by Lucas, Naomi
Instead of killing her, he had taken her innocence. And she had invited him to. How could she still imagine him taking her head when he had cooed her to comfort and held her while she slept? Beasts did not do that.
His eyes hooded, and she pushed the stake away from her, sitting upright and pulling her long hair back. Maybe she could trust him with some of her secrets.
If she knew for certain she was doomed to die...
She parted her lips to answer his question from the morning before when he abruptly stood and moved from the hearth to join her on the linens. He picked up the stake she had pushed away and studied it.
“Why did you coat it with your wax?” he asked.
She canted her head and then realized he did not know her magic. His mother used bones? Perhaps their base abilities were different? She did not know. One could not coat items or people with bones, not without having a way to liquify them first. It would make sense that he didn’t know her like she thought he originally would.
“Your wax will dull the point,” Astegur said accusatorily. “I cannot win a war with dulled sticks.”
“You know that I have an affinity for wax. You have seen my altar, my summoning grounds. I showed you the centaur hoard within its fluid depths. I assure you, these stakes are stronger now. Wax will coat the wounds they inflict, and the poison from the vilevines will prevent the blood from thickening to stem the flow. Their blood will trigger the intact seeds within the vines and make them take root. During battle, there will be no time to cut them out before they begin to grow. I have made your dull sticks true weapons of destruction.”
“Can this be done with my horns?” he asked with a terrifying intensity.
“Would you allow my magic to coat you so?”
“I have been coated with many things, hag or otherwise. Any advantage in the coming battle might be the difference between life and death for both of us.”
She moved to his side, rising on her knees, with her hands still wet with the poisonous mixture. She reached for his horns, but he caught her wrists midway. He snared her with his dark glare, squeezing her wrists almost to the point of pain, stopping just before her magic triggered. A lick of smoke trailed out of his nostrils and she tried to draw her hands out of his grip.
“I mean you no harm,” she said.
“You should mean all the harm in the world.”
She remained calm, unnerved by his sudden intensity. He released her wrists, and she brought them to her chest, rubbing the feel of his warmth off her, as if she could rub away the many things he made her feel—fear, uncertainty, pain, as well as desire, safety, and just a sliver—a will-o-wisp sliver of hope.
Calavia picked up the edge of one of the linens beneath her and lifted it to his horns. His gaze followed her every movement.
She pressed it to the tip of one of his horns and slowly worked her way down to where it was rooted into his skull. The cloth in her hand slipped across its smooth, rigid surface with a silken ease that surprised her, and as she continued to clean and polish the surface, Astegur’s head lowered.
When she pulled away to move to the other horn, a humming vibration met her ears. She tilted her head and studied his hunched form with curiosity. “What does it feel like?” Her hand rounded the thick base this time and she worked her way from the base to the tip instead. Heat pooled between her legs as she imagined cleaning and polishing a different appendage of his.
“It feels good.”
She hummed with him in response, finding his lack of description amusing, and her reaction to handling him in such a way pleasant. His horns were deadly weapons used to gore and stab at an enemy’s weakness. She dropped the linen she held and pinched one of his sharpened tips with her fingers.
Astegur shook his head slightly from side-to-side as his growling purr became louder. Calavia hid her smile as she coated her fingers with the waxen mixture. With careful precision, and using just enough to not make a mess, she coated his already dangerous horns with her additional protection and poison.
Once she was finished, she sat back slowly, moved her legs under her, and pressed her heel hard against the warmth of her sex. Astegur’s purring stopped shortly after, and he raised his head.
Something happened then—a heated stare, a tickling of awareness across her skin, a bloom of musk and sweat and earthy herbs. A blush rushed up her body. She inhaled deeply. He did the same, but when he exhaled, it was with more of his steam. His eyes were no longer dark or demonic, but they were something else, something she couldn’t quite put her finger on, and it made her nervous, made her sex leak anew.
Calavia breathed in his smoke; it pooled down in her own stomach and settled hot and heavy. Heavy? She narrowed her eyes and looked down at her belly, placing her hand atop it again.
Astegur settled his hand over hers and pulled it away, pushing her down on the linens in the process. “That is the second time you have put your hand there this night. Are you hurt?”
“You gave me your seed,” she whispered.
His eyes shot to hers, inflamed with the light of the fire. “Do you seek more?”
“I feel heavy… I may be with child?” She did not know for certain, only that mating resulted in children. Her mother often spoke of the act as a terrible thing, having devoted her life to the sun, and had tried to make her fear it due to her own experience. But terrible was not what Calavia would describe what she felt with Astegur…
Suddenly, he snatched his hand away from her and rose up, a snarl on his lips. Her brow furrowed when steam poured from his nostrils, and he turned away.
“Are you upset?” she asked, standing with him.
He sheathed his weapon and grabbed the wood and stakes. Her confusion grew as he stormed toward the exit. He stopped right before he entered the shadows.
