In fact she was an expert at it.
With one last grunt he pulled her face tight against his pelvis and held her there; his cock buried to the hilt down her throat, and her face gradually reddening from lack of air.
Though her slitted green eyes were welling with tears, she placidly watched him while he deposited the last of his cum inside of her.
He was a pro too, and knew just how much she could take.
After that they spent some time just cooling off, their breathing evening out.
Nameless broke the silence, his fingers absently scratching at Erica’s ears.
“We did good work today, didn’t we?”
“Yeah. We were awesome.” The smug Katje agreed while dutifully licking up the residue of his cum from his cock and balls.
But though she was trying to keep him distracted from it, they all felt how desperately he needed the statement to be true.
Especially since one of their number was absent.
Volka, Dominar Volka, had left them shortly after she had reclaimed her shield from Nameless.
She had meant what she had said in Lipton Falls: she was preparing for war.
Already assorted warrior breeds were answering her call and amassing in Garland, most numerous being the Amazons.
Just a few tribes so far as most of the blonde warrior women lived well beyond the outskirts of civilization, in the wilderness where they were most comfortable.
At Volka’s request, or rather order, Escrya, Kaylee and Helena were seeking them out.
Volka spent a great deal of her time now with the warriors in Garland, helping them get settled in and preparing contingencies with the various monster girl leaders for the inevitable confrontation with Evadne, the demon-touched Chimera.
The Aegis council was ambivalent towards her efforts, understandably so as she hadn’t consulted with them about any of it; but they had their hands full dealing with the rising tide of panic that resulted from an entire town being wiped off the map.
Even before the slaughter people were afraid as monster girls and humans alike had been disappearing for months, now it was like a pot boiling over as everyone everywhere scrambled to do whatever they could to feel safe again.
Meanwhile the Valkyrie’s bond-mates, grown accustomed to basking in her angelic warmth, found themselves trying to adapt to its absence.
Nameless sighed into the melancholy that they all felt.
But then he remembered an enraged Erica, wrapped around a perp’s head as he came out of the whorehouse.
“Erica, what did that guy want you to do that was so horrible?”
She froze with her lips around his cockhead, then popped off of him to clear her throat and speak.
“Not telling.”
“That bad?” Nina asked.
The cat gave one last lick on Nameless’s member that made his toes curl before tucking it back into his briefs.
“Worse.”
“I’m sorry dearheart.” Ophelia mumbled drowsily; “That must have been hard for you.”
She was lying across Milly’s pelvis, her arms wrapped around the cow’s waist and her face nuzzled into her abdomen, using her warm and soft skin as a pillow.
The Minotaur in turn had already dozed off, so they were all speaking in hushed voices.
“Now you have to tell me.” Nina insisted as she squirmed between Milly’s thigh and Nameless’s knee; “Just so I know whether or not this prick gets to keep his goolies.”
Nameless blinked back his weariness, his brow furrowing slightly from Nina’s word-choice.
“His... what?”
“His goolies. His balls.” The Gigas explained; “I heard someone call them that in Algrade. Don’t change the subject. Erica: dish.”
The Katje shuddered again before shifting over between Nameless’s legs and whispering into the giant’s ear.
When she was finished Nina was a slightly paler shade of red, even a bit green, and her eyes were wide with shock.
“Men like that?” The tiny giant demanded in a strangled whisper.
“None that I know.” Erica responded curtly.
“I am sorry I asked.”
Nameless meanwhile was putting in a conscious effort with his gift not to find out what could have possibly unsettled the stoic giant, let alone the former sex-slave, to such an extent.
By that point, they could hear Ophelia softly snoring into Milly’s naval, so he stroked the heads of the two girls still awake.
“We’ve been running all over for the past few weeks, chasing down all the leads from Algrade, but Miranda told me this was it for the task-force. So we’ll be back in Garland in a couple days, then we’ll see what’s what. For now, you should try and get some sleep.”
Nina sniffed as she and Erica snuggled in on either side of him, the soft rasp of shifting hay filling the barn.
“Speak for yourself, dork.”
Chapter 4:
Thunder and Light
A Witch’s curse never moves in a straight line, and nor does a Witch, if ever asked about it.
Instead it moves with the meandering yet inevitable intent of a bolt of lightning; its destination unchangeable, but the many twists and turns of its path impossible for anyone to predict.
A death curse is the same, and its arrival is the same: a sudden event, followed by a deep unease that rumbles through the very bones.
Thunder is a constant apology for not warning of lightning sooner.
Many miles away from a sleeping dork and his family, Tristan Grove, ex-husband of one Bethany Sinclair and leader of the fake Aegis ordinance disposal team, was staring into the dark and slowly moving water of a narrow creek, its surface sunk deep into the ancient forest’s floor.
After the bloody mess in the desert, and the more recent and even bloodier mess with a patch of Blomma in the primeval forest, he was in a foul mood.
“Boss, coffee.”
Someone nudged at his shoulder, and he looked over to see Joan Dartmouth holding out a steaming metal cup for him.
