“Perhaps…perhaps it was my own…my own fault, milady,” the guard stuttered, fear making his mouth suddenly dry. “An’ he is jes’ a kid, after all. No harm done.”
“None at all.” An agreeable smile lit Tyriel’s face and the tension that had filled her drained out as the guard backed down, dropping into his seat, studiously avoiding her gaze.
It didn’t surprise her, as far south as she was. The folk in Zhalia were notoriously superstitious; elves were ranked on the same level as saints and angels and demons. To be feared, respected, or worshipped, depending who you asked and when.
Though one might think unkindly thoughts of the fae, few spoke them aloud for fear that the fae people would hear and drag them off to the cities in the hills to slave away in the elvish mines.
Though her chest ached from resisting the bully’s shove, she didn’t reach up to rub it, knowing better than to show any sign of weakness or reaction.
A low amused voice said, “That’s a rather…interesting act you have there. What was that, mass hypnosis?”
Turning to study the hooded stranger in the corner, Tyriel cocked her head. “Nothing so extravagant.” Moving closer, she bent over the table and gave a conspiratorial wink and said, “We elves eat babies at breakfast, didn’t you know? They know better than to anger us.”
“Hmm. How odd. All the elves I’ve ever known were vegetarians,” the man said in a low voice, careful to keep anybody else from overhearing as he reached up and shoved his hood back.
Oh, my, Tyriel thought with interest as she studied the pale face revealed. A face that could have been carved from alabaster stared back at her, with wide eyes of deep blue. My, my, my.
The slight arch of her brow was the only sign that she was the slightest bit impressed by that little known fact. And nothing revealed that her tongue was about ready to hang out of her mouth. “Are you going to give me away? Let them know how meek and cowardly we really are?”
“I didn’t say a thing about meek or cowardly.” Gesturing to the seat at his side, he said, “I am curious exactly how you managed that, though. I’ve never seen a guard from this towne back down from anything short of a fair fight.”
“It wouldn’t have been fair. I was busting men like him when I was barely old enough to pick up a sword.”
“Hardly what I meant.”
Recognizing the persistence, Tyriel shrugged. “It’s not a secret or anything. The folk in this part of the country are notoriously superstitious. They still believe that we lurk around in the shadow world, waiting for people to displease us so we can haul them away to harvest our mines for us.”
“I doubt you’d let somebody who wasn’t elvish into your mines,” the swordsman said, beckoning for another ale. “Can I buy you one?”
“I’ll pass.” She shuddered in remembrance of the one taste she had taken as she studied him. And he was quite a treat to the eyes…a fine one, indeed. That mouth…it was giving her some naughty ideas that had her belly getting tight as she shifted on the hard bench. “You seem to know quite a bit about the kin,” Tyriel mused, declining the offered mug from the serving girl. “How is that?”
He flashed her a grin. “I get around.”
“Hmmm. In your travels, have you heard of glamour?” she asked, her voice dropping to just above a whisper. With a conspiratorial wink, she said, “It’s a neat little trick that makes people think they are seeing something that isn’t there. Or more than what they already see.”
“So your eyes weren’t really glowing in the dark?”
“What do you think?” she returned with a smile, the tip of her tongue darting out to wet her lips. When he merely arched a pale gold brow at her, she sighed. “Swordsman, do you really think I would share such secrets with a man I don’t know?”
“You saved that boy from a sound beating.” His eyes drifted over to the guard who sat staring sullenly into his wine. “The guard will forget by morning, but that wouldn’t help the boy. He would have been hurt badly enough to not work for a day or two. If he can’t do his job here, he’s to be sold.”
With a curl of her lip, Tyriel said, “Slaves. That’s one of the reasons I head out this week. There was a time when slavery wasn’t lawful here. I was shocked to learn it had been legalized.”
