“Vacha,” he strained against the bars, arms outstretched to try and touch me, “you know I do.”
“Rid yourself of your latch-on and then, lover, come and get me.”
“I don’t know how to do that.” Thick ears flattened, his tail slapping the backs of his thighs noisily, his rain drenched skin as it started to really pour down, amplifying it.
Moving close enough to reach his hand, I gripped his wrist. Thick fingers tried to curl around mine but he couldn’t get a grip on me. Nuzzling the back of his hand, I smiled. Pulling back just enough, I nipped one finger, then another, making the male jump and groan, to soothe the sting with my tongue. When I withdrew he was breathing heavily, chest heaving, eyes dilated. His fingers stretched, face pressed to the bars despite the stench of burning flesh and smoke emanating from him.
“You wish to claim me, husband...?” Walking back a pace, I lifted the hem of my skirt, until I was exposing myself to the cool night air. My hand slid down my belly, then lower, as he watched.
My index finger went to my mound, the patch of dark hair, then lower, glistening flesh waiting. My finger teased my slit, back and forth, back and forth, the flat of my palm brushing my sensitive nub with every teasing stroke.
Kvigor, entranced, swallowed thickly. “More.”
“More?” My finger slipped inside to dip back out.
“P-p-please. Come to me, vacha. I wish to taste, touch.”
How I ached for him to do just that.
My finger slipped inside my heat, another to join the first. Without waiting for a response, I plunged them in deep, softly calling out, to pull back out.
I did this a few more times, until the gate started to shake. I had the feeling it was magicks, a magical barrier of some kind, that held him back more so than the iron in the gate ever could.
“Miss this?”
“You know I do.” Purple and red swirled. The Peacock was fighting to watch the show as well. Pervert.
“Lose the Puck and we can fuck.” Throwing my head back as I turned, waving at him from over my shoulder, the skirt of my gown falling to tickle my feet. Taking a cue from Vachel, I practically pranced back into the temple.
A mind numbing roar answered.
Turning, smiling sweetly over my shoulder, I made my way back down the hall. Kvigor’s screaming shouts tore at the empty hole in my chest where I shouldn’t be able to feel anything. He’d find a way. He had to. Because the Queen’s peacock was getting the Puck out of there, one way or another.
˜˙˜*˜˙˜
Finding my way to my room, I slipped out of a second shift dress Vachel had offered to me, walking to a small set of hooks set in the wall in the hopes it would dry. Wringing my hair out, studying the plain, dark walls because there was nothing else to do, dead on my feet, I closed my eyes.
The first thing I saw, like it was stuck on repeat, was the image of Kvigor’s face, twisted in pain, crying out for me. It was imprinted on my mind.
As if to remind me of their presence, those thick bumps on my forehead that only seemed to be growing, throbbed anew.
Would I never catch a break, I wondered. Did everything have to involve a harrowing quest or battle, or maiming, a loss or sacrifice of some kind? Could I not just... win for once?
Blowing out the small candle someone had thoughtfully left for me, no fairy lights in the bedrooms themselves to be had, I climbed into bed.
Expecting the scratchy blanket of before, my fingers hit thick softness—a thin fur, several of them, stacked, to stave off the chill in the air—my itchy but acceptable blanket cleverly disguising the gift. Where I’d had a borrowed, folded shawl ready to use for a pillow, I found a crudely fashioned bundle beneath the silky shawl.
Who would have done such a thing? Vachel? Suzaela? One of the temple wenches? Oops! I mean maidens. I marveled at even the smallest bit of kindness. Between the thin furs, my hands wiggling in to warm up, numb down to my bones, a familiar weave, folded in the middle, had me whipping the blankets back to stare down at it. It was dark. I couldn’t see a thing, but I knew.
Grabbing it up by the handfuls, I brought the lumped bundle to my face and flopped back. His blanket. Tears sprang to my eyes as I pulled it around me, dragging the furs up as well. Maybe it wasn’t much to some, but coming from the male who’d offered it up freely, if quietly, yes, it wasn’t a grand gesture or a claiming, but it was definitely something.
