In Pain and Blood (Spellster Series Book 1)

by Aldrea Alien

  She rose beneath him as his searching fingers brushed over the light curls. A sigh ghosted through her lips when his hand slid further still, fast replaced with whimpers as he toyed with her. Authril wriggled and puffed, her hips lifting at every touch.

  Usually, he’d let a little spark of magic drift along his fingertips. No more than the slightest brush of lightning. But Authril had already proven skittish at the sight of his abilities. She wouldn’t welcome the additional pleasure his power brought.

  His finger slowly slipped inside, curling, seeking. Tiny moans escaped her lips. Her thighs squeezed his arm and he groaned against her stomach. The thought of those legs closing around his waist was almost too much. Dylan slid further down her body.

  At last, he settled between her knees, kneading the hard flesh of her thighs. Her hips rolled at his touch. Moaning, she spread her legs wide. He didn’t need to be told twice.

  Dylan sank his head between her legs to the sound of her hitched breath. The first brush of his tongue was rewarded with a soft moan. Encouraged, he dove deeper, licking and sucking like a madman. Searching for what she enjoyed the most and using that newfound knowledge to its fullest.

  Authril huffed and panted at every stroke, groaned at each suck and gentle nip. Every sound collected in his gut, creating a pool of steadily rising heat. Every sweep had him wanting to please her more, to have her body sing.

  Her thighs shifted and squeezed around him. It wasn’t enough. He slipped a finger deep inside, crooking it to the sound of her soft, drawn out gasp. She arched, gifting him easier access.

  Her breath quickened, turning into a bevy of groans and hushed pleading that he couldn’t quite make out. Still, he kept up, delving deeper. Determined. His hips ground into the bedding, desperate for his own release even as he sought to give Authril hers.

  She grasped his hair, directing his actions. Dylan eagerly followed suit, pausing whenever she wordlessly indicated he’d hit the right spot until it changed to wanting him elsewhere.

  Authril trembled, her hold on him continuously adjusting. Her legs closed on his shoulders, pinning him in place. He slowed, savouring the taste of her as each sweep of his tongue increased the pressure of her thighs. The elf hovered so very close to the edge, it wouldn’t take much to push her over.

  Dylan slid his hands beneath her rump, lifting her, and descended on that little bundle of flesh. He flattened his tongue, lapping at the spot. One… Two… Thr—

  Her legs tightened around his head, her hips rising, pushing herself against his face. Her long fingers slid over his shoulders, digging into his flesh, entwining themselves in his hair. His name came on the wings of a gasp. Small though it was, the sound was almost his undoing.

  Patience, he reminded himself. Dylan kissed along her inner thigh, giving his heart time to slow down as he listened for her breathing to return to normal. When it did, he surfaced to lick and kiss his way up her body, halting only to lavish her breasts with his attention.

  He licked and nibbled his way across her skin, rolling his tongue around the already taut nipples. His hands stroking and kneading what his mouth couldn’t reach with equal abandon.

  Once again, her fingers slipped into his hair, this time coaxing his head up. He eagerly complied, kissing his way along her skin. His mouth drew level with her neck. Her heart pounded so heavily, he felt the pulse of it against his lips.

  Authril stared up at him, those sea-green eyes glittering with the desire for more. Such a strong pull he couldn’t dare deny. Her knees slid up his thighs, making his limbs shiver at the gentle pressure of his length against her abdomen. She smirked. Her lower leg hooked behind him, rocking his hips.

  Dylan gasped. He fumbled between them, seeking entry. Each brush sent a fresh wave of pleasure through him, turning his limbs to water. He was trembling with pure need by the time he slipped inside her.

  She bit her lip, a moan tumbling out as he moved, and the world around him dimmed to just them. He forgot about being in the forest, about the others not so far away. He even forgot they were in a tent.

  Her nails raked down his back, gripping his buttocks, seeking to draw him closer. He tried to comply, but there was no more room to be had. She clung to him, her face buried in his shoulder. He felt her body tense beneath him and—

  Dylan found himself flipped onto his back.

