Courts and Cabals 3

by G. S. D'Moore

  “Oh shit . . . oh shit, punish my pussy. I’m such a bad girl. I deserve this. I deserve it so fucking much,” she groaned as I continued to hammer away.

  Faster than I wanted to admit, I could feel myself near the edge. It was the surest way, aside from a clock, to know that I’d been gone a while. I used to have pretty good endurance; and now, I was about to blow my load after barely five minutes.

  Thinking about things to make it last longer didn’t help as Night continued to demand punishment. She might be a moonlighting drug smuggler, but hot damned if she didn’t fuck like a champion.

  “I’m gonna blow,” I warned as I felt my own desire begin to crescendo.

  I’m not sure if she heard me or not, but she kept on slamming her ass back into me. In fact, she started to add a little grind to the end of the motion.

  “I’m gonna cum,” I said louder.

  “It’s okay. I’m on the pill,” she replied, firmly planting herself in my lap and grinding around.

  Normally, that would be enough for me to let loose, but I wasn’t your average joe. I was half human, half Aesir, with a dash of Fae power, and confirmed supernatural jizz. There was no way I was blowing my load inside a normal girl.

  I grabbed Night by the hips, as my Fae powers flooded through me, and lifted her off my dick. She squeaked at the sudden empty space inside her as I plopped her on the floor. Her eyes were wide as she looked up to me. I’d already gotten to my feet, grabbed my dick, and was furiously jerking it. I released my Fae gifts, because a cumshot on Fae mode might pack the punch of a twelve-gage shotgun.

  “Open your mouth,” I commanded to snap her out of the sudden change of rolls.

  It took her a second, but she was ready to receive me. “Bad girls swallow it all. Every last drop.”

  The grin that split her face was downright sexy, and it drove me over the edge. I was so busy jerking my shaft that I didn’t hear the door bolt unlock.

  “Okay, it was tough, but I found some huevos divorciados, chilaquiles, and for those not willing to try anything outside the box, an Americanized breakfast burrito. What are you guys . . .?” Butters froze, and I was surprised she didn’t drop the bag.

  There I was, standing with my rock-hard cock in my hand; Night kneeling in front of me, fingering herself, while the whole room smelled like sex. Even worse, she was just in time for the finale.

  My eyes snapped to Butters when she started speaking, and I watched her pupils go wide in surprise, followed by anger, and even a little bit of jealousy. All that happened in the last second of my last few jerks.

  “Fuck,” I groaned, unable to tear my gaze from Butters as I came.

  I went off like a shotgun, without the blowing Night’s brains all over the place part. What I did do was blast her full in the forehead with a thick ribbon of cum. My eyes were still locked on Butters, and my next explosion went high. Some clung to Night’s hair, but most of it cleared her and splashed down on the carpet between the two women. I’m not sure if my aim would improve at all, and Night didn’t give me the chance. She slammed my dick into her mouth and greedily gulped down my spunk.

  My legs shook with the effort, and I instinctually grabbed Night’s head and thrust weakly into her mouth. Butters just stood there and watched the money shot, blushing the most brilliant shade of scarlet I’d ever seen.

  At some point, Night pulled me out of her, stood, licked her lips, and said, “thanks for punishing me like the bad girl I am.” Then, to add insult to injury, she swayed over to Butters, grabbed a breakfast burrito, and took it with her into the bathroom.

  That left me alone in the room with Butters, my flaccid saliva and cream covered dick still seeping blobs of cum onto the carpet. Can anyone say awkward? A picture of this situation should be illustrated next to the word in the dictionary.

  “Shit,” I tried to think of a way out of this. The last thing I wanted to do was hurt Butters, but something told me it was too late for that. “Now what?”

  Chapter 6

  “Hit me,” Special Agent Vernon Duds, of the UN’s Response Division of the WRA, smacked the glass face down on the counter with a powerful belch.

