The Dawn of the End

by Kristen Ashley

  His hand fell away from mine, and I milked him as I massaged his sac until he made a noise in the back of his throat. I then released my hold only for Cass to pull me over him, my belly sliding over the wet at his.

  When our faces were close, he sifted his fingers in the side of my hair and with his other hand clamped on the cheek of my arse, and he murmured, “You own me.”

  Would I say it?

  I would.

  “You own me too,” I admitted.

  He grinned arrogantly.

  “Oh, I know.”

  I frowned and narrowed my eyes at him.

  He kept grinning as he stated, “You were surprised meeting Reginald. I have met his wife. He is lost in his love for her, and she rules their home. It works for them for he administers a prison, which is a great responsibility that is often a great burden, and it is a relief for him to come home and let his wife have the running of their lives, something she in turn enjoys.”

  “All right,” I said when he stopped speaking.

  “As you know, this is not the way with all Airenzian men, but it is the way with a fair few.”

  “Including you.”

  His body settled more fully under mine. “Yes, I’ve found of late it’s best to let my woman have the running of my home.”

  I started laughing.

  “You were right, the silver settees are rather bright and welcoming in the Great Hall,” he teased.

  “I’m glad you concur.”

  “Though I cannot approve your destruction of part of a barracks to enlarge the greenhouse.”

  “Hmm,” I mumbled.

  He smiled at me.

  I stared at him.

  My Cassius was smiling, after that day, after all his days in this dreary place. He was abed with me, his stomach awash with his seed, he was going to ink me into his skin, he had hope for our future, and he was smiling.

  “Can we carry on with my reading?” I requested.

  “Of course, though my answers might be muffled as you’ll be sitting on my face while you trace my skin.”

  I shivered.

  His smile turned wolfish.

  Then his hands took control of me.

  I would soon discover he did not tell the truth, for he didn’t even attempt to answer while his mouth worked between my legs as I sat astride his face and traced his skin.

  But then, with all he gave me, if he had tried, I wouldn’t have heard him anyway.

  102

  The Oath

  Jellan

  Underground Lair of the Beast

  WODELL

  When he came to Jellan in his dark hole, Jellan braced.

  He had been making an effort with the Beast, and although there were occasions when the creature seemed perplexed by its thoughts or feelings, or its ministrations were gentler than they had been, the Beast was still solely ruled by the witch Marian.

  There was nothing Jellan could do, for she was always there, watching.

  Though, not now.

  She had gone to the surface with her females to gather food and other necessities.

  Leaving Jellan alone with the creature.

  Cowering while trying not to appear like he was cowering atop the thin blanket she had allowed him, Jellan watched the handsome being toss itself despondently on the ground opposite him, its thick, waving golden hair shining in the torchlight, its finely honed features a beguiling mixture of swells and shadows.

  It lifted its knees, rested its wrists against them, and dropped its head.

  Jellan waited, but the Beast said nothing, nor did it move.

  “Do you intend…?” He did not finish that as he pushed up and back, pressing to the stone behind him, and he changed his question, “Are you all right?”

  “She does not take me to the surface any longer,” the Beast replied.

  “Well, I—”

  “And I have been down here forever,” the thing whined.

  Jellan did not speak.

  The Beast lifted its head. “She does not care about me. All she wishes is to use me. She has not even given me a name.”

  Jellan’s head grew light with elation.

  “Oh, that is—” he began, but did not finish.

  “She calls you our pet, but I am as well. I am her pet.”

  Could this be his opportunity?

  If it was, he could not waste it.

  Jellan gathered the blanket and pressed it to his chest as he rose up even farther to sit on his thigh.

  The Beast’s eyes dropped to his body before they lifted to his face.

  “I will not use you,” it asserted.

  “Do you not…do you not…like me?” Jellan stammered.

  “Of course, I like you. You are very hot and tight. She is very moist and loose.”

  Jellan bit the insides of his cheeks not to leap too quickly on that.

  “And bossy,” the creature continued.

  “What would you like to be called?” Jellan asked.

  The thing’s head tipped to the side as if it was considering this.

  It didn’t come up with any ideas so Jellan queried, “What were you called before?”

  “Daemon.”

  Daemon?

  “Daemon as in, demon?” he inquired.

  The creature studied him in open befuddlement. “Maybe. Dee-mon was said much. Though I liked Day-mon.”

  By Vicee.

  He had been correct when he’d first seen this creature.

  It was a demon.

  Jellan tried to remember what he had read in the Go’Doan tomes of the creatures long ago known as demons who were banished by the gods.

  What was known about them?

  Why had they been created?

  What was their power?

  Why had they been banished?

  And how did this one get loose when they were cast away by the very gods?

  He did not remember. He knew there were a number of them. And he knew they had power, though not what it was, but they also wielded might.

  It was a long time ago. Before recorded history.

  But tales that remained had been recorded in the Dome City.

  Jellan just did not study them acutely.

  He needed to get to those tomes.