  Authril straddled him, wicked determination moulding her face. She sat back and rocked, causing little spikes of pleasure.

  So that’s how you want to play it. Laughter bubbled in his chest. He didn’t mind, for it left his hands free to traverse her body. Dylan cupped great handfuls of the elf’s rear, then slid his grip to her hips to aid their movement, matching her pace. “You should’ve said you wanted to do it this way.”

  Her fingers clumsily brushed across his chin and squished his nose before settling on his lips. Was she trying to silence him? He slowly drew her hand away. If she wanted him to be quiet, there were far better ways to muffle noise.

  His mouth returned to her breasts, teasing with both teeth and tongue. Encouraging fingers slid into his hair. The pace of her movements increased in force, bouncing her body, driving his hips into the ground no matter how hard he pushed back.

  She shuddered, tightening around him. A soft, hushed moan filled the tent and heated his blood.

  The world shrunk further. It was all pure sensation now. His body thrust into hers, moving mostly of its own accord, chasing release before she demanded he stop. The edge, that bright and warm bliss of completion, lay so close. He lifted her hips, ready to ram himself to the hilt and tumble over the edge.

  He’d just enough coherent thought left in him to lift her further and pull out before he did.

  She gasped, the gentle whine leaving her lips almost enough to have him drive back into her.

  Dylan slid free just as he fell over the edge. He lay there, with her sprawled atop him, waiting for his heart to stop pounding and his breath to return in full.

  Slowly, Authril shifted, lifting her weight from his chest. “You stopped,” she puffed, settling on his stomach.

  “I had to.” He always did. He knew how children were made. The tower was very explicit on that. The healers had ways to terminate an unborn child, although the technique was rarely used as it was an uncomfortable experience for everyone. He’d learnt such a procedure for Nestria’s sake, but it was something he never wanted to repeat. Ever.

  Authril nestled her head on his chest. Her soft humming—close but not quite on the verge of purring—filled the tent.

  Dylan gently kneaded her hip, content to let her lay there for as long as she wanted. This, snuggling after sex, was an act he scarcely got to enjoy. At least in the rare moments where a bed was involved. It didn’t usually last long owing to them having to part way before the guardians found out, but here? Maybe, she would stay.

  With his lids growing heavy, he groped for the blanket and, once found, draped it over them. His eyes slid shut.

  A soft snore ran through his nose, jolting him awake. Should he not see that she returned to her watch? His hand shifted to rub across her back. A gentle purr emanated from her, vibrating through his chest. He’d wake her shortly. They could afford a moment more.

  He lay in the dark, counting the seconds as he stared at the tent roof whilst listening to her purring. Each blink was taking longer and longer to make. Outside, the forest seemed quiet.

  His head lolled to one side. Just a little while…

  The chill air nipped at his bare skin, rousing him from a dreamless sleep. Shuddering, he rolled over, seeking warmth in the other body that shared the tent. The only thing that greeted him was the dry coolness of the tent floor.

  Puzzled, Dylan sat up. The grey light of predawn stained the tent sides. Outside, he caught the birds chirping and whistling their morning cries. No Authril.

  Had it been a dream? His memory was certain she’d entered his tent last night. His body insisted she’d done more than that.


  He scrubbed at his face and glanced down. Well, he was most certainly naked and didn’t tend to sleep in such a fashion, keeping on his smallclothes even through the hottest of nights. That just left the possibility of her fleeing whilst he slept. Not the best option, but he’d had worst.

  Dressing, he stumbled out of the tent and ducked behind a tree to relieve himself. Having dealt with nature, he took in the camp’s half-dismantled state. They’d packed the rations last night, parcelling them out amongst everyone so as to not risk their entire supply being damaged or lost in one foolhardy move, but he hadn’t expected the other tent to already be collapsed and in the process of being folded.

