Ravencaller

by David Dalglish

  “It stays on,” she said.

  His fingers withdrew without a word. Jacaranda wouldn’t normally have minded, but she also wore her scarf about her neck to hide her chain tattoos. If she were naked but for the scarf, it would certainly draw his attention. While he didn’t remove her shirt, he did lift it up just enough to continue a new line of kisses from her sternum down to her belly button. Only then did he pull her trousers down and off.

  “I’m going to start slow,” he said as he folded the pants with practiced care. “Don’t panic or get upset if you don’t respond immediately. This isn’t a race, there’s no timer, and you certainly won’t hurt my feelings.”

  Jacaranda closed her eyes and opened her legs. Goddesses damn it all, she felt so nervous over something that shouldn’t be difficult. She’d had sex countless times throughout her life. It was a physical act, that was all, which was what she’d understood so well as her soulless self. So why did this make her panic now? Why did the mere thought of Larsen seeing her naked fill her with anxiety? She was safe here, with a highly skilled, highly paid bed warmer. Gerag couldn’t hurt her. He couldn’t touch her.

  “You’re lost in your head,” Larsen said.

  “Sorry,” she mumbled, feeling embarrassed.

  “I don’t want you apologizing. I want you relaxed and enjoying yourself.”

  His hand settled upon her inner thigh, and once she did not recoil, he guided it all the way between her legs. His fingers gently brushed her folds, teasing at her opening. She could tell it was dry, and again she wanted to apologize. Instead she bit her tongue and reminded herself that Larsen had experience with many, many women. This would hardly be new to him.

  “You’re beautiful,” he said, and this time she did blush. It worked, his words drawing her out of her mind and to his cocky smile. Up and down went his fingers, teasing, exploring, and true to his word, he showed not an ounce of impatience. Jacaranda felt her lower abdomen tensing, and she caught herself holding her breath multiple times. Each time she let it out in a long, slow exhale. To her surprise, the third time that exhale came out as a low moan. His hand was moving in circles now, and she felt herself opening to him, her imagination even pretending it wasn’t a hand there but the tip of the beautiful man’s fully erect cock.

  When he finally did slip a finger inside her, he didn’t have to force it at all. Her body welcomed it. Jacaranda tensed, almost expecting a traumatic flash of memories. That was the worst of it, she decided, that uncertainty of how her own mind would react. Even though she remained calm, and successfully kept those harmful memories at bay, the mere worry scraped at the edges of her awareness and threatened to douse the growing heat of her body with cold water.

  “Keep your breathing steady,” Larsen said calmly, as if his fingers weren’t currently sliding in and out of her. “Don’t think. Don’t remember. Focus only on my hand, all right? Focus on how good it feels. Focus on how your body is responding.”

  Three fingers now, and they were curling just before withdrawing, his fingertips brushing her insides in a way Gerag had never done. Gerag would never… he’d never care if she was enjoying herself… never think to find this spot inside her that sparked with pleasure at every gentle touch…

  “No thinking,” Larsen said, his thumb suddenly pressing down against her vulva in a not-unpleasant way. The pressure quickly drew her attention to his playful grin. “If you must think, think on what you hope I do next.”

  “And what is it you will do next?” she asked.

  Mischief sparkled in those baby-blues.

  “I guess I’ll show you if you’re so impatient.”

  His mouth settled over her, his breath warm and lustful. She couldn’t see his tongue, nor could she visualize it with how the rapid motions overwhelmed her with pleasure, but whatever he did was a gift from the Goddesses.

  “Ho-holy shit,” she gasped. His fingers could have belonged to a machine, they were so consistent in their motions and speed. She clung to the bedsheet. Her back arched instinctively. She thought he might go faster, given her receptive response, but he remained maddeningly consistent as he carried her toward a seemingly inevitable climax. Gerag had often thought himself an expert in all things sexual, but Larsen was showing her what a true master was actually like. Gerag was a selfish lover, even his giving acts performative, self-indulgent…

  Stop fucking comparing him to Gerag! she mentally screamed, beyond frustrated with herself.

