by Sara King
“Yet you think it is me.” She was taking this rather well, he realized.
“Yes,” ‘Aqrab managed. “What woman reviles a man’s touch more than a Fury?”
To his utter shock, she just relaxed with a smile and shook her head. “That’s impossible.”
He felt some more of his confidence slip away. “How do you mean?”
“I was sent here to kill you. My Lord’s orders were specific.”
‘Aqrab frowned. “How specific?”
Instead of arguing with him that it was privileged information, or that a beast could not understand the words of the gods, or that a slave and a criminal had no right to know, she simply shrugged and said, “Kaashifah, Maiden of the Sword, you shall conquer the djinni of Ji’fah, spread his blood across the land, and bring his heart back for my perusal.”
‘Aqrab felt his heart stop. It didn’t take a djinni to see the twist in those words.
He tried to speak, but his throat suddenly would not work for him. Spread his blood across the land? What could he possibly say to that? And how could he broach the subject of breeding without losing limbs?
“So you see,” Kaashifah said, her eyes filled with dark certainty, “I was sent to kill you.”
‘Aqrab blinked at her. Perhaps it didn’t take a djinni to see the twist, but it was becoming clear that a Fury was utterly blind to it, by her very nature. After all, the only heart that a Fury deemed herself capable of winning was the one she ripped out of her fallen enemy’s chest.
“Well,” ‘Aqrab said, in the silence that followed. “That explains a few things.”
She cocked his head at him with curiosity. “You’re taking this rather well.”
“I, uh…” ‘Aqrab winced. “…weave words for a living.”
“So?” she demanded.
“So…” ‘Aqrab said, “…in my experience, in dealing with the gods, one must learn to find multiple meanings to a turn of phrase…because they enjoy being dicks like that.”
“Yes, and?”
She still could not see it. ‘Aqrab sucked in a breath and held it. He met her quizzical, utterly knowing and superior look, then let it out in a whoosh. “Never mind.”
There was a long, awkward silence between them before his magus pulled her hand away from the pile of clothes and said, “Lie down, letch. I need to finish profaning myself to your satisfaction, unless you plan on granting me free food.”
“You have reset your seven days—it’s not really in a djinni’s nature to grant boons,” Aqrab admitted. He stretched out again, allowing her access to his back. “It takes the fun out of it.”
She put her cool hands to his back and started kneading once more.
After a few minutes of silence, she said, “All this time, you could’ve bedded me at will?”
‘Aqrab, who had been rapidly succumbing to the pleasures of her tiny hands, floundered back from the brink of unconsciousness in a panic. “Uh, not exactly, mon Dhi’b,” he began, starting to get up.
The Fury put a curse-heavy hand on his back and shoved him bodily back to the ground. “Stay there and answer my question. I’m busy profaning myself, remember?”
‘Aqrab stiffened with the rush of Law. “You have reset your seven days.” He twisted his head to look up at her warily. “Let’s be frank, little wolf. Be you cursed by a wolf or not, I don’t have your strength. I can jump realms and set things on fire. You could quite literally rip my body apart. It wouldn’t stay ripped apart, but honestly, if you were in my position, wouldn’t that defeat the purpose of a good bedding?”
He expected her to laugh or say something unkind, but she merely continued to massage the knots from his back. Then, after a few more minutes of that went by in silence, she said, “Flip onto your back, you miserable wretch.”
“You have reset your seven days—my back, mon Dhi’b?” ‘Aqrab asked, warily keeping himself right where he was. Somehow, exposing his spine to the Fury seemed much…safer…than giving her access to…other…parts, especially considering the bent of their previous conversation. “I’d rather stay on my stomach. I’m comfortable. Besides, I’m sure you can complete your end of the bargain right where I am.”
Then the Fury sighed, dug her hands under his shoulder and abdomen, and, tiny as she was, simply flipped him over. ‘Aqrab grinned up at her nervously, fighting the urge to cover himself. “You just illustrated my point perfectly.”
