Filed to story: When the Moon Hatched Book
Nothing better than a hot meal and a good show to get me in the mood for eating pussy and spilling blood.
My two Arithian escorts settle on empty stools to my right, shucking off their silver cloaks and draping them on the bar. To my left, the male whose mount I caught a ride on the back of barely fits on his own stool—his chest a barrel, legs and arms the size of trunks. A brown bead hangs from one of the braids in his black wiry beard.
Terros. Decent guy. Bit quiet, but I like that. Nothing worse than feeling like you’ve gotta talk to the cunt carting you across the kingdom on the back of his mount like a fucking priss.
Sniffing, I catch a lingering whiff of ashen musk clinging to my cloak. The scent of the dragon I’ve taken a liking to.
Hard to resist. Terros’s large Moltenmaw performed so beautifully during our long journey here from The Burn’s capital. Never once tossed his head or complained.
Unlike the feral mutt I left in Dhomm.
L?ri couldn’t travel long distances. Couldn’t travel past Bothaim without a fucking mask or squirming from a bit of sun. Moonplumes are supposed to be swift, cunning, and disastrous to their opponents, but all L?ri gave me was bad attitude and twitchy heels. The bitch.
Fucking glad to be rid of her.
I’ll be even more glad once I charm Bruus—the strong, sturdy mount. He bears thick ruddy plumage that can ward off both the biting chill of the south and the harsh rays of the north, and he’ll be mine once I slit Terros’s throat.
But first, I’ll let the Dhomm male have one final meal. Let him take one of the Velvet Snog’s famous whores and fall into a sleep he’ll never wake from. If there’s anything I learned from Pah’s regular whippings, it’s that manners are of the utmost fucking importance.
Terros looks sidelong at me, raising a dark brow.
“Hungry?”
He nods.
“Good. It’s on me.” I gesture to the barmaid to get her attention. “Two Molten Meads and two colk steaks, the thick ones still on the bone, and with a side of canit slaw.” I lean closer to Terros, dropping my tone as I ask, “How do you like yours cooked?”
“Still bleating,” he grunts out.
“Nice.” I pull a smoke stick from my stash before relaying the details to the lusty-eyed barmaid. “I also want a whore sent to my sleepsuite. Blue eyes.” I reach into my pocket for a small sack of bloodstone, dumping the lot on the bar. “And I want the entire floor cleared out so I can make the bitch squeal without others listening in.”
“Of course.” She sweeps the sack off the table, pocketing it, then serves our meads and disappears through the back door.
The four of us sit in silence, drinking while I watch a male finger a moaning whore who’s draped across the bar with her tits out—jiggling with each rough thrust of his hand.
It’s tempting to jerk my hardening cock as I drag on my stick, blowing smoke rings skyward, listening to the hungry moans and conversations tittering around me. Picking for threads on Princess Kyzari’s whereabouts.
She knows I love to chase. That I fucking feed off it. I’ve decided that’s why she chose to hand herself to the Creators.
Why she chose to run.
When I find her, I’ll give her exactly what she refuses to admit she wants.
Me.
The barmaid slides meat-laden plates before myself and Terros, boasting hunks of chargrilled colk wafting rich, fragrant steam. I cut into my serving, revealing shreds of fatty pink flesh I couple with some of the creamy slaw, moaning around the gluttonous mouthful.
“Good, right?” I ask, looking at Terros.
He grunts, stuffing his mouth with another laden bite, stare stabbed toward the back wall while he chews.
Moody fucker. Not even a thank you.
Doesn’t he know manners are important?
Maybe I will make him suffer after all. Lash him a little.
I finish my meal, drain my mug, then stub my fifth smoke stick in the tray as I ease off the stool. “I’m turning in.”
“Were we not going to debrief first?” one of the Arithians asks, frowning at me. Probably pissed I didn’t buy him and his comrade a meal, too.
I only buy meals for males I’m about to slaughter, so really, he’s the lucky one.
“Debrief?” I ask, playing dumb.
“Yes.” He cuts a beady glance toward Terros, who’s still munching through his meal, pretending he’s not listening—that he hasn’t been asked to report back once he returns to Dhomm. “Since we’re … you know, splitting off.”
Since they’re expected back in Arithia with any information they gleaned about Dhomm’s military status. Information they didn’t get since they ended up locked in their rooms under beaded guard the entire time.
I shrug. “Not my fault you failed.”
His face pales.
I’ve got one job: find the Princess. Something I will achieve. Their shortcomings don’t belong to me, the useless fucks.
“I’ve got a warm mouth waiting for me in my sleep space, so unless you want to drop to your knees and choke on me while I tell you everything you want to know, you can practice some fucking patience.” I snatch my cloak and key from the barmaid who comes to clear my plate. “We’ll do it with the rise before we part ways.”
If I can be bothered, that is.
Ipull the door open, a smile cutting across my face when I see the shapely piece of ass stoking the large fireplace at the back of the room.
Warm satisfaction spreads through me at the sight of her clothed in scraps of lace visible through the sheer dark-green cloak she’s draped in, black hair piled on the top of her head. Her legs are long, hips round, waist tight—a curvy elegance to her that shoots straight to my hardening cock.
“Fuck,” I grind out, kicking the door shut behind me, tossing my cloak and gloves on the ground. I stalk forward, lifting loose tendrils of hair off her elegant neck, wrapping my hand around the back of it and gripping hard.
Perfect fit.
I pinch the edge of her cloak, easing it off her pale shoulder.
“Aren’t you a treat,” I groan, unbuttoning my leather pants. I reach in and fist my solid cock in slow, tight drags.
Just my type.
She stuffs the metal poker deeper into the flames, making the sizzling logs crumble and hiss. “You know,” she murmurs in a smooth voice that pumps more blood into my loins, “I’m not really a fan of fire.”
Weird thing to say to the male who just bought your body for the slumber.
“Why not?”
She makes a soft humming sound. “Might have something to do with the time I spent in the Pits.”
“Fighting pits?”
“Mm-hmm.”
Ahh, role-play. Not what I ordered, but fuck it. I’ll bite.
“Which ones?” I ask, easing her cloak off her other shoulder, feeling it drop to the floor at our feet.
“The Pits of Khindard …”
I chuckle against her warm flesh. “Sweetheart, nobody makes it out of those pits alive. That’s half the fun.” I use the tip of my finger to paint a slithering line down her spine. “Unless you’re trying to tell me you’re
Fire Lark.”
This time, my chuckle is met with her own lilting laugh.
“Glei te ah no veirie,”
she whispers, and all the breath escapes my lungs in the same instance her hand swings back.
Something sharp impales my thigh before she tosses a wooden handle into the fire, dispersing a blast of sparks as a chilling, nulling silence settles within me.
What.