I'm sure I just did though, hmm? Khaiya's lips thinned as she shot him a sour look, but it was soon replaced by a soft gasp of pain when Bifrost lifted her arms. He was slow and gentle, but every touch and movement hurt as he examined her, though she held her breath through it and kept her complaints to herself.

It was nice he was talking, though, and didn't leave her hanging. It gave her something else to focus on outside the discomfort.

"I...I would think the most logical explanation would be that someone's lying," she said as she took the ends of the cloth. Oh boy. She'd talked big, hadn't she? Because as she started to wrap her own torso, it soon proved more difficult than she'd anticipated with her poor and painful mobility. Gods be damned, her pride reared its head in the most inconvenient of places; she'd always struggled to ask for help.

She let out a sharp breath through her teeth and paused after only doing one loop around herself. "I know you said your parents swore it, but...perhaps they did find you somewhere? Or someone was unfaith--mmm. Forgive me, I don't mean to talk poorly of your parents. It's not my place and they'd have to be kind people to put their prejudice aside for you. But I just know Connlaothians abandon mage children sometimes--or so I've heard."

Fujin's eyebrow twitched at the overt display, clearly not particularly enjoying seeing her adult son be so...overt with his foreign wife. She cleared her throat pointedly and took a  dainty bite of her food, while Kota did his novel best not to absolutely squirm.

"Morgan..." he whispered through grit teeth, his face heating vividly as she nuzzled him. Oh, he deserved this and he knew it, it was his fault they were "married" in the first place! But did she have to really get in kissing distance like this?!

"What did she say?" Fujin asked, and took another bite. "And can you do that nonsense privately? Preferably when I'm out of the house?"

"She, uh...she said the food's really good," Kota said weakly, his face burning all the hotter as he carefully started to pry himself from Morgan. "Morgan, honey, you're embarrassing her."

"It's a fabulous story! And you have such a way with words."

Makani flashed her a cheeky smile. Honestly, he was just curious to see how she'd spin this. He was fairly certain she wasn't going to go with honesty, because "I bound myself to some blood mage I bumped into in the jungle and we're in each other's heads" would probably sound rightly batshit and dangerous.

But hey, that was her choice to make and her consequences!

"Something smells amazing," he said as they moved into their home. "Gods, it's been a while since I've had a proper meal. I'll admit I'm a boring cook."

Oh goddess, please tell him he hadn't just saved the girl from lions only to send her off into a new arena to get killed by a horse. But Lani seemed so sure of herself, so confident, and Qismat liked to think he knew people enough to recognize someone who would run off to do what they wanted regardless of what he thought about it. Stubborn, so stubborn...but he let her work, even as a spike of anxiety caught his breath as she went into that stall. It was uncomfortable to spectate--but he would not intervene.

She was not his slave, after all.

Lani was speaking as casually as a storyteller around a campfire but Qismat barely heard her. He could focus on little else but she and Faraj, while mentally running through some quick worst case scenarios and regretting sending the healer away. From what he did catch of her tale, though, he was grateful at least to hear she had quick reflexes. 

Hopefully captivity hadn't dulled them.

Out into the yard they went, and so far so good, Lani was still unscathed. This seemed better than the stall; both of them had more space. But true to Qismat's observations, Faraj largely just wanted to be left alone. He wasn't a bad horse and he knew it, he wasn't mean because it was his nature, and he clearly didn't want to start a fight--though Qismat knew from past attempts that he would gladly finish it. He kept his distance while Lani calmly followed, and Qismat hardly realized she had stopped talking as he was gripped with both curiosity (what was her plan, exactly?) and unease.

When Lani told him to stay back, he didn't have to be told twice; he hadn't moved from his spot.

And it took everything in him not to shout out when the horse charged her.

And she just took it with stillness.

Qismat didn't realize he'd brought his hand to his mouth until his fingertip stung, because he'd bit the nail too close to the quick. Faraj hadn't hurt her; it had been a warning, a feint. But again and again he charged, and each time he braced for a disaster that didn't come until, finally, Qismat let out a held breath and forced himself to relax. Faraj didn't want to hurt her, but more than that, something was happening between the two of them. The charge was becoming more like a dance, Lani less a passive participant and more of a leading role, calmly assertive and confident. Faraj's ears were no longer pinned, and...was she directing him, now?

He watched the two, no longer tense with anxiety and more just...curious. There seemed to be an understanding between the two of them as they spoke a language he couldn't understand--plains girl and plains horse.

Hmm...

Stillness soon followed, and then the impossible: Faraj reached out to Lani.

And then he was off, and the magic dispelled.

