Austine merely shrugged, but something about her was still tugging at Damon. He stood up from the counter and hurried after her, catching up an instant before she disappeared into one of the raucous, chanting crowds of Turning Festival night.
“I was simply explaining the nature of the situation,” said Damon. “If you’d given me a chance to finish before storming off, I would have pointed out that most visitors from outside the area also find it confusing.”
The woman stopped in the middle of the street, which was another sign of just how unused to Avaricia she was. Damon moved in close, letting his larger profile shield them from the surging crowd. He still wasn’t sure if she was going to slip away or not, so he risked asking the question he’d so far been unable to dismiss.
“Why were you watching me so closely during the fight?” he asked.
A tiny, mischievous smile played across the young woman’s exposed lips. Instead of answering with words, she reached out and took his hand, threading her fingers through his with far more intimacy than he would have thought appropriate.
“Do you have a room nearby?” she asked.
CHAPTER 3
The Gleaming Scythe had rented rooms for all its gladiators at the Window Glow Inn. Two of Damon’s friends, Alexio and Adam, were already milling about in the common room. Alexio whistled as Damon led the young woman in the cat mask by the bar and toward the stairs, and he did his best to not smile in response.
He felt her hand squeeze against his and knew without needing to be told that she was blushing under her mask. The feeling was mutual, to a point. His heart was pounding in his chest. It had been a while, longer than what he considered fair, since his last sexual encounter.
He felt a bit awkward as he led her into his humble rented room, trying to choose his words carefully. He was well aware of how easily she’d taken offense earlier and suspected that the risk of him doing it again and sabotaging a very fun night was rather higher than it seemed.
“What’s your name?” he asked, shutting the door slowly and ignoring the way it creaked.
“I’m not going to tell you that,” said the woman.
Damon smiled, letting his eyes settle on hers, noticing the way she grinned back at him as though she was winning at some invisible game.
“Will you take your mask off, then?” he asked.
“No,” she said. “It stays on.”
“Does the dress stay on, too?”
He closed the distance between them, letting his hand settle on one of her hips.
“Truly?” The young woman’s lips pulled together into a pout. “I won’t tell you my name, and I won’t take my mask off, and yet you’re still so eager to bed me?”
“Does that come as a surprise to you?” asked Damon. He was tempted to ask about how much experience she had with men to not understand the nature of their lust, but again, knew that it would risk offence.
“You don’t even know me,” she said.
He shifted his hand up, sliding it along her body until it cupped her chin, his thumb resting on the slight dimple he found there.
“That’s what I find so peculiar,” he whispered. “You seem… very familiar to me.”
The woman surprised him then, leaning forward to steal a quick, somewhat uncoordinated kiss. She spun around, pressing into him, reaching up and around with her fingers to undo the topmost of seven buttons along the back of her dress.
“Will you teach me one of the moves you used in the arena?” she whispered.
Damon undid the second button, feeling his cock hardening as the dress shifted and revealed a wider sliver of pale, nubile flesh.
“Those moves are dangerous,” he said. “Are you sure you’re up for it?”
“You can take on a lidaragis without flinching, but a young maiden in a cat mask is more than you can handle?”
There was a teasing edge to her voice. Damon undid the third button and took a commanding grip of her hips, grinding his bulge into her cute, soft butt. She let out a small, anticipatory smile and pressed back into him, a dry run of what was to come.
“The question is more about what you can handle,” he said. “You don’t seem like the type that’s… wielded many swords.”
“Try me,” she whispered.
He had a hundred times a hundred questions, particularly about why a young, seemingly well to do woman would be keeping such a loose grip on her own chastity. But those questions could be answered later. He pulled her dress down, letting it slowly, tantalizingly sink to the floor.
Damon almost groaned as he took in the sight of her body clad only in underwear. She wore a thin chemise of Merinian silk, white with red stiches, that covered her from chest to just below her buttocks, along with a pair of tiny girlshorts in matching color.
He pulled his shirt off, kicking off his boots and trousers in record time. She turned to look at him, her eyes blinking underneath the cat mask as she took in the sight of his stiff arousal.
It was as though he’d issued her a challenge, and from the way the young woman’s expression fluttered, she was deep in that competitive mood.
She pulled the chemise’s straps off her shoulders, stepping out of it as it fell to the ground alongside her dress. She wiggled out of her girlshorts, glancing away shyly as she stepped out of them with each leg. And yet still, she kept the mask on.
Her breasts were mid-sized, not small, but not large, either, with faint pink nipples. She had trimmed the hair adorning her crotch, forgoing a complete shave, as was the custom in Veridan’s Curve, for a perfectly styled triangle of silky gold.
Damon reached out, intent on taking the mask off, but she stopped him again, flashing a smirk. Undeterred, he tried again, turning it into a game as he pulled her onto his bed. She let out a squealing laugh, and then they were rolling and kissing, mask forgotten, world forgotten. Two naked young lovers exploring the heat of each other’s bodies for the first time.