  Dylan glanced over his shoulder at what had been his accommodation for the past three nights. Whilst his pack was neatly nestled inside, waiting only for him to put it on, his tent was another matter. He gathered taking the poles out would collapse it, he just wasn’t certain how to do the rest.

  Authril sat near the remains of their campfire, chewing on a bit of the dried pork that hung out her mouth and tending to her sword as she waited for the others to finish packing.

  He strolled over to stand at her side and cleared his throat. “I was wondering if I could get your assistance in packing my tent.”

  Amazing how much she flinched at such an innocent request. He doubted he had startled her. Did she feel guilty for leaving him to wake up alone after they’d been intimate? It was a rather ridiculous reason, but then he wasn’t entirely sure what light sex was seen in outside of the tower.

  “Can’t,” she mumbled around a mouthful of jerky. “Eating.”

  “You can eat whilst we walk. We can’t, however, leave until everything is packed.”

  Shrugging, she carried on with rubbing a stone over her sword. Those sea-green eyes seemed a little too focused on her task.

  “Very well.” Dylan settled on the ground next to her. “Let’s talk about last night, then.” If there was a problem, a boundary he’d overstepped, he needed to know so he wouldn’t repeat such a mistake.

  Pinkness bloomed in full force across her face. “Yes, well. You caught me in a moment of weakness. It won’t happen again.” The sword was returned to its sheath. “Besides, you wouldn’t want it right now. I’d explain, but I doubt you’d even understand woman problems let alone wish to hear about them.”

  A small smile curved one side of his mouth. He’d understood a great deal more of her rambling than the elf gave him credit for. “Does it hurt much?”

  The incredulous look she gave him almost had him laughing.

  He contained it as best as he could and idly scratched the underside of his jaw, he’d need to shave tomorrow. “Both of my oldest friend’s get them.” Although, Henrie’s affliction, as he called it, didn’t seem nearly as bad as when it plagued Nestria. “And one of them gets the most horrific cramps I’ve ever witnessed. Sometimes they’re so bad that she passes out.”

  It’d been a terrifying sight, seeing Nestria prone on the floor and surrounded by spellsters as they tried to free her from the agony. And the older she got, the worse they were. He hadn’t been so useless in easing her pains for some years, but the memory wouldn’t fade. “I asked her what it felt like once. I got a swift kick in the groin for my troubles.” He grimaced at the memory, but figured the warrior was the type of person who’d find it amusing.

  Sure enough, laughter shook Authril’s shoulders.

  “So, every month I… used to take the pain away.” He leant closer. “I could do it for you. It’s quite simple.”

  Biting her lip, she shuffled out of reach as if expecting him to try without her permission. A reasonable assumption given he’d healed her arm under dubious consent, but this was somewhat different than an injury that could’ve left her crippled if not attended. “That’s not necessary.”

  “Please, you’ve done so much for me. And I’m not referring to last night. Helping you is the least I can do.”

  She stared at him for some time, those big sea-green eyes narrowing. Was she imagining this as some sort of trick? He couldn’t see how.

  Finally, she nodded.

  Dylan laid a hand on the small of her back. Although touch was touted as a requirement for proper, low-risk healing in the tower, it wasn’t needed. Nor did that touch necessarily have to be on the affected spot. A shoulder or an arm sufficed, just not as well. He focused, drawing on the natural warmth of their bodies, directing where it flowed, soothing the area from within.

  Authril gasped, then a soft purr left her lips. His reward.

  Grinning, he removed his hand. Her hips tilted, instinctively following the source of her relief. “The effect will last a few days, that should be long enough. If you need me to do it again, let me know.”

  “Actually,” she blurted, grabbing his sleeve when he went to stand. The pinkness in her face had returned, spreading down her neck as she released his clothing. “I was wondering if you’d be agreeable to changing the current sleeping arrangement?”

  “You want to share my tent?” He was certain that was her meaning, but waited for her to nod before continuing. “Of course. There’s more than enough room in there for two.”