  Everything about the man screamed powerful. He was closer to seven feet tall than six, weighed close to three hundred pounds, and most of that was muscle. He had to hunch over and turn sideways to get through the door of this joint. The small dive bar in a back alley of a sketchy New York City neighborhood was the last place anyone would expect a UN agent to spend his lunch break.

  This particular bar had been around for a long time; some say it even dated back to when the Dutch settled the island. A time when the average height of a man wasn’t much over five feet would explain why a man Vernon’s size could cover the entire length of the bar in a dozen paces; that, or because rent in this city was fucking ridiculous and the owner wanted as small a taxable footprint as possible. Either way, it explained why Vernon felt like he was stuck in an economy class middle seat on a Southwest flight from Sacramento to Phoenix. The place was basically a hole in the ground.

  “I said hit me,” he tapped his fingers on the bar. His words were only slightly slurred.

  To get a shifter drunk meant they were serving some potent shit, which was the other reason this place was a hole in the ground. You couldn’t legally make your own moonshine and sell it to a supernatural client base without the proper licensing. One look at this place, and a rookie cop knew it didn’t have it.

  “Not my jurisdiction. Not my problem,” was Vernon’s view on it, as long as they kept his glass full and his thoughts occupied.

  Things had not been going well for the UN agent over the last several months. His fall from grace had been more like a fall down Everest where he took every sharp and jagged edge up the ass on the way down. Ever since Cameron Dupree entered his life, everything had turned upside down; good and bad. He’d seen a bunch of kids roasted like marshmallows over a fire, chased Dupree across the country, only to catch him and bring an even bigger shitstorm down on the UN. The scientists were still trying to figure out what the fuck happened, but Vernon’s actions during the incident were under review.

  His boss’s bosses found it suspicious as hell when the prime suspect in ripping open the top floors of the HQ, like it was a can of tuna, was driven out of the building by one of their own agents. It was even more suspicious that said agent just happened to lose the suspect when attacked by a mystery person who bystanders said was probably some cosplayer. Add to that his obsessive behavior over the St. Vincent’s investigation, and the revelation he was fucking one of the Response Division’s newest recruits, and it was an understatement to say that his life had been under a microscope since Dupree’s sudden disappearance.

  Like any healthy member of the law enforcement community, he tried to drown his sorrows in booze; but only on the days and weeks while Becky was away at training. He’d finally worn her down and gotten her to sign up for the Response Division. Since they were always hurting for supernaturals to fill their ranks, getting her in was a breeze. Of course, instead of being assigned to the upstate New York training center, where they could visit each other on the weekends, she’d ended up in southern Georgia. That was not a coincidence.

  That led to him barging into the Director’s office, trying to chew her ass out, getting his ass chewed out instead, and then being given every shit job she could think of until she felt he’d been justly punished. If only that meant being sent to Washington State to track down the latest Bigfoot sighting. Sasquatches were an overall peaceful race, and they made a mean hamburger. Sometimes the meat was human, and they needed a shifter to go in and tell them to knock it off, but otherwise it was a good time on the government’s dime.

  Since he’d really pissed off the boss, and made her look bad on top of that, she opted instead for slowly sucking his soul out through his eyeballs in the complete and utter isolation of a cubicle buried deep in the bowels of the HQ building. She’d tasked him with proofing, filing, and f
ollowing up on requisition forms for other agents and teams in the field. It was torture. He got to see and understand everything that was going on, but wasn’t able to do shit about it. It was without a doubt the meanest thing Evelyn Winters had ever done to him, and that included moving his girlfriend half a dozen states away. Add all that together, and it was no surprise he was day drinking and trying to get his buzz on at one in the afternoon . . . and then some.

  “Hit me you little bitch. I said . . .” he didn’t get any farther before a meaty fist smacked into his jaw, snapping his head back so it rebounded off the reinforced bar.