Lani returned, acting for all the world like she hadn't just faced down a thousand pound beast that could stomp her into a pulp if she looked at him wrong. He let out a held breath as she spoke, nodding--scared, right, well he had scared the shit out of him for a moment there!--and for a moment he said nothing, seeming to mull something over.

"Do you want him?" he said at last.

Holy shit, Emery thought, at first concerned she may have gone too far too fast despite what he'd told her earlier--and then transfixed as those scarlet eyes met hers. There was a kaleidoscope of emotion within them: passion, maybe a little fear mixed with the excitement, and her heart beat all the quicker for it. This was a man that slayed unimaginable monsters, a man that could throw her off and pin her quicker than she could blink...

...and he was utterly and completely at her mercy because he wanted to be there. Because he trusted her, and she him.

God, she had never been exposed to magic until he came along; perhaps she was enchanted.

And at this point? Fuck it.

Alkereth was her instrument and he performed beautifully, letting himself go, freely letting himself indulge, crying his pleasure--and it was too much. His whimpers, his helpless squirming, his fluttering pulse, the adorable expressions he made, his shameless proclamation that he was her princess--oh God, she could never in a million years have predicted that such a goofy, offhand nickname would soon be the thing boiling her over with a thrill of possessiveness, yet here she was, and he was hers. She didn't understand that feeling; she didn't want to. But it didn't matter, right?

All that mattered was the moment.

"That's my princess...good boy," she gasped out, hand tightening just a little on his throat, just enough to add a little pressure, a little extra danger, but no more. More was a discussion for later. She pressed her lips against his to muffle a whimper, nibbling sharply, trembling with the effort of holding back; he could no doubt feel it as she clenched around him. Just a little longer. "I think that deserves a treat. Would my princess like that?" And with an impish smile, she kissed his nose. "No cumming. Otherwise no treat."

That might be difficult to impossible for him and she knew it--going a second time was impressive enough already, bless his otherworldly genes!--but it was fun to watch him squirm.

Releasing her hold on him, she rode him in earnest then, grabbing one of his hands and bringing it between her legs with a clear message. It didn't take much, worked up as she was, the feeling of him stretching and filling her again and again, her eyes locked on his, driving her to the brink--and then over it. Head thrown back, she cried out as heat and pleasure flooded her and she trembled and tightened around him, and still she rode him through the release, desperately squeezing out every last drop of ecstasy that she could.

I think she just likes to be dramatic.

Hayate's head whipped around to stare at Risa in genuine surprise—shock, even!—that the shy, bumbling girl would speak of her own mother so frankly, so disrespectfully! Her! It wasn't an insult exactly but it was more than he expected to hear coming from her and, quite frankly, he wasn't really used to such talk. He couldn't even fathom saying such a thing about his own parents! 

He blinked at her, eyebrows raised—and then, suddenly, he snorted.

The sound surprised even him, and he clapped a hand over his mouth. It wasn't even that funny! It was just so brazen, so surprising coming from her of all people. But suddenly he was fighting back laughter, amused at her frankness, embarrassed at his own loud snort, and the combination of the two only amused him all the more. 

He cleared his throat loudly, swallowing down the giggles (Inima help him, perhaps he was just sleep deprived) and rolled his shoulders back as though that would help him regain his composure.

"Ah. Yes. Right. Ahem, I get exposed often enough, but it's more coincidental. Like when I'm organizing manuscripts and books and scrolls and such, but it's not really part of my area of research. Just a passing curiosity really. Now you," he said, pointing at her, the amusement not quite faded.

"What's this about your birth?"

Valor didn't hesitate. He didn't dare make her wait any longer, for she had waited too long already—and gods but he felt like such an asshole now for having her wait as long as she had in the first place. For the first few hours of knowing her, the whole thing hadn't felt real, in a way. Like, he knew slaves were a thing, of course, but he'd never interacted with one. He'd never looked an imprisoned person in the eyes and seen their real fear or the way their hands shook or heard their story. It had always been an abstract idea in his privileged world and some part of him still hadn't fully grasped that she was a real real slave, and not just the fun and games type Pari had mistaken her for.

The moment Ka'lei pulled her hair to the side, Valor reached up gently and turned the key in the lock.

Click.

The collar fell to the cobblestones with a metallic clatter and she was truly free. Well, free save for the paperwork, but free enough still that she could run if she wanted—and he wouldn't have the heart to chase her. Well, no, that was a lie; he'd chase, but not to keep her against her will. 

He'd just chase because...well...

Well what?