Her eyes drifted over to where the serving boy hurried back and forth between the kitchen and the tables. Often, he cast grateful eyes her way as he carefully avoided the area around the surly guard. A handsome child, if you could overlook the overly long, tangled hair and obvious malnourishment.
And more than one patron had overlooked. Body slaves were bad enough, but to force a child into that role was unthinkable. And it wouldn’t be long before the innkeeper decided to do just that. Tyriel had already noticed the appraising looks the innkeeper gave the boy when a particular customer would stare at him overly long.
“I’ve only been here a month myself. Hired on for a job. Once the contract is up, I’m northbound.” Sympathy darkened his eyes as he watched the boy as well.
Yeah, a handsome child.
At his back, his sword seemed to weigh down heavily on him for just a moment. Automatically, he shifted the harness as he turned his eyes back to the elf. “I’m Aryn. May I ask your name?”
“Tyriel,” she murmured, dragging her eyes from the child and studying the outrageously beautiful man in front of her. Over the morass of scents in the inn, she could smell him, and he smelled delicious…warm, male, clean. The sword strapped to his back was harnessed across what looked to be a deliciously powerful chest.
The sword…it drew her eye, flashing far more brightly in the dim light than it should have. The carving in the pommel was scrolled and marked, letters—familiar, they seemed to move and twist, and call—Tyriel shook her head slightly as Aryn shifted his shoulders once more, distracting her, drawing her attention away from the sword’s hilt and pommel, and back to him.
His shoulders looked wide and strong and his arms were long, lean and muscled under the clean cotton of his shirt. The sleeves of that shirt were rolled up to his elbows, revealing muscled forearms, thick wrists, long-fingered hands with wide palms. And his smell kept beckoning her. She was getting hotter just staring at him. “Just Tyriel.”
A small hand appeared on the swordsman’s shoulder. Turning her eyes upward, Tyriel watched as one of the serving girls lowered her lips to speak quietly into his ear. A slow smile tugged at his mouth and he gave a slight nod before turning his attention back to Tyriel.
The girl, well, woman had large breasts, a narrow waist, and full hips. Exceptionally clean, which was unusual in a dive like this. When Tyriel’s eyes landed on the brand on her wrist, she fit the pieces together. It was the shape of a quarter-moon, which meant the girl was an indentured servant. She could work off her five years here, or be bought by a willing party and work off the time with another.
If the mark had been an ‘X,’ it would have meant she was a slave, and freedom was something that would never happen for her. An ‘X’ encircled meant a body slave, basically a whore who whored for her master and turned the money over to that master. A whore who had no choice in his or her bed partners, or any say in where she bedded that partner. Tyriel had seen body slaves who knelt in alleyways in broad daylight to service or be mounted.
But this serving girl was looking for a new keeper.
She recognized the satisfaction in the serving girl’s eyes as she strolled away, hips swaying subtly beneath the plain blue wool of her skirt. With a sigh, Tyriel thought, too bad.
She fought not to let her lip poke out as she squirmed on the seat, the wetness between her thighs seeming to mock her. Damn it all.
* * * * *
Aryn the swordsman at least had the decency to take his tumble upstairs. The girl was clean and soft and sweet-smelling—looking for a way to a better life.
Aryn couldn’t, and wasn’t interested in, offering that, but a soft female beside him for the night wasn’t a bad thing. He’d leave so
me extra money with her so she could stash it. Most indentured servants skimmed a little bit of money here and there, hoping to earn enough to buy their freedom a year or two sooner.
Barely clearing the door, he turned and grabbed her, pinning her against the wall and lifting her skirt to close his hands over naked hips. “Why, you naughty thing, no undergarments,” he purred, nibbling his way down her neck.
She hadn’t accepted another man’s favor all night, or the past three, waiting for this one. He was clean, he was handsome, and he had kind eyes. Since she did have some say in whom she spread her thighs for, she had waited and watched him.
With a smile, she pulled her linen shift up and over her head, freeing the large breasts that had teased and taunted Aryn half the night. “Not a thing, sirrah,” she replied. “I was hopin’ you’d like some company after all. And I wanted nothin’ in y’way.”
