by V. C. Willis
“You’re not the only one that took a beating today.” He leaned forward, drawing in his legs to make room for me to join opposite of him. “I’m not use to riding a horse, and my thighs and lower back are killing me. Juniper is supposed to help, or so Madame Plasket has advised on more than one occasion.”
I laughed, leaning back against the tub’s inner wall before sinking down to my shoulders. “Jasmine is old, so she’s not as smooth as she once was.”
“Granted, I’m glad not to be riding Basque for this long as wide as he is.” John sat up, splashing water on his face.
“Speaking of Basque,” I started, waiting to lock eyes with him, “he killed a man for peppermints tonight.”
“Of course, he would,” snarked John. “The damn monster would take on an entire brigade for a single sugar cube.” A chuckle escaped him, the smile on his face making my heart flutter. “But he wants the sweets only from you, it seems. So as long as he can’t be bribed, we’re safe.”
I splashed water in his face in reply, laughing. “Such dark thoughts.”
“Says the assassin to the priest,” he scoffed.
Inhaling, I frowned at my reflection on the water’s surface with my maroon eyes like dark splotches of blood in the ripples. “We need to figure out what my nickname will be. Please, no more Danseur. You can’t call me Dante or Prince or my love.”
“I know,” he spoke with a deep sadness in his voice. “Can’t I just call you Bloody Half-pint?”
Shaking my head, I refused to allow him to deflect the matter with humor any longer. “I don’t think my reputation as the priest’s assassin is going to get us very far once we’re in Captiva City.”
“You find a name then. Something endearing. Something that would help us draw out Fallen Arbor.” It was a curious offer he made as he looked away.
“So, you really want that to be our aim? What do you have against them?” I furrowed my brow glaring at him, my heart racing for fear of where he was taking this. “It’s not like they have anything to do with the Madness or Falco.”
“I think they have more involved in Grandmere than we realize.” He sucked on his cheek a moment and finally met my gaze. “Think about it. After everything we’ve discussed in the war room during the winter, don’t tell me you weren’t already thinking there’s obviously a clear connection between it all: civil war, soul weapons, Falco, Fallen Arbor, and even the Madness.”
Rubbing my tongue on a fang for a minute, I exhaled and gave him a disapproving expression. “Of course, I’m seeing a connection. You do realize Fallen Arbor is the reason Ashton went missing. If my brother, a Champion Supreme who never knew the taste of defeat, went missing chasing after them… exactly how is a runaway prince and his priest lover supposed to overtake them?”
John looked up in thought, replying, “Well, we’re resourceful and not exactly good at being Lone Wolves like your brother.”
“Sometimes I wonder who needs to be doing the most praying between us, Father,” I blurted in disdain.
“I hate when you call me that,” confessed John.
“Oh?” I couldn’t hide my smirk at the thought. “And what do you prefer me to call you?”
He matched my smug expression. “I can’t lie. Last night when you breathed my priest was quite arousing for me.”
My smile dropped. I deserved that one.
“Speechless, are we?” He came closer, and I refused to move or react. “I believe you uttered that phrase a few times, my love. And it’s usually the moment you bend me over and f—”
I kissed him. The scent of John’s arousal overpowered me and the lustful memories muted the juniper in his presence. I wanted him in all the wrong ways. Water sloshed as I backed him against the other side. My grip wrapped around his hard cock as he deepened the kiss, moaning. His palm slid down the middle of my torso. John’s touch against my hardened shaft sent a shiver through me. I began kissing on his neck, and when a fang nicked him, I froze. Shit! What was I about to do? Is it so easy for me to forget myself and…?
“I can’t do this. Not like last time,” I muttered into him, my heart pounding in my ears as fear conquered my excitement. “I don’t want to be like him.”
“Dante,” he gruffed, stroking me as he began kissing my own neck. “You do realize if I wanted you to stop, I would have said so. Are you really still upset over that one time you fed on me and made passionate love to me?” He laughed, but it faded, and he pushed me back to look me in the eyes. “You’re not Falco.”
