by Sarah Hawke
Rohen couldn’t help but moan when she began stroking his shaft. The sight of a young, attractive woman squatting on her heels and staring adoringly at his cock was almost enough to make him ignore the fact she could castrate him in a split second if she so desired. Her claws definitely weren’t just for show—he had seen her slash open flesh with them many times over the years.
“Last time we met, you needed four confessionals before you were properly cleansed,” Jess said. “Then another two in the morning, if I recall correctly.”
“Three,” Rohen corrected without thinking.
“Ah, that’s right,” she said, grinning as she began stroking him harder. “Well, we had best get started early, then.”
Jess leaned forward and lathered his thick, throbbing tip with her tongue. The heat of her slick, sweeping touch sent a shock through his entire body, and he moaned in delight as he reached down and feathered his gloved fingers through her long mane of dyed white hair. She really was quite beautiful.
It was a shame that she was also insane.
“Mmm,” she moaned as she dragged her tongue along the underside of his shaft. “I can already taste the wickedness upon you…”
Jess’s mouth opened just wide enough to swallow the tip. The wetness of her lips and the heat of her breath sent another thrill cascading through Rohen, and he couldn’t help but stare down into her piercing gaze. Despite the fact she was crouched in front of him with his cock in her mouth, she didn’t look the least bit submissive—she was in complete and total control here, and she knew it.
Rohen groaned and clutched a handful of her hair as she took him in deep enough that he slid past her tonsils and into her throat. He had no idea how she could take his full length so effortlessly, and he had almost forgotten just how hot and tight her mouth could be. After holding him inside her for several excruciating seconds, she eventually pulled back and smiled as she caught her breath.
“Your corruption is buried deep today,” Jess said, stroking him with her hand again. “The first batch usually flows right out of you.”
“I have faith in you, priestess,” Rohen breathed. “If it’s in there, I’m sure you’ll find a way to exorcise it.”
She snickered as she swallowed him again. This time, there was no stopping her: she began bobbing up and down on his cock, taking him in and out of her throat as if her mouth were a cunt. He could see from the almost feral glint in her eyes that she was determined to drain every drop of corruption right out of him. And if there was one universal truth about Jessara Kraythe, it was that she always got her way.
“By the…here it comes!” Rohen blurted out.
She didn’t need the warning, of course. She was still staring right up at him, perfectly balanced on her heels as his manhood plunged between her ruby lips. Her eyes glimmered in anticipation of finally receiving her reward…
And Rohen gave it to her. His first salvo blasted the back of her throat so hard he couldn’t believe she didn’t gag, and he pumped her mouth so full her lips couldn’t hold their seal for long. By the time he finished, his pearly seed was dribbling down her chin and onto her neck.
“Maiden’s mercy,” Jess breathed after she had swallowed everything she could. “You were even more corrupted than I feared!”
Rohen stumbled back against the wall as he tried to catch his breath. “Well, like you said,” he rasped, “I haven’t been able to confess my sins in a while.”
“Thank the gods you came to me when you did,” she teased, gathering a strand of seed and then seductively licking it from the tip of her finger-claw. “At this rate, it may take more than one night to purify you.”
“You…you may be right.”
Jess smiled giddily at his lack of breath, and she began stroking him with her thumb and forefinger again. His stem was so sensitive that the cold metal made him gasp.
“You aren’t even wilting,” she said, eyeing his manhood as if it were a rare, precious meal. “You really did miss me, didn’t you?”
“More than you know.”
Giggling softly, she took the head and shaft into her mouth once more. Rohen moaned again, unable to resist the warm, velvety embrace of her lips, and he started to wonder if she might try and drain him again right now. It wouldn’t have been the first time she got a little overzealous during one of their reunions…
“So sinful, yet so beautiful,” Jess breathed as she dragged the tip of her tongue across the length of his shaft. “I may have to try some new techniques when I get back.”
She kissed the tip one final time, her eyes glinting hungrily, before she finally stood. She then clutched his cock in her cold gauntlet and snickered when he gasped.
“We have a lot of work to do,” she told him. “I’ll be back in a few minutes.”
“That’s…that’s good,” Rohen told her.
Jess kissed him on the lips again, but then her smile turned dark. “I expect you to be stripped and waiting for me when I return. Remember: you have no secrets from the Sanctori.”
She allowed the playful threat to hang in the air for a moment before she finally released his cock and turned to the door. Looking back as she opened it, she licked her lips and offered him a wink before she closed it behind her, at which point Rohen slumped forward and let out a long, deep breath.
This was bad. Really, really bad. He would rather fight his way through half the Keepers in the Spire than try to hide the truth from Jess. She wasn’t a woman so much as a force of nature. He couldn’t afford to get trapped in here with her—that was one thing he knew for certain. The only question was how he was going to leave.
“Well, I better figure something out,” he hissed as he stuffed himself back into his trousers and reached for his armor. “Because it’s now or never.”
Interlude
“Look at them all, turning on each other like hounds fighting for scraps,” Inaril said, scowling beneath the shadows of his hood. “They have no idea the storm that’s coming for them.”