It had been nearly four months since Aryn had been able to get to a woman decent enough, clean enough to touch. Without another thought in his mind, he freed his cock, then lifted her and drove into her, the soft, silky lips of her sex closing tightly over him. “Sweet little thing.”
She closed around him, wet and soft, an eager moan falling from her lips as he lowered his head to catch a nipple between his teeth. He surged inside, gripping her soft, rounded ass and grinning when she squealed as he pushed his finger against her anus.
Aryn held back until he felt the orgasm start to ripple through her, and then he rammed into her repeatedly, until the climax broke free.
He then took her to the bed and guided her head down until she could wrap her pretty little lips around his cock, groaning with delight and she set to the task with obvious, unfaked pleasure. Her round, firm ass stayed high in the air as she worked him, and Aryn’s hand closed around one soft white globe, massaging the flesh while his other hand wrapped in her loose hair. Occasionally, because that pretty butt just seemed to want it, he would give it a sharp little smack with the flat of his hand.
Her soft curls tossed over her shoulder, she stared at him through her lashes. Pulling away and swabbing the head of his penis with her tongue she then moved down to suckle and nibble on his sac before taking him into her mouth again. Moving slowly down the thick, rounded head, she took as much of him into her mouth as she could, falling into a slow steady rhythm that soon had Aryn lifting his hips to her caress and moaning.
The ruddy flesh of his cock gleamed wet as it slid in and out of her mouth, her hand gripping the base of his shaft, holding it steady as she moved. She slid the other hand under his hip, gripping a firmly muscled buttock and massaging.
“Oh, that was tasty,” she murmured after he came in her mouth. Swallowing it down, licking her lips, she stroked his penis lovingly as she sat down next to him. “Should I be goin’ now, sirrah?”
“Hell, no.” Her eyes widened in surprise when she felt his very hard penis start probing the entrance to her vagina.
Aryn thought later that the little servant had been the answer to a prayer. He spent the night ridding himself of the desperate need to ride a woman and come inside her warm body. And she was tempting. Tempting enough, pretty enough, he almost gave in to the silent question in her eyes before he ushered her out of the room.
But, no, he wasn’t letting her stay, wasn’t buying her contract, wasn’t going to wake up and ride her one last time before he headed out. As much as he wanted to.
As he drifted off to sleep a little later, he wondered one last time about the pretty, wild-eyed elf he had seen.
* * * * *
The pretty wild-eyed elf had paid for the room and rid it of its vermin. The bed was lumpy but she’d slept on worse. The room was warm enough since she had chosen the one right over the kitchen.
And she had been serenaded by the sound of various couples fucking.
It wasn’t that she was jealous. Exactly. But the man wouldn’t have had to pay a whore. Tyriel would have been more than happy to join him in bed that night.
Grumbling to herself, she settled down, clapping her pillow over her head to drown out the noise of lovemaking and sex play. Damnation, she wanted some play herself. The breathy moans coming from two doors down were driving her mad. Her incredibly sharp hearing could pick up the sounds and whispered orders as if she were in the room.
Her body was tight and aching and her nipples were beaded, pressing against her soft cotton shift. With an oath, she tore the shift off, her careless jerks rending it to shreds. Her hand crept down between her thighs and she closed her eyes, listening as Aryn told the servant to spread her legs. Tyriel’s opened and she sought and found the hard little nub just atop her wet slit.
Her hand moved in fast little circles, desperate for some release of the pressure inside her belly.
Too long. She had been alone far too long.
A sobbing moan left her lips, agony coursing through her. Not enough. Not enough. Frustrated need and magick coursed through her blood, conjuring a phantom out of thin air. The phantom was nothing more than an illusion, a very touchable illusion that, thanks to Tyriel’s mindless need, had a large cock that slid against her cleft as a mouth came crashing down on hers, obeying her every silent wish. That hot, avid mouth settled on her nipple, first one then the other, suckling gently, then hungrily until she had reached up and gripped handfuls of silky hair.