˜˙˜*˜˙˜
Adelric was noticeably absent the next morning. Gone to the village, Suzaela had said, without my having to ask, as everyone sat to break their fast.
That was fine, I didn’t need anyone or anything, didn’t even need to know where he was. Just a blasted fae being to answer when he’s called!
My day was spent traipsing around an indoor jungle, snarling for a pretend deity I wasn’t sure anymore hadn’t played a little trick on me of his own. The halls proved no better, only serving to project my voice. I was beginning to suspect some of the temple’s visitors were starting to question my sanity.
Adelric didn’t return this night or the next, sending word with one of the maidens when they walked into town that he had business to attend.
After the third night of Adelric being gone to the village, that antsy feeling that filled me, anxious for him to return, petered out altogether.
˜˙˜*˜˙˜
Pacing along the entryway, shawl flapping in the breeze, I would walk to one end, about to step out, but force myself back. I didn’t have to go to him, no matter how often or long he called for me. I didn’t owe him anything!
Every day was much the same, wake up, wash, dress, possibly go for a swim in the waters to ease the itching, listen to Vachel opine her captivity, Suzaela reassuring her staying here was for the best.
Did she want to end up the blacksmith’s betrothed, I wondered, because that was exactly what would happen, should she go to the village and get caught up in Puck’s nonsense.
“Addie!” a deep voice beckoned, pleaded. As the night wore on his tone changed, going from begging to angry roaring.
Instead of going to him, I lost myself in the temple foliage, praying, begging for a dark-eyed false deity to come to my rescue.
Gods preserve us, everything was in shambles.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Seven days of searching and not finding, of listening to my unbound crying out for me, before I finally broke.
The lumps on my forehead had split, swelling around the edges, skin peeling. Was I becoming my own kind of monster, or would an infection soon set in?
If anyone was bothered by my uncomely appearance, none were to comment. I’d caught sight of Vachel staring for longer than seemed proper, for her gaze to dart away upon finding herself caught gawking. No one cared to stay in the same room with me for long, save the high priestess. I had a feeling she knew something, or had an inkling of such, though she kept mum.
There were texts in a great room, the walls lined with shelf after shelf of them. While unable to read the books, their language unknown to me, there were plenty of drawings. One, a rather old looking tome, with a crude drawing of a tailed beast with great wings, a forked tongue, sharp teeth, and horns, gave me pause. It was not unlike the stories of demons and devils my kind favored. Except these devilish looking creatures were depicted as saviors, gleaming swords held up high in victory.
At the idea of Taurans painting devils in such a divine light, I wondered if their devils, perhaps, looked more akin to humans? Wingless fae. I had my answer when the more books I poked through, the more gory depictions of the Queen’s pets dying horrible deaths, I came across.
Vachel, stumbling upon me with stacks of books next to me on the floor, joined me, serving as my personal translator.
“What is that?” I’d asked, pointing to a tiny creature, small in stature, rounded out and curvy, her rubenesque frame drawing the eye, surrounded by a harem of cow-eyed Tauran bowing at her feet.
“Oh, that’s a pixie.”
> “That’s a pixie?” I muttered as I studied the pale creature with delicate features and long, flowing locks.
“Gleaming eyes and sharp teeth, she was said to lure men to their deaths. They died in the throes of ecstasy,” Vachel read aloud, then snorted.
“Sounds like a siren of the sea,” I murmured thoughtfully.
Pixies, sirens, demons, and devils, similar but not really.
Demon pixie. Adelric had called me once or twice. Was he implying I was worth looking at? Or that I’d be some male’s undoing? Ugh.
Wishing for the former, I figured it was the latter. Eh, he had the thick hair part right, at least, couldn’t say much about the rest.
Wingless was no better than devil, and human may as well have meant demon, so in that respect Adelric’s clever nickname, demon pixie, was a compliment, I guessed one might suppose. A fierce creature that lured men to their deaths but got to wield great swords. Hm... I could have adopted worse hybrid titles.
“Haven’t heard from your brother in a while,” I ventured, turning a page, feigning disinterest. “If he’s left,” I shrugged, “I wouldn’t mind taking his quarters.”
