Lightning flashed and he saw them both illuminated, two horrible bat beasts, crying and shrieking their anger. The second came at him again as the thunder boomed, pouncing high into the air. He ignored his burning urge to use the shield this time, thrusting his arm out to catch it in the throat with the rim of it. The thing let out a choking cough and stumbled backwards, the brother creature rushing forward with gnashing jaws, only to catch the swordsman’s blade in its great maw. He shoved forward, slipping in the mud, driving the sharp blade into its brain and killing it.
The second brother jumped on him before the elder went into death throes, but the swordsman’s blade was stuck deep. He whirled, meeting the thing with his dagger, the short steel cutting a swathe of flesh from its snout. It leapt back, thunder cracking overhead at the same time its sister flashed across the sky.
Behind that wretched thing there were a dozen more, filling the air with their mourning cries.
In the back, there was a girl, the girl he was meant to save. Fair-haired and pale-eyed. She looked at him with a trembling face and quivering lips. A braid of rope bound her hands, and she was emaciated, her complexion fraught with dark circles under the eyes and high, but hollowed cheeks.
That was all that he saw in that burst of light, as the gods wept high overhead. They dropped the tumultuous curtain of rumbling storm clouds and hard sheets of ice rain down onto that good man that night. He pulled his sword from their bat brother as they keened, and the foul daemon things gave him time enough to steady himself and affix his shield spike. They gave him time enough to remember his training, remember his creed, and remember his name. They did not, however, give him time to look up into the beautiful, horrific sky and pray to the divines for their wisdom, courage, and power. Those horrendous bat creatures made him a man before them, but not a champion.
They flew at him in a rage, and the swordsman took a swipe before he took off through the trees. He was fast, built for combat, built for agility, and his legs pumped with a vigorous adrenaline. But the shrieking things were faster. He met the elder thing’s brother in a clutch of trees that would be soon stained with blood. The creature chomped its jaw at him, the teeth gnashing over his dagger with a show of spark. He gutted that one with the broadsword, whirling to meet the next.
His shield blocked a blow and tore a gouge of flesh out as he slammed a sinewy, musty beast back, and he spun to meet another, his blood pumping. The swordsman danced with them, spinning and parrying to evade their talons, his leather armor doing its best to repel the hot, nasty breath that brought bile into the throats of many a veteran warrior, to dispel their flying spittle and acrid blood.
Talons raked into his back, smashing him to one knee, catching the string of his bow and snapping it back on him. He roared as he went down, eager to reach for a potion, remembering his poultices back in the bear’s cave. Bravely, he rose from bended knee amid the chaos, surrounded by the sonic shrieks and fluttering wings.
Another came down on him, swooping low with talons outstretched. His targe went out and he bent to protect himself, whirling about in a blur to take one horrendous talon with his newly sharp blade.
When it cried, they flew down upon him and one by one he repelled their attacks, shield spike taking chunks of flesh, dagger stealing grim chances at snouts and fangs, always parrying what he could not block. The sword, however, did the most work that night, letting blood and gristle and innards from their owners until he found himself face to face with just one. Just the eldest. The biggest, greatest thing.
It charged, reared up with its talons out, and when he swung through it, a clean killing blow, it transformed into that same mist, passed through him, around him. It chilled him, to know its taint across his flesh and inside what makes men and women human. He shivered with the feeling, spun to meet it again, and saw its true form.
“Come then, blood drinker.”
It snarled at him, he snarled at the swordsman. Bleeding and keening with words that did not come from a human tongue. It passed into its hound form and rushed him, with jaws snapping for his throat. The blessed shield spike repelled that, and it came at him again, with claws that would tear into his arm, sinking into his flesh and setting him on fire, but he let his beloved dagger rake along the thing’s side.
It backed away, afraid of his saint’s steel, afraid to be undone by the powers of the divine. It misted, that suffocating white fog fleeing into the sky before shifting into its bat skin, running from the fight.
