No visible cracks in these, but he was no engineer. Before it had gone over the edge, the front of the train had gouged a path through cars, the roadway, and more.
The waterfall was dead ahead, past the last crushed vehicles. One of those was a semi with a voluptuous chick painted on the driver’s side door. A baseball cap on the dash rested on a skull that was thoroughly stripped of flesh.
“Rats been here,” Tom said, gesturing at the semi with his rifle.
“Yeah, they get everywhere.”
Right at the edge, there’d been an office for the Trainway and Motorway. The dented sign hung at an angle. The office wall had been demolished by the impact of the train. A big chunk of the outer building wall was gone.
He peered at the world outside, smelled the fresh moisture in the air. The rain was roaring down, drumming past, making the waterfall a proper cascade.
Dusk had come and the light faded. The Lure should be lessening.
Beyond the streaked curtain of rain lurked an opposing building. A nice big chasm separated them from it. If the waterfall was a constant, it’d erode away enough that this part of the scraper would collapse. Such was the nature of the world. All things came to an end.
But not him, not yet.
Not her either.
He lowered Cyn until her boots touched the smashed floor.
The falling water curled and splashed into the office space because of a fracture of the façade, pooling on the floor to the depth of her calves. A big square desk perched in the pool like a wading bird. Staplers lay underwater along with paperclips and pens. Pieces of bright plastic swirled in the flow. A lip of concrete at the original doorway was trapping much of the water.
“Ummm, sir. Do we need to strip her?”
He eyed Tom, feeling as if he were an intruder, wanting him gone. “Hell, no. Just her boots.”
Though they were already wet.
Painstakingly, careful not to get brained by a wild kick, he and Tom drew off her boots, then decided that after all, her jeans may as well be saved from the water too.
They sat her on the desk to perform that delicate operation. Unzip. Roll them under her butt, tug, roll, tug some more. At least her arms were pinned back.
Taking the jeans off gave him such a damn hard-on, and Tom too.
“At least one of us can wait outside while I wash her. And it won’t be me.” If his words sounded harsh, like he might punch Tom if he stayed, so be it.
“Sure. Sorry. But… Outside?”
The lack of much wall was a problem. “Go,” he snapped. “Face outward.”
By pushing her under the cascade he washed most of Cyn, and the spilling of said water over her shirt made much of her cleaner. If not perfectly clean. It also did the inevitable—stuck the cloth to her like a second skin. It also dragged her panties down a tad lower so he could see her mons and the start of her pubic hair, and he knew where that led.
He held onto her biceps, above where it was wrapped by the soaked cloth of her shirt. Distressing how bad this made him feel, seeing her dull eyes. He knew how whip-smart she normally was. Did the Lure ever leave permanent marks on the brain? Maura seemed fine.
Cyn’s wet belly skin gleamed.
Her cunt was also glued to the delicate white underwear cloth. The swell of those lips, the split between them. Spellbound, Rutger rubbed his jaw, a little annoyed with himself for being attracted to a woman who was already bondmated.
She was that, wasn’t she?
What if?
He looked into her eyes again, saw her nostrils expand as he raised his hand to her. Then, to his most extreme shock, she leaned over and licked the length of his finger. He withdrew his hand, feeling the lingering frisson where her tongue had run over his skin.
His dick climbed higher, his erection seeking new heights, lengths, whatever.
“Is Vargr back yet?” he said over his shoulder.
“I’ll go check?”
“Yeah, you do that, Tom. Give me your shirt so I can dry her first. And get her some leggings if you can find them! Her jeans will never go back on.”
Wet legs and jeans were a problem.
He caught the shirt as it was tossed then crouched to dry her legs as well as he could, given that she was squirming.
The jeans would get stuck, unless she was back in her mind again, able to pull them up. He imagined her sitting down and wriggling those skinny jeans up her legs. Her panties shifting. Ugh. Too far, man. He would do himself an injury imagining that.