  “Good.” Smiling, Authril bounced to her feet. “Come on, then. I’ll show you how to pack a tent.” With that, she strode off in the direction of his tent, leaving him scrambling to catch up.

  Unlike the city of Oldmarsh, he remembered passing through Toptower, although he’d not seen much of either place. Back then, the troop Fetcher had meant for them to join up with had gone on without them and the hound had halted their journey only long enough to procure his horse before trying to catch up with them.

  This time, he was determined to see more than the outskirts.

  The town sat on a hill, sprawled around the very structure that was responsible for its name. His history lessons told him it was once considered the most heavily fortified village in the kingdom, able to withstand an attack from even the most powerful of spellsters. Dylan eyed the walls. From afar, he rather doubted they would hold up against common siege weapons much less magic.

  Their little group had joined the road some hours back, travelling alongside people and carts with the same goal of entering the southern gates. The noise hit him first. The creak and rattle of carts bumping along the road, the murmur of people, the steady clop of hooves and the patter of booted feet. After a week of travelling through the forest, the sounds were all but deafening.

  Unlike the others, his passage didn’t go unnoticed. Being so close to the army camp, he supposed his attire was a little more conspicuous. He could perhaps pass himself off as a priest to the unknowing, the cut of his robe wasn’t that different from their garb, although he knew of no ranking that had them in such a colour. And he couldn’t be sure how many of those who watched him could identify an infitialis collar much less the lack of one.

  They neared the gates and Authril dropped back from where she led them to march at his side. “Keep close to me,” she whispered. “If anyone asks, I’m your warden.”

  Dylan tucked up the collar of his robe, ensuring it covered his neck. “Understood.” The last thing he wanted was to draw even more attention. He wouldn’t have come near this place if they hadn’t needed to replenish their supplies.

  They passed through the gates with only a cursory glance from the guards who seemed to have more on their minds than one group of people amongst the throng trying to enter.

  If he thought the din of the road was loud, the village roared with life. He didn’t recall it being this harsh the last time he was here. His gaze ran over the heads of those crowding the streets. Night would come in a few hours. They had to gather what they could before then to be able to leave at first light.

  Within the village walls, the prickling sensation of being watched lingered in the back of his mind. He shrugged his shoulders, hoping to shake the feeling. Either someone was intent on keeping him in their sights or he was getting paranoid. It’s just for tonight. All he
had to do was play the part of still being leashed, limit his magic to nothing and, hopefully, they’d be on their way to Oldmarsh before anyone could alert a hound.

  Authril took the lead once they were clear of the bottleneck the gate made of the crowd, veering off in the distinct stride of someone with a destination in mind. She marched them past stall owners hawking their wares, down streets where the only sounds were the flap of clothes drying on lines high above, and into a dead-end where grubby children in tattered clothes squealed and tumbled about. Here, she stopped before one of the many single storey buildings. A sign reading The Drunken Pilgrim hung over the door.

  They entered the inn to be shrouded in the watery light of sputtering candles. He blinked hurriedly, trying to adjust his eyesight. There wasn’t much to the inside. Even full of tables and a handful of drinking patrons, the place had a distinct hollowed out look. There was the faint hint of coal smoke in the air, overlaying the more familiar woodsy smell of fire.

  “Huh,” Marin muttered. “I don’t think I’ve ever been in here. It’s a cosy-looking place, isn’t it? If you don’t mind the whole entombed feeling anyway.”

  Dylan was inclined to agree with the hunter, although the room likely wouldn’t have looked so bad if it were lighter. But the high windows running along one side of the room were blackened by years of smoke and the candles set in the big iron wrought wheels hanging from the ceiling threw off more wax than light. Much of the room’s illumination came from an open fire near the far wall. It burned with a low, sooty glow.

  His eye was drawn to the walls above where carvings adorned the vaulted stonework. Primitive runes and swirls ran from wall to ceiling and back again. Wards against evil. Or, more likely, against the all-too-possible threat of the encroaching Udynean spellsters.

  That he stood in the room was proof the markings weren’t worth the time taken.