He wanted to take her hard and fast, multiple times, if possible. It was thrilling to imagine and even more exciting to start to do. He rolled her underneath him, gently parting her thighs, and speared his cock at its long-awaited target.
She gasped as his tip entered her. She was as tight as the Goddess, and the crush of her hot womanhood almost seemed to reject Damon’s girth. He forced calm into his movements, kissing her lips and her neck around the edge of her mask. Gently caressing her breasts with soft movements of his thumb, enjoying the way her eyes were already flitting with pleasure.
She made tiny cooing noises as he pumped into her. The painted plaster of the mask pressed into Damon’s shoulder, but his attention was on the rest of her body. Her pale, milky white breasts jiggled in perfect, tantalizing circles as he thrust into her, faster and faster with each movement.
She didn’t seem to know what to do with her legs, eventually on extending them as far out to either side as she could. It was simultaneously cute and seductive. Damon took hold of one of her elbows, using it for leverage and finding a strong, almost punishing rhythm.
“Oh!” she cried. “By… the Goddess!”
He would have preferred to hear her moaning his name, but he realized that he hadn’t told her it. It was galling to him that they’d made it so far while both concealing so much, but it didn’t really matter. The pleasure the young woman’s nubile body was providing was unreal, pushing him to chase their passion to its very limit.
He sucked on one of her nipples, gently pinching it with his teeth. She gasped, body bucking as a tremendous orgasm reverberated through her. Gripping her firmly by the buttocks, Damon got back up to pace, feeling her tightness seeming to stroke his entire length in a perfect, almost sucking, grip.
“Do you care?” he whispered.
“Oh… what?” She sounded dazed, drunk on pleasure. He brought his lips to her ear, gently nipping her earlobe.
“Do you care if I finish inside you?” he whispered.
She wrapped her legs around him in response. Damon cradl
ed her small body with his arms as he pumped out the last few thrusts, feeling the contrast between the mask and her nudity, between her girlishness and her wonton lust.
He unloaded his seed as deep as he could make it go, still thrusting even as the pleasure overwhelmed him and stole his strength. She rewarded him with a series of soft, shuddering moans.
CHAPTER 4
Damon woke up alone, which of course meant that he’d fallen asleep at some point. He remembered little of what had happened after his intense love making session with the strange young woman in the cat mask.
Her smell was still clinging to the quilt of the bed, which was his only evidence beyond his own memory of the encounter having been real.
It had been real, right? Right. He smoothed a hand across his pillow, remembering the way the woman had felt, the way her body had looked.
Austine would always brag about how his most attractive conquests were Leandra reborn in the flesh. For once, Damon could understand his friend’s reasoning in taking the Goddess’s name in vain, the fairer half of the True Divine.
He chastised himself as he pulled his clothes on for not learning more about her. He knew, on some level, that he still would have never seen her again, even if he’d managed to pry her identity into the open. She’d insisted on that mask for a reason.
Damon headed downstairs and was greeted by the sight of various members of the Gleaming Scythe recovering from the various misadventures through which they’d celebrated the Turning Day Night.
Alexio and Adom, the twins, were sitting across from each other at a table, heads bowed forward in the classic posture of a hangover, mugs filled with heavily watered wine.
Len had his head buried in a ledger, tending to work he’d likely abandoned the previous night in favor of carousing.
Austine had apparently found someone to share his bed after all. A rather rotund woman with the thickest neck Damon had ever seen and a face so ruddy and formless that it reminded him of rising bread sat next to him at the bar. She was smiling, despite Austine’s ongoing awkward attempts to shoo her toward the door.
“I’m a seamstress,” said the woman. “Everyone needs a seamstress.”
“There’s just… no way it would work.” Austine cringed and ran a hand through his hair.
“All those sweet things you whispered to me,” said the woman. “You didn’t mean them, did you?”
“Of course he meant them.” Damon couldn’t resist getting in on the fun on his friend’s behalf. “Aust has always been a romantic at heart.”
“I…” Austine frowned and shot a glare at Damon.
“I’m a seamstress,” repeated the woman. “You’re a gladiator. I could fix your clothing. All of your clothing!”
“Now that you mention it…” Len slid his ledger aside, with a devious gleam in his eye. “We could always use a seamstress.”
“What?” Austine shot him a pleading look. “No! You can’t… I mean… Why?”
The large woman seemed to dramatically consider for a moment before grinning and slapping Austine hard enough on the shoulders to press him forward against the bar.
“I’m just kidding, blondie. I’m on my way toward the door, don’t you make this more of a worry than it is. You should use your mouth for more kissing and less talking, specially down below. I am a seamstress and I’ve worked with needles bigger than your prick.”
“That is slanderous, I’ll have you know,” snapped Austine. “It only looked small because your gut is so fucking…”
The large woman stood up from her stool with a loud screech. “What’s that, now?”
After a few more highly entertaining minutes of teasing Austine about his sexual performance, the woman left, and Damon took her seat at the bar. He smiled wryly, enjoying watching Austine blush for the first time he’d seen in a while.
“Shut your mouth,” said Austine. “Not a word.”
