No Demons But Us

by A. S. Etaski

  Still, I watched Curgia gesture to another Elf who had to be her younger sister; she whispered something harshly and nudged her forward. The younger sister was prettier than Curgia but inexperienced in the ways of Court; it was clear she did not know exactly what to do and had been hastily filled in—perhaps kept intentionally ignorant by her elders.

  I smirked to myself, aware of the irony in my own experience, while more than one Noble House noted the sudden switch. I forgot to keep sweeping the crowds as I focused on Priestess Wilsira, Curgia’s little sister, and my Consort. I suppose I justified it in that D’Shea would want to know about this especially; it tied in directly to a recent report of Jaunda’s, and my Lead wasn’t here to witness.

  Wilsira began to chant and invited the three Davrin Nobles to touch the Consort; her smile when she looked at Curgia and at the sister again told me that Curgia’s House would be awarded him for certain. At least the suspense was over for me; I could swallow my nonexistent pride and observe the interaction itself.

  He’s not mine.

  The contrasts between the Houses invited was apparent. The other two Nobles were higher than Itlaun but lower than D’Verin who’d had this male last. They touched him now with entitlement and less reverence, their exploration heavy-handed, as if he was not their first choice anyway, being a well-used, with higher Nobles than them being given some of his traits. My Consort subtly shrank from these Nobles, and his member did not grow for them. Whether this was an instruction he was following from Wilsira, I didn’t know, but those two Nobles weren’t especially impressed.

  Perhaps the Priestess simply chose those who couldn’t surprise her.

  The younger Itlaun sister, on her first trip to Court, was in plain awe of him, her mouth open as she gazed on his face. As she lightly touched his fine jaw and the edge of his ear with the soft tips of her fingers as if she expected him to chip like fired clay. I saw a small shift in his sex. He was half-erect by the time she smoothed her palm over his cheek, and he turned his lips to kiss her fingers. She gasped and nearly yanked her hand away as if surprised he had moved on his own. Wilsira nodded once and gestured for the other two to step back.

  “Braqth has spoken!”

  Maybe as air through my ass, I thought snidely.

  “Tulia of House Itlaun, will you accept the care and devotion of this gifted Consort for one decade? Will you protect and keep him in good health, and breed him with your family line in the name of our Valsharess and the beauty of the Davrin race?”

  Curgia’s sister dragged her gaze from my Consort and blinked at Wilsira before it struck her that she’d somehow been awarded his service. She glanced at Curgia once then nodded vigorously. “Yes…yes, Priestess! We p-pledge to care and honor him while he is in our keeping for—for one decade from this eve, my Priestess!” She made a bow to her and to the Valsharess. “Our eternal thanks and gratitude, in the name of Braqth.”

  “Then let the Court witness the bonding of him with House Itlaun.”

  I glanced at Curgia. Her jaw was tight, and she was probably gritting her teeth; she was trying not to look at Priestess Wilsira. At the same time, she nodded encouragement when Tulia hesitantly began to remove her dress in front of the crowd.

  I reflected that I had been watched a lot in my time—about equally desired or not—and I was tempted to roll my eyes watching Tulia try to be modest. Then again, perhaps even I would have quavered a little at an entire Hall with hundreds of eyes all focused on me, waiting for me to mount a coveted cock and beg his seed out of him. I knew as well that Curgia wished this was her, but she did a good job hiding it. That made two of us when Gaelan looked curiously over at me, testing my own reaction.

  I smiled, shrugged, and gestured, *Aren’t they cute?*

  Tulia had a lithe, dancer’s form, and was probably barely old enough to be at Court. The Royal bua had the vast sexual experience between them. He was already rigid for her, waiting patiently as she climbed up onto the altar to straddle him. He waited until her hands smoothed over his shoulders before he reached to touch her haunches.

  She was trying not to look at the audience as she had to gather some of her own spit to make herself wet enough and, with his guidance, she slowly eased his pole inside her body. Then my Consort thrust upward, prompting her when she didn’t move first, encouraging her with his smile, and reaching one hand at an awkward angle to massage her clitoris. He nodded up at her as if to say, “The sooner we cum, the sooner they’ll stop looking at us.”