She’d been working for him ever since she was kicked out of the university in Algrade, a medic by training and an alcoholic by inclination.
Her nose was red from too much drink over too long a time, but even without the obvious signs of her vices she was on a first name basis with every branch of the ugly tree.
He took the drink with a grunt of gratitude, but immediately spat it into the water below when he tasted the liquor in it.
Realizing her mistake she swapped cups with him.
“Sorry, that one’s mine.” He scowled at her, but she was the sort of person who just didn’t care what people thought of her, a trait he usually valued; “Your wife leave you because of that snarling puss?”
“She didn’t leave me.” He growled at her.
“Sure. Sure.” She waved dismissively, very obviously not believing him; “What is it then? You still raw about the flower garden?”
There was little else to do on watch aside from stare at the darkness between the massive trees, so she was mostly making conversation to kill time.
He made a noise of displeasure in his throat as he remembered the prisoners using knives and lost-tech weapons to cut and burn their way through the terrified Blommas’ animated vines and roots, all just to make bloody sport of them.
“It was unprofessional.” He admitted with a steadying breath; “And just plain stupid.”
“You’re worried about those Saenga girls.” She guessed, but he shook his head firmly.
“No, we’re far enough north to avoid their turf. I’m worried about what I don’t know.”
She kicked at the mossy edge above the water, swishing her potent coffee around in her cup.
“And what’s that?”
“I thought it would be obvious: who’s going to stumble on those poor flowers.”
She sniffed and took a long draw from her drink, her eyes darting around the camp amidst the massive trees to see if anyone was listening.
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Most of their crew was asleep, save the ones on watch like her and Tristan, while the prisoners they freed from the Trogs in the desert were out to a man.
Like Tristan said, unprofessional.
“They got a few more bodies than us, but our guys still have the better gear.” She muttered towards him, speaking into her cup and keeping her voice low; “Say the word and we’ll cut ‘em loose right now. If we’re quick and lucky it’ll just be knife work.”
Another of the things Tristan valued about the failed medic was her ruthlessness: she wasn’t squeamish about blood, whether it was from patching someone up or from gutting them in their sleep.
He was seriously considering it, even fingering the blade on his thigh as he mapped out in his head exactly how it would go down.
But before he could make the call the camp woke all by itself when one of the sleeping prisoners let out a blood-curdling shriek that even the sacred hush of the forest could not silence.
Thunder, apologizing for lightning.
He and Joan spilled their coffee as they armed themselves and sprinted through the trees and undergrowth towards the commotion.
Soon half the camp was up and likewise armed, watching on as the pair of them knelt at the stricken man’s side.
“What is wrong with him?” One of the other prisoners demanded.
His buddy was writhing in obvious agony, foam frothing out of his mouth.
“Get a stick between his teeth so he doesn’t bite his tongue off!” Joan barked; “Somebody hold him!”
Spurred into action, three of the others joined Tristan in trying to contain whatever seizure had taken the downed man.
Once she’d secured a broken stick between his teeth, Joan peeled back his eyelids.
Only to recoil in horror.
The whites of his eyes were black, and where they should be red with healthy blood vessels they were instead sickly green.
He convulsed again, this time with enough force to cause one of the men to cry out as his thumb was bent too far in the wrong direction, then he went still.
There was a long moment of complete silence.
The shaken medic leaned in again to check her patient, then pulled a flask from her jacket and looked to Tristan.
“Dead.” She said tersely, taking a long pull of the burning alcohol.
He cursed as they looked the man over; she really didn’t need to tell him, because it wasn’t a pretty sight.
His mouth was agape in a silent scream, his tongue lolled out to a grotesque degree around the stick and coated with sickly yellow foam from his seizure, while all of his limbs were broken and angled in impossible ways.
Both of his legs had somehow bent upwards at the knee, then bent again at the shin so that his feet were flat to the back of his calves, sharply broken bones jutting out of his skin. Likewise his arms were both twisted up like bloody and tattered rope, while his fingers looked like nothing so much as braided sticks of flesh.
Several of the people who’d witness his end had to turn away to vomit.
Despite the horrifying scene, Tristan’s voice was level as he looked to the now slightly inebriated Joan.
“How?”
She shifted her neck back to contain a little burp as her booze tried to come back on her a bit, then shrugged.
“No idea. Twist my arm-” She grimaced at her own phrasing, then chose a slightly different wording; “Make me guess? This wasn’t something he picked up from wiping with the wrong leaves or eating some colourful berries, this was some kind of magic.”
The man with the injured thumb cradled his hand to his chest and gestured with his chin at the corpse.
“The hell kind of magic could do-”
“‘Some kind’ I said! How would I know? I got enough schooling to treat a Manticore sting, not enough to counter whatever the fuck that was!” She gestured at the distorted remains with her flask, accidently sloshing a bit of booze onto the dead man’s face.
Tristan bit back another snarling curse, instead turning to the onlookers, his eyes blazing as he glared at the surviving prisoners.