Strong hot hands moved over her body, gripping her hips, stroking her along the sensitive crease between her buttocks as the phantom spread her thighs and plunged inside her aching cleft with one deep, surging thrust that stole her breath, riding her headlong into climax, granting her release before fading back into nothingness.
When Tyriel could finally, finally, breathe around the need that had been plaguing her for weeks, starting to suffocate her for the past few days, she rolled over into her pillow and slept.
And down the hall, the mattress continued to thrum and squeak. She roused briefly, mumbled under her breath, magick whispered through the room, then blissful quiet fell over her as the shield of silence fell.
Tyriel woke early.
There was one last thing she had to do.
And she was leaving, even if she didn’t have as much money saved as she had planned.
* * * * *
“Of all the damned fools,” Tyriel hissed as she faced down the guard who stood at the gate, attempting to bar her way out of the city.
“Taxation for leaving the city?” she replied icily, one black brow rising expectantly as the guard continued to hold out one grimy hand.
How had this towne slid so far downhill in the few short years since she had visited last? Mentally, she counted back and was somewhat disconcerted to realize it had been nearly fifteen years, not the two or three she had thought at first. Sighing, she shoved her hair back. When you were alone, time had a way of slipping by with little notice.
“I was taxed when I entered, when I contracted a short job acting as bodyguard, when I paid for my room and board, and whenever I made a purchase. And you expect me to pay more simply for leaving?”
“Pay your dues, milady,” the guard repeated. “O’course, iffen yer short money, we kin work it out.” His eyes landed on her mouth, letting her know exactly how she could work it out.
I’d rather bite it off than suck it, nasty little man.
“No. No, I don’t think so,” she said slowly, after appearing to ponder the matter. “Perhaps I’ll go make my complaints known to the constable and have him explain this new tax to me. And I can ask how exactly I am expected to pay it off. Then, perhaps I’ll pay.” She turned and studied the street behind her, frowning thoughtfully. “I believe his office is at the towne center, just to the right of the rather gaudy and filthy fountain. Is that right?”
The slight widening of the guard’s eyes answered her question. There was no taxation. But few people thought to question it, she supposed. Even fewer made mention of the constable. The damned guards in this towne grew worse every trip.
Of course
, there had been a time when this had been a decent city, with good decent folk, honest servants. No slaves.
And no indiscriminate screwing on street corners.
“What? No response?” she asked dryly as the guard’s hand fell and he glared at her sullenly. “I’ll just take my leave then.”
With a smile, she led her horse through the gate and off the road, pausing just long enough to check the riding gear and her own supplies. Then she swung up on the horse and offered a cheery wave before nudging Kilidare onto the road.
Her nearly empty coin purse slapped against her hip as the horse took off at a ground-eating gallop. Good thing he hadn’t decided to press the issue. Tyriel doubted she would have bothered with going to the constable and this morning’s purchase had near emptied her resources, for the time. Of course, she could always change that. Da would be more than happy, even rather insistent on changing that.
And she was rather insistent that he not.
She had made it by on far less than she had now. She could do it again.
* * * * *
“Sold?” Aryn repeated, staring at the barkeep with shuttered eyes. By the Holy Fire, he thought angrily. One of the patrons that had kept shooting the boy looks. Pretty child slaves didn’t last long in places like this. They usually ended up in private homes or whorehouses. How could such filth be legal? Why was it allowed? His gut roiled and his hand ached for his sword.
He would find him.
That was all there was to it.
Shifting the harness at his shoulders, he closed his eyes. A headache was starting to pound behind his eyes, a familiar one. The blade at his back had that odd heavy feel to it. West, they had to ride west, find the child…soon, nay, not soon, now.
Touch of Gypsy Fire Page 2