“What if I didn’t stop in…” I swallowed, the hunger and itch in the canines begging me to repeat that act once more. “What if I can’t stop?”
“If you think…” John grabbed my shoulders and shoved me hard against the other side of the tub. Water slapped against the floor. “I’m not strong enough to push you away, you’re wrong.”
I dropped my gaze, my glowing eyes like flames in the reflection. “Shit, do they always do that?”
“When you’re angry and when you make love to me,” he admitted. “It’s even better to see when you have your mask on. Scares the shit out of people. It’s great.”
“John,” I scolded his unwelcome compliment. “I just…we just can’t do this until we’re some place more private.”
His thigh slipped between mine as he leaned in. “Isn’t this private enough?”
“We shouldn’t.” I pushed back.
He pinned me harder between him and the tub until his lips and beard tickled at my ear. “Bend over.”
A shudder rolled over me at his provocative command. “And what makes you think I’ll do that for you?”
“I’m not asking,” his voice rumbled with raw desire. “I want you to kneel and yell my name until I’m satisfied.”
“Stand up,” I replied.
“Bend over,” he countered, and I laughed.
“Your effort has me hot and bothered, but if I let you have me, I want to make sure you’re ready,” I offered. “Now stand and lean on the other side.”
He sloshed away eyes narrowed at me. After a short pause, he stood. Water snaked across his body in the warm glow of the lantern. I throbbed with want, but I saw what he offered in this. He’d never taken me in this way, nor any man or woman. There’s always a first time, and I suppose I can’t lie to myself. I’ve been secretly wanting to do this with someone who loved me the way I love him. I wasted no time to run my tongue down his cock. He inhaled quick, closing his eyes to take in all that my mouth offered. If this is his first time, it’s best he’s hard as a rock. Otherwise, he might get too discouraged.
I took him deep inside my mouth, pushing him to the back of my throat, sucking and pushing and pulling him between my lips until he hardened. I pulled away, but he gripped my hair, shoving himself to the back of my throat again. And I let him. His hips rocked, enjoying the moment. I will gladly submit to him if it’ll keep the hunger at bay. At last, he allowed me to move away. Reaching behind him, I grabbed the bottle of oil we had both eyed since we entered the room. Rising to my feet, water dripping filled the silence. We locked eyes as I poured the oil onto his cock, and I stroked him to ensure he would indeed be stiff enough. It’s been a while even for me to be on the receiving end, but I’ve been fantasizing about him switching roles.
“Take your time.” I searched his face, trying to gauge the thoughts lurking behind those blue eyes and stoic expression. “You can be aggressive. I don’t mind.”
“Good.” He was quicker than I had anticipated, hands gripping my shoulders once more.
Water slapped across the side of the tub and poured over from the shift of our bodies. I caught the side of the tub with my hands as he bent me over, fast and hard. The burning coals hissed, and steam rose as the water burned back into the air. He pushed inside and I grunted. Too eager but… At my core, I fought back memories of Falco, but they were soon far from m
y mind. John pressed hard against me as his hands caressed my body. He surveyed me, assessing how I reacted, how he wanted to take me before continuing. I tried to push myself up, to sit up, and he shoved me back down. His body leaned on top of me, and I was quickly reminded he was every bit as big as I was physically.
“I want this to serve as a reminder to you.” His words were erotic and dark as they lingered in my ears. “I’m not Falco. And I’m not afraid of you.”
“John, you can’t be—” Since when could you be so aggr—
His hand tugged at my braid, wrapping it once around for good measure. My back arched, and he slipped deeper and throbbed. His other hand glided down over my shoulder blade, over my ribs and hip until he gripped my cock. He’s going to try and break me. A smile came to my face, his movements mimicking how I took him that first time. Slowly, he pulled back until he left me, lingering there teasingly before he pushed tauntingly slowly back inside. We moaned as he throbbed, hard and slick with oil. He tried rocking his hips and stroking me, but the broken canter was driving me crazy.