  You could tell it was reinforced because it didn’t shatter when Vernon’s thick skull slammed into it. For a second, he tasted blood and saw a few stars in his eyes. Then he laughed. The other shifter who’d just slugged him looked pleased until he heard that laugh. It was one thing to punch a drunk in a bar, but it was something entirely different to punch a crazy man.

  “Hit me,” Vernon turned back to the bartender, who was standing about as far away from the warring shifters as possible.

  In a smooth, practiced motion, the old man filled a shot glass with moonshine and slid it down the bar to Vernon. He caught it and threw it backed, savoring the burn as the cut in his mouth healed, and his vision cleared.

  “Whooo!” Vernon screamed, making half the people in the bar jump. “That’ll put some lead in your pencil!” He smacked the glass down, this time shattering it, and slowly got to his feet.

  The other shifter was no pushover, and pride wasn’t going to let the man back down. His face was already starting to elongate. He was a horse shifter of some sort, and while most people thought of the predatory shifters as the top dogs, Chris Reeve could tell you horses were just as capable of kicking your ass as a wolf, bear, or mountain lion.

  Vernon cracked his neck to either side, gave the horseman a sinister smile, and started to raise his fists. He was literally about to kick an ass; so, of course that was when his phone rang. It was the incessant blaring and flashing of a priority call.

  “What now,” he growled. His blood was up, and he was about to get his first good fight in months. The hunter in him wanted to beat something to death. “Did someone get a boo boo and I need to fix their papercut while filling out a workers comp request?”

  Still, if he wanted to get back into the field, back to doing what he did best, he needed to play the game; and that meant answering his phone when anyone called. He held up a finger to the other shifter and popped the sleek device out of his pocket.

  “Agent Dud,” he tried not to snarl into the receiver.

  “Vernon, head to the airport . . . now,” it was the Director’s voice on the line, with her usual no-nonsense tone. “We’ve got a defector that we need to debrief.”

  “Defector?” Vernon sighed despite himself, and ignored the damage it would do to his career. “Don’t we have agents along the demilitarized zone. There are only so many ways the defectors from the North can say their despot is building a zombie army to overrun the South,” he replied.

  “You’re heading to Ireland,” she snapped back, clearly not wanting to spend an hour convincing her agent to do his job.

  “Ireland?” now he was interested.

  “Yes, I’m glad we’re doing something more acceptable to you, Agent Dud. We’ve got a Fae that came over, and she can give us a motherload of intel on what we might face in the event of an invasion. She asked for you personally, so stop farting around in that fucking bar and get to JFK.”

  The line went dead, and he looked down at the phone in surprise. He’d warded himself against a tracking spell, and turned off the location services on his phone; so, he had no idea how she knew where he was. The bigger question was, who the hell would ask for him personally in Ireland. Whatever the answer was, he was going to find out. He was heading back into the field, and his gut said that was a good thing. It might get him in trouble from time to time, but it had never steered him wrong.

  ***

  It was unnerving to have nothing to work with. All Aveena had on her side was her pride and the information in her head. Even together it wasn’t much, but it told her just how much the humans didn’t know that they’d bent over backwards to meet her demands.

  “Always negotiate from a position of strength,” her mother advised.

  Aveena now hated her with a passion of a thousand suns, and if she ever had the chance, she would cut the tall, blue bitch’s throat and usurp the mantle of the Lady of Winter. She had about as much chance at beating her mother in a fight as a human did besting her, so that would forever remain a fantasy. Still, the advice was solid.

  She started with a power move. She asked for the only UN agent she knew by name to be her debriefer. Since last she knew he was in New York, it would force the humans to fly him across an ocean; giving her time to determine which information she was willing to divulge to the human authorities.

  It was likely the information would be obsolete the moment it left her mouth, but the weaklings didn’t know that. Her mother, much less the Queen, would have contingencies in place for a traitor escaping to the mortal realm. It had happened before.

  “Traitor,” the word still sent a flash of rage through her. She felt the metal chair begin to warp beneath her fingertips from the anger boiling inside her, so she bit her tongue to distract herself. She tasted blood, but it did little to ease her frustrations.