The Fury grunted. He watched her liquid brown eyes shift to his groin and stop. For the first time that he could remember, she openly looked, and it left his balls twisting on themselves in ominous foreboding, even as his cock started to harden from the attention. Again, ‘Aqrab had to stifle the urge to protect himself and just waited tensely as she looked.
…and continued to look. For long minutes. Like she was memorizing it for some horrible Fury ritual.
“Uh, mon Dhi’b?” he ventured nervously, once she continued to stare. “I can hide it if it bothers you…” He started to cover himself.
The Fury snagged his arm and dragged it bodily aside, once more revealing the now-throbbing flesh at his groin, gazing at it as a raptor watched a snake.
Now that was an unpleasant thought.
“Um, mon Dhi’b…” he began warily, his wrist still trapped in her iron grip. He started to cover it with his other hand.
“Remove your damned hand before I rip them both off, djinni,” she growled. “I’m concentrating.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of,” ‘Aqrab said, a nervous chuckle issuing from his chest unbidden. “Three thousand years you refuse to look at it, now you’re giving it the same look a cat would give a mouse. Forgive me if I’m a bit…unnerved…by the change.”
“Just shut up,” she growled. “When I’m ready for you to talk again, I’ll tell you.” She continued to stare for what seemed like hours, looking this way and that, even going so far as to put her face within inches and squint at it. Then, to his shock, she reached down and took his scrotum in her hand and tugged it up, to peer beneath. “Why is it moving like that?”
It was all ‘Aqrab could do not to squirm. “My guess would be they are highly alarmed by your sudden interest.” Then he added, “Either that, or they’re cold.”
“And this?” she demanded, dropping his balls abruptly and prying his manhood from his abdomen with a single finger. “Did it get cold, too?”
‘Aqrab winced inwardly. Best, he decided, to leave that one alone. Coughing, he said, “Uh, no, mon Dhi’b, it’s—”
“Getting bigger,” she said, with a frown.
Somehow, this was his greatest hope and his worst nightmare, all wrapped into the same horrible instant. For a moment, ‘Aqrab struggled with how to approach the situation. He didn’t want to frighten her off, but the way she was analyzing it left him…uneasy. He decided it was best to tell her the truth, now, rather than face the consequences of not doing so, later. “It swells when a man is…interested…mon Dhi’b.”
Hovering over his groin, she twisted to give him a frown. “It’s been swollen almost every time I’ve seen you.”
He coughed again. “Uh, yes.”
She dropped his manhood and straightened, putting herself at a distance to peer at it warily. “Show it to me small again.”
…As if he could simply will it back to size.
“Uh,” ‘Aqrab began delicately, “I have very little control over that, mon Dhi’b.”
“Try, you miserable djinni. I need to know what it looks like without your damn passions getting in the way.” The way she said it left ‘Aqrab frowning. Like she was analyzing an enemy fortress for its weaknesses.
“Mon Dhi’b,” he asked gently, “may I ask why—”
“No.”
He hesitated a moment, then, with a sigh, gave in. “All right. Give me a moment here.” Then, when he tugged on his arm and she continued to hold him by the wrist, he cried, “And would you release me? I need to concentrate.” The Fury glanced at the arm she held, then at
him, as if she were judging whether or not he would try to cover himself again. Then, reluctantly, she let him go. Once his magus had grudgingly freed him, he settled back and began to very vividly imagine the unhappy image of himself getting kicked in the balls, repeatedly.
Very slowly, it had the intended effect. Immediately, the Fury leaned close again.
Watching her examine him with such deadly seriousness was almost comical—but it took all of ‘Aqrab’s concentration, once she started playing with it again, to keep himself from once more rising to the cause.
When she finally seemed to have satisfied her interest, after twisting it this way and that, peering under and around it, getting him to stand up while she squatted down and looked at him from behind, the Fury finally grunted and said, “It wouldn’t be that difficult.”
Instantly, ‘Aqrab hardened again. Coughing to hide his excitement, he managed, “Uh, well, I’m sure you might have some…difficulties…it being your first time, but I’m sure we could work it out.” Then, puffing out his chest with a grin, he said, “And, I’m not sure if you noticed, mon Dhi’b, but I’m not a small man.”