  Such a lucky Third Daughter. And she had no idea how this had happened, how this had been arranged. She was a pawn, but one that a lot of females would have gladly swapped places with for the rest of the Ball, including me.

  “Ohh,” Tulia breathed, eventually releasing her nerves and falling into the pleasure. She closed her eyes, bouncing up and down on her blessed gift, grinding her hips and squeezing her breasts with both hands. Her moans were breathy, and it occurred to me to wonder if she felt any of his magic entering her?

  Maybe he’s helping her to relax and get closer to the edge.

  It wasn’t clear to me how close she was until she suddenly stopped and hunched over her partner, clutching his chest and making such an abrupt, orgasmic squawk that it had to be genuine. There were more than a few chuckles in the front rows; what had lacked in grace had made up for it in entertainment.

  My Consort smiled, however, holding her hips and bracing his heels against the altar to thrust up harder just as Tulia was coming down. The laughter in the crowd disappeared entirely when he orgasmed; they were captivated by the way he tensed and threw his head back, his hair waving, and by the raw, enchanting cry that escaped his lips as he gave Tulia’s womb his seed at last. There was a quiet beat before most of the audience exhaled at once, and I could tell which couples continued their standing fuck after the pause as several calls and encouraging hoots rose up.

  “Show Us,” the Valsharess commanded as She stood from her throne once again. Her voice was the perfect pitch of anticipation representing the rest of us.

  Tulia swallowed and made as if to climb off the altar, but Wilsira held up her hand immediately.

  “No. Present on the Altar. Stand above him.”

  The young Itlaun nodded, mumbling an apology as she recollected the next part of the ritual the crowd had seen twice before. She stood up with her ankles against her bua’s ribs, and she bent over at the waist, her hair falling to brush his face. Her hands reached back to part the cheeks of her backside, presenting her soggy sex to the Priestess’ and the Valsharess’s full view.

  I couldn’t see detail from where I was, but I watched Wilsira reach to touch the wetness between Tulia’s legs. The Nobles almost always flinched when that happened, and this young one was no exception. The elder Priestess ritually glided her finger across her tongue with a grand nod.

  “May House Itlaun be fruitful with whole, magical seed, as evidence of Braqth’s favor. Know that if you spurn Her Graces or those of our Valsharess, this award may be retracted.”

  I didn’t miss the glance the Priestess shared with Curgia when she said that, but it was her younger sister who responded with the next line of acceptance and renewed promise.

  “Take him. He is yours.”

  Tulia quickly donned her dress as her gift sat up, and she took the Consort’s hand, pulling him naked alongside her to make room for the next ritual, and her older sister breathed out a sigh of relief and nodded. They shared only a few words before retreating with their prize somewhere out of my sight but no doubt still within the Grand Hall. It would be poor manners to leave before the end, and probably reasonably stupid as well. There was so much more to see.

  Yes. More to see, I reflected. Which Houses were being favored by which Priestess, which ones the Valsharess seemed suspicious of, which Consorts betrayed any emotion whatsoever on the Altar.

  *I should follow them,* I suggested to Gaelan. *Spy a bit more.*

  Gaela
n frowned. *Don’t you dare. Do your duty.*

  Damn.

  I stood guard, and I became aware that, even though I was aroused, watching the Nobles have sex with the Consorts now that “my” Consort had left wasn’t as potent as it had been the first time I’d seen it. They were repetitive and mechanical and, compared to the Red Sisters, the average Noble lacked the imagination and even a fraction of the passion I’d experienced over the last eight spans. The beautiful toys were in control of their expressions, their acting too obvious. Which was frustrating, as I knew something real could be forced from at least one of them.

  I grew bored as the Seventh House sat her twat upon the seventh Consort. I started thinking about the wizards again. My invisible wizard, yes, but also the willing and eager Callitro, who could possibly help me find the angry one whose emotions were real, unmasked and bold. What would it be like to bed him, get on top of him and hold him down, whether he liked it or not? What magic would he use in his defense, I wondered? How would I respond?

