A Token's Worth (Spawn of Darkness Book 1)

by S. A. Parker

  “No,” Drake snaps.

  I turn my attention to him. He’s all up in my personal space and needs to take a step the fuck back, because he can’t do anything. Which means I’m still a free woman.

  “Boom, bitches,” I say, dropping an imaginary sound amplifier. My entire crowd are having simultaneous orgasms, and I applaud them for living their best lives in the light of this glorious moment.

  The men hiss at me as I snatch Kal’s lantern and saunter towards the brass door with as much hip sway as I can muster. But when I reach the door I peer back over my shoulder at them. “Don’t come through here,” I say, all humour gone from my voice. “I’m not telling, I’m asking. This is a private place. I’ll only be a moment.”

  Not only that, even with the door closed I can scent those seven years I spent in there seeping through the grate in the door. I was hoping to avoid bringing anyone else down here … but my gods are disobedient bastards who can’t take a hint.

  To my surprise, they don’t argue. Instead, I receive two clipped nods from two tight jawed Fae Gods who are eyeing me like I’m the candy their mummy told them they couldn’t have until after dinner time. It’s kind of correct, except they must work their way off my shit list before they can lick me all over. My vagina’s purring at the prospect, especially because my Fae Gods are all obedient right now, but I ignore her because she’s got a dirty mind and it’s distracting.

  I crank the handle of the door, the brass biting cold in my palm, and shove it open. It’s a heavy door, with only a two-foot square grate for me to catch a peep through, though at such a young age I was too small to reach it. Once I grew tall enough, imagine my disappointment when I realised it was so fucking dark in the catchment room, I couldn’t see anything anyway. Yeah, that shit will break your spirit more than most other forms of torture.

  My body goes hot all over as I step into the gloom, into the lingering stench of all the fuckery this room has seen. I draw a deep breath of coppery, stagnant air to still my heart that’s beating faster than a man with his cock in his hand, before I turn and push the door—not so it closes, just so I have some motherfucking privacy.

  The men are shuffling around outside, but I ignore them. They can surely take care of themselves. I mean hell, the goddamn sun made them after all.

  I pan my lantern and my vision around the room, past the small iron bed bolted to the ground. How the fuck didn’t I catch something deadly sleeping on that half rotten mattress all those years? Actually, I guess I did ... my mind’s probably more rotten than the mattress.

  My artistries are carved into the walls, large and small images of my mother, dug into the stone using the edge of my metal spoon via the meagre lantern light post meal times. It was hard when she never really looked like a person, but it was her essence that I drew.

  And that’s it, that’s all there is. Apart from my chamber pot over there. My little four by four, a place I could scream as loud as I was able, and nobody would hear me. Or perhaps they did hear me, and just never came.

  I walk to the bed, ignoring the numerous blood stains splattered across the floor. They always give me the creeps. Crouching, I push myself beneath the bed, catching an unexpected whiff of dust and sneezing so hard I’m not entirely certain my panties are still dry, knocking my chin on the stone floor in the process. “Ow!” Fucking dust. I’ll smite you, little fuckers.

  “Everything all right in there?” Drake asks. His voice sounds like an adolescent boy with pitch problems for some reason. Now I’m picturing him as a sexy teenager with that mass of golden curls and enough raging hormones to fuck me into a coma. Is that bad? Probably. Though I’m talking very, very late teens here. I’m no sicko. I wonder if his penis is the size of Aero’s?

  Wow, that was a roller coaster. Now my vaginas distracted from the task at hand and it’s an effort to rein the bitch in. I haven’t had any time alone with her lately, perhaps that’s her problem. I make note to make a date with my wayward vagina, who’s obviously crying out for attention.

  “Dell?” Drake whisper-yells through the grate, and the sound jolts me out of my mind funk.

  “I’m fine!” I whisper-yell back. “Overbearing Fae bastard,” I mumble, noting the blood dripping from my chin. I wipe it away, frowning at the smear on the back of my hand. Another fucking scar.