Once he found the one he was looking for, a hulking black haired brute named Carl who’d taken it on himself to be the leader of the bunch, he pulled his pistol out and spoke evenly.
“Someone found your little flower party. No more fucking with the natives.”
All around the prisoners were eyeing his crew, every one of which had a weapon in hand and an unfriendly glint in their eye.
Carl wasn’t stupid; in fact once they were free of the wilds he intended to do everything he could to get in on whatever operation Tristan was running, so he was quick to ingratiate himself.
“You heard the man.” He turned and barked out at the other escapees; “Next one with his dick out gets dead.”
A sullen silence greeted his words, until a whiny voice from the back called out the obvious.
“What if we need a piss?”
“Then do it in your pants like your momma taught you!” Carl roared back.
Tristan rolled his eyes and began giving orders of his own.
“Forget sleeping. We’re breaking camp. Then you lot are going to show me how fast you can run, because anyone who can’t is getting left behind to face whatever did that!”
His hand gestured violently at the demented carcass before them.
None of them argued with his thinking, setting to work immediately.
“Whose mother teaches them to go potty in their drawers?” Joan muttered before taking another long drink from her flask.
__________
On the outskirts of the city of Garland was a boarding school run by an old friend of Ophelia’s, Madeleine Tillman.
After word arrived in the city about Lipton Falls, the headmistress and faculty alike were deeply concerned for the safety of the children in their care.
Which is why when groups of monster girls began to arrive in the city in response to Volka’s call to arms Madeleine quickly volunteered the open field immediately next to the school’s gate, as well as the courtyard within its stout walls, as lodging for the grim-faced warriors.
Concerns for the security of the place were quickly allayed when the grounds had a variety of fierce monsters patrolling them at all hours.
The children, bless their little hearts, thought it was the coolest thing since baked beans.
The most exciting kind of bean.
Out of respect for their hosts, Volka’s budding army tried to keep the noise down at night, but little could be done about the Valkyrie’s golden wings as she returned to Garland before her family, the glow of her divinity lighting up the courtyard as she landed.
“Tiana.” She called out in a low voice as a familiar figure came out to greet her from the pavilion they had set up as a command tent; “How many?”
“Dominar.” The Amazon tilted her head down in deference; “Two dozen came in this afternoon. A war-party sent from the Gael tribe. Young wildlings, but good fighters.”
Volka pursed her lips and nodded.
“Not the flood I was hoping for, but a trickle is better than nothing.”
“Forgive me Dominar, but I think you’ve underestimated the task you’ve given Escrya and the other Saenga girls. In the centuries after the founding of the Aegis most of the Amazon tribes scattered, choosing to dwell in the wilds where they felt most at home, or wandering the world in search of glory as we Brael did.”
The Valkyrie reached out and placed her hand on Tiana’s shoulder, giving her an affectionate squeeze before shaking her head.
“Be that as it may, we need numbers. I do not know Evadne’s endgame, if she even has one, but I know that we must have the strength to match it when it comes.”
“As you say.” Tiana nodded.
“How are you adjusting here?”
After Volka had accepted the mantle of Dominar in the ruins of Lipton Falls, the Brael tribe had effectively deserted the Aegis in order to follow her.
“
Well enough, but I still feel my sisters and I ought to be with the Saenga, helping to keep the Vakyrja-datta safe.”
Volka shifted closer and put her arm over Tiana’s shoulders, then leaned in to kiss her on the cheek.
“I appreciate your concern, but it is not just my husband’s safety we must see to. I need someone here who knows me and who will act without hesitation if and when a crisis arises. I will not soon forget who it was that fought at my side when Evadne first revealed her treachery! Nor should you ever forget that this place you now safeguard is meant for children.”
Before the Amazon leader could respond, there was a faint rustle from the little hedge maze beside the command tent, and Volka quirked an eyebrow at Tiana who frowned as her grip on her spear tightened.
But the Dominar shook her head with a smile and when she spoke again she did so in a louder voice, very obviously speaking to whoever was hiding in the maze.
“Children who ought to be abed come nightfall, lest they earn themselves a swat on the bum from an angel.”
There was a little squeak of distress and a trio of little boys sprinted from the maze back towards the dormitories, whispering excitedly amongst themselves at their little adventure.
Tiana watched them go with a bemused expression before turning back to the angelic leader.
“They must have been hiding in there since before curfew, waiting on your return. Tomorrow night I will…”
Her words trailed off when she felt the weight of Volka’s power, the angel’s eyes glowing in the night as she watched the children enter the building.
“D-Dominar?”
The Valkyrie shook her head slightly, as if to cast off a distraction, and closed her eyes until she could rein in her might.
“I have seen far too many dead children of late.” She explained simply; “Whatever horrors are coming to this world, they will not strike at this place.”
She spoke with such conviction that Tiana could not help but take her words as a commandment.
“So long as my sisters and I draw breath, Dominar.” She swore fiercely.
The Heartstone Saga Page 4