“They know their king is dead,” Yria replied. “They’re scared, and with good reason.”
She could feel his eyes on the side of her face even without turning. He had never been one to hide his contempt for humans even in the best of times, but traveling across the frozen wastes of Torisval for the last two days had made him even more irritated—and more irritating—than normal.
“They do not deserve your pity, girl,” Inaril said. “Given the chance, the Tel Bator would burn the Moonweald to ash and lock every ‘pale-blood’ in Gûl Ostaraad.”
“These people aren’t the Tel Bator,” Yria protested. “They’re farmers and merchants and midwives who are as terrified of another civil war as they are about the Chol.”
“Their fears are not our concern. We aren’t here to defend the humans from their own stupidity.”
Yria sighed as she panned her green eyes across the length of the town. Tor’s Crossing was the last major settlement at the southern edge of Torisval, and she and Inaril had a bird’s-eye view from up here on the rooftops. Despite the fact the sun was blazing brightly in the afternoon sky, none of the locals were even aware they were being watched. Her magic shrouded them from prying eyes as completely as if it were the middle of the night.
“Come, it is time to leave,” Inaril said after a moment. “The Queen is expecting us.”
Yria shook her head. “I’m not going back until I find Rohen.”
“He is not here. You don’t even know if he is still alive.”
“He’s alive,” she insisted. “You heard what the locals said—a man in Templar armor stayed here last night and left this afternoon.”
“That could have been any Templar.”
“Perhaps, but there’s one way to find out.” Yria pointed to an old, battered inn a few blocks away. “You’ve seen the reports. The Tel Bator have an operative here. If a Templar was here in the town, she’ll know.”
“And you honestly expect her to speak with us?”
; “Not without proper motivation.”
Inaril groaned. “Whatever you’re thinking, girl, forget it. We are not here to provoke the humans.”
“We’re here to get information, and that’s exactly what I’m going to do,” Yria said. “If you don’t want to help, feel free to return to the Weald. I can handle this on my own.”
“No, you clearly cannot,” Inaril said. “Just because Her Majesty made you a Ven’Tira doesn’t mean your training is over. I was thrice your age when I—”
“Yes, I’ve heard the story a dozen times by now,” Yria growled. “You spent forty years training with skills I learned in two. Maybe that doesn’t make you wise—maybe it just makes you slow.”
She regretted saying the words the instant they left her mouth. Inaril grabbed her shoulder, and his gloved fingers dug into her arm as he twisted her around to look him in the eye.
“Insolent thin-blood,” he snarled. “I told the Queen you weren’t ready for this!”
“It’s a good thing she’s the one in charge then, isn’t it?” Yria said, yanking her sinewy arm from his grip. “You know who I am, and more importantly, you know what I am. I don’t need your help to do my job. If you want to go back and tell the Queen that I’m an impatient fool, go right ahead.”
Inaril’s lip twisted. “This is precisely why the Scryers told her to be careful about your kind—and why the Sarodihm continue to gain support by the day! Your gifts have made you arrogant.”
“Maybe,” Yria said. “But I’m going to find my brother, and there’s nothing you can do to stop me.”
After dashing along the sloped roof, Yria leapt down into an adjacent alleyway. The magic concealing her faded as she moved, but she assumed a normal gait when she emerged on the street and strode toward the inn. She knew that Inaril wouldn’t follow—he had been looking for an excuse to return home ever since they had left Whitefeather Hold, and she could already imagine his smug smile when he told Queen Malareth about her disobedience.
But none of that would matter as long as she brought Rohen home. She had never even met him before, yet she instinctively knew that the currents of the Valayar must have finally begun drawing them together. And nothing—not the Chol, not her stubborn mentor, not even the Queen herself—could keep her from tracking him down.
The placard outside the inn read “The Deadly Duchess,” and the door was wide open. Given the panic in town, Yria wasn’t the least bit surprised when there was only a single table with two customers on the main floor. The scrawny owner immediately turned to face the newcomer.
“Good evening,” Yria said, switching to the human tongue as she slowly pulled back her hood. The instant her eyes and ears were visible, one of the human men at the nearby table gasped in shock.
“Your kind aren’t welcome here, pale-blood,” the innkeeper said, folding her arms. “An elf girl won’t find work in this town unless she’s down on her knees or lying on her back.”
The two burly men eating at the table shared a quick chortle, though Yria could see them reaching beneath the table for their weapons. They weren’t customers any more than the scrawny woman was an innkeeper.
“I’m not looking for work,” Yria said, casually plucking her bow from her back. “I’m looking for information, and I’m willing to pay for it.”
The innkeeper snorted softly as she eyed the elf’s weapon. “I hope you aren’t planning on using that.”
Yria forced a smile as she propped the bow upright on the floor almost as if it were a staff. “I told you, I just want information. I’m not here to fight.”
“Don’t make Brela repeat herself, pale-blood,” one of the men at the table said. When he stood, his hand was clasped around the handle of a sword hanging from his belt. “I suggest you leave while you still can.”
“A Templar stayed here last night and left sometime this afternoon,” Yria went on as if she hadn’t heard him. “I want to know where he was headed.”