  I finger around the edges of the large, heavy brick, the one with bloody hearts painted on it. Why hearts, you ask? Fuck knows, I’m not sentimental like that. They were just fun to draw when I got bored one day.

  Wedging it free, I lift it from the ground, difficult from such a shitty vantage point. Once it’s out of the way, I reach inside the exposed cavity I dug out many years ago. I needed somewhere to hide my bits, the ones that were hidden in the pockets of my cape when Kroe found me that day. I couldn’t leave them behind … as well as everything else.

  My hand clamps around my wooden box, the one Marion gave me when she snuck me some herbs to chew that were supposed to ward off the sickness of the dark. I didn’t die so I guess they worked. I pull the box out and sigh with relief.

  I got it. I fucking got it.

  My hands itch to rifle through the contents, to see those parts of myself again.

  “If you don’t come out of there soon, I’m going to drag you out by your fucking ankles,” Drake hisses through the grate.

  I huff loudly and shuffle backwards out from under the bed, bum in the air. If they wanted to, they could come in, pull the door shut, hoist my skirt up over my hips and take me right now. Easily. In fact, they’ve had plenty of opportunities. The fact that they haven’t taken them makes me simultaneously dubious of them and want to fuck them senseless. And that’s me talking, not my vagina. I’m not sure what to think of men who don’t trip into my vagina, penis first, if given the opportunity.

  I clamber up, wiping at my dripping chin and ignoring the two pairs of hooded eyes watching me through the grate. Creepy. The door swings open for me and I step out, handing Kal the lantern and placing the box in my large pocket. I now have two boxes in my skirt that need tending to. I’m going to be a busy girl.

  “Did you get what you came for?” Drake drawls, like I’m inconveniencing him with my presence. Fucker.

  “Yes, I did. And now I’m going to find a dark little corner where I can finger my bits.”

  Kal quirks a brow and Drake takes a step closer. I wave the immature bastards away.

  “Not my lady bits, get your minds out of the gutter.”

  I walk towards the ladder but a large hand wraps around my elbow, instantly halting me. I scowl over my shoulder and follow the arm back to Drake, who smirks at me.

  “Not so easy, Dell. You’re staying right here until that fucking hour is up.”

  “Like fuck.”

  They growl at me, like dogs. Cute. It doesn’t frighten me at all right now, because they’re all bark and no potential for bite until my well-earned hour is up. And even then, they can’t do anything if I’m in the presence of even one regular city folk, unless they want to die, because they’re warded not to draw attention to their rebellious ways.

  My terms now, fuckers. Oh, how the tables have turned.

  I whip my arm from his grasp.

  Drake’s all about control, I think. This must be a real struggle for him, wanting to have his way but being completely powerless to stop me from walking out like a boss. Which is what I’m about to do, because I’ve had enough of this place. Now that I have my things, I’m done. I won’t be back.

  I throw Drake a wink and saunter up the ladder. I must be mad, nobody else would dare to piss off a god they’re all out of wishes with. The odds are not in my favour because he still has one of his own, and I’m best to just avoid Drake’s company altogether, especially since my vagina’s still reeling from his nearly orgasmic pleasure play the other day.

  Speaking of which, best not remind him of that. I probably have about seventeen or so minutes left on my current wish ticker—once that runs out, and
he gets me alone, Drake will probably fuck me right up. And down. And up again. I’ll probably even enjoy it because I’m a psychological mess with a wayward vagina.

  A hand grasps around my ankle and I’m thrown into a sea of white, before we emerge right in another fucking piss puddle in the alleyway outside Kroe’s. Kal and Drake are on either side of me, but I note they’ve magically avoided the golden puddle I’m currently ankle-deep in. They glance at my feet with twin smirks I want to smack off their perfect fucking faces. Arseholes.

  “Why the shit did you land me in piss?”

  Drake shrugs. “Someone was shifting stuff from the storage room, so it wasn’t safe for you to exit through the trapdoor. Figured if we landed you in piss nobody would want to touch you even if you walk through the centre of town for the next fifteen minutes.” He takes a whiff of me, scrunches his nose, then takes a step backwards. Kal does the same. “Seems it worked.”