  Just like that, she felt a shift inside her. The warm cloud that had engulfing her mind chilled. Anxiety robbed some of the pleasure derived from the steady movement of Larsen’s fingers. Somehow the bed warmer immediately sensed her frustration and pulled his mouth away while halting the movement of his hand.

  “You can’t out-think this,” he said. “We want good thoughts connected to what I’m doing, not bad thoughts and bad memories.” He smiled at her. “Do I have a beautiful smile?”

  “Of course you do,” she said.

  “Good. So I want you to imagine me smiling. Don’t think about your memories, your frustrations, or what brought you here. Just me, smiling. Enjoying myself, just like you are enjoying yourself. Can you do that?”

  “I can try.”

  His hand started to move again.

  “Allow yourself to be happy,” he said. “Trust me. We have all the time in the world.”

  It took a few minutes but her body once more grew receptive to his touch. Larsen, perceptive as always, increased the speed of his hand and brought his tongue back to work its magic. Again she felt herself being carried toward climax, and as her nerves lit up, she did as he asked and thought of his smiling face. He was enjoying himself. She was enjoying herself. The waves came faster, harder, until pleasure washed away her thoughts completely and her body clutched at Larsen’s hand, not wanting to let go. Long moments later she collapsed onto the bed, having not realized she’d lifted off it a half-inch.

  Larsen withdrew his hand and stretched his upper back and neck, clearly satisfied with his work.

  “Is that enough?” he asked her. Jacaranda almost told him yes, and that cowardice was enough to spur her onward.

  “Not quite,” she said. “I need to know for certain.”

  Larsen shrugged his shoulders.

  “Very well,” he said. “I certainly won’t complain about spending more time with a woman so beautiful.”

  “I’m sure you tell that to all the men and women who come to you,” she said.

  “That I do. But this time it’s not a little white lie.” His teeth nibbled at her ear. “Because you’re fucking gorgeous.”

  It wasn’t much, just a deeper tone, a little rougher language, but the sudden animalistic increase in his behavior set her heart to hammering and her pulse racing with anticipation. He removed his loose trousers with one hand while the other wrapped around her waist and then up her spine. She arced into his embrace, relishing the firm presence of his chest and abs against her. For once she hated keeping her shirt on, for she wished she could feel his skin pressing against her skin, to have his hands caress her breasts. Fuck, what could that magical tongue of his do to her hardening nipples?

  Larsen pressed himself against her crotch, but just before entering, he hesitated.

  “Are you ready?”

  A little whisper of terror protested in her heart, but it was so easily drowned out by her enjoyment.

  “Yes,” she said, adjusting her hips. “More than ready.”

  His cock slid into her, and she felt no fears, no anxiety, just an immense satisfaction that dragged a groan out of her. The bed warmer enveloped her completely, and she buried her face into his neck and gasped out breath after breath as he rocked his hips back and forth. Each thrust was a little stronger than the last, until what had been gentle motions became a furious pounding that had her digging her nails into his back and moaning out her pleasure at the top of her lungs. Even amid that magnificent exertion, he had the concentration to wrap his lips abou
t her neck and kiss with such intensity she felt tingles streak up and down her spine.

  “I’m close,” he breathed into her ear. “Don’t worry. I’ll finish outside.”

  This moment she had feared above all. What it meant. How she’d react. His hips drove his cock deeper and deeper into her, their two forms hardening and gasping and clutching one another as their bodies released an hour’s worth of tension, sweat, and effort. At the last moment Larsen withdrew, his right hand a blur as he stroked himself. His seed spilled across his hands and wrist. None on her, she realized, and she was surprised by how grateful she felt. Gerag had done that many times to her, and she had to suppress a shudder lest those memories steal away her current euphoria. Larsen finished, and with a contented sigh, he collapsed onto the bed beside her.

  The heavy silence that followed filled Jacaranda’s eyes with tears. She could hardly believe her immense feelings of relief. She wasn’t broken. Sex wasn’t irrevocably ruined by her servitude to Gerag. Devin might not be as skilled as Larsen (she doubted many in Londheim were), but it was something they could work toward. It was something she now knew, deep down, that they could achieve together.

