… unfortunate.”
“How so?” I gritted out. “Who is he?”
“My main coin-bringer. His name’s Ōkkanȏ Kyatto.”
I spoke passable Common Elven, as did most members of the military stationed around the border. Ōkkanȏ meant scarlet. I snorted.
“He dislikes soldiers,” the woman said. “With a passion.”
Well, boo-hoo.
I adjusted myself under the table. “How much for him?”
She smiled and shook her head. “Oh, no. Pick someone else, sergeant. Anyone but him. Ōkkanȏ’s a fussy bugger. He ain’t cheap, either. But the local aristocracy can’t get enough of him.”
“How much?” I repeated in a dry voice.
She tilted her head. “Hundred and fifty silvers an hour.”
Sweet fucking gods almighty.
I sucked air through my teeth.
“He’s engaged for the next six weeks,” she said. “And I can’t see him accepting patronage from a soldier, at any rate.”
“Well, I’m sure you could convince him if you tried.” I leant in closer and eased my tone. “What if I, say, paid a thousand for a night with him?”
The glint in her eyes told me I’d chosen the right path. “Sergeant—”
“Make the arrangements.” I nodded my goodbye. “I’ll see him next Freeday.”
It turned out I did have a type all right. A stuck-up, demonic courtesan I couldn’t afford was it, apparently. Wouldn’t it be fun, though, to see if the damn fiend could still smirk while choking on my cock?
Sliding off my stool, I tried to reduce the swivel the alcohol had added to my step.
The rosy-cheeked proprietor, who was still watching me, bit her lip in a transparent attempt to stifle a laugh.
I shot her a dignified look. “Yes?”
“Oh nothing, sergeant,” she soothed, probably afraid to lose my coin to my bruised pride. “Next week, eh?”
I bobbed my head. Next week. I had things to do. Sobering up, for starters. And rubbing one out—or two, perhaps, given the way I felt all riled up.
I needed a clear head to figure out the way to attain a thousand silvers in seven days.
The Wants Of The Demon
ŌKKANȎ
Ten steps to the window, ten back to the door. To and fro, and again, until my breath tore at my lungs. It wasn’t the restless pacing that choked the air out of me, but the feeling of being cornered.
On my next pass by the bed, I kicked its oak frame, which proved a moronic idea since I wore no shoes. My stubbed toe became engulfed in a blaze of throbbing pain that forced me to a halt. I collapsed onto the mattress, my face buried in the soft folds of the silk bedcover.
Fuck and double fuck. And f
uuuck.
I fisted the fabric with both hands.
How could this be? Surely it must’ve been a mistake.
A common human. A soldier, gods have mercy, as big and strong as an ox, and likely just as witless. A crass simpleton, with a penchant for violence, perhaps, considering his enormous size and mean countenance to match.
I was doomed.
Black spots danced before my eyes, so I squeezed them shut. Immediately, an image of the man’s powerful arms and broad shoulders assaulted my mind. Seated at the bar, he seemed to own the place, looming over squirrel-sized Ranélle like a thug. A very attractive thug, whose dark and dangerous allure made me hard, wanton and exasperated. All against my will. Lifting my eyelids did nothing to eradicate the memory of his fervid, sooty gaze or his masculine, rough-hewn features. They’d imprinted themselves on the back of my eyeballs.
Oh, he would be back, of that I had no doubt—the hex that had hit me would be affecting him as well. I could’ve done without the irritating excitement that spread tingles across my abdomen. Despite hating the idea of meeting the human, I already longed to see him again.
It felt a little like unfair punishment and a lot like the irony of fate. What could I possibly have in common with a crude army lad? Me, an opposer of the military and everything to do with it? An enthusiast of fine arts, sophisticated conversation, and good wine?
My jaw tightened as a surge of anger jolted through me. Of all the pleasure houses in the Western Empire, why did he have to stumble into mine? Our street alone housed three other brothels, for the gods’ sake. The cheek of him, barging in here, all because he fancied a shag. Without a shred of awareness, he had set in motion something that threatened the way I’d lived and liked my life.
