The amount of accidental stimulation Malon and Vel had treated him to over the past few days wasn’t helping his stamina. He wondered if that was reason enough to seriously consider Bylia’s offer, given how it presented the obvious potential for love and romance.
He’d be able to have as much sex as he wanted, free to indulge in desire without guilt. She would let him take her as a woman, perhaps even marry her, one day. It was acceptable and appropriate for him to lust after her.
She began bobbing her head up and down, strands of chestnut brown hair falling across her forehead and eyes. Bylia made her living off her voice, off her mouth, and it felt so significant that she was willing to put it to such a dirty use on his behalf.
He made small movements with his own hips as she committed to a faster pace, lips sliding further and further down with each sinking motion.
Damon twisted his fingers through her hair, urging her to speed up. She obliged him, hot mouth sucking, tiny slurping noises growing loud enough to betray the lewd act to the empty room.
“Oh…” sighed Damon.
Bylia let out a pleased, matching hum and gripped his thigh with her fingers. Damon bucked his hips, feeling the final call of his pleasure and lust. He pulled her head downward, sinking his entire cock into her mouth as he unloaded, twitching from his neck to his toes as she sucked down his hot seed.
She kept going for a while longer, only sliding up to lie next to Damon on the bed long after he’d gone completely soft. He held her close, but he kept his heart at a distance.
“Bylia…” he whispered.
“You don’t have to decide now,” she whispered. “Even if you feel as though you need to stay with Malon and Velanor for the time being, I’ll be in Morotai for a while longer. It’s not as though I’ve any interest in traveling by myself.”
“You could always come and join us at the farm.”
Bylia snorted. “Truly a kind offer, Damon Al-Kendras, but I think the tips from the evening crowd at the Smoke and Stage might be just a shade or two better.”
CHAPTER 24
Damon gave Bylia a parting hug as he left the inn the next morning. Malon and Vel were already up and waiting for him with the horses at the wagon, and he hurried to join them, grateful that there was now enough room for everyone to sit comfortably.
“You’re coming back with us?” asked Vel.
“Yeah,” he said. “Is that a problem?”
“No, I just suspected you might…” Vel shrugged. “Never mind. It makes no difference.”
“Fine,” he said.
“Solas, do you mind making sure the bag in the back doesn’t shift too much once we get moving?” asked Malon. “There’s salted meat along with a few spices we were running low on, plus two bottles of plum brandy as an extra gift from Jonna. We’ll need to make it last for a while, however.”
Damon nodded, suppressing a wave of guilt over the fact that Malon had used her money from her harvest on making what was essentially an interest payment on his father’s debt. Vel was climbing into the front seat of the wagon and stopped to catch his gaze.
“I heard someone, a trader, I think, mention that boar pelts were fetching an unusually high price,” said Vel. “Malon told me about your encounter with them when you first arrived. Maybe you could try your hand at hunting, Damon?”
It felt strange to hear her make an earnest suggestion related to something like hunting, so far from her usual primp and pomp, but he appreciated it. “That’s interesting. I’d still have to mind the cut across my shoulder, but it would certainly help keep me busy.”
The trip along the road back to the farm was relatively uneventful. It was only a few hours into the morning when they arrived. Damon helped carry Malon’s food and spices into the pantry before taking his sword back outside.
“Do we still have that old whetstone you used to sharpen the knives with?” he asked.
“It still gets regular use,” said Malon. “It’s outside by the shed.”
She turned to gesture toward where she meant and wavered slightly, bumping into the dining table. Damon was at her side in an instant, wrapping an arm around her and holding her up.
“Easy,” he said. “You’re still tired. You should get some rest. I can handle the fire and… aesta?”
Malon was biting her lower lip slightly and shifted into him as though trying to share an embrace more passionate than Damon would have normally expected from her. She nuzzled his neck, breath hot against the sensitive skin there, and then planted a kiss on the lower line of his jaw.
“It’s… more than just being tired,” she whispered. “Solas.”
Her face flushed red and she suddenly pulled back from him, folding her arms across her chest like a bulwark against whatever had just happened. Last night’s conversation was still fresh in his mind. Malon was a crest sorcerer, imbued with magic and sworn to contract with one of the Forsaken.
“What can I do to help?” he asked, stepping toward her.
Malon took a matching step back. “It’s fine, truly. Just… be a bit more mindful with your hands when I’ve been using my magic.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Uh, of course. Are you in pain?”
“Quite the opposite.” She cleared her throat, cheeks turning a color red that seemed to highlight both her freckles and just how beautiful and youthful she truly was. Damon wondered if that, too, was a side effect of her crest.
It took Malon a moment that seemed to represent the sum total of her force of will to draw her eyes away from Damon and disappear into her room. He wanted to follow, to check up on her and make sure she was alright, but she didn’t mince words. If what she needed was rest and space, it was what he’d give her, at least for now.
He found the whetstone next to the shed near a convenient stump to sit on and got to work. The original blunting of the weapon had been thorough, with safety always a concern during performances. However, it was a solid weapon underneath, just as Len had told him when he’d gifted it to him after the loss of his wrathblade.