  There was a spark and a surge of heat in my gut. Challenge, intensity, and intelligence. Not to mention honest, raw emotion. That was how I wanted it if I could have it, from male or female. The Sisters had proven to me that I could take it as well as serve it, and where once I failed, I could always try again.

  I had no choice but to simply wait for the Worship Ball to end at this point. Even the five new virgins being presented to Noble society, with their nervousness and wide-eyed gazes at the Valsharess were of no interest to me anymore.

  The Worship Ball was nearing an end at last. All of the Consorts had been given away as proven studs, and all of those honored House members retired to their quarters at Court, granted leave to begin exploring and getting to know their new pet. I had noticed my Mother—or rather, my former Matron—and a few others had left with that first group, even without a Consort.

  Not that Matron Thalluen needs one. So, who did she choose this time to puff up her belly for her?

  Kaltra hadn’t come. Neither had the Head Guard so I could guess which one of them was running the plantation while Mother was here.

  Matron! Damn it.

  The Priestesses remained while the Valsharess took her leave, some of them inviting their Sathoet into the Grand Hall now that no Consorts were remaining. A Noble orgy had begun as the final indulgence, but, interesting to me, Gaelan seemed no more entranced by it than I was. Although far less orchestrated by age than when I’d been chosen, and without the compulsory magic which now gave me a tremor, I could still see that the Priestesses somehow gained something from it, and I could see the inherent contradiction among the Nobles.

  Paranoid enough to assume no one follows the rules when out of sight but trusting enough to believe the rules will hold in public.

  I supposed I came by it naturally. I looked for Wilsira and Kerse when the next directive came.

  Time. Qivni’s voice. Next station.

  Gaelan and I split up. We were to watch the outer area of the Grand Hall as the Lead directed, discouraging anyone from trying to slip in while so many were distracted. The halls were mostly empty, with a few, furtive trysts occurring in small side rooms nearer to the festivities, which I knew weren’t bedrooms.

  I patrolled in silence, my footfalls refined enough that boots were now as quiet as dancing slippers. I practiced hearing “past” the sex on either side of me rather than focusing on it, and it wasn’t as hard as I might have thought once. I just had to remember I wielded my cunt, it didn’t wield me.

  At least, not anymore, I wanted to think.

  I’d reached the far end of my patrol where the hallway torches hadn’t been alight for several marks at least—not even an impression of the usual Radiants against the wall behind the stanchions—and I was about to turn back when a soft, directionless hiss caught my ear.

  I turned around in place, my eyes piercing the dark until I spotted the faint outline within. I didn’t have to wait; once I focused on the shape, the void filled with heat and strong life energy immediately. It was a Sathoet.

  Then his scent hit me.

  Kerse.

  The demonblood wasn’t in the Grand Hall with his Mother, and I wasn’t sure Wilsira hadn’t left as well before I came out here. I glanced around for another outline but spotted none.

  Shit.

  Elder D’Shea had instructed me to avoid this one. Following her orders now meant that I walk away without interaction, but that would put my back to him. Would he attack me? That depended on why he was here, and whether Wilsira sent him. My Elder and I had argued about whether he could do anything independent from her.

  I might be about to find out unless Qivni answered me quickly.

  I reached for one of the message pellets in my third pouch, and Kerse crouched lower, his yellow eyes narrowing, the white mane along his spine rising as he opened his mouth wider in another hiss. He looked about to charge.

  I held up my other hand straight out, palm forward. “Whoa. Stay.”

  “Nossspiderss,” he demanded, muscles at his shoulders bulging in tension.

  I didn’t understand but agreed. “No spiders, Kerse. Just this.” I pulled out the pellet, holding it between my thumb and middle finger. “See? Harmless.”

  He sniffed in my direction suspiciously and snorted in alarm when I squeezed the pellet, breaking it to release the tiny spark of magic. At the same time, I whispered, “Qivni, aid me. Fourth side away from the altar.”

  The magic swallowed up the words and took them away to my chosen set of ears. Kerse wouldn’t know what I’d said; he would only see my mouth moving.