I’d earned my silver by steadily fucking through the upper crust of Nygläär. The nobles honoured my extortionate fees without as much as an arched eyebrow. Did I mind that they made a fetish of my rare background? Did I, fuck. I simply charged an arm and a leg for the privilege of my company. Coin, although essential in providing me with the luxuries I’d grown accustomed to indulging in, wasn’t my sole objective.
My profession complemented my nature. It satisfied the fundamental demand issued by my blood. The unquenchable Incubus in me revelled in carnal pleasure and debauchery. He thrived on promiscuity and seduction, never ceasing to chase after yet another conquest. In plain words—not only did I enjoy fucking, but I had a physical need to frequently engage with multiple partners to keep my demon sated and controlled. And that, in turn, allowed me to remain sane, balanced and relatively content.
The very presence of the brawny soldier downstairs put my hard-won sanity, integrity and contentment in jeopardy. Because the oaf at the bar, currently doing his best to drink himself unconscious, was my soulmate, and my demon wanted to jump his big bones with a vehemence that knocked the wind out of me.
A triple rap on the door that stressed the last thump could announce no one else but Ranélle. I heard the door open, the rustling of her silk underskirts drawing nearer. The mattress barely dipped under her slight weight as she settled onto the bed beside me.
Wallowing in my misery, I couldn’t be arsed to move.
“What’s the matter, Ōkkanȏ? Why do you look as if you’ve given up on life? Another migraine?” she asked, keeping her voice low and soft.
I let out a disaffirming groan into the fabric.
“What, then? Have the marquise and her lover tired you out?” Her sigh held both a sympathetic and wistful quality to it. “I remember those two. Quite a handful.”
I lifted my head high enough to place my chin onto my folded hands and peered up at her. “You recall the clause in our contract under which our accord comes to an immediate and incontestable end?”
Ranélle scrutinised me through narrowed eyes. “The one you deemed unrealistic but insisted on including?”
“Yes,” I clipped out. “That one.”
“I recall.” Slowly, understanding seeped into her features, creasing her forehead and widening her eyes. “Ooooh. Well, damn. You’re absolutely certain?”
I nodded. “Can’t quite explain how, but I am.”
“Who? Tell me. Anyone I know?”
Before I could get a hold of myself, my teeth ground together. “The big ’un you chatted to downstairs.”
“The drill master? Sergeant Jhagán?” With her blue gaze bright and lips parted, she resembled a porcelain figurine more than ever. “Gods, that’s just too precious,” she said, and erupted into a strangled burst of laughter.
Her reaction had me scowling. “You’re making the bed bounce, Nélle,” I observed in a dry tone. “I fail to see the humour of it, myself. But don’t let the prospect of my life and career in tatters ruin your jubilation.”
“Oh, darling, don’t sulk.” Ranélle cracked a dimpled smile as she patted my arm. “Aren’t you being a tad dramatic?” Sobering, she added as if to herself, “Perhaps it’s for the best.”
Shocked by her words, I pushed myself up onto my elbows. “How can you say that? ‘The best’, my arse. It’s an absolute tragedy. I don’t want a soulmate. He’s a human, besides. And a soldier. It could hardly be any worse.” Resisting the itch to punch something required a shitload of self-restraint. I examined her expression. “Why aren’t you upset? Your income will suffer. And when am I ever being dramatic?”
“The last time seems such a blur.” Ranélle’s round shoulders jumped in a shrug, followed by a not-so-subtle rolling of her eyes. “You knew it might happen one day, didn’t you?”
Did I? On the contrary, I’d been convinced the mating bond would never happen to me. From what little I’d known about my kin, the phenomenon seemed rare enough, so what were the odds? I couldn’t imagine a more bothersome scenario. Or a more mismatched candidate.
In contradiction to my thoughts, an odd longing coiled around my breastbone.