Thinking of Len brought to mind Austine and the other members of the Gleaming Scythe. A tiny, niggling voice in the back of his head began to question whether he should have taken up Bylia on her offer, after all.
Perhaps he could have even linked up with his old troupe for a while, slid back into a life of performance and adventure, traveling and seeing the world from a shifting, exciting vantage point.
He finished sharpening the sword, and a morose frown took up residence on his face, one of the variety that he couldn’t have fought against if he wanted to. He sheathed the weapon and, remembering what Vel had mentioned about boar pelts fetching a nice price, began searching the nearby trees for a solid length of blackwood branch.
“What are you doing?” called Vel.
Damon looked up from the tree he’d been surveying, spotting Vel walking across the main clearing around the tower house. She was barefoot, wearing only her simple blue spring dress, blonde hair dancing in the wind about her shoulders.
“Making a spear for boar hunting,” he said. “I thought you were inside.”
“There’s nothing interesting inside.” She folded her arms, stopping before entering the edge of the trees. “Why a spear? Did your bow break?”
He let out a small chuckle. “I haven’t used that thing in years, Vel. We never fought with bows for our arena duels. Throwing spears were our projectile weapon of choice.”
Damon got a hold of the branch he’d been eyeing and yanked it loose, rolling it over his palms and envisioning how he’d bring the wood to a proper point. It was a solid length, of an age that provided serious durability, more than good enough for his purposes.
“Wouldn’t a bow make more sense?” Vel set her hands on her hips, smiling and jutting her chin out. “I have to imagine it would be more of a challenge to sink your spear into fresh meat than to score a hit with an arrow.”
“In that case, you are lacking in imagination,” said Damon. He t
wirled the blackwood branch in a flourish and headed for the shed, keen on finding a whittling knife to finish the job.
He went slow, taking small slivers of wood off and turning the branch by small degrees after each pass. The wood was twisted in a manner that made it feel almost like he was revealing the spear’s end, rather than creating it, and he tapped a finger against the finished point appreciatively.
Vel had found her own entertainment while he’d been working. She’d taken his old short bow out of his room, along with the quiver of arrows that went with it, and managed to restring it. She was currently in the process of pulling back an arrow with form that Damon suspected would leave her with an injury.
“Bring it up a bit higher, but not so close to your cheek,” he said.
Vel glanced toward him, eyebrow raised. “You’re suddenly an expert again?”
“Just someone with a vested interest in not seeing you get hurt.” He set his spear down and walked over to her. “You should use your muscles when you pull back the arrow.”
“I am!” snapped Vel.
He moved in close behind her as she struggled to get the string and her arm back.
“These muscles,” he said, running a hand up her back. “And here.”
He touched his hand to her abdomen, and to Vel’s credit, he felt her body flex in those places as she committed more of her strength to the bow.
“Better?” she asked, voice quiet, a little strained.
“Bend your knees more,” he said. “Also, center your hips more toward me.”
“Like this?” Vel pressed her butt backward, grinding it into his crotch in a manner that may or may not have been intentional.
“Good. Breathe from your solar plexus, right here.”
He let his hand settle just underneath her breaths, feeling as she took deep, shaky breaths.
“In… and out,” he said. “Focus on your target. Steady your shoulders, and on your next exhale… release!”
Vel let her arrow fly, flinching with the surprise of a beginner as the bow’s string snapped forward. She let out a whoop and jumped in triumph, immediately pulling Damon into a hug.
“That felt amazing!” she said. “Did I hit the tree?”
“Not even close.”
“Well… It was my first time! Hey! Quit smiling like that.”
“Smiling like what?”
“You’re teasing me!”
CHAPTER 25
Damon and Vel returned to the tower house to check in with Malon, who was now up and in the early stages of preparing dinner. With a few hours left to spare in the afternoon, he decided to take his first stab at boar hunting.
“I’m coming, too,” said Vel.
“You’re wearing a dress,” said Damon.
“I can change.”
She began to change before even closing the door to her room completely, pulling her dress up and over her head. Damon caught an illicit glimpse of naked buttock before feeling the full weight of Malon’s judgmental gaze and turning away.
“Keep an eye on her, solas,” said Malon.
“I will.”
“And don’t venture too far from the farm.” Malon paused her chopping of the vegetables for long enough to favor him with a serious look. “I mean it. There are dangers in the Malagantyan that far outstrip giant boars and colossus snakes.”
“I know,” he said.
Though in truth, he wasn’t sure he did know the full extent of what she was referring to. Malon had a much better idea of the current situation in the surrounding area than he did, a fact which both gave her warning extra weight and added emphasis to the trust she was placing in him to watch over Vel.
Once Vel was finished changing into a brown tunic and black leggings that had once belonged to Ria, they set out with their weapons in hand. It reminded Damon of some of the adventures they’d gone on as children, bumbling through the forest with no real rhyme or direction.