He pulled the bow and nocked an arrow after shaking his targe away and dropping the blessed blade. He aimed as it grew distant against the moons, ethereal and blue in the ice rain. Lightning struck, blowing wood into splinters that whipped for almost a mile around and his arrow struck true. It died before it hit the ground, that blood drinking thing, fell end over end through the canopy of trees, with an arrow dipped in poisonous wet of the divine through its thick sinuous heart.
The swordsman took the girl, cut her free from her enslavement, returned to the bear’s cave. She was grateful, but scared. Abused and broken, a former slave to the blood drinkers, and by the look of her pale, malnourished body, she had been in their thrall for some time. She didn’t let him take her under his arm as they trekked back to the bear’s cave in the dark, the freezing sheets of ice rain pelting her with frozen pebbles at times, and struggling to make off with her skirts at others when ill winds blew up.
But they made it to the bear’s cave, and the grouse was perfect, juicy and tender. The swordsman gave the girl the dark meats and although grateful, she ate little. Originally, his plan had been to go looking for the beasts in the day, to save half of his bird for the next morning and sup lightly that night. But his fight had left him ravenous, and while the girl ate in nibbles he almost made a show of pulling the meat from its bones with his teeth.
The girl giggled at him, and as she warmed by the firelight, her legs tucked underneath her, he realized that she was no girl. The color was returning to her face, bringing out the eyes from their dark hiding space, and the scraggly, white blonde hair transformed into glowing locks that framed a delicate heart shaped face.
“Let me treat your wounds, hunter,” she finally said. Her voice was a lilting, cheery, personification of a lark’s call.
“I am fine, madam.” He said to her after a moment’s hesitation. “They’ve stopped their bleeding for the night.”
His charge rose to her feet in the flickering warm of the fire. She took light steps around the circle of stones he had made, drawing her skirts up to the ankle as she paced around the crackling fire. She sat further back than he, behind him, but off to one side.
“My father and brothers are hunters,” she spoke. Her hands were already taking stock. She counted his rolls of bandage aloud, and gathered his healing poultices without having to ask which were made from perfumed grasses and which came from ground fats and spices.
She took off his armor, sitting behind him on her legs, rising up on both knees to take the pieces he offered and talking about her family. They were what she missed the most, these days, she explained, the entire reason that she never gave in, why she never let anything beat her. She whispered, “I will see them again one day,” with a wavering voice.
“Your back has not stopped bleeding at all, sir.” She said as she helped him out of the leather jerkin. His shirt was torn, and a circle of blood had seeped into it. “I should call you a liar, but I don’t know you by name. I’m afraid that the title wouldn’t stick.”
“Dalin. Of the Creed.”
“And rightfully so, sir. Only a Creedsman could do that work, two and twelve blood drinkers in the span of an hour.” She moved to take his shirt off of him, but he did not budge.
“Madam…” he started.
“No. Take this off. You need to be treated, or fever will take you, Creedsman.”
Together, they worked the shirt off of Dalin, and his charge took it upon herself to work poultice and bandage over his wounds, binding h
im tight to keep infection from spreading. Her hands worked over his back with a gentle touch, loosing tension that had built up in his many seasons of courageous adventure. When her hands danced over his neck, Dalin decided he’d had enough of her for one night.
“Madam, your hands are like magicks, but I am full and the fire warm. You have made me content and I thank you, but let us sleep, we will set from these woods with the sun.”
“You speak true, sir,” she whispered near his ear, “but I owe you my life. Let me keep you company tonight.”
“Madam—“
“Miss,” she corrected. “Anessa Curtis, of the Plains.”
She planted a kiss on his neck, letting herself linger over his warm flesh. One of her hands wrapped around his torso, feeling the corded muscle of his chest underneath dainty fingertips.
“Miss Curtis, I don’t think it wise. I’ll prepare bedding for you.”