“Quit chewing on your lip, Ōkkanȏ. You’ll get a hole right through it if you carry on.” Ranélle paused, piercing me with her shrewd glance. “You can’t stay a whore forever, you know.”
“I can, too.” My reply sounded like a disgruntled toddler's, but I refused to let that bother me. “Nothing wrong with being a whore. I enjoy it.”
“Half of you, yes. But there’s a reason why the other part of you drinks to oblivion and escapes into art,” she murmured, waving off my retort before I could deliver it. “Besides, whoring is what you do, not who you are. But that’s a conversation for a different occasion. I understand this bonding predicament has you rattled—”
“Confused, more so.” I grimaced. “Tii-Matâshi don’t bond often to begin with. And if they do, it’s with the Elder Races. Not humans.” The moment I realised how it came across, I directed an apologetic look at her.
Ranélle appeared unoffended, but a corner of her mouth quirked. “Would that make a difference? Being mated to an Elf? Or perhaps you’d prefer a shifter? Or a vamper?”
I tilted my head, pondering in earnest whether—or how—it would improve my situation.
No. I didn’t want to be tied to anyone. I didn’t need anyone. I never had. Certainly not an unrefined serviceman built like a Trovian bear. Even if he happened to be the owner of the most tantalising eyes, reminiscent of polished onyx. Even if his muscles bulged and rippled beneath his clothing in the most outrageous fashion, so taut and firm. Suddenly lightheaded, I wondered just how taut and firm his body would feel under my hands. Under my tongue. Under my—
Enough.
The route my divagations had taken set my ears ablaze and stimulated my groin. More than a little nettled by the ease with which the images affected me, I pressed my hips into the padding of the mattress beneath me with a grunt.
“Looks like one thing can be said about your demon,” Ranélle interrupted my little crisis.
“And that is?”
“Unlike yourself, he ain’t an obnoxious, arsey snob,” she stated with glee. “And he wants who he wants.”
&nb
sp; Didn't he just. My balls would, I expected, turn apple-sized and purple by morning. I ran my hand through my hair and ended up pulling at it in frustration. “Bollocks. This is going to fuck everything up, Nélle.” The understanding of how much things were about to change hit me like a slab of ice. “Until this mess is resolved, I won’t be able to work. You’ll have to call off all my commitments for now. At the moment, it’s either the sergeant or…celibacy.” My efforts to squash the panic were mostly successful. Aside from the shift in the pitch of my voice, which entered a higher register than I would’ve liked.
Ranélle fixed an urgent stare on me. “There, there, darling,” she stammered. “I don’t think anyone has died from it, you know.”
“Well, excuse me if I don’t take your word for it,” I sneered. “Not like you’ve lived to tell the tale, eh?”
Stroking her chin, Ranélle resorted to a diplomatic hmm. “So tell me. How does it work in practice?”
“I’m not entirely sure.” I lowered my head, analysing the texture of the bedlinen under my fingertips. Having to admit ignorance as to the ways of my kin sent a swirl of warmth to my face and neck. But damn it, Tii-Matâshi didn’t exactly stand in the town square, available to answer questions about their provenance. I’d encountered another two in my lifetime who weren’t my mother. As an abandoned and orphaned child, I had limited opportunities to listen to heart-to-hearts about mating stories. “I only ever learned the basics from Adhaŕ, the Mage who gave me my facial markings: it starts with intense lust. That’s how the pre-bond connection manifests itself.”
She appraised me with a wink, not missing the slight movement of my pelvis. Her face creased into a suggestive smirk. “Yes, we can safely tick that phase off the list.”
“You’re hysterical,” I bit out and waited until Ranélle’s quiet laugh subsided before I continued. “The mating bond initiates fully through something called Inoru Bri’ghail.” Coming up with the accurate translation from the language I’d thought long-forgotten stalled me for a bit. Prompted by Ranélle’s expectant squinting, I said, “Meaningful Touch. Don’t ask me what that entails. I’ve no fucking clue. Finally, once that’s done, the soulmates either accept or reject the bond.”