It was spring, and the Malagantyan was thick with new life, from the birds, to the insects, to the grass and budding trees. He held his spear at the ready, using it to push aside inconvenient bushes and hold back branches when needed.
He traveled slowly, weaving a careful path of mindful steps through the thick undergrowth. Vel was less practiced at the basics of bush hiking than he was, but she kept up, occasionally scowling and swearing under her breath as various pieces of snagging vegetation caught at the string of the short bow.
“Eek!” she squealed. “Something just bit me.”
“It happens,” said Damon. “Just keep moving and bear it.”
A massive tree trunk split the foliage in front of them, forming a natural, though barebones leaning shelter. As Damon ducked through one of the gaps in the branches jutting out at downward angles, a small groundhog fled forward into the nearby bushes.
He held an arm out, hearing more than just the sound of the groundhog’s legs. A long, silent moment passed, during which he could practically smell the presence of a larger animal, and true to his instincts, it emerged from cover a few seconds later.
The giant boar which plowed its way out of the trees made the ones Damon had seen the day before last seem like inadequately nourished juveniles by comparison. It was easily as tall in the flank as Malon’s horses, but far wider, with a coarse coat of brown fur and powerful corded muscles visible underneath.
It was an old boy, with streaks of grey visible through its vertical mane and a distinct yellow tint to its otherwise flawless razor tusks.
Damon remembered how Len had always warned him to be mindful whenever facing an older gladiator, as it was a business in which only the smartest and strongest made it that far. He suspected that the same mantra applied just as easily to fantastically large predators.
It snorted and dropped its head, which would have been an intimidating gesture even if Damon hadn’t known exactly what it meant.
His first instinct was to grab for his sword, but he hesitated with his hand on his hilt, realizing that the weapon would be near useless against a beast with tusks of a similar length.
His newly crafted spear was the obvious alternative, and he leveled it at the boar’s snout as it committed to its charge. The ground literally shook underneath its feet, which had the odd effect of making a reciprocal, fear induced tremor run along the length of Damon’s arm.
Vel screamed, which didn’t help. He realized at what might have been the very last instant that his idea of countering the boar or warding it off with the spear was overly optimistic.
After making sure Vel was clear of the charging beast’s path, he flung himself sideways, making an after the fact attempt at stabbing the spear into its flank. Surprisingly, it drew blood, though not much. Not nearly enough.
Damon rolled, wincing as an exposed tree root introduced itself to the small of his back. He came to his feet with the same practiced dexterity he’d always been so proud of as a gladiator.
The giant boar was fast in a different way, all instinct and unrestrained muscle, pulling even as Damon drew ready even though it had a considerable amount of extra bulk to shift.
There was no elegant dodge from him this time, no chance of one, even. Damon missed his spear thrust and immediately attempted to bring the spear’s butt around in a blunting blow. The boar dipped its head, bucking upward with its unfairly toned neck muscles, slamming into him.
He was lucky, at least so far in the way the boar’s tusks missed him. The core of its head certainly didn’t, and though Damon had been flung through the air more times than he could count, it had never been with quite so much reckless force.
He landed on his knees, both of which left trailing indents in the thinly grassed soil. The shock the impact sent through his legs was enough to keep him from standing immediately, and in that crucial instant, he realized he’d dropped his spear.
The boar stomped, snorted again, and lowered his head in preparation of a charge. Damon fumbled for his sword as he rose, rather shakily, to his feet. Pain t
hrobbed through the various injuries he’d otherwise put out of mind, his shoulder, his finger, even the bruises on his face.
The boar’s forward dash was too swift for him to even pull his sword back in the time he had to prepare. By some miracle of the True Divine, he didn’t have to.
The sound of a bow string snapping taut cut through the air, and the arrow followed an instant later. It took the boar through the side of the neck, stealing the beast’s attention away from Damon and locking it into a series of flinches and thrashes.
It let out a deep, infuriated roar which carried a wave of dank humidity from its breath. Damon steadied himself and pulled back his sword, but he had no time to get an attack off before the boar turned and fled into the trees with thundering steps.
“I hit it!” shouted Vel. “Damon, did you see that? The arrow flew so quickly, I almost didn’t see if—”
“Come on!” He grinned and seized her by the wrist, pulling her into motion.
“What? Why?”
“We’re hunting, Vel,” he said. “We have to track it down and finish what we started.”
“Oh! Right!”
Damon found his spear on the way by, though the point had snapped off, likely deep within the muscle of the boar’s flank. There was a visible trail of disturbed undergrowth and broken branches for them to follow, along with the retreating sound of more snapping foliage further ahead.
The ground sloped downward, forcing him and Vel to shuffle step down a small bank. Damon held his arm out as they reached the bottom, spotting a shadow on the other side of a massive tree stump. Vel caught his eye for a moment and then slowly nodded, pulling another arrow from her quiver to notch in the short bow.
His heart was pounding, which made it take longer than it should have to recognize what they found as they came around to confront their supposed prey.
A young Remenai woman a few years older than Damon was collapsed against the shattered remnants of a tree, head lulled back, eyes closed.
Sin and Soil Page 12
