by Tara West
“We can see the door from here,” Theron said.
Quin imagined his eyes were shooting daggers at Titus. He didn’t care if he was a commander. He’d had no right to take Kyria to bed. “Care to explain yourself?”
“Care to reword your question? I’m not a child.” Titus grasped the hilt of his sword.
Quin knew Titus would never stick him, but he wished he had his sword. “She’s a married woman.”
Titus gave them a pained look. “Her marriage is a sham, and you know it.”
“Makes no difference,” Theron said. “You put her life in jeopardy when you encourage her to be unfaithful.”
Bitter sounding laughter erupted from his throat. “She’s safest with us.”
Widening his stance, Quin blinked against the falling snow. “What if you get her with child? How will she explain that to the king?”
He glared at Quin. “She won’t, because she’s not going back.”
“Who says?” Theron asked.
“I do. We made a vow to Alexi, in case you’ve forgotten. He mistreats her. We can’t let her go back.”
Quin loved Kyria, but what they were doing would impact every defender. “This will start a war.”
“War is already coming.” Titus spit in the snow, then wiped his mouth. “Do you want to return her to that madman?”
Quin and Theron were close enough that they could guess each other’s thoughts. Theron wanted Kyria as much as Quin did. Ever since that night they’d seen her bathing in the moonlight, they’d talked of little else. She’d even offered her virginity to them once, and as much as it pained them, they’d turned her away. They didn’t have to refuse her if sleeping with her also meant keeping her safe.
Quin turned to Titus. “You know we don’t.”
“Then this discussion is over.” Titus spun on his heel and marched away, his fur cape billowing behind him.
“What about us?” Theron called.
Titus stopped. His back as stiff as an iron sword, he refused to turn around. “What about you?”
“Will she want us, too?” Quin asked, feeling like a child begging for candy.
“Ask her yourself.” Titus chuckled. “She’s not Fanfir. You can talk to her.”
“We know,” Quin whispered, the wind carrying away his voice as Titus marched ahead.
He turned to Theron as they shared hopeful looks. Kyria was going to be theirs... if she allowed it. To hell with the king. He’d risk war for the woman he loved.
MILAS COULD SCARCELY eat with Demendia watching him like her dragons eyed fresh slave meat. He had no idea why she insisted on dining with him unless it was to taunt him. Usually she ate with her ugly lizards at the edge of their pit, not bothered by the cries from her beasts’ human victims. Milas had enough sense to know he was depraved and deranged, but Demendia was an entirely new low of wicked.
He’d checked his life water. Nothing seemed changed, and with his cock so hard every time Sylvia, Demendia’s pretty servant, was near, his water had to be working. He hadn’t had felt such sexual yearning since his early youth.
Sylvia was in his chamber now at Demendia’s orders, holding a wine jug, her jasmine perfume wafting across the room and driving him mad with lust. He wanted to order Demendia from his room and have his way with the pretty wench, but he dared not risk his mage’s wrath. He wondered, not for the first time, if she could somehow read his thoughts, for the look she gave him would have made a lesser man cower.
He set down his goblet and called to the servant to refill it. He tried not to make a big show of it, but he couldn’t help inhaling her tantalizing scent when she came near. The need to smell her was becoming an addiction.
As he sipped, he eyed his mage over the rim. “Why do you stare at me, Demendia?”
She toyed with the delicate little peas floating in gravy on her plate. “You look weary.”
“I am weary. Do you think being a king is easy?”
“No.” She touched the skin beneath her eye. “You look old.”
He waved Sylvia out, along with the other servants, trying not to appear impatient or aggravated. Demendia knew better than to talk about aging with others present.
After they were gone, he snarled, “Impossible.” She was trying to frighten him. He’d taken two drops last night.
“I see a silver hair by your temple. Did you take too many?”
He sneered. She was definitely toying with him, the bitch. “One more drop, and I’d be dead.”
She set down her fork. “Perhaps we need to drink it more often.”