  Here I was thinking I was in the company of men with thousands of years worth of accumulated immortal grace. Obviously, I was mistaken.

  “I’m going back to the meadow,” I state, turning to start the back way around the building so I can collect my robe and pillow. “Unless you want to draw attention to yourselves, I would stay the fuck back. Just saying.” I have fourteen more minutes of supposed pregnant freedom, then the bastards will probably do everything in their power to get me away from any crowds so they can zap me out of here. I’m going to make the most of it while I can.

  They follow me, upwind, probably because I smell like a dirty toilet, around to the alley on the other side of the building where I proceed to wrap my cape around my shoulders then stuff the pillow down my blouse—adjusting it so it looks believable.

  “What’s that?” Kal asks, a hint of amusement in his voice.

  “It’s a fantastic fucking disguise, that’s what it is,” I say with conviction, staring down my nose while primping the folds of red velvet coating my rounded belly. I glance up and catch Drake scratching at his chin with his thumb and forefinger, studying me. “What’s your problem?”

  He shrugs. “I’m just thinking we may need to roll you in more piss now that you have an extra layer on.”

  I glare at him. If he’s not careful, even my vagina’s going to decide his penis isn’t worth the effort. I turn and walk down the alley before he thinks too hard on the piss topic, though. I wouldn’t put it past them to whip down their trousers and pee all over me like dogs marking their territory.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Grueling’s quiet at the arse crack of dawn. Most of the time. Except when there’s some sort of public punishment planned, then the square teems with people, all frothing for the carnage about to unfold.

  I’ve been the one on that dais before. The one in the middle of the square over there, about two and a half meters high and currently surrounded by people, men and women both. The dais is made of wood—unfortunate because wood absorbs blood. No matter how much that fucker gets scrubbed, the stains of the whipped and brutalised will never fully fade.

  My blood’s on there, from more than one occasion.

  Most people with more than one strike against their name lose their head. I think my affiliation with Kroe has granted me more leeway than most. I have the scars to show for it.

  It’s not me up there today though. It’s some fresh-faced, petite, mousey haired girl I’ve never seen before that’s suspended between two men by her spindly arms. She’s young, too young, and she looks frightened.

  Is that …? Yes. It’s Kroe’s mark on her motherfucking palm, raised and angry red, as if she was branded recently. She’s probably the latest recruit to fill the void left by me while I’ve been gorging myself on freedom, comfortable beds, and sexy High Fae Gods.

  Fuck.

  Internal moral dilemma right there.

  She’s like a poster girl for degradation, pleading straight to my vulnerable righteous side that I’ve spent the last number of years repressing. And it’s hurting. It’s hurting like a motherfucker.

  Her eyes trail the man walking back and forth before her, testing the air with a fucking cat o’ nine tails whip, making a loud snapping sound. I haven’t had that one before, it looks like a nasty bastard.

  She’s whimpering, leaking fluids left, right and centre. Tears, snot, spit … there’s even something wet pooling down the front of her skirt. Poor girl, I pissed myself the first time too.

  I look around for Kroe, whose nowhere to be seen. Bastard sent her to the whipping post, probably for crying during sex with a customer or some shit and doesn’t even have the decency to watch. Arsehole.

  I see Kal and Drake hidden in the shadows of a two-story building, away from the assaulting morning light, hooded capes pulled over their faces. Not sure where the fuck they acquired them from. Drake signals for me to sink into the shadows of the building I’m standing by, and I do so, only so they’ll stop fucking focusing on me and give me space to think, because my head’s in a jumble right now.

  One of the fucktards on the dais tugs the girl’s skirt off her frail body, before roughly untying her corset, exposing what little bust she has.

  A thick swell of nausea rolls over me, because her panties are drenched in blood, which is now dribbling down the front of her thighs. I think she’s just had the fucking spoon treatment, and she’s obviously torn her stitches from all the struggling she’s been doing. They rip her underwear from her body and my suspicions are confirmed.

  Fuck this.

  I’m taking my cape off and removing my fake fucking pregnancy before I can take my next breath or even consider a game plan, because beneath the surface I’m a repressed impulsive bitch.