“She said leave,” the second man said, hoisting a crossbow up onto the table. “How in the bloody void can you be deaf with ears like that?”
The innkeeper, Brela, grunted and held up a hand to hold them back. “No Templar has set foot in the Crossing for years, honey,” she said. “We aren’t that important.”
“Look, I don’t want to hurt him,” Yria said. “I need his help, that’s all. Every moonsilver coin in my pouch is yours if you just point me in the right direction.”
The human woman’s cheek twitched ever so slightly, and her dark eyes sized up the elf in front of her with the poise and precision of a professional spy. “Even if I believed you, I couldn’t help,” she said after a moment. “I don’t know anything about the Templar, here or anywhere else. Now, why don’t you turn around and head back to your forest, huh?”
Yria sighed. “I’m afraid I can’t take no for an answer. You are going to tell me what I want to know, one way or another.”
The man with the crossbow took aim. “I’ll pin you to the fucking wall if you so much as touch that quiver, elf.”
“Well, then,” Yria said as she slowly tilted her head to face him, “it’s a good thing I don’t need one.”
Before the man could move—before any of them could move—Yria dropped into a half crouch and touched the bowstring. A surge of magical energy crackled through the weapon’s rune-inscribed limbs, and an arrow made pure lightning appeared between her fingertips. She fired the bow with the tiniest twitch of her fingertips, but the arrow didn’t hit the crossbowman—it struck the leg of the table right behind him and buried itself in the wood before dissipating. Short, jagged bolts of energy arced out from the point of impact and shocked both men, paralyzing them in place for a fraction of a second before they slumped onto the floor like sacks of potatoes.
To her credit, the innkeeper didn’t panic. She merely backpedaled a step, her eyes wide at the sight of her unconscious thugs, before she turned her gaze back to the highborn elf rising in front of her.
“They’ll be fine in a few minutes, don’t worry,” Yria said, smiling as another crackling arrow materialized on her bowstring. “But right now, you and I are going to have a little chat.”
4
Old Friends
“Gods, I still can’t believe a haven like this exists,” Delaryn said as she stepped inside the isolated cabin. “Who built this place?”
“It is an old Ilwetharri ranger outpost,” Sehris said, shutting the door behind them. “The architecture and woodworking techniques are unmistakable.”
Delaryn snorted softly as she brushed the snow from the shoulders of her white cloak. “Unmistakable to you, maybe. Sometimes I think you take for granted how many books you’ve read.”
“I don’t take it for granted—I consider it a badge of pride.” Sehris smirked. She sauntered through the darkness over to the hearth, then placed her hand upon the smooth stone of the mantelpiece. A trio of orange runes flared to life at her touch, illuminating the entire lower floor like tiny magical lanterns.
“There are several other smaller cabins spread throughout the Deadwood and the hills surrounding Dragon’s Reach,” she went on. “The highborn must have abandoned them all when the Tel Bator took control of the Galespire few centuries ago.”
“You’re probably right,” Delaryn said. “I remember my father telling me about their retreat into the Moonweald. He said the Tel Bator made it impossible for men and elves to coexist.”
She shook her head in wonder as she stepped inside and examined the surprisingly spacious interior. The L-shaped cabin was easily large enough to be a tavern or a gambling den straight out of Silver Falls. The walls were spartan, for obvious reasons, but the shorter side of the “L” held two comfy-looking divans and a thick rug in front of the hearth. Across the room, the end of a large dining table with chairs was visible at the corner of where the longer side began.
“Who maintains this place?” Delaryn asked.
“Everyone who uses it,” Sehris said. “The Keepe
r who originally found and cleaned it up is named Ariston. I never heard the whole story, but according to rumor, she fell in love with one of the Seven back before the rebellion. After the Accord was signed, she kept this cabin maintained in a sort of protest. That’s how Zin and I learned about it.”
Delaryn glanced back over her shoulder just time to see a mournful shadow fall over the dark elf’s face. Sehris closed her eyes and visibly steeled herself.
“There’s a pile of wood out back,” she said. “I’ll find some kindling and get the fire going.”
Delaryn would have offered to help, but she knew her friend wanted a few moments to herself. Perhaps the two of them should have stayed in Tor’s Crossing after all. Everything in this cabin would probably just remind Sehris of Zin…
She’ll be all right. She’s always been strong—stronger than me, at least. Someone who endured the abuse she put up with in Silver Falls can survive anything.
Delaryn let out a long, slow breath as she strolled through the cabin. The air inside seemed almost supernaturally calm and peaceful, though it was probably just her imagination. She had felt incredibly exposed marching across the empty plains all day. Being indoors again was a surprising comfort.
Sehris didn’t take long to return with some wood and kindling, and once the fire was roaring, Delaryn took a few minutes to stand in front of the flames and bask in the heat. The dark elf tossed their furs over the back of the divan, then slowly began to loosen the straps of her black leather breastplate.
“We should have taken the time to buy you some clothes in Tor’s Crossing,” the dark elf said, eyeing her friend’s cropped blue bodice and translucent white skirt. “Though I doubt we could afford anything fancy enough for a queen.”