Sorely tempted to jab his fork in Demendia’s eye, he let out a slow breath. “Only on full moons. That is what the Fae king said.”
“He could have been lying to you.”
“Do you forget we’re over a hundred years old and don’t look a day over thirty?” The life water had sustained them for seventy-five years, and she was suddenly doubting its power?
“Do you forget our blood runs black?” She pricked her thumb with a paring knife and squeeze out a black dot. “That is not natural.” She pointed the knife at his chest. “Did you check your supply?”
“I did.” He leaned back in his chair, folding his hands in his lap. “It’s still full.” His life would be easier if she was dead. If not for her dragons, he would’ve slit her throat in her sleep years ago. He wished he could kill her now. He’d make Sylvia his mistress and fuck her until he tired of her. Then he’d find a new mistress and then another. He could create an entire harem if Demendia wasn’t in the way. The thought made his dick harden with need.
“She could’ve replaced it with something else.”
His gaze snapped up. He hadn’t even realized his thoughts had wandered. Great goddess, what spell had that pretty little servant cast over him?
“If she managed to get past your spell.” Laughter rang in her words. “And if she was strong enough to lift the barrel.”
“She can jump from a two-story building.” She stabbed a melon so hard, juices squirted down her arm. “She has Fae strength.”
“Paranoia doesn’t suit you, Demendia.” He wondered more and more why he kept her council.
He was about to tell her as much when there was a knock on his chamber door. He called in the servant, who handed him a missive tied with a bow. Milas took it and dismissed the messenger.
It was from one of the guards he’d sent to the queen’s escort after Brutus was killed. The guard had already sent a craw, a trained messenger bird, with a report that General Faustus had ordered two ballistas moved to the top of a hill.
“What is it?” Demendia demanded.
Though he’d made her a duchess years ago, she still pretended she was his queen and equal in all matters. He hadn’t realized until that moment how much Demendia’s intrusion into his affairs annoyed him. Instead of telling her what the letter said, he threw it at her, not caring when it landed in her food and splashed gravy on her gown.
Swearing, she shook it off, her eyes darting like scurrying mice as she quickly scanned the words. “It didn’t take her long to betray you.”
“I know.”
He eagerly anticipated winning a war against the defenders. They’d not only swear fealty, but they’d give up a year’s pay to compensate the king for time and tithes lost. “As I’d hoped. Now that the defenders have reason to fear us, they will be more inclined to bow to me.”
“And if they don’t?”
He despised her lack of confidence. “Then we go to war.”
“The people will not support a war with our border’s guardians.”
Of course they would, when the rest of his plan had fallen into place. The people were easily fooled.
He imagined he was one of Demendia’s dragons, and she was his next meal. “They will when the defenders murder our queen.”
“DID EVERYTHING GO OKAY?” Kyria asked.
Quin said, “Yes.”
They straddled chairs in front of her, watching her closely.
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br /> She offered them her warmest smile. “You’re like two dogs waiting on a bone.”
Quin flushed all the way to his roots. “Sorry.”
Theron leaned forward. “Do you need anything?”
She glanced at the porridge. “You don’t have honey, do you?”
His shoulders fell. “No, sorry.”
“So were you and Titus a one-time thing?” Quin blurted, momentarily locking eyes with her before looking away.
She’d known he was going to ask. The harsh climate meant women were scarce in Periculi. She could tell by the hopeful gleam in Quin’s eyes that he wanted to bed her, too.
“I hope not,” she said. She hoped the king ran out of life water and died. Then she’d be free and able to live life with the men she loved.
Theron loudly cleared his throat and coughed too many times into his hand. “Sorry.” He flushed crimson. “It sounds worse than it is.”
“Do you need a drink?”
He vehemently shook his head. “You understand units usually share a woman?”
“I understand.”
Quin said, “How do you feel about that?”
A trill of excitement hardened her nipples to two painful peaks. “Have you forgotten the time I asked you to make love to me?”
“No.” They spoke in unison.
“How could we forget?” Quin added, the rosy blush on his cheeks highlighting his dimples.