She gave him a blank look like he was speaking another language. “What?”
Flushing, ‘Aqrab said, “There are certain…problems…with the first time.”
Now her brows were drawing together in confusion. “What kind of problems?”
“I’m…rather large…” ‘Aqrab said.
She waved a dismissive hand. “That won’t be a problem.”
‘Aqrab’s mouth opened as he tried to consider how to respond to that. At the way she was looking at him as if he had grown a beetle’s antennae, he decided he needed to start addressing the basics. “Well, for some, the size can be an…obstacle…to full enjoyment of the final product.”
She peered at him as if he were a complete idiot. “It can be any size. Doesn’t matter. You just have to adjust the scale.”
‘Aqrab’s eyes widened and he wondered, quite anxiously, what special qualities a Fury might have that would allow them to make such ‘adjustments,’ and whether it would be mutual. He looked down at himself, suddenly not quite sure he wanted to find out. Once, a long time ago, someone had shown him a wall-mounted pencil-sharpener, and he flinched with the vivid image that followed.
The Fury was frowning at him, now. “That’s what this is about? Are you really so conceited that you’d be worried I’d change its size?”
“Ah…” ‘Aqrab swallowed, hard, and inched away from the Fury. Funny, how the gods had never told him about that before they bound him to a Handmaiden of Ares. Yes, he was definitely going to have to wish a few poxes. “Truth be told, I kind of like its size, mon Dhi’b. It…pleases…me for it to remain this size.”
She made a disgusted sigh. “Do you know how unwieldy something like that would be?”
‘Aqrab blinked at her, then down at his groin. “I’d say I’ve managed pretty well so far.”
“It would take forever. I need to start with something smaller. Less is more, when you’re just getting into the groove of things.”
This time, ‘Aqrab’s mouth did fall open. “You said this would be your first time.”
Her frown deepened. “When did I say that?”
“Just a few days ago!” ‘Aqrab. “Just how many times have you done it, Fury? You mention ‘getting into the groove’ like you’re an old hat at this.”
She flushed visibly. “Well, it’s been awhile, but I wouldn’t mind getting back into practice.”
‘Aqrab did not like the way she said ‘into practice.’ He’d heard ghastly tales of Fury breeding habits, most of which he had assumed were simply tall tales blown completely out of proportion. But the look she was giving him was beginning to make him wonder. Warily, he said, “Just how many men have let you ‘practice’ on them, mon Dhi’b?” Watching her closely, he added, “And how many survived the experience?”
Now his magus flushed crimson. “I’ve never had a man to practice on. You’d be the first, you insufferable ape.”
“You have reset your seven days,” the Fourth Lands boomed through him. Once the magic had faded, ‘Aqrab just peered at her, trying to figure out how she had ‘practiced’ without an actual man. He had some morbid ideas, but decided that he best not mention them. “So you practiced with your…sisters?” he offered delicately.
She snorted. “Of course not. They thought the act was an abomination. I hired village women.”
Both of ‘Aqrab’s brows went up at that. The things he’d gone three thousand years without knowing… Clearing his throat politely, he said, “Then, uh, you prefer women, mon Dhi’b?”
She shrugged. “As long as it’s pretty, I don’t really care what I use. Though it might be fun to try the male form. It’s got more…complexity.”
The way she blatantly surveyed his body like an auctioneer at the block made his hackles raise. “You know,” ‘Aqrab growled, “it’s not polite to ‘use’ people like that, as you say.”
Reverting back to her superior, imperious Fury self, she demanded, “Why not? I paid them well enough.”
‘Aqrab felt his shoulders tighten. “Because it’s not a damn business transaction.”
Now she was glaring at him. “They were starving in the streets. They needed the money, and I needed their bodies. It was a mutually beneficial arrangement.” She looked him up and down as if she were inspecting a horse. “If you’re worried about compensation, I’ll make it worth your while. Maybe let you sing a couple of your songs. Though I can’t see why you wouldn’t jump at the opportunity, as much as you wave that thing around.”