“Don’t bother,” Anessa said. She pulled Dalin back toward her, laying him down against the warmed rock of the bear’s cave. Her hands went to his pants, hovering there above the closure. Dalin barely felt her hands working to loose him, lying there, looking up at the illumination of her legs beneath her skirts. She was smooth and pale, and although her closed jacket held her bosom close and covered, he imagined that her breasts were firm, the size of small apples, with pale nipples the hue of milky pigeonberry.
Anessa took him into her hands and moved to bend over him. She used her tongue to wet her fingers before rubbing her thumb over the head of his shaft, watching it grow in size as she manipulated it. Her fingers gripped him firmly, her mouth nibbling near his base while her fingers worked over him.
Dalin groaned as she worked, one of his rough hands finding her thigh. He rubbed her through her skirts, feeling the smooth legs underneath her clothing and undertunic. He wondered what wonder lay under her skirts, and lost himself to the fire and her fingers as she worked him harder, faster.
The swordsman groaned under her touch, watching her fingers fly over his cock from base to tip, her thumb teasing the slit in its head. Her tongue trailed up his length and he felt his hips jump and shake involuntarily as she did so. His fingers dug into her supple flesh, and he panted hard, rivaling the crackling sounds of the fire.
Anessa took him into her mouth, her wet fingers moving over his muscular thighs as she pushed his pants and breeches down to his knees. Her tongue twirled over his shaft and her hand came up to stroke him between his thighs, waiting for his muscles to relax until she pressed her finger inside.
Dalin moaned, the hand he had on her thigh sliding on her silken skirts to nestle against the beautiful mound between her legs. She was hot with desire, but didn’t allow him entry, instead seeking to concentrate on his pleasure. He felt her hot mouth swallow him, suck his hard shaft deep until he was rubbing against the back of her throat. The finger inside between his legs curled and pressed upward, rubbing him just the right way while she bobbed on him. Her free hand at his base twirled around him, manipulated him like no man had experienced before, until finally, with his breathing ragged he pulled her lips from his prick.
She worked him until he exploded for her, shooting hard and landing a few drops on both of them.
Wordlessly, Anessa cleaned them both up, pulled Dalin’s thick furred pelt—a sign of a Creedsman—from his traveling pack and fell asleep bundled together with him.
***
The swordsman woke to find his shirt laid out for him, pressed into a little square that was warm with the sun’s rays. The thick pelt laid made him hot, which caused him to fuss in his sleep. He found dried blood on his chest that rubbed off of his skin when he touched it, but most of the bandages running across his chest were free of any ruddy trace. He stoked the fire with a piece of kindling to make sure that it was still going, and then banked it to preserve it for the night.
His mind trailed to Anessa, and he turned round to see if maybe he’d missed her underneath the great fur. She was in the back of the cave, with her knees drawn up to her chest. She looked fuller in the face, healthier.
“I am going to hunt while the light is still good, Miss Anessa,” he stated. The sun was sinking in the sky, and he immediately regretted not being up the sun like he said he would be. “I apologize for sleeping in. I didn’t think I would be this tired. Are you alright?”
“I am fine.” Anessa’s voice was a grave imitation of what it had been. It was light and feminine, yes, but there was a grating sound that wasn’t quite there the night before. Something feral.
“Then please, come out with me. I don’t want to leave you to this cave while I hunt.”
“I will be fine. I… I don’t agree with the light anymore, I’m afraid.” There was a frown on her fair visage.
“Did they keep you in chains, away from the sun?” It was a common thing, for blood drinkers. They introduced their thralls to their insanity, kept them waking during normal hours of sleep, convincing them that they were also creatures of the night.
Anessa didn’t answer.
They had grouse again that night, and Dalin offered the plainsgirl his wineskin, which she eagerly took. He was left to consume the grouse by himself, Anessa’s stomach too accustomed to thin gruels to take such a hearty meat at once. She promised she would work her way up to such a meal soon, but in the mean time she would take wine and water, and perhaps the juicy drippings of the meat with hard bread if he could find a way to catch them.
“So tell me about you, sir. Did I make you do something terrible last night against your will?” She scooted in closer to him after their dinner, cleaning herself on the dark fabric of her jacket.