  Larsen shifted to sit at the edge of the bed. He saw her tears and carefully wiped them away with the thumb of his left hand. His other slid underneath a pillow and withdrew a hidden washcloth to clean himself with.

  “You did good,” he told her. She smiled, her mind still swimming with relief. A devilish part of her even pondered how much time remained of her hour. Perhaps there might be a little bit more fun to squeeze out of…

  Larsen’s easy smile vanished. His shoulders sagged, and he rolled his eyes and quietly groaned.

  “Fuck, I should have known,” he said.

  “Known what?” Jacaranda asked, confused by the sudden change. Larsen stood and walked completely naked to one of the luxurious room’s dressers.

  “You can drop the act,” he said with his back to her. There was no hint of his former care and gentleness. Instead he sounded mad at her, and at himself.

  “I don’t understand,” she said.

  He retrieved a new pair of black trousers from the dresser and pulled them on.

  “Whatever. Tell your master that you passed the test.”

  Ice froze her veins. Jacaranda glanced down at her half-naked self, her shirt ruffled, her legs wet with sweat…

  Her scarf, pulled halfway down her neck to expose her chain tattoos.

  “What test?” she asked. It chilled her how easily the hollow, emotionless voice of her soulless self came back to her.

  “I said drop it,” he snapped. She tensed, waiting until he pulled a white shirt over his head. The moment his vision was blocked, she lunged off the bed. Her knee smashed into his crotch, her fist into his throat. Larsen gagged from the pain and doubled over, his movements controlled solely by reflex and not any attempt at self-defense. She tucked a hand behind his neck and pulled. The bed warmer dropped to the floor, unable to properly break his fall. His head smacked against the hard wood, adding to his disorientation. Jacaranda quickly rolled him onto his back and then braced her forearm against his throat. She may have surrendered her swords to the men at the brothel’s entrance, but she didn’t need them to kill.

  “Listen carefully,” she told Larsen. “Make a noise, and I crush your windpipe. Call for help, I crush your windpipe. Struggle? Crushed windpipe. You get the idea?”

  Larsen nodded with what limited motion was available to his head. He was staring at her, but his eyes didn’t seem to be focusing correctly. She wondered if she’d given him a concussion, and if so, whether that was good or bad. Right now, she wanted answers.

  “You said I passed a test,” she said. “What test?”

  “Owners sends us soulless to test their acting skills,” Larsen said once she relieved a bit of pressure from his throat. “If they’re poor, we’re to freshen up their training.”

  All this was new to her. She’d thought only Gerag trained the soulless.

  “Why not send them back to Gerag?” she asked.

  “Who’s Gerag?”

  Jacaranda bashed him across the mouth, then clamped her other hand down over his face to hold in his muffled cry.

  “Stop lying,” she said.

  “I’m not,” he said through bleeding lips. “Whoever trains the soulless first doesn’t want them sent back. We’re the best new owners can do.”

  New owners. That meant Larsen might know who the potential buyers were. Under normal circumstances, Jacaranda would have been excited by the possibility of clues as to where Gerag had vanished. Right now she was naked, weaponless, and straddling a bed warmer who knew of her existence. She felt humiliated, confused, and very, very pissed.

  “Who are the buyers?” she asked.

  Larsen didn’t answer immediately. He was staring at her chain tattoos, and with eyes that no longer looked concussed.

  “You can’t be a soulless,” he said. “No training could accomplish this. Why the tattoo? Is it a disguise?”

  Goddesses above, she wished it were.

  “Answer the question,” she hissed, ignoring his.

  “I don’t know names,” Larsen said. “Do you think anyone would be so stupid? Servants bring the soulless here for training. Everything hushed. Everything hidden. Whoever sent you surely knows that.”

  So he thought she was an agent sent to uncover information on the soulless sex ring. Not a bad theory, honestly, and one she didn’t mind playing up. The problem was, he’d seen her face. He’d seen her tattoos.

  “Is there anything you’ve noticed?” she asked. “Anything at all?”

  Larsen was starting to relax. A good sign. His tongue might loosen because of it.