Shaking the thought away, not daring to find out where it lead, he stepped around her again so he could face her and raise his eyes to hers. "You'll never again wear a piece of metal you don't choose for yourself," he told her, offering up a small smile, his own a little strangely uncertain. This was brand new territory for him. "The only metal that belongs on you is silver and gold adorned with jewels and given as a gift."

The girl looked skeptical, still brandishing her bottle like a sword as she watched the duo. But as her eyes flicked over the scratches on Lanai's arms, it seemed like the pieces began to click into place as the pair's story aligned without contradiction—and with physical proof, too. Her shoulders relaxed a little, but her eyes remained narrowed.

"How do I know you're not in league with the demon...?" she said slowly, and Simonea let out a loud, exasperated sigh, rolling her eyes toward the ceiling.

"For goodness sakes, dear heart, if we wanted to harm you we wouldn't need to be so coy about it! The demon was terrorizing your village long before either of us got here and it didn't have to pretend to be a kind stranger to do it!"

Striding forward, she plucked the bottle from the girl's hands before she could say anything, and gently set it back in its place. The girl jumped and took a couple steps back, but it seemed the fight had gone out of her, even if a healthy wariness remained—with most of that wariness was focused on Lanai.

"With that silliness out of the way, do you have a healer here, child?" The girl shook her head, and Simonea sighed, her wings drooping. "Soap and water it is, then! Come Lanai, I'll take you to my room." And with a pat on the girl's head, she passed by her and motioned Lanai to follow her.

No response. Not that she had been expecting one, since he was a tiger. Instead, she was soon being marched along back toward the den and considering his hold on her butt and those teeth holding on, she had no choice but to move where he directed her.

"Oh come on, really?!"

This was...so beyond humiliating. Katxiel flushed, her skin hot clear down her chest, and stared at the ground as she stumbled along. She only had an audience of one—a bloody tiger!—but it was still absolutely mortifying being lead around with a mouth on her bottom! Why her? Why this? What deity had she pissed off so completely that this would be her fate instead of eternity?

Her woe-is-me thoughts cut off when he shook his head—and if she hadn't been in the middle of taking a step, it might have done nothing more than throw her off a little. Instead, she pitched over with a surprised yelp, throwing out a hand—and grabbing onto one of his ears.

SHE SAID WHAT NOW?!

Raxta froze, her eyebrows lifted clear to her hairline and eyes saucer wide. She looked less like jaguar-kin at that moment and more like a cornered hare. Well, except for the part where she was blushing, the spots on her cheeks standing out vividly.

"You...uh...come again?"

Rolled over, Faolán wrapped his arms around Killian's neck and played with the hair at the nape, still grinning impishly. Though it lost some of its mischief when he felt Killian prod against him, his breath hitching and hips rolling up to meet him. Hard to stay cocky when he was being distracted by, well...a cock. "Yeah...but you—!"

He cut off with a muffled gasp as Killian shut him up in the most effective way, his hands tangling in his hair as he kissed him hungrily, desperately, his tongue sliding in for a taste. God he didn't realize how much he needed him until he finally had him—and now that he had him, he never wanted to let him go.

Impatient, he bucked against him, urging him to slide home and whimpering against his lips.

How did this happen? Why did this happen? Why her? What had she done to deserve this? Raxta let out a long-suffering sigh and glanced toward the canopy above, taking a moment to rein herself in. It wasn't the irritation she needed to get a handle on—it was the spirits-be-damned blushing.

"Whatever," she finally grumbled, hoping it came out appropriately surly instead of as flustered as she felt. More water splashed her and she barely blinked, instead watching Kaela swim to the shore before trudging begrudgingly after her.

Climbing out of the water, her own animal-skin clothes (just a basic wrap round her chest and a long loin cloth) sticking to her skin, she flicked water off her tail and shook her head to clear water from her ears. The result was a somewhat floofy Raxta as her fur and hair puffed up in response.

Kaela's question made her eyebrow arch. "I have clothes back in my den," she said with a shrug. "Not sure why you'd need them here, though?" She frowned down at her own wet clothes plastered to her body, nose wrinkling as she tugged at them. "I was planning on taking these off."

And there it was again. That delightful blush; the submissive baring of his throat; the growing stiffness within her, filling her anew even as he became putty beneath her. He had told her earlier that he didn't mind being called that name but Emery's hunch had begun back in the brothel, and this as good as confirmed it went deeper than mere tipsiness.

He didn't just not mind it; he actively enjoyed it.

Oh, this would be fun. There was no judgment within her, just a spark of excitement, of desire, that her strong, confident ex-mage, a man who slayed beasts and traveled worlds, could surrender to her like this. Be her princess, someone to be protected and cherished—and utterly ravished.