“Dammit…” John panted in frustration.
I cupped my hand over his, helping him stroke. I rocked into him, and he released my braid and braced his hand in the small of my back. He was gaining speed, watching himself thrust in and out. I studied the concentration on his face until the water rippled too much to keep the image. He’s got it now; he’s enjoying it, and I can let myself relax. Shifting, I was able to arch more, improving how he stroked with me. My hand tightened over his, not allowing him to retreat. So close now. The heat of his other hand made me throb as it slid up across my chest, and he gripped my shoulder to steady himself. Nearing my peak, I started to moan.
“Harder,” I breathed, feeling how he lingered on the edge of his own release.
He started moaning. “I’m going… Dante, I’m…”
“So close…” I muttered, letting his hand free as I bent over to where I had started, leaning against the tub. “Don’t stop.”
He retreated to gripping my hips, thrusting hard against me. We were both moaning as he peaked, my arm bracing the weight of our efforts against the tub’s edge. Seeing the cloth on the ledge, I grabbed it up in a rush. I released into it as he pushed hard against me, his cock throbbing in his own orgasm. He folded over on top of me hugging his arms around me. He grinded slow against me, riding out his orgasm a little longer.
“That was,” he marveled, “different.”
I laughed, tossing the cloth to the floor, and patting his arms. “Let go. I need to clean up before they suspect we are doing more than just talking in here.”
Rushing, I was the first to finish cleaning myself and climbed out. I cussed under my breath, realizing my gear was still mud covered. I spent the whole time playing diplomat for sheer joy instead of cleaning it. Grabbing up another cloth, I dipped the pail into the water. John gave me a baffled expression. When I lifted the filthy pants, he nodded, unravelling his braid to wash his golden hair. I scrubbed furiously, starting with the pants, then the shirt and coat. Throwing another log on the tub fire, I brought it back to life as John climbed out. The pants were dry enough for me to slip them on as knocking erupted at the door.
Inhaling deeply, I cracked the door and filled it with the bulk of my shirtless body, knowing John still stood naked just behind me. “What do you want?” I barked.
“Ashton?” Red Wine’s maroon eyes were wide. “Fuck. I’m drunk. Scar is in the wrong spot. Wrong side, but…”
I blinked. “What did you just say?”
“Never mind me, uh, the bar wench, she thinks you’re in here riding the priest so…” Her eyes narrowed, bouncing from the right pec to the starburst scar in my abdomen. “That’s from the Fanged Lady too, isn’t it?”
I gripped her, pulling her through and shoving her on the chair as I slammed the door shut. “Who the hell are you?”
“Whoa, sore subject.” She threw up her hands, her demeanor loose and careless. “I knew you reminded me of him, and I may have had one too many between that and Frank being a dick in Winter’s Perch.” The Master Assassin’s red cheeks were nothing as she leaned over to whistle as John trying to put his pants on, bumping into me from behind. “You were riding the priest!” Chortling, she met my gaze and her smile dropped. “Oh, you should go back with me. If they saw you…”
“Is she drunk?” John buckled his pants and pulled on his shirt. “Is the fucking Master Assassin our lives depend on fucking shitfaced? Really?”
“Hey, not many folks get stabbed by that bitch,” she slurred, her hood falling. “Ashton was hit once by Falco, in the chest there.” She pressed her fingers into me, shoving me back before I could reach for her braid. “No peeking. You’ll eventually earn the right to see how many knots I have, little Traibon.”
“Wait, you knew Ashton personally?” John slipped on his jacket, placing jars and the oil back in its rightful place.
She grimaced. “I’m the reason he went after Fallen Arbor. He’s the reason I need to find my informant in Captiva City. Apparently, they can’t find Ashton either, and the last person who knew anything was Frank. They were the last to see him alive, but Frank wouldn’t talk to me. Said leave it be and chased me out of Winter’s Perch.”
“Then let’s get their attention,” my voice took on a dangerous ambience. “I’ll play the part of Ashton.”