  “One of the buyers sends servants with a strange tattoo on their wrists,” he said. “Three thick dots between their knuckles. That’s all I know.”

  Jacaranda allowed him to stand. He got up with a limp and a wince.

  “Damn, did you have to knee me there?” he asked. “Look, I don’t know who you are, or who sent you. Just—just let me go, and I won’t tell anyone, all right?”

  “Sure,” she said. Her voice sounded dead to her. “It’s a deal.”

  He’d seen her face. He knew her secret. She tried to tell herself not to go through with it. She tried to tell herself she was better than this. Who she was. Who she wanted to be.

  The moment his hand touched the doorknob, she grabbed his head in both hands and slammed it forward. His forehead made a sickening crack from the contact, but it wasn’t enough. He let out a sharp cry. His legs went limp. Jacaranda slid both arms around his neck, and as he fell, she used that momentum to aid her. One tight clench. One sharp twist. The reverberation of the snap traveled up her arms and iced her lungs. Larsen immediately went limp, and she smelled shit and piss as his corpse evacuated its bowels.

  Jacaranda slid to a sit with her back braced against the door. She absurdly straddled the bed warmer’s head in her hands. Tears flowed as her breathing hitched with uneven sobs. He’d never harmed her. No, worse. He’d helped her, and yet she killed him. She was a coward. A murderer. Mere minutes ago she’d been overcome with joy. Was that how fleeting her happiness would be in this world? Was she cursed to kill and destroy, all because the Goddesses had failed to deliver her soul upon her birth?

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered. She brushed his beautiful face with shaking fingers. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”

  A hard jolt from the other side of the door broke her out of her miserable reverie.

  “Open up,” commanded a deep voice. It was one of the Gentle Rose’s guards. Jacaranda lurched to her feet and grabbed at her clothes. Damn it, how did shit go so fucking sideways so quickly?

  “One moment,” she said. She jammed a leg into her trousers and frantically pulled at the fabric.

  “Larsen? Is everything well?”

  Larsen was meant to respond with specific phrases to indicate if he was safe or not. Obviously th
e bed warmer wouldn’t be offering any of them. The door was locked, but she knew without question that the guard possessed a key. She pulled on the other leg of her trousers, then fixed the scarf so it properly covered her tattoos. No time for her boots. She grabbed her belt, but instead of putting it on, she looped it into a circle.

  Jacaranda opened the door a crack before the guard needed to use his key. The burly man hesitated. He couldn’t see Larsen’s body, not with how it was positioned. She was a woman, smaller than him, her face wet with tears. She relied on that uncertainty. He had a short sword strapped to his waist, but he’d not drawn it. Not yet.

  She wouldn’t give him that chance.

  “Sorry to interrupt,” the guard said. “But is—”

  Jacaranda leapt through the crack, and upon their collision, she slid the belt over his head and to his throat. Her momentum continued, and she pulled on the leather with all her might as her bare feet hit the floor. The guard staggered, but he managed to keep his balance despite the crushing weight around his throat.

  Well. Shit.

  The hallway was narrow, and purposefully built so. There was no getting around the burly guard. He drew his short sword with one hand while the other grabbed at the belt around his neck. Jacaranda released the leather, allowing him a sudden, shrill gasp. She wouldn’t win in a straight strength contest, and the narrowness of the hallway mitigated her superior mobility. She had only one real chance, and that was through sheer, raw savagery.

  The guard stabbed at her as she closed the distance, but his face was turning red and his vision blurred by the tears in his eyes. Jacaranda sidestepped the weak attack and then leapt atop the man. Her legs wrapped about his waist, holding her in place as she rammed a thumb into each of his eyes. He less screamed and more gagged out his protest. His arms flailed wildly, and Jacaranda had to bite down a scream as the sharp edge of his sword clipped her arm. Deeper. Her thumbs had to go deeper. Her fingers clutched the sides of his face as he tried to buck her off. He slammed her against one wall, then the other, the impacts piercing her vision with stars. Blood poured down her arms, both his and hers. Deeper. Into the skull. Into the soft matter beyond.