“War is coming. Whether you’re heavy or not, it does not matter, and there is much to do before the centaurs arrive. I suggest you rest while you can. I know human eyes cannot see through the dark.” Then he was gone.
She stood still, startled before the hearth.
Calavia didn’t know how long she stood there, listening to the heavy clops of him moving away, of the sounds of her thralls working beyond her sight, but she brought her hand back to her stomach, her emotions moving in and out of her as the mist was inhaled and exhaled.
He’s right. It does not matter. Yet, it mattered more than anything.
She reached for one of the candles and lit it, unable to expel the thoughts from her head.
It was time to find her mother.
* * *
Once she was certain Astegur was gone, Calavia began her search. She checked every shadowed corner, every cubby and broken hole in the walls, and under the thickest patches of vilevines—which she was careful not to anger—as she entered each room. Her candle pushed back the darkness, but only a little, and without her humanity out in the open, the mist remained fairly thick around her person.
With every room she searched, every corner she unearthed, it became apparent that her mother was not hidden anywhere in the temple. And as her frustration and unease grew, knowing that she needed her mother’s protection to keep her secrets buried, Calavia realized that her mother was somewhere outside, beyond Astegur and his watchful gaze.
She gave up her search and made her way through the main corridor toward the old bath to wash herself. Just as she stepped into the room, a figure emerged out of the shadows and rushed by her side, throwing her deeper into the room.
“Mother?” she called out startled, dropping her candle and stumbling forward, trying to catch herself. Her foot caught against something along the ground. She fell face-first into the water with a great splash.
Water enclosed around her, shocking her into action. She flapped her arms and pressed her foot down to touch the muddy bottom, thrusting herself upward. With a deep inhalation of air, she sputtered and coughed, opening her eyes.
A terrible darkness filled them.
She
felt around for the edge and pulled herself up, bending over and hacking out the rest of the water she’d accidentally swallowed. Minutes passed by as she struggled to catch her breath and reassure herself that she was fine. She pressed a hand to her chest where her heart pounded hard beneath her palm.
When she began to calm, she lowered her hands and searched for her candle. But instead of her candle, she found the thing that had tripped her—a growth of reeds that had sprouted out from the side of the pool.
The reeds…
An idea formed.
Chapter Eleven
The night dragged on, and the work was grueling. Astegur had left Calavia many hours before, and he itched to return to her, speak with her, and taste her body. But her talk about carrying a child stalled him. Her body could very well be using his seed now, warming it inside her cunt and creating a bull.
A child.
He could not think of it without glee, without uneasiness. He did not think mating her would bring such a gift, because a minotaur child had not been brought into the world since his younger brothers, Hinekur and Thyrius, were born. Though back then, Astegur had been far too young to realize their miracle...albeit a final one.
There had been no children born in his previous tribe since. It was something he never had to worry about with a female minos before.
But there was no way of knowing for sure, not for quite some time, and so he worked the long night away and exorcised the thoughts from his skull.
He worked his blade to a dull point, whittling old, wet wood to an edge that it did not want to make. He watched the pile grow substantially as the mist around him lightened with dawn. One stick became two rotten boards, and from there any piece that was long enough to be positioned upright in the mud was shaped into a point. The thralls, in their wet rags and undead-like demeanor, did the same.
There will not be enough.
He knew that from the beginning, but still hoped for more. If his brother Vedikus were here, he would tell him that hope was futile. Still, each piece that was made could fell a centaur galloping through, especially if they were hidden within the reeds where the swamp waters were deeper.
He heard Calavia’s soft footfalls long before she appeared behind him. He turned to face her. She was carrying a large pot of melted wax in her arms. She set it down beside him and sat on the other side, her face scrunched up in an expression he could not read. Determination? Sadness? Fear? All of the above? He glowered, put his whittled stake to the side, and picked up another.
As he worked, he watched her out of the corner of his eye. She would retrieve one of the stakes and with careful deliberation, scoop wax from the pot in her hands and coat the wood, much like she had done with his horns.
His body went tense at the thought. He began to envy the wood she moved between her skillful palms.
She did the same for every sharpened stake, and as the day lengthened in silence, his body continued to prime with each stroke of her hands along the wood. Astegur grumbled to himself and did his best to banish the thoughts.
By midday, she left him, and he forced himself not to follow her, find her, and drag her back by her hair and force her to her knees by his side. But right when he was about to do just that, she returned again with another pot of wax, sitting beside him.
“You will not have much wax left if you cover everything with it,” he said, breaking the silence.
“I know,” she mumbled.
He canted his head. “Don’t you need it?”
She refused to look at him. “I need it to help us. Not stay gathered where it is of no use…”
“And when it is all gone?”
“I will figure something out.”
Astegur hummed and set aside his wood and hefted one of the waxen stakes that Calavia had covered while they spoke. Try as he might, he could not scrape the wax off, and when he tested the sharp end, it would not break.