“My feelings on the matter haven’t changed.” She had no idea where she’d gotten the sudden burst of confidence, but she answered plainly. “And you?”
When they broke into big grins, she felt a tingling between her legs. Ever since he and Theron had caught her bathing in the pond, she’d dreamed of making love to them at the same time. “I need to relieve myself.”
Theron jumped from his chair like a man on a mission. “Will a chamber pot work, or do you need to go behind a tree?”
“I’ll use the chamber pot.” She’d used it before but wasn’t about to do it in front of them.
They stared, eyes gleaming with expectation. “Do you want us to wait outside?”
“If you don’t mind.”
Theron pointed toward the table. “I brought a pitcher of warm water in case you need a shallow bath.”
“How thoughtful.” She beamed at them.
After she finished, she climbed back into the furs, trying to rub warmth into her skin. The water Theron had left hadn’t been warm at all, not to mention the cold permeated the hut. She’d come to realize the only warm spot was directly in front of the fire. It still burned strong, which meant Titus had to have tended it before she woke up. She thought about throwing on a robe or a shift, but the thought of remaining naked under the furs was too tempting to resist. Making love to Titus had only stoked her appetite for more, and she wanted Quin and Theron to satisfy her.
She called to them, and they quickly came inside and removed their cloaks. She let her furs fall until they revealed her breasts.
“You’re still naked.” Theron said.
She patted the space beside her. “The furs and fire are warm enough. Would you two like to join me?”
They quickly disrobed. Quin tore off his clothes at breakneck speed and wore nothing but a thin tunic.
She shrieked, then giggled when he slipped under the furs with her, his frozen feet and hands like blocks of ice against her. She turned to him when he jabbed her back. “You shouldn’t go to bed with your sword. It’s not safe.”
He flashed a wolfish grin. “That’s not my sword.”
“Oh.” She ran her hand along his thick erection. “You’re right. It isn’t.” When she tried to pull away, he snatched her hand back with a groan, wrapping her fingers around his thick cock. She pumped his length, pleased when his groans grew louder, and remembered her temple training. All those evenings Melandris had forced her to suck wooden dildos, and now she had the real thing.
She was about to suck him when Theron climbed in beside her, his lips trailing liquid fire down her neck as he kissed and nipped her sensitive flesh. When he reached her breasts, liquid heat gushed between her thighs. With a groan, she sank into the furs, draping a leg over his hip while he continued to kiss her. She shuddered when he slipped a thick finger into her wet heat while squeezing her breast and rolling her nipple between his fingers. When Quin circled her anus with a wet finger, she pulsed against him, her climax rapidly building while Theron feasted on her neck.
Theron rolled her onto her back and positioned himself between her legs, capturing her lips in a heat-searing kiss. He tasted like coffee and sweet apples, and when he thrust into her, she fell apart in his arms. Wrapping her legs around his waist, she dug her fingers into the firm globes of his ass, raising her hips while he thrust. She cried his name into his mouth when an orgasm claimed her. Moments later, he came inside her. Before he rolled off, he nipped and teased and kissed her until she was ready for more.
Quin rolled her into his arms next, covering her face with feather-soft kisses. He’d removed his tunic, revealing a bronzed body that was so hard, he might have been sculpted from stone. Spent from Theron’s lovemaking, she groaned when Quin sucked her breasts, his finger circling her clit until it swelled to near bursting. Before he climbed on top of her, she wanted to test her skills, so she took his thick member in hand and licked the pearl off the slit, pleased when he moaned aloud. She slid her lips over his shaft, sucking all the way down until his cockhead tickled the back of her throat. He swore and thrust his hips. She slurped up and down his long shaft while rubbing his nutsack with fingers coated in her saliva. After a few more strokes with her tongue, he was kind enough to warn her he was about to come and erupted in her mouth. She swallowed, and sucked him until he grew hard again.
“Hey, my turn again,” Theron said.