At Vachel’s searching look I cleared my throat, admitting before I’d thought better of it, “I like that bed better.”
Vachel, more absentminded than usual lately, as if a great weight sat upon her, blinked as what I said finally registered. “He’ll be back,” she reassured, which just proved to make me feel even more awkward. “If you wish it, I can have the bed prepared for you, so that you might sleep in it, you know, until he returns.”
“Oh, of course not. Of course not,” I blustered horribly, “was only saying, you know.”
We both knew exactly what I’d meant, the youth proving so when she rested her head on my shoulder, sighing loudly. “It’s alright, Addie, I miss him, too.”
Starting at the use of that name, I let it go. It made me think of Vetra, and how much the Tauran was beginning to feel like a sister to me—not a replacement to the one I’d lost, but a new sibling, two sisters for me. I left her comment, pointing to the next picture to pepper her with questions. “What’s this? This gleaming, golden sword?”
“That’s the sword of the beast,” she said with a yawn, the tired outlook of someone who’d possibly been told this story or recited it to younglings at least a thousand times.
“It’s beautiful,” I mused as she began to weave a tale of destiny and a vague prophecy, a savior and some sort of doomsday plot. I was only half listening, my thoughts stolen by two leaves, a maple folded over an oak with a bull’s head in the center, the mark of the beast, over it.
That sword bared a strong resemblance to my dagger, prompting the question. “Are there any other weapons with myths attached?”
“Mm... there’s a bow and an arrow, I believe, in this story of an archer Bainan used to yammer on about. His mammy told him, can’t rightly say if there’s truth to it or fancy. There’s one of daggers, a complementing pair, but it’s all stories, you know?”
“Oh.”
Then we turned the page and she launched into a new story, one of a one-eyed Owloran spinster—as apparently bull headed creatures weren’t the only animal head-based creatures on Tavros, and an Owloran, as depicted kneeling beside the lake in the book, looked very much like an owl mixed with a woman—and a lake creature taking her as his mate, a fish man, and so my day went.
“I’m growing horns, aren’t I?” I asked the boldest of the bunch, much later that day.
“Mama thinks so. If they are, I can’t recall anyone’s ever looking so frightfully ugly.” Vachel’s features bunched. “Look like swirls of dark dung, they do. A flat sort of color, no shine to them at all. Though I daresay Tauran males are born with the buds already in and females don’t have any, so...”
“I’m no better than a freak show,” I finished, snorting. Flipping back to the front of the book, my finger stopped on the depiction of the victorious demon. “If I start growing a tail,” I tapped the picture, “then it’s time to start worrying.” A savior, I was most certainly not. The self-deprecating chuckle that escaped me at the very idea said as much.
“Wish me to check?” she teased, pretending to glance behind us.
“Shut it,” I muttered, “or I shall pull yours and see if you are part lizard.”
“Hah!” The heifer burst out laughing. “Should you pull it and it falls off, I fear I may just grow another.” She paused. “I’d have to preserve it and turn it into a trinket to wear around my neck, a sign of good luck, surely.”
“How much luck do you think your brother’s would hold?” I mused, a mischievous look in my eye.
“Pull Adel’s tail and live to tell about it,” Vachel chortled, “and I shall love you forever. That is all the luck you’ll need to carry you, ahem,” she sobered but chortled, “should you survive the ordeal.”
My hand lifted for a shake and I grinned, making her laugh harder. Her hand slipped into mine but she was rolling about, lolling on the floor, too tickled with laughter to shake properly. And that was how Suzaela found us.
“No more baidle wine for you,” she chirped, clucking her tongue as she strode past.
Glancing to each other, we both burst out in another fit of laughter.
On the night of the seventh day, frustrated as I stomped through the foliage in my boots, shivering from the flurries coming in from the cracked holes in the skylight, having had to tromp back with nothing but the wind whipping the trees and that distinct voice, calling for me, to me, I could take Kvigor’s braying no more.
My hands went to the buds on my head. If I’m to be a devilish chit, I supposed I should start acting like one.
˜˙˜*˜˙˜
Nothing could have prepared me for the sight that greeted me when I stepped outside.