Red Wine burst into laughter. “You can’t even wield the claymore or fight at the same capacity as him. You think he’d be thrown in the mud that many times or even let those assholes draw blood?” Her laughter stopped, and her breath caught. “You’d have to be crazy to want to become the target of all his enemies. You wouldn’t last a week unless you could hold your own like he could.”
“You’re my mentor. Teach me to be him.”
She guffawed. “I never won a match against him! There’s no one that can compare to him in fighting prowess.”
“And you’re the only one I know who’s ever fought him,” I growled, unnerved that the scarred-lip woman before me had been so close to my brother. “Please. If we are to give ourselves a chance at Fallen Arbor slipping up or even getting Ashton to come out of hiding—”
A haunting expression filled her face. “You’re right.” She touched the scar on her face and seemed to sober. “Fallen Arbor is dangerous. They are using every dirty tactic and using dark, terrible magic. Regardless, if you two are really going to be so brazen…” We looked to one another and nodded. “Fools. Such fucking fools. You’re going to get me killed, so promise me one thing: you let Frank and Ashton know Raphaëlle Le Denys never stopped loving them.” She stood, shoving me back. “Let’s be straight. You may look like him, but you’ll never reach the greatness he is and always has been. Get your clothes on and meet me in the woods behind the tavern. Your training starts now; there will be no rest. I’ll teach you everything he taught me about the claymore.”
I need them to think I am Ashton, that the man behind the mask matches the name that once reigned over entire armies as Champion Supreme.
Chapter 8
The Mask of Ashton
The silence between us unsettled my nerves. Moments ago, she was leaning on the doorframe and slurring. Now she marched in a way that reminded me of a soldier getting into the proper mental state to enter the battlefield. Somewhere in the cold dark, a barn owl hooted an ill omen. The old farmer’s voice whispered, you hear that? Goosebumps pimpled my skin as the sour memory rolled forward. Silence followed by nothing but the owl’s call is an ill omen. I had laughed it off, not realizing the very next day the old man would die on me. Take heed, Prince. They stand for wisdom, but you don’t get wise because life’s sweet as a rose in bloom. No, the wise are those who have seen death, and worse, caused it with their own two hands. For the first time in a long while, the claymore seemed heavy, the sense of a great burden added to it once more. And now this secures I w
ill be causing my own share of deaths, does it not? My past haunted me, always rolling back after I fooled myself to think that I’d made peace. Instead, it forewarned that it was my future I should fear the most.
Red Wine stopped and spun to face me. I froze, waiting for her instructions.
“You do realize I haven’t ever been this upset in front of anyone for decades.” Her eyes picked me apart, her lips in a deep scowl making the scar ugly.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered.
“You really never got to meet him?” She crossed her arms, baffled by the thought.
“He went missing before I was born,” I confessed.
She brought her hand to her lips in deep thought. “I can’t afford to take my time with you then. You will be training, and any time you do something not on par with Ashton…” Her maroon eyes glowed. “…I will not let it go without punishment.”
“Understood.” I pulled the claymore free, letting the point thunk into the ground. “So, let’s get to training.”
“Take your offense starting stance,” she demanded.
Obediently, I shifted my body, holding the hilt in both hands, left hand on the bottom half. I held the blade between us, the tip pointed at her as if awaiting her incoming attack. She palmed her face. Silence lingered as she muttered in an inaudible language, clearly disgruntled. My heart sank as she began talking to herself, pacing back and forth. She’s trying to talk herself out of this… what language is that? The Old Tongue? Or something else?
“What’s wrong?” I braved, holding my stance.
“You. You’re all wrong. This is all just wrong,” she spat, angry and frustrated before even starting. “You’re going to get killed, or I’m going to get killed pulling this off.”
“If I can’t change by sunup, I’ll abandon the idea.” It was a dangerous gamble, but it made her hand drop, and she met my gaze. She knows I mean it. Or she plans on forcing me to fail with that much on the table.