  “Sssirranna,” the Sathoet rumbled.

  I took a step back when he stepped forward. He seemed to like that; his mane relaxed.

  “Ssisssterrr,” he hissed with a smile, crouched and ready to spring. “Rrred.”

  I didn’t respond. I wanted to ask his intent, or if he knew I’d been watching him rut Curgia, or if he was here as a command from his Mother. I resisted directing him or exchanging any word at all. D’Shea would eventually find out about this.

  Kerse’s blank, yellow eyes drifted over me. “Wanntssss.”

  I shook my head. “No. Return to your Mother.”

  He grinned. “Busssy.”

  That didn’t tell me as much as I thought at first. Only that Wilsira supposedly wasn’t present and Kerse wanted to fuck again. He growled low, and his mane raised up again as I drew a dagger and a longer, fighting blade from my belt.

  “Do not attack me,” I commanded, brandishing both.

  He chuckled and licked around his mouth, flexing his long, clawed fingers. I narrowed my eyes, locked gazes with him.

  “Kerssse.”

  I drew out his name, mimicking him as he had said mine, trying to sound soothing although my heart pounded, and my muscles ached from inaction. He perked up a moment before shaking his head and growling.

  “Kerssse,” I said. “Your Mother will be displeased. She did not command this.”

  “Shhee diid.” Another chuckle and I could see his teeth clearly in the dark as he opened his mouth, panting.

  Had she? Could he lie outright, or was he twisting something he’d heard her say as an excuse? Neither was good, but the only thing truly clear to me was that this Sathoet hadn’t forgotten about me as D’Shea had hoped.

  Where is Qivni?

  “Kerssse. Not now.”

  He sniffed the air, his lip curling. “Yesss, now. Hott cunnt.” He gestured as if jamming two clawed fingers in a female’s snatch. “Sssmell it.” His eyes lingered on my drawn blades. “Ffight ffor it.”

  No. I won’t fight. If I hurt a Priestess’ son, D’Shea will answer to Wilsira.

  It was also terrifying to know that he could impregnate me by force. What would happen to me, then? Taking a risk, I sheathed both weapons, abrupt and decisive. I stood up straight, confident.

  “Kerse. No.”

  His hackles lowered
down; he hesitated, looked confused. That was progress, but my message must be clear as crystal. With all the willpower I could muster, I turned my back on him and walked away. My heart pounded harder for doing it, and if his ears were as good as his nose, then he knew I expected to be attacked.

  Like any of Davrin blood, he interpreted it as an invitation.

  I flung myself to the side at the last instant when he was about to collide, and instead of his weight, I felt his claws rake at my torso as I was thrown off balance. He continued forward, and I heard his claws skidding on polished stone. The Sathoet and I scrambled to be the first upright; I was a fraction faster with less momentum built but didn’t have a planned response so at best it gave me the chance to draw my dagger and dodge him again.

  Kerse didn’t roar as he had in the candle chamber; he was amazingly quiet. He struck me on his third try, and we slammed to the ground, the wind knocked out of me though I still gripped my dagger. I didn’t want to get pregnant but hesitated to stab him, cursing in my rigid mind when someone spoke aloud, harsh and grating.

  Kerse flinched and threw himself away from me, champing in pain, and Qivni stepped into my field of vision, her intense, red eyes burning into the Sathoet. Her teeth bared.

  “Kerser’in’chowcz. Haganidtezj!”

  The Sathoet glared balefully at my Collector, whining in pain, and then he all but vanished from view. A moment later I heard his feet padding down one of the smaller halls. I’d just about regained my breath when Qivni stepped close to me with a scowl and knocked the toe of her boot against my ribs.

  “Get up.”

  I felt myself smiling as I rolled to push off the ground. “Impressive. I need to learn… how to do that.”

  “You can’t,” she said with finality, and added as I stood up, *Use sign.*

  I took another breath and straightened, looked at her stern face. My hand moved. *You received my message but waited to watch?*

  She nodded, owning it easily. *I told you the Priestess would resent what you did to her son. Now she will harass you.*