  I move forward swiftly, landing myself amongst a small group of women, because I have a goddamn box in my skirt pocket that’s weighing heavily on my conscience, and I can’t take that to the fucking dais with me.

  ‘Aero?’ I think-yell.

  A second later he’s there, appearing before me and making the women about me gasp. Yes, ladies—I know he’s pretty. Keep it in your panties. I may not want that oversized penis inside my vagina right now, but I’m not too thrilled about the idea of it being nestled in any of theirs, either.

  But his eyes are black, and a few of the women have the good mind to take a few steps back. They know who he is, even if the Sun Gods are elusive. We all do, and as far as these women are aware, he’s as much to blame for our lifestyles as the Lord Almighty is. Right now, he certainly fucking looks the part.

  I know why, too. He’s been listening to my internal dialogue. He’s pissed. But our very own Lord Almighty, King of the World has warded the Sun Gods against doing anything publicly that could spark a rebellion.

  It would kill them.

  Aero can’t do anything to stop me. He certainly can’t take me away amidst a crowd of people, whether I have time left on my one-hour wish ticker or not. They wouldn’t risk their lives, the sun cycle, for the likes of a single Lesser Fae, because that would be risking the lives of every other being on this world.

  And that’s not them.

  They’re more than that.

  They’re bigger than that.

  They have to be.

  Aero lets out a low rumble as his canines lengthen, and I know I’m right.

  ‘I’m sorry, Aero. I’m not doing this to hurt you …’

  He looks positively sinister, like the master of pain these women probably suspect him to be. But he held me when I almost froze to death and didn’t once try and prod me with his giant penis without my permission.

  He’s growling louder, and a few men are starting to take notice—mumbling about the God of Dawn making an appearance in Grueling. That our town’s blessed or some shit. Fucking idiots. No god in their right mind would bless this piss smeared shit hole.

  Some of the girls are looking my way, noting Aero’s attention on me no doubt and probably feeling sorry for me. They shouldn’t. Not now, anyway. Though that’s about to change.


  I finger my box. The one in my pocket, perverts, not my actual box. But that does need a good fingering too, which will have to wait until I’m done being a crazy impulsive bitch.

  One of the fucktards on the dais announces the girl’s sins. Apparently she did cry during sex with a customer at the establishment, and now I’m really fucking livid.

  But my box needs to be kept safe from prying eyes.

  I pull it from my pocket, dip my body low, and place it on the ground beneath my skirt, then slowly rise. I’m not sure if Aero’s listening, he’s a goddamn god after all, and his attention seems to be split between me, the crowd, and the dais right now. But yeah, I give it a red-hot crack anyway.

  ‘I wish for you to hide this box, to not show Kal, Sol, or Drake its contents, and to not look in there yourself. Do you understand?’ I say this in my mind, because the God of Dawn can’t be seen to be fraternising with vermin such as myself.

  His eyes widen, and now all of his attention is on me. Fists clenched, nostrils flared. The muscles on his forearms tense and coil.

  A warm wave washes over my skin, though he doesn’t respond, just looks at me with that penetrating glare. I take three steps towards him, towards the dais at his back.

  “What the fuck are you doing?” he whisper-yells to me when I pass.

  What am I doing? Good question.

  “Remembering who I am,” I murmur, as I storm towards the dais like a badass bitch with an agenda. I can’t stand by and watch this shit. Especially when this shit is my goddamn fault.

  Surprisingly, the crowd parts for me, leaving a trail of murmurs in my wake. Most of them likely know me, have seen some of the scenes I’ve started in the past, and are probably hoping they get to see me naked and brutalised again while they pump their little chodes. Sickos. I make it to the steps, just as the bastard with the whip prepares to crack it across the girl’s front.

  “Stop! Give me her punishment!” I yell, which earns me a gasp from the crowd because women aren’t allowed to speak out of turn. Though I doubt this crowd will celebrate me with simultaneous orgasms. I wish they would, the world would be a much happier place if all the men focused more on their sex game and less on brutalising women.