A thrill went through her, fire spreading through her veins, and with a hungry growl she kissed his throat before giving him a sharper bite, hard enough to leave a red imprint, hoping to hear more of those wonderful sounds. "Then sing, Princess," she breathed against his skin, and ran her tongue over the hurt area to soothe it. "Don't be shy. Prove it."

Rising up, she took him by the wrists and pinned them beside his heads, driven by his words and the look on his face, all the pent up stress and anxiety only driving her need. She met his eyes as she lifted and slammed back down, their bodies meeting with a wet slap, her breathing ragged and whimpers catching in her throat. God, it was crazy how good he felt, and it was taking everything not to lose control completely—but she needed him to know who had the reins here.

"I want to hear your pretty voice," she gasped out, sliding a hand from his wrist to grasp his throat, teasing him with the threat of danger—but holding him lightly, gently, her thumb caressing over his pulse. She was trembling, her breathing ragged as she held back. He was too good, and God she was growing close already—but she loved to watch him squirm. "I want everyone to hear how much you love this. I want everyone to know who you belong to. Say it," she ordered. "Show me what a good boy you are."

Alkereth might be ashamed of his early release, but Emery didn't seem bothered at all as she caressed his neck and kissed his temple, trying hard not to grin. Not because it was funny, but because he was so fucking adorable. So different from the experienced, confident partners she was used to bedding and God, she loved his lack of inhibition. So many men were silent and almost stoic in their pleasure, so quiet she'd sometimes wondered if they were actually feeling anything at all, but Alkereth responded and reacted so delightfully, so genuinely. And despite his inexperience, he possessed a wisdom and selflessness even many experienced folk lacked. 

He, too, was a giver—in all the best ways.

"Shhh, Princess, it's okay. Misfires happen, it's not a big deal," Emery told him as she leaned into his kiss, unable to keep from smiling against his lips. "It's flattering, actually. Knowing I can make you lose control like that...hearing how much you love it, watching you come undone..."

She could see his concern, his embarrassment, and she wasn't about to let him linger in it long. Gently pushing him down onto the grass, she laid against his chest like that, giving him a small rest as she explored him with teasing kisses and nips along his lips and throat and clavicle. Sunfire, hmm? Emery didn't object to it this time, didn't even roll her eyes, instead responding to his invitation with a slow, careful grind of her hips to test how much he could handle, their bodies extra slick from his climax. If it was too much for him then there were other ways, of course, but she felt strangely hesitant to leave him just yet. This was...nice...in a way that wasn't purely about sex. Just being wrapped up together like this beneath a clear sky in the shade, for a moment forgetting all the earlier stress—it was perfect.

She wasn't ready for it to end. She didn't want to have to think just yet.

"I'll have to disagree with you there, though—your moans are the best," she said with a teasing wiggle of her hips, longing to feel him grow within her again. She pressed a fierce kiss to his lips, her breath catching in her throat as she tasted him, the gentle friction of his body against hers sending heat pooling between her legs. Careful, she reminded herself as she found herself wanting to chase the sensation, reigning in her enthusiasm. She wanted to ride him—but she didn't want to hurt him.

"I love making you sing. Think I can get another out of you?" she asked, and nipped him beneath his ear, breathing out a moan. "You enjoy this, don't you? Being used like this, a tool for my pleasure?"

What.

What??

WHAT?!

Raxta did not think herself the type to get thrown off kilter easily, and yet somehow Kaela managed to leave her speechless. She could only stare at the human, eyes wide and mouth gaping like a dying fish, as she not only called her cute but then kissed her hand.

"I—what—you—" she sputtered uselessly, but before she could manage to herd her words into a coherent sentence, Kaela was gone again, leaving Raxta standing there staring at the rippling water where Kaela had once been, water dripping off her ears.

Her face felt unusually hot despite the cool water and she realized with slow-building horror that she was blushing.

"I—I am not cute!" she finally managed to call after Kaela as she spotted the girl swimming to shore, but there was an odd, strangled sound to the words.

Thicker than that, indeed.

But Emery wasn't going to to think about that. She wasn't going to think about what he'd said and how they'd both fumbled around it, both utterly unconvincing yet pretending they were. She wasn't going to think about the strange, twisty flutter in her belly like some creature caught between fear and excitement. She wasn't going to think about anything. 

Because she was terrified of where those thoughts might lead.