One of the thick iron gates was wide open, a heavy snowfall leaving a thick blanket of white all around. Clinging to the bars of the closed half of the gate, Kvigor’s face was covered in dark patches, the hair singed clean off in spots. His face was looking lean, his head huge in contrast to the weight he’d lost in such a short amount of time, his skin sagging in places on his big boned frame, his kilt low on his hips.
“Kvigor,” my heart whispered, my mouth repeating.
“Addie?” The great bull struggled to lift his head, ignoring the sizzling pop of his skin as it burned, leaned up against the bars. “Addie,” he looked so damned happy to see me my gut tightened, “I tried. I tried, Addie. Can’t be rid of him.” Throat working, his voice hoarse from all that yelling, he struggled for breath. “It won’t let me go, vacha.” A snarl and his neck strained, eyes flashing. He was fighting Puck’s possession. “I won’t let him have me,” he got out on a growl.
Red eyes flashed with purple and an ugly sound left his lips.
“You heard him.” Boots crunching underfoot, itchy blanket over my shoulders, nothing but my shift gown on beneath it, I moved closer. “He won’t give up, and if you know Kvigor and how stubborn he can be, why not just leave him be?”
“Leave him be? Leave him be?!” Head hanging low, it shook from side to side. “And just give up my chance at a new start?”
“That body is not yours to start anew in.”
A snort. “You think because Oberon deformed your head and bled those eyes in his name you’re something special now?” He made a show of sniffing. “Think you no reason to fear me, little chosen one?”
“I love that male,” my finger lifted and I pointed, taking another step closer, “would do anything for him.”
“Good. Kill yourself and I’ll let him live, before he wastes away to death at your hands.”
“My hands have nothing to do with that. Now go away and give me my bonded back.”
Puck sniggered, looking as tired as Kvigor. Was Kvigor’s resistance wearing him down? “Your bonded? Aye, believed ye gave the blaggard up when he tried to pawn you off to that pain in the ass bastard brother of his. Should’ve killed him off th
e first chance I got.”
“All talk. You couldn’t touch him. He was under Oberon’s watch. You gave Ekodar your word, and besides, you’d have tipped your hand.” I was only assuming, bluffing, but it paid off when his mouth tightened, the skin around his eyes with it.
The white bull hissed, eyes squeezing shut tight, and he groaned. His hands flexed on the bars, still sizzling and crackling as if he’d lost all feeling, refusing to give up his hold.
“Kvigor,” I murmured, slipping my hands over his through the bars, “I need you to fight this for me, huh? Don’t give up. I need you to come back to me.”
“Addie...” he sounded so bone deep weary, “I don’t... I want... I-”
“Come back to me.” My hand lifted, stroking down his cheek gently. That great white head nuzzled into my hand, his horns scraping the top of the gate. “I love you, do you hear me?”
My hand slid to his chest, then lower. His belly quivered and he shifted, pressing closer. His face pressed to the gate until he was hissing in pain. Leaning in, I pressed a quick kiss to the end of his snout. The big beastie melted at that.
Lower and lower, my fingers crept, until, bypassing his cock, I cupped the weighty sac between his thick thighs.
Kvigor sucked in a sharp breath, muttering my name.
“Come back to me,” I entreated. Watching as his cock swelled, I smiled, making a show of dropping to my knees. I wasn’t playing fair and I knew it. This didn’t call for fair, this called for results.
Let the peacock have a taste of his own medicine. I’d give my beast something to fight for, and then we’d see what that purple-eyed cad could do about it.
Gripping his cock, watching as he thrust into my fingers, his hips laying flush with the gate, I glanced up at him, bringing the swollen head of his member towards my mouth.
“Vacha,” Kvigor groaned as my lips closed around him, my tongue swirling around the tip. The bars groaned along with him. I was two pumps on him, taking him as far back as my throat would allow without gagging, his legs trembling as if he might spend any moment, when I felt the shift. A hand slid through the bars, scrabbling to grab the back of my head, his hips starting to thrust forcefully into my mouth.
By the Horns Page 38