Crawling over Quin, she nestled between Theron’s legs, sucking the taste of her off his shaft, slurping him as she’d been taught, loving the feel of his hard, smooth flesh under her tongue. Sucking a real cock was so much better than a wooden one and not because she didn’t have to worry about splinters; she swore his flesh hummed while she sucked him. Quin latched on behind her, gripping her ass and anchoring himself to her with one swift thrust of his cock into her weeping flesh. He pumped into her with jarring thrusts while she tried to focus on Theron, but it was difficult with her orgasm building.
Theron found his rhythm, pumping into her mouth with a tempo that matched Quin’s. With each thrust, Quin took her to a higher pinnacle, until she was crying his name with Theron’s penis still inside her mouth. Theron shot his seed, and she sucked him down before her climax hit, milking Quin as he throbbed inside her.
Sated and spent, they all fell into the furs, their bodies covered in sweat. Theron wrapped his arms around her waist while she rested her head on Quin’s shoulder, still trying to catch her breath.
“Kyria?” Quin said.
“Yes?”
“I don’t want you to go back to him.”
Her heart caught in her throat. “Neither do I.” She finally had the love of her three defenders. How could she possibly give them up? She thought of Jade, Lea, and her parents, and knew she’d soon have no choice.
Chapter Seventeen
KING MILAS PUSHED AWAY from the table with a belch. Dinner had been satisfactory. Never was it as delicious as it had been before the life water, however. Though his chefs seasoned his meals with lots of spice, salt, and sugar, his palate had dulled over the years. A small price to pay for immortality.
Demendia picked at her food. He got up and swept the plates to the floor, then heaved a surprised Demendia from her chair and pushed her face-first onto the table, throwing her robes over her head. She didn’t fight him. She liked it rough.
After kicking off his breeches and jerking up his tunic, he slapped around his shriveled member, dismayed when it wouldn’t harden. This had never happened before. Closing his eyes, he pretended Sylvia was bent over in front of him, her dripping tight or
chid ready for his invasion while she begged her king to be gentle. But he wouldn’t be gentle. He’d give it to her hard, so hard she bled. When his cock was finally stiff, he thrust into Demendia’s saggy, dry tunnel, surprised there were no cobwebs barricading the entrance. He fucked her brutally, heedless of how her scabby skin chafed him. He whispered Sylvia’s name before he spilled his seed into Demendia’s rotten womb. With a groan of relief, he slid out and dried himself with a cloth napkin, not caring in the slightest when she gave him a dirty look.
“So much for my pleasure,” she said, straightening her clothes.
“Have your dragons lick your crotch.” He chuckled and dropped the napkin on the floor. “They’ll consider it an honor to drink a king’s seed.”
“You selfish bastard,” she shrieked.
He froze, thinking perhaps he’d pushed her too far when black magic poured from her fingers. Grabbing the hilt of his sword, he eyed her coolly. “Don’t even think about it.”
“Don’t think I can be intimidated by your little sword.” She smirked.
He bristled, for he didn’t think she was talking about his iron-forged weapon.
“I shall be in my dungeon awaiting your apology, My King,” she purred, tickling his chin with a wisp of black smoke before exiting his chamber in a flurry of billowing robes.
King Milas heaved a sigh of relief when the door slammed behind her. Smiling at himself in the mirror above his dresser—a new one framed in gray marble after his bride had destroyed the other one—he mentally patted himself on the back for standing up to his mage. He would not apologize. He’d send for her, requesting she and her servant visit his chamber. He’d chastise Demendia for having such a dry crotch. Then he’d order her to leave him and Sylvia alone, declaring he still had needs. He’d order Evander to run her through should she try to attack.
He wondered what to do about the dragons. He needed them to help him take down the defenders, but would they heed his orders? No, which meant he still needed Demendia. Damn. He’d have to apologize. He’d send someone to the market to buy her some little trinket and then he’d have it delivered to her with a note asking forgiveness. He frowned at his reflection, admitting defeat. That’s when he saw it. The solitary gray hair.