The Lure effect was overcome by mating with your bondmate. Vargr was negligent for not fucking her enough.
What if…
What if one could have more than one bondmate?
This was not exactly moral what he was considering. Rules were rules. Law was law. He should wait. Rutger blinked, thought some more, then popped her up on the desk again and held her there while he waited.
When he heard Tom returning, he half-turned.
The leggings were thrown in.
Pretty black ones with pink tentacles all over them. “Hmmm.” He scrunched them with his fist. “And Vargr?”
“Not back. Should we try to find him? I’m willing. To look.”
It was a good question. Orm was badly wounded, that left only three beasters plus him. Though Toother was as good as five men. It was unprecedented for the Ghoul Lords to send a squad down this low. The only possible target he knew of was this female. He stroked a thumb up her arm. Any attack might come via the motorway or the train tunnel.
“Go by yourself but only a small distance. Use your judgment. Take Little Mo if you can, it seems to detect those things. Station Toother on the tracks beside the camp, and don’t go so far that you cannot see him. Okay?”
“Got it. I’ll be back in ten minutes tops.”
He gave Tom a thumbs-up then turned back to Cyn.
Back to his what if.
He wouldn’t fuck her, but he could see if he could reverse the Lure, a little.
Ten minutes, tops. He could do that. Ten seconds even, what with her watching him and sitting here before him mostly naked.
No one else to watch though he felt both dirty and exultant unzipping to pull out his cock and begin that slide and pull on shaft and head as he jacked off. Did he imagine the fascination in her eyes? More intelligence there than before?
He squeezed the head of his cock, anticipating what was about to happen. He could fuck her on that desk, if he were an asshole. If. First time ever he’d wanted to be an ass.
The shift of her thighs as she parted them, spreading wide, it was not imagined. He could see part of her cunt for the panties had rolled aside. Groaning, he upped the speed of his hand, wishing he could fuck her mouth.
But no. No.
He kept going, going, and he grunted as ecstasy peaked.
The gush of come onto his hand, splashing and dripping into the pool, filling his fist, it left him riveted in that perfect instant of pleasure. His dick jerked, pumped out a final spurt. If only he was inside her.
He swallowed, inhaled long and hard through his nose.
This could not be just normal lust. She’d reciprocated, thrust her chest at him, arched as he poured over his hand. The place smelled of jizz.
For the first time, she sat quietly and did not attempt to escape.
Her pussy glistened with the slickness of what seemed cunt moisture. Hand trembling, he checked, and yes, it was her wetness, not water. He let his finger slide further until it cruised under the sodden cloth, was so goddamned tempted to finger-fuck her when she moaned, but he didn’t. Not yet.
That hand trembling was an oncoming problem, and he had a good inkling as to what it was: PNT or Post Nanite Trauma. Not that anyone else called it that. Sucked, but joking was better than knifing himself. Rutger grimaced, staring at his hand instead of at what he wanted to stare at—her. He should be able to hold until they hit the perimeter of Worshipper camp.
“Damn.”
Swallowing come had benefits to
o, just not as good as actual cock-in-pussy sex. Carefully, his heart thump-thumping, he raised his cupped hand to her mouth, offering her his come. After a long slow second, she dipped her head and lapped, licked at his palm.
Fuck fuck fuck.
If this worked, if the Lure went away, Vargr was going to need some talking to.
If he survived.
Chapter 18
Knowing one shouldn’t be doing something was not the same as not doing it. Vargr was well aware of this because here he was chasing after a wounded ghoul guard, leaving behind Cyn and the others to kill off the last stinker.
Something pale lashed at him from the side.
He shoved his long blade into the stinker, nailing part of it to the floor with his boot then cutting it in half. The shreds squealed and flopped, but he sprinted onward. Up ahead was no lighter except for a lopsided rectangle in the right-hand wall. What were those? Parallelograms? He’d dredged that up from his ancient geometry lessons.
If Cyn needed him, he was really going to hate himself.
If he lived.