He grunted in approval. She was useful, more so than he ever thought a human without pure blood could be, even though he had realized her power had been honed for defense, not offense. Only the most powerful of beings, like his mother had been, could do more with magic than rituals and incantations, divinations and imbuing. He did not think Calavia had the skill to strike out if she were cornered.
That did not sit well with him. His grip tightened on the stake.
Filled with my seed. Pregnant with my spawn. In his sudden need to rut her and make her submit to his will, he did not think of the aftermath, only his need to exact his rule over her. To reclaim authority. His tail slapped the fallen stone boulder he sat upon. I had not thought about what would happen to my seed once it was within her. His only thoughts had been getting it inside her.
Some sinister, evil part of him, deep inside the pit of his black soul, liked the idea that she was using up the remainder of her wax. With her affinity gone—which he was beginning to truly believe was tied to her power—he could enslave her. Maybe. His aching prick liked the idea.
He put the waxen stake aside and palmed his face, only to smell her upon his hand. It made his shaft chafe uncomfortably against his loincloth.
My brothers will not accept one such as her into the tribe. Astegur knew they would see her as they saw their mother, and fear her just the same. The only difference that mattered though was that unlike his mother, Calavia’s blood was tainted, and could not offer the strength of it to him or to his brothers.
He barely trusted her himself.
Astegur stood and gathered the readied stakes in his arms and began to strategically place them upon the raised paths throughout the settlement. He dug with his hands and ensured they would remain upright and at an angle, all pointing away from the central temple. He made sure the centaurs would see them and be forced into the deeper waters if they wanted to avoid them.
The labor didn’t ease as hours passed. He only returned to the temple to retrieve more of the stakes. But each time he did so, Calavia was there, and she would flood his skull with devious thoughts.
Once the last of the stakes were placed, darkness had descended around him, and instead of finding the hag and using her hurting body again, he went to scout the perimeter. Each step away from where Calavia rested pained his hooves.
He stopped short when he came upon the broken hut that stored his belongings. Inside, with violent energy and desire lacing his veins, he shed his leathers and gripped his bull’s cock. It was too big for his hand, but he rubbed it vigorously, joyfully, thinking of Calavia’s tiny quim being forced to stretch around it, smelling Calavia’s tasty, citrus scent all the while.
He came hard across the mossy stone at his hooves. Steam rose from his parted lips.
With the sweat on his body, and his cock’s seed covering his hand, he stormed back out into the swamp and cleaned himself with the undisturbed waters nearby.
Feeling more in control of himself than he had in days, Astegur returned to his broken-down hut and settled down for the night, alone, away from the damned hag who muddled his mind.
The next morning, after he finished scouting the perimeter and checking on the stakes he had placed, a shucking noise caught his attention.
It was coming from beside the temple, and although he was not ready to face the hag or her thralls again so soon, he came across a dozen of them cutting the reeds lining the side of the building.
Confused, he watched them for a while as they filled their arms with the long stalks and brought them back to where a pile of stakes rested. Calavia was where he’d left her, now braiding the reeds and tying them together with the help of the thralls. And as the first airy purple mottled glow of the clouds covered them, he went back to her side.
“What are you doing now?” he growled.
She finally looked up at him, and he noticed the exhaustion on her face. Had she not slept? A wave of anger hit him but he tempered his reaction before she noticed. I am not her keeper. He snarled to himself.
“We finished the stakes. I ordered them
to bring me reeds and help me braid them,” she said.
“For what reason?”
“I can coat them with my wax, much like the stakes, and make them unbreakable. We can tie them between the stakes and the houses and trip the centaurs who are not paying attention. We can even hide them in the water at our feet.”
Impressed, he took the braided reeds from her hands and tested them between his hands. They pulled taut but did not snap, nor did they when he breathed his flames heavily upon them. They held.
“Cunning hag,” he said, handing the makeshift rope back to her. “We will tie them below the foliage line where they cannot see them, and when our four-legged enemies come to slay us, they will be forced off the paths by the stakes, only to trip and stumble on shaky legs in the muck. I can hear their bones snap even now.”
Calavia’s eyes widened at his words, and he unconsciously puffed out his chest and enlarged his muscles at her perusal, but stopped when he realized what he was doing.
She is not a mistfucking female minotaur sizing up a potential bed partner.
“It will work,” she said, still staring at him.
“Yes.” With his frustration returning, and his aching cock priming once again, he grabbed a fistful of her hair and forced her to her feet. “Now sleep.” He jerked her around to face the temple and shoved her toward it.
She stumbled once but caught herself before he grabbed her again. She turned halfway back to him, meeting his eyes once more, and nodded. Astegur watched her disappear into the shadows. His thoughts shifted.
There had always been the option of hiding until the centaurs broke through, allowing them to take her while he made his escape to the mountain pass, but now, he could not imagine fleeing to warn his brothers and rallying for war without her.
He looked down at the reeds at his hooves and the almost-empty pot of wax. He knelt where she had just been and continued her work, as the thralls did the same around him.