“No, miss,” Dalin replied.
“I’m glad then.”
“Do you have family?” She asked.
“All of them lost to me beyond my creed. But I have brothers, brothers of my oath now. We are one and twenty, ready to fight the creatures of the night by our creed alone.”
“And are they all as handsome as you, sir?”
“What would you do if they were, Miss Anessa?” They both laughed, the plainsgirl putting her head to his shoulder. She looped her arm in his and leaned into him, her wispy white blonde hair glowing by the firelight.
She reached her hand to his pants, quickly undoing them to get at him.
“Miss Anessa,” Dalin said in a whisper of breath. “I don’t think this wise.”
“Shh, my Creedsman,” she replied. She pushed him back against fur underneath them, took his pants and breeches to his knees and pulled his swollen member into her mouth with more exuberance than the night before. Her cheeks hollowed out as she swallowed inch after inch, bobbing up and down, up and down.
His hands found her head and he stroked her hair back from her face as she sucked on his tip, twirling her tongue around him before dipping to take him fully again. The fat head of his cock slid deep into her throat, making her choke. Anessa came up for air, replacing her mouth with a tight fist, fucking him with her hand while the other reached down to caress his balls.
“Ahh, yes,” Dalin breathed out. His lungs were hitching and catching with each gasp. His hips bucked involuntarily and he felt his meaty cock slide down Anessa’s throat. She bounced on his crotch, pushing him as deep as she could get him, with a hand at his base to keep him steady.
He reached out to grab her by her hips, interrupting her sucking to pull her on top of him. She was already wet between the legs, and he moved himself under her skirts and undertunic to find her dripping with her excitement. She moaned when he touched her, when he split her apart to dip a finger into her wet canal. Anessa’s hips came down to meet him and her nether lips swallowed his finger as they rolled and crashed against his hand.
He inhaled her arousing scent and pressed on, two thick fingers squeezing in; stretching her while his thumb busied itself within her folds. He thumbed her elusive pearl, and felt it slip away from him as Anessa moaned her pleasure out on his cock. She was steadily bobbing her head to slurp h
im, her hand following her lips as she bounced up and down on him, twisting around him.
Dalin pressed his fingers into her, sliding them in and out at a furious pace. His fingers pistoned in and out of her, his knuckles rubbing against her lips as she rocked back to meet him, moaning around his member every time the pad of his thumb grazed her.
She flung her body back to meet his hand, swinging a little circle to press him into the places that felt the best. Her hand came off of his rod so that she could take him more aggressively and she crashed her face into the thick forest of hair around his shaft until his balls pressed against his body and he came into her hot mouth. “Mmm…” she moaned, her hips jerking erratically as her clit bumped into Dalin’s thumb one more time and she came as well. She rode his hand slowly as her body spasmed, her clit clenching and her tunnel fluttering until she lifted her head to cry out.
They cleaned up and Dalin went back to the grouse, finishing another piece of thigh meat off before pulling a skin of drink from his traveling pack. Anessa’s eyes were already lit by the time he looked at her, vibrant and the blue of the cold morning sky. He offered her the first drink and she happily took it, raising it to her lips before recoiling and coughing.
“Are you alright?”
Anessa cleared her throat and Dalin rubbed her back to soothe her agitated throat.
“I’m fine. I haven’t drank such clean water in weeks, is all.” Her voice was once again the lark’s song filtered through gravel. Dalin worried that her health was more seriously deterred than he had once thought.
“Maybe you should sup,” he said, taking the skin from her. It was not his wine, but the crisp, refreshing taste of blessed water that always reinvigorated his faculties. Certainly not for all, the pure dew of the divine was always cold as a mountain stream. In front of the fire, Anessa’s breath blew out visible until the fire ate the moisture up.
“I want to take a bath tomorrow,” his charge spoke. “I am dirty, and I want to be fresh for our start out of this devilish wood.”
Paranormal Fantasies: A Promotional Collection of 14 Erotic Supernatural Stories Page 15