“Certainly not just one,” said Damon. “A woman like that… I’m thinking more like two fifty, three hundred?”
The twins snorted. Austine waved a hand, as though encouraging the moment to pass by faster.
“At least I brought a woman back,” said Austine. “What happened to your masked maiden? Did she get stolen away from you by a more deserving candidate?”
“No.” Damon grinned. “We had a nice time.”
“You didn’t?” Austine’s eyebrows shot up. “You did! Rovahn’s balls, Damon. Describe her for me! Paint a picture, if you can!”
“I keep what happens in private contained in private.”
Austine let out a dramatic sigh. “At least tell me what she looked like with the mask off. Was her face of the same tier as the rest of her?”
Damon shrugged, hiding the better portion of his own curiosity under nonchalance.
“If you’re quite done discussing the origins of your future cock mite maladies, I need to be paying Damon out for yesterday’s bout,” said Len. “It’s a bit less than expected. Had to set aside a portion of the greater amount to bring Jorgan back to the wild. True Divine, that troll was one of the good ones.”
“No doubt.” Damon sat down at Len’s table and extended his palm. Fifteen silver sables was still an impressive payment for one night’s work, more than enough to last him through the month with some to spare if he kept it close.
“You put on a damn good show,” said Len. “Your pa would be proud, I hope you know.”
Damon nodded, though the mention of the esteemed Danio Al-Kendras always gave him pause. His father had been a true gladiator, a member of the famous Gilded Swords, with a career spanning dozens of fights to death. Damon had only been five when Danio had passed away, his mother long gone in the years before memory.
He’d spent most of his childhood with his father’s close friend, Malon, who’d all but raised him. She was his aesta, the Remenai word for a female guardian, protector of orphans. Malon, along with the other children she took in, Velanor and Ria, had been his real family, but his father’s legacy was the one that followed him.
“Get that face off your face,” said Len. “He would be. I knew him as well as anyone. I ain’t bringing him up off hand, either. You should know, Damon, that some men were in here earlier asking about you…”
Damon winced. “Asking about me how, exactly?”
“With swords on their belts, but that could mean almost anything these days with the tensions with the Rem,” said Len. “They were looking for the son of Danio Al-Kendras. I told them you were staying elsewhere. They said they’d be waiting in the old shipyard until midday.”
“Thanks.” Damon tapped his fingers on the bar. “I should check into this.”
“Want company?” asked Austine.
“Better if I go alone.”
CHAPTER 5
As much as he valued Austine’s loyalty and friendship, the last thing Damon was interested in doing was putting his usually hotheaded friend in a situation where he’d need to be humble. He couldn’t trust him to keep his mouth shut, and the people his father had owed money to upon his death were never hesitant to inflict pain.
It was part of why Damon had begun to train as a gladiator at such an early age. He’d left Malon’s farmstead at age thirteen, barely old enough to hold a sword, after one of his father’s debtors had confronted him in a nearby town and made threats against her and Velanor.
Damon headed up to his room. He grabbed his wrathblade instead of the blunted one he used for performances. It was his most prized possession, a gift from Lady Adele of Paquet after a particularly memorable gladiatorial bout that had been well received by the audience. She’d been a fan of his father’s as a young girl and was now every bit as much a fan of him.
Wrathblades were extraordinarily rare, made from obsidian steel and forged by the last reincarnation of Wrath before his invasion of Merinia. Out of the seven Forsaken, Wrath was often considered to be the most talented at war, and it showed in the craftsmanship of his weapons.
The streets
of Avaricia were subdued in the wake of the festival night. There was a lingering scent on the air separate from the usual city stink, stale and sour, like the unwashed denizens of a cheap tavern.
A few cart vendors were set up in the main square, though most were chatting with each other rather than hawking their wares to the nonexistent crowd. A tired beggar had set up a temporary bed underneath the awning of a resplendent clothing store that the city guard would have normally shooed him off from.
Damon hurried past, heading south through the city, and then west. The old shipyard was the territory of the Dockside Lads, who he’d dealt with several times before on the same topic of his father’s debts. They were one of the factions that Danio Al-Kendras had borrowed from the most.
Damon always felt an odd sense of guilt whenever he considered how much better off his life would be if his father had died before he’d developed his gambling habit.
It was all he’d inherited from the man, and regardless how much the burden weighed him down, there was a stubborn side of him that still insisted it held some sort of deeper meaning. The rational side of him, however, just wished that the various legal obligations had been buried alongside his father.
He was familiar with the lane that led to the Dockside Lads favorite safehouse. Damon slipped into the dark alley, tensing as he noticed the man standing guard outside the door notice him. He reached a fist behind him and tapped lazily on the wood with his knuckles, clearly having expected Damon’s arrival.
Seven men poured out of the safehouse and into the alleyway. Damon made absolutely sure that they were all to his front, with no room to sneak around him from behind. The alleyway wasn’t overly narrow, but if it did come to swords, he’d still be able to force them to come at him one abreast.
Sin and Soil Page 2