‘Aqrab scowled. “I will not be paid for my services, mon Dhi’b. I’m the son of a sheik. I have more dignity than that.”
She shrugged. “Your loss.” Then she glanced at the sky. “Actually, I wonder if Thunderbird would do it… The fool seems vain enough to accept.”
His mouth fell open. Sputtering, ‘Aqrab said, “You would choose Thunderbird? That pompous ass?” He felt his rage rising unchecked. “Whose every word is a comment towards your station?”
She was glaring at him, now. “He doesn’t have to open his damned mouth to pose for me, ‘Aqrab. I’m sure he’d love to see himself in clay. What is wrong with you?”
To…pose…for her? In…clay. Hastily, ‘Aqrab rewound the conversation in his mind. When he found where their paths had diverged, ‘Aqrab choked.
The Fury frowned at him. “What?”
His head burning as if he’d stuck it into a pit of lava, he said, “You were speaking of sculpting my figure. In art.”
“Of course I was,” she said, her scowl deepening. “What did you think I was talking about?”
The idea of a Fury doing art had been so utterly foreign to him that he had not even noticed the twist in the words. ‘Aqrab found he could only stare at her. “You…are an artist, mon Dhi’b?” he managed.
It was her turn to flush and duck her head. “Don’t sound so surprised, you wretched creature,” she muttered.
“You have reset your seven days—But when? How? I’ve never even seen you pick up a pen.”
“It’s been awhile, all right?!” she snapped, anger flashing in her face. “Needless to say, yes, I’d rather draw your figure, but if you’re going to be petty about it, I’ll just find someone else!” She bit off the last, her brown eyes livid. Reaching for her clothes, she growled, “And, since it’s obvious I’m not getting a damned meal this evening, I’m going to go settle in for the night.”
‘Aqrab caught her hand, and she hesitated. When she slowly looked up at him, he saw vulnerability there. “Mon Dhi’b,” he said softly, squeezing her hand, “I would be honored to pose for you. I’ll amend our bargain, if you would agree to it.”
She looked away, obviously embarrassed. “I don’t have any supplies.”
He made a dismissive wave, so enthralled at the idea of watching this Fury draw. “Such can be remedied.”
Her words cracked as she s
aid, “And I have not practiced in some time.” When she looked up at him again, he thought he saw a flash of fear in her eyes. Fear…and hope. “And never on a male.” She almost made it sound as if she were convincing herself against it.
“I’ve already proven I won’t bite,” he said, desperate, now, to see his Fury do something as pure and soulful as creating art. It seemed such an antithesis to what she was. He had to see it. It would change everything.
His magus bit her lip, peering down at her hands. “I’m not even sure if I am still any good. It’s been a long time.”
“One doesn’t forget one’s passion,” ‘Aqrab offered, watching her, “once it is found.”
She met his eyes again, and he saw her decision form with what almost looked like gratitude. “Do it,” she whispered. “Amend the bargain.”
Before she could have a chance to change her mind, ‘Aqrab grabbed his tendril connected to Law and yanked it into him. “I, Yad al-‘Aqrab, sand-singer of the Scorpion clan, firstborn son of Bakr al-Shihab, eleventh djinni Lord of the Fourth Lands, hereby offer a revision of our last bargain to you, Kaashifah the Fury, Handmaiden to Ares, Warrior-Priestess of Horus, Angel of Vengeance, and Justice of the Battlefields: I will provide you with food and supplies so that you may use my body as a model for your art, after which, I will provide you a meal fit for a king. Do you accept?”
His magus frowned at him. “Food and supplies?”
He winked at her. “Artists can’t work their magic on an empty stomach, can they? Do you accept?”
Then she realized what he was doing, for her mouth fell open. “You’re cheating.”
“I assure you, mon Dhi’b,” he said, still grinning, “a djinni cannot cheat. All of it is well-worked into Law. Each side will get its rewards of the aforementioned bargain. Do you accept?”
She stared at him so long he thought she’d decline. Finally, she whispered, “You’re being nice to me.” As if it were completely unbelievable to her.