  She’d been thrown to the dogs because her mother had not been able, or willing, to admit her failure. That one of The Nine would throw their own child under the bus to save face with the Queen was . . . was . . . something she should have seen coming.

  “Stupid,” her anger faded.

  Shit rolled downhill. It was the Fae way. Her mother needed a scapegoat high enough in her court to hoist the blame on, and Aveena had walked right into the trap. She was so worried about her place in the succession, she missed that success would have gotten her killed just as easily as failure. She should have learned everything about Cam as possible. Weak humans couldn’t defeat a knight of the Winter Court. A weak human couldn’t survive the bleeding grounds transfer of power, and a weak human sure as shit couldn’t outrun and evade a Fae noble for the better part of two weeks. She should have read the signs, done her research, and not been so consumed by her anger that she missed the obvious.

  Cameron Dupree was a dangerous enemy, and she’d underestimated him at every turn. “Never again,” she promised herself, as her path forward solidified.

  Her motivations for what came next were clear. First, survival. The Wild Hunt was chasing her. As far as she knew, no one had survived the Hunt’s wrath for long. Second, and she couldn’t help but feel a little thrill go through her, was revenge.

  Cam needed to pay for what he’d done. Not for the death of her mother’s royal guards. Not for the death of Chloe or Ser Fredrick. He needed to pay because of what he’d done to her on multiple levels. Unlike last time, she wouldn’t come at him head-on and ram power down his throat. That approach had failed twice, and only the insane continued the same plan of action when it always resulted in failure. She needed a different approach. Something that the boy and his defenders wouldn’t notice.

  “Not a boy, a man,” she chided herself for slipping back into her old thinking; underestimating him again even in her own thoughts.

  She had ideas, but she pushed them to the back of her mind as she felt her senses tingle. She’d spread her awareness to cover everything around the little interrogation room the Echelon team had stored her in. They were trying to make her feel at home. The spread on a side table looked like something you’d see at an embassy diplomatic function, but she hadn’t touched it.

  This was a chess game. She’d made the opening move; showing her power, and testing how badly they wanted the information she had. So far, everything pointed to her having the upper hand. Of course, that was just what a skilled opponent would want her to think.

  She smiled sweetly as the do
or opened and a large man stepped in. “Good to see you again, Agent Dud. I’m Aveena Fox . . .” she stopped herself. “Apologies,” she attempted to collect herself, to further sell the façade she was wearing just as much as the leggy, blonde glamour. “I should be addressed as Aveena Wildfae.”

  The man’s face scrunched up in confusion as he looked down at the folder he was holding. He was not a skilled player of the game.

  “Not Foxbelle?” he asked as he took a seat across from her.

  “Not anymore,” she replied, making sure to cross her arms defensively across her chest. “I was banished from my mother’s house, but given clemency by the Queen; only to have the Wild Hunt chase me from my home realm. All those not aligned to a house are wild Fae, thus the appropriate surname.”

  “Hmm,” the man just nodded and scribbled something down on the paperwork. “And you are seeking asylum?”

  “I am,” she nodded fervently. “I understand you grant asylum to people who are persecuted politically in their own nations. You could consider this the same. If I were to return to the Faerie Realm, I’d be instantly caught and executed.”

  That got the agent’s attention. “Why?” he asked simply.

  She replied just the same. “I am paying for someone else’s mistake, and my own shortsightedness. I will give you more information if my asylum is granted.”

  “That’s not how this works,” the man replied, and Aveena had to stop herself from rolling her eyes. “You give us what we want, and we’ll determine if you meet the asylum requirements.”

  “I scratch your back and you scratch mine,” she gave Agent Dud a smile that would have most men scrambling over the table to tear her clothes off. To the wolf’s credit, he just gulped and looked away.

  “You could say that.”

  She thought about what she knew that the humans might value, and landed upon something immediately. It would cost her, and her people, nothing; but mean everything to the hairless apes.