The conversation and residual anxiety had killed her mood, but Alkereth did a good job rekindling the flames and she was ever eager for a good distraction and escape. And so she clung to the him as tightly as he pulled her in, kissing him fiercely on the lips and neck, blunt nails digging into his shoulders as she rolled her hips against his. Just forget it. It was nothing, she thought as she gasped against his ear and tangled a hand in his hair. It meant nothing. People said stupid shit all the time in the heat of the—

Emery felt him just as much as she heard him, his sound of pleasure and those familiar tremors clueing her in on exactly just how excited and eager he was. (Or perhaps nervous...) Emery stilled atop him, chest heaving, and pressed a soft kiss beneath his ear before she pulled back to look at him.

"That good, hm?" she asked with a wicked smile, and leaned in to press her lips to his. "And I barely tortured you at all."

"I guess the hardest part would be catching up to it in the first place, eh?" Jayari said as she pushed her bowl away and wiped the corners of her mouth with her fingers. 

"Be pretty crazy to try it. Hey, speaking of, what's the craziest thing you've done? Or was it the basilisk?"

Fortunately for Evie, Liam was too far gone to notice any panic she may have let slip into her eyes or body language or voice. It was taking all his willpower just to concentrate on simple things like keeping his eyes open or moving his legs as she helped him to his feet, his limbs suddenly as heavy as boulders as he slouched against her. It was nice that she was so tall and capable, graceful even when he stumbled over her feet or his own, and he realized somewhere through the drunken haze that he was kind of into it. Being side by side with her, able to comfortably lean his head on her shoulder, brought along a novel appreciation that fully replaced his earlier intimidation. Huh. Never thought he'd be into tall women, but he could get behind this...in multiple ways...

Yeah, this wasn't so bad...being manhandled by a tall beauty and all...

The bad part was everything else about the journey, like how moving too quickly made his stomach flip and his head pound. Soon the silly, dumb thoughts of tall, pretty women were replaced with desperately willing himself not to puke.

The trek upstairs was tortuous. Without Evie there, he would have likely face-planted right there on the steps and remained there until morning, or until someone dragged him out of the way. But somehow they made it, and he was pale and breathless and nauseated by the time they did, like he'd been running miles after a heavy meal. Maybe another time he would have heard the ruckus behind the door, but right then all he could hear was his own pulse in his ears. Damn. What even was that drink? He realized suddenly that Evie was talking to him as she fumbled the door open and guided him inside, and he blinked dully at her.

"Huh?" Other girls? Dress up? He squinted into the blurry room and the mess scattered all over, but he couldn't have cared less about a little clutter. He was most interested in the laying down and--

A motion caught his eye, just a little flutter of fabric. Even through his fuzzy vision he could make out the shape of a person. A very young person. Too young to be here, that was certain.

His eyes narrowed. He opened his mouth to speak--

And doubled over instead, vomiting onto the floor.

Fang could hear the lie as soon as he said he was okay, but thankfully he was quick to correct himself. No, he definitely wasn't okay—and she honestly couldn't remember a time she had seen him so frazzled. He was usually so calm under pressure, even life and death situations, yet here he was so visibly shaken.

Reaching out, Fang took his other hand in hers and faced him, peering up at him with a worried frown. Just a contract, and yet...he remembered a life with her? She could still hear the dead woman's screams ringing in her ears, but...no, something wasn't right. Certainly one couldn't just forget something like that? Unless...

"Spike," Fang said suddenly, peeking up and giving his hands a squeeze to get his attention. "Do you remember what happened with Oliver? That it wasn't right? That there were two Olivers, and one was false? Demonic?"

But even as she said it, her brow furrowed in deeper confusion.

What were the chances of that? And why?

And even then Spike had known. He'd yelled back at "Oliver" that it was a lie. So if it was the same trickery, why was there doubt in his eyes?

It was a strange experience going from shrieking chaos to...quiet. It was nothing quite like anything Fang had experienced; spirits ignored the physical laws of the real world, so you couldn't just shut a door in their face and be done with it. And yet that was exactly what happened: as soon as they crossed through the door, it was as though they had crossed over both the physical threshold...but also a spiritual one, as well.

Silence. Just the usual clamor of a busy city, but nothing supernatural.

That's was...new.

Outside, Fang heaved a breath she hadn't realized she was holding and rubbed at her temples. No matter how much practice she'd had, some things you just never really got used to, even if it you learned how to cope with it better. Not reacting was one of those things, and once they were outside it felt like a tight band around her chest had been loosened.

Drawing in another deep breath, she looked up at Spike and squeezed his hand. "You okay?" she asked—and on an impulse she reached up and wiped at his lip where more whipped cream was smeared.