  “Did you have brothers and sisters?” Jellan asked.

  The gaze of the creature went vague as it drifted away, and it murmured, “I think. A long time ago. Though, they are lost to me.”

  Banished deeper in the under-realm?

  If so, how did this one rise?

  “You know, Daemon, I have magic,” he told him.

  Daemon looked to Jellan.

  “If you like, I could try to get us to the surface,” he suggested.

  “Do I please you?” Daemon inquired.

  “I’m sorry, in what way?” Jellan asked.

  The being indicated his face and body with a swoosh of his hand.

  “You are very handsome,” Jellan muttered.

  “Do I please you in other ways?” Daemon asked.

  Jellan did not know how to answer that.

  “You do not…emit like I do when you please me,” Daemon explained.

  Jellan had tried to do this, but he found he could not with Marian watching.

  “I do not like an audience,” he said quietly.

  “Ah,” Daemon replied.

  “And it would be good if you found some oil,” Jellan mumbled.

  “Oil?”

  “For ease, and um…friction.”

  The Beast’s lips split in a beatific smile.

  “We will try to rise, and when we do, we will find some,” Daemon decreed.

  Yes!

  “I will…gather my magicks. I will…conserve my strength,” Jellan promised.

  “I will make sure you have more food, and in the meantime, I will tell her I want oil so I can have friction when I use you.”

  Jellan nodded, trying not to do it enthusiastically, about the food, or cringingly, about the other.


  “It will also be better for you,” he shared.

  Daemon grinned at him. “It is already good.”

  Jellan gave him a tentative return smile.

  “And I will share I do not want her watching.”

  “No,” Jellan said, too swiftly, for as he spoke, the creature’s brows drew together. “It might make her angry.”

  “Why do I care if I make her angry?” Daemon asked. “I could crush her head against the stone.” It lifted its hands and clapped them together, making a loud noise that caused Jellan to jump. “But I cannot, for she is the only way I have to make me rise.” He shook his head. “When she took me up, I should not have let her bring me back down.”

  “Well, you might have me.”

  The creature brightened.

  “However, we do need to keep her around. If I cannot access my magic down here, we may need her to get to the surface.”

  “Oh,” Daemon mumbled. “Right.”

  “I will…” He swallowed his excitement and carried on. “I will try to do what I will. More food will be good. Clothes.”

  The thing grinned again. “I like you as you are. Though you are now too skinny.”

  “I will need clothes on the surface.”

  Daemon nodded. “I will have her females mend your robes.”

  Excellent.

  “Be careful, uh, showing your mistress any concern for me.”

  “It will be difficult for you to be of use to me if you waste to nothing or catch a chill that also,” it grinned again, “wastes you to nothing.”

  “Yes,” Jellan agreed. “And if I find my magicks are bound down here, like yours, I will find a way to tell you, and then we will plan what we will do next in order to get you to the surface.”

  Daemon nodded.

  “But we will get you free,” Jellan whispered.

  The Beast stared hard at him and replied, “I want to be free.”

  “It is my calling to make you thus, and I will do it. That is my oath to you, Daemon. Believe in me and understand my resolve. That is my oath.”

  The Beast continued to stare hard at him.

  And he did not smile when he ordered, “Make me free.”

  Jellan nodded.

  The Beast came at him.

  And, with no audience, Jellan made certain his oath was sealed with an offering.

  The Beast approved.

  103

  The Counsellor

  King True

  Outside the Bedchamber of Sir Alfie, Birchlire Castle, Notting Thicket

  WODELL

  “Are you ready?” True asked Bronagh.

  She did not look as such, entirely, but she nodded.

  He turned and looked to Bram and Florian, Wallace and Luther.

  “And you?”

  They nodded as well.

  He turned to his wife at his side

  “Here goes,” he whispered.

  Her eyes shining bright with hope and happiness, she leaned into him, coming up on her toes, and touched her mouth to his.

  “You are perfect,” she whispered back when she pulled away.

  “I’m afraid you are wrong, my sweet, for you are.”

  “For the gods sakes,” Florian complained. “You both can be perfect. And what’s more annoying than you being ridiculously in love, is that as far as I can tell, you both actually are. Now, can we do this?”

  True chuckled as he gave his queen’s waist a squeeze, caught her smile before she aimed it at Florian, and then he turned and walked down the hall to Alfie’s door.

  He knocked, and when his friend called out, he entered.

  These past days, Alfie was sitting far more up in the bed than he’d been in the beginning.

  Then again, although Bronagh had taught the other nurses how to exercise his captain’s legs, for she did this no longer (and now Alfie was complaining about the fact she barely came into his room, stating she was shirking her duties, instead of the other way around), she had also set up what was right then in the corner.

  A folding screen beyond which was a commode with handles at the sides.

  She, nor the nurses, said a word.

  It was Alfie who dragged himself from the bed to beyond that screen and back.

  And now it had been reported he was dragging himself out of bed for other purposes, to heft himself about the room just to do so or in order perform his own exercises to strengthen his chest, shoulders and arms.