As he drew nearer, the rectangle of light grew larger, and the legs of the guard were clearly squirming as he climbed up inside.
A shaft it was, then, angling up. With a ladder by the wall.
The problem was, he thought he recognized the guard. Those brain cells tasked with storing images of people who’d been family, friends, celebrities, and whatever else his brain thought worthy, were creaking into motion. Who the fuck was this guy? His face was partly ruined, he’d been dragging a leg. He had to know who this was.
Two lagging stinkers had launched at Vargr from the ceiling of this tunnel, and after killing those he was far behind.
Once he made sure nothing waited in ambush, he quietly climbed the metal ladder and peered up to the shaft with his pistol drawn, poking the large muzzle forward while he sighted along. The boots of the guard were vanishing higher. Pretty certain the man was being dragged, judging by the way his legs moved, Vargr took a deep breath, then hoisted himself inside. He folded his wings as flat as they’d go and crawled.
A blood trail made the shaft slippery, but it zagged upward in tiers that had a few flatter spots. Where it ended, the light beyond showed it intersected with a wider shaft going straight up.
At the end of the zagging shaft, he paused again.
Bad move to go out there.
Danger, Will Robinson. Least they’d remade that show before the invasion. So many series he’d never binge watch ever again. If anything made him sad about the demise of humankind, it was that.
If he was shot sticking his head out… At least nobody would know how dumb he’d been.
Vargr stuck his head out into the bigger shaft and twisted his head about to look upward.
Elevator shaft, and the elevator was up there, stuck forever on whatever floor that might be.
Two stinkers were slowly dragging the wounded and almost-dead ghoul guard into the gap between the box of the elevator and the wall of the shaft. He frowned. Surely there was not enough room?
If he shot the stinkers they’d come down on his head or fall a very long way. Ditto for that guard.
While he was thinking, the stinkers had kept on dragging.
Screams erupted, confirming the guard was still alive, and that his body didn’t fit too well in that gap.
Blood streamed down the wall. They were stripping flesh off him as they pulled him through like a cheese grater grating a human.
“Crap,” he whispered.
He raised his pistol but hesitated too long over his worry he’d only get himself dead for no particular reason. The man and his spidery Eiffel Tower-legged captors vanished from view. Cyn would be pleased he wasn’t dead.
So was he.
A few small pieces of guard slid past.
“God fuckin’ dammit. Lucky, I haven’t had breakfast yet.” He withdrew into the zagging shaft, wiped his mouth and holstered the gun, then began the journey back to camp.
Along the way he collected Tom, a foot-soldier sent to find him. By the time they reached where Toother guarded the tunnel, he’d been brought up to speed and knew that Rutger and Tom, but particularly Rutger, had cleaned up Cyn after the battle.
He was jogging by then, and he left Tom behind.
Fuck. He should’ve known. Rutger had been making eyes at her. Not that she or he would do anything, he felt that bone-deep—it was a tenet of their existence.
Still.
The beaster had partly stripped her and washed her off.
He leaped through the wall hole, skipped and jumped over the chaos of cars and rubble, then burst into the office where the waterfall flooded the floor.
Found them both. With Cyn in a new pair of tentacle-decorated leggings that accentuated every sweeping curve of her long limbs. He wondered if Rutger had seen the tattoo on her butt.
His glare made the larger beaster shrug and step backward, palms-out, while keeping his eye on Vargr.
“Just looking after her for you, man. The Lure had her, and she was covered in blood and bits of ghoul guard.”
“Huh.” He walked to her, sloshing through water, to where she perched cutely on a desk in the middle of the pool.
It was only when he drew near that he realized they had her arms trapped at her back. Releasing her could come with negatives. He’d had to tie her down to fuck her that first time the Lure had her in thrall.
Her ass wriggled as if she were a puppy seeing its owner—and that was a vision he would cherish. He took her hips, massaging her with his thumbs, distressed to know he’d been remiss in his duties. Slowly he leaned in and put his forehead to hers, angled his head so he could kiss her, soft and sure.