  This was all very hopeful.

  And as it was, the ones who loved him felt that hope.

  True just worried they might not be right in these feelings and that their hope would be dashed.

  “What are those?” Alfie asked.

  “Greetings to you too, my friend,” True teased, leaning the sticks he was carrying against the side his bed.

  They were not like any either man had ever seen, for Cora and Maddie had asked after Alfie, and then shared in their world medicine was more advanced. Therefore, when they’d explained a variety of things to True and Farah, and then directly to Bronagh, the nurse had ordered some adjustments.

  “Sorry, True, I’m in a foul mood,” Alfie muttered.

  “Would this foul mood have anything to do with a pretty nurse no longer exercising your legs?”

  Alfie shot him a killing look.

  True grinned at him.

  He then answered belatedly, “Your sticks.”

  He watched his friend’s brow knit in confusion as he stared down at the sticks.

  He understood the confusion because the others they had seen did not have the forearm guards curving about the top, and at the bottom, instead of coming to a point, they came out to three with resin pads on them for better sticking to whatever they touched. All of which, as Bronagh explained delightedly, would make them more stable.

  True carried on, “Bronagh reports you’re getting yourself around. She says you have remarkable upper body strength—”

  “She said I have remarkable upper body strength?” Alfie interrupted him to inquire.

  True beat back the laugh, but not his smile.

  “Yes. She was also quite breathy when she reported that.”

  Alfie took in True’s smile and grunted.

  “Thus, she says it’s time you practice with your sticks,” True finished.

  “It will be good to have something to do,” Alfie muttered.

  “Indeed, and this is another reason why I’m—”

  Alfie interrupted him again to declare, “She won’t let me apologize.”

  “Pardon?”

  “Bronagh. It’s been days since I acted like such an arse. And she scurries in,” he lifted his hand, motioning with his fore and middle fingers to demonstrate scurrying, “and she scurries out. ‘Are you hungry, Sir Alfie?’ she asks. I have enough time to say yes, or no, and she’s gone. ‘Are you in pain, Sir Alfie?’ A yes or a no, and she leaves. ‘Do you need another book, Sir Alfie?’”

  He did not continue after that, just scowled at the door as if his scowl could make Bronagh appear, stay still and listen to his apology.

  Abruptly, Alfie turned his head as well as his scowl to True.

  “You’re king. You can make her stand still for five minutes so I can tell her I acted like an arse and I’m sorry.”

  “I am king, indeed,” True replied. “But I am not ordering that woman to stand here and listen to your apology.”

  “True—”

  “It is your mess, Alfie, yours also to clean up.”

  “I cannot do that if she keeps scurrying.”

  “You have remarkable upper body strength, my brother. Find a way to get her close and use it.”

  Alfie stared at him with a face full of shock.

  True ignored it.

  “Now if we can talk about affairs of the realm, the Go’Doan emissaries have shared at long last they’re ready to discuss things, and I need you at the table. And as it will take some doing to get you there, we need to get that started.”

  “Sorr
y?” Alfie asked quietly, now regarding him closely.

  “Oh yes, right,” True replied. “I hereby appoint you my counsellor.”

  Alfie again had an expression of shock.

  “I will warn you,” True carried on, “although for now, you will be my only one, I will add more as I make decisions about who they will be. This, until we can elect a parliament. I will have a gnome, a fairy, a pixie, a sprite and of course I will have men, or women, if that’s my decision, from different counties—”

  “You want me to be your counsellor?”

  True nodded. “I should ask, but I don’t have the time. I need you. Ophelia’s gone. Cass has called Rus back. Mars asked his mother to return home. Tint left this morning. Serena is working clandestinely in the Shanty. Tor is also working our operatives there. And Apollo is brilliant, but he not only does not know this realm, he is not you. But regardless, at this juncture, I’d have no other but you. When I make further appointments, you will remain as the representative counsel of the Dellish military. And I would urge you to continue being so when we have a parliament.”

  When he ceased speaking, Alfie said low, “You do not have to do this, True.”

  “No. I don’t,” True replied.

  They held each other’s gazes.

  This went on some time.

  So long, True had to break it.

  “We need you in clothes and we need you seated at that table, Alfie. And we have half an hour. The men are outside to assist. Though I think you can get yourself sorted, if you need aid, we are here. Bronagh says it takes some practice and requires a good deal of stamina to use the sticks. If you wish to try, we will try. But we can get you there more expediently on a stretcher and the halls will be cleared when we do so.”

  Alfie said nothing.

  Time was wasting.

  “Shall I ask Wallace to bring in your clothes now?” True prompted.

  Alfie looked down to his legs.

  True gave him a moment.

  However, he did not have many moments. He’d timed this precisely, making it a matter of urgency for the purpose of not giving his friend too long to think about it.

  Therefore, he repeated, much quieter, “Alfie, shall Wallace bring in your clothes?”

  “Have Bronagh bring them.”

  “Pardon?”