“Get out of here, Rutger.”
“Done. Though we need to talk, later.”
The beaster, or god monster as they called him, made loud progress as he slogged and jumped through the debris. Deliberate probably, so Vargr would know they were alone.
If the Lure had her, why’d she look almost normal? Her eyes were clear, though Cyn was not as wild as he remembered. Gentler. Less ready to snark at him.
“Was it the coming of night, girl? Did it fade the Lure?”
She nodded then wriggled her shoulders and whined as if she wanted to hug him. Not speaking yet? That was the Lure. Again, he hesitated. Surely letting her go would be unwise? His cock rode between her legs, pulsing at the feel of her, at the promise of being buried in her, and the leggings were in the way.
“These, are fucking coming off.”
“Mmm.” She bit his neck and hung on with those little teeth of hers, sending heat shimmying through him, down his spine, all the way down to his balls.
Grinding his cock into her made her teeth release from his neck, and her head fell back. The black leather collar he’d put on her slid on her skin. He never thought about those much, but yeah, he adored that mark of his ownership. She shuddered, her eyelashes fluttering, her mouth parting in a quiet moan.
He reached down and clawed his hand into the cloth at her waist. Tearing her leggings off was probably not the best way to do this. Finding new clothes might be difficult. His throat closed in, then he managed to say the words that needed saying.
“I’m going to fuck you on this desk and then… once you can talk, you will tell me what that bastard Rutger did to you.”
With one hand on her back to stop her falling and the other at the waistband, he dragged the leggings past her butt and rolled them to her knees, but that made opening her legs enough impossible. He let out a growl of exasperation. Should’ve torn a fucking hole in the crotch after all.
On the other hand… He pulled her forward and lowered her so she lay flat on her back on the desktop, then tipped her legs up with her knees held high. It exposed her cunt, perfectly. Excellent fucking position.
His wings unfolded in recognition of his slightly unhinged state.
Undoing the zip on his pants took one second.
Feeling he
r slit and slipping two fingers inside to check her readiness took a few more.
Her pussy was so wet, swollen, and rosy pink that he had to hold his breath and stare.
“Fuck.”
She squirmed again, moaning, breath hitching as he finger-fucked her a few times. “Enticing little bitch.”
Cock in hand, he watched her face, the bite of her lip and her sweet fascination as he lined up and began to squeeze inside her. With her legs together it was tighter than he remembered. So incredibly soft, hot, and slippery. The perfect foil for his hardness.
Then, as he shoved, pushing into her cunt and fucking her with the first full-length thrust, her eyes widened, and she sat up as much as she could.
“Wait!”
Words. She spoke. He eyed her, still buried in her, grunted a query.
“You don’t need to.”
He almost choked. “What the fuck?”
Need? He had enough need to do this to her for the next hour, over and over, in every goddamned hole. If only an enemy attack wasn’t a worry.
He shut his eyes and be damned if her cunt didn’t squeeze in on him again. Vargr swore a curse that trailed off into a strangled groan.
When he opened his eyes, he caught a smirk disappearing off her face.
Chapter 19
Cyn tried not to pant too hard or laugh. His cock was jammed in her to the hilt, and the stretch on her pussy felt amazing. Big man, hell to the yeah. His wings loomed above with water pattering off one wingtip. Her throat closed in at the sight, then she noticed his face.
With his eyes squished shut and that deep crease between his eyes, Vargr looked agonizingly exasperated at her words. Her mouth twisted as she wrestled to control her expression.
That look was so amusing.
He opened his eyes and saw her smirk.
His pain turned to devious intent. Cruel intent even, since he withdrew and smacked back into her so brutally she was thrust backward, her bound arms sliding on the polished but damp timber.
“You are a fucking…” He slammed in again. “Hellion.” Another pussy-destroying slam hit with a squelch, spreading her wetness, and he ground in endlessly deep. “Cock-tease.” He growled that last insult.
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