Possessed by the Vampire: Claimed (Book 1)

J.E. & M. Keep

All Rights Reserved. If you downloaded an illegal copy of this book and enjoyed it, please buy a legal copy. Either way you get to keep the eBook forever, but you’ll be encouraging us to continue writing and producing high quality fiction for you. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author’s imaginations. Any resemblances to actual persons, living or dead, are entirely coincidental.

Cover Design by Michelle Keep. All cover art makes use of stock photography and all persons depicted are models.

This book is intended for sale to Adult Audiences only.

All sexually active characters in this work are over 18 and between non blood-related, consenting individuals.

More information is available at Pathforgers Publishing

If you require content warnings: this particular story contains sexual violence, consensual non — consent, and torture.

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Table of Contents

Note from the Authors

More by J.E. & M. Keep

Biography

Chapter 1

Anjasa wasn’t so down on her luck that she had to dwell in the slums outside the walls, but she was running low on coin. Out, in fact. She’d spent freely in her time there and lived well. She was alone in the human city of Normevor, the “jewel” of the North, some old books called it. It hardly compared to the eternal beauty of the lands of her youth. Not for lack of trying — the human cities had a sort of gritty appeal, she had to admit. Normevor was large, a semicircle on the edge of a great lake, edged with a mighty, protective wall surrounded by many impoverished peasants. At its heart towered great noble structures of marble and shimmering glass and stone.

The contrast was jarring to elven sensibilities, but then, she too was often seen as jarring to her people's sensibilities.

The tavern she sat in was one of the nicer ones, as far as human taverns went, and so as she fished into her pocket for coins she realized the place had tapped her of the last of her money.

The thought reminded her of how reckless she’d gotten to even be paying for her own drinks, when a bat of her lashes typically got a line of men willing to pay up for her. Men like the handsome young noble she found herself seated across from. Though this particular fellow stared into his drink thoughtfully, his shiny suit looking every bit as fancy and expensive as he wanted it to. White, trimmed with black, and sporting shimmering gold buttons. Humans had odd tastes in fashion by elven standards, but he filled it out well.

The only thing about him that looked less than coiffed was his hair. His golden brown locks were shaggy and dishevelled, like he’d run his hand through it in frustration a few times too many.

She’d been too lost in her own concerns, and the idea of having to strike up conversation wasn’t one she relished. But then, she was used to doing what needed to be done, all else be damned, and her ruby lips curved into a smile.

She was a middle aged woman, still in her prime, and her bouncy black hair framed her face lovingly. The depths of her green eyes were almost eerie. The tan of her skin made it stick out all the more. Leaning forward, the tops of her breasts practically spilled out of her tight, red dress.

“Lookin’ for me in that drink?” she teased, her eyes holding such mischief.

The young human blinked and looked up, though he didn’t make it past her breasts. He found himself staring at them a bit blatantly until he shook off the dumbfounded look on his face and at last met her gaze. “What?” He had been a million miles away. Obviously, for how had he not noticed her sooner with those amber eyes of his?

Her lips quirked but she never moved from her position, her breasts so exposed, just barely contained by the tight material. “You seem much too thoughtful for this place.”

With another bat of his lashes — and a dip of his eyes to her generous cleavage — he hesitated. “You wouldn’t normally catch me in a place like this.” He stated it a bit critically, but then softened, deflating a little. “Sorry, madam,” he back pedaled in his refined voice, “I’m not terribly good company right now.” As he drank of his ale, the look he gave told her all she needed to know. He was drinking the sort of swill better suited for peasants.

She leaned back, her legs crossing seductively, “And where would I normally catch you, if I want to find you another night?”

The young nobleman’s cheeks reddened — actually blushed! — and he looked down into his drink to avert his gaze from her long, shapely legs, and her generous bust. “Ah, w-well, he stammered a bit. “Truth be told, madam, I, well...” he ran his hand over his golden brown hair again, the thick mess of it looking surprisingly appealing like that. “A club up the road,” he confessed, and she knew which one he meant. The swanky nobles club. It cost a small fortune to get in, however, and someone of the nobility has to speak for you.

Anjasa knew the place. It had a reputation for corrupting the young nobles of the city.

“And what happened tonight?” she grinned as she stood up, walking over to join him. She moved fluidly, the sway of her generous hips pleasing below the tight nip of her waist. “Did you get kicked out for being too rowdy?”

The young man shook his head and seemed stubbornly insistent upon not saying anything further. Then she slipped into the seat beside him and his inhibitions vanished. “No, nothing like that,” he dismissed; a bit of embarrassment brought a deeper hue to his cheeks. “Not tonight anyhow,” he cleared his throat and sat up a little straighter in his seat. She could read him like a sign printed in elfish; his natural inclination to compose himself in front of her as his interest rose. “Though maybe if I had spent fewer nights there I’d not be in the predicament I am,” he lamented.

“I know, the ale is horrible,” she teased, drawing her lower lip into her mouth and biting it seductively as she stared at him a moment.

She could sense he was more than just sitting stiffly already, with the way he was staring at her. He struggled to clear his throat and regain some composure. “I’m sorry,” he apologized again, sounding rather sincere, “I’m not exactly the wealthiest noble in town. Not any more.” Perhaps he’d thought her a prostitute soliciting him, or else a woman after a noble entanglement for wealth and prosperity. Regardless, he looked downright adorable with his apologetic expression.

She grinned and looked around them, her head tilting to the side, “Honey, if you think I’m a gold digger in a place like this, I must be a really shitty gold digger.”

He looked around at that, and though the place was an upper scale tavern for merchants and the other wealthy of the city who weren’t nobles, her words seemed to sink in. He smiled crookedly, which looked simply satisfying on his face, and nodded. “Sorry,” he repeated, peering up at her beneath his dishevelled bangs, “I shouldn’t assume. I... I just didn’t want to waste your time with false hope.”

Of course, a noble down on his luck still probably held more wealth than the vast majority of the city, certainly enough to pay for some drinks and a good time for her. But the circumstance of relative prosperity wasn’t something the young man seemed to grasp. Typical, of course. A noble with a purse full of coins and an opulent manor could think himself a pauper just because he lost his rights to a township.

“So come on, you’re not even drinkin’ your sorrows away very fast,” she smiled down at the mug. “And the ale is weak as water. Why don’t you tell me your troubles and we’ll order up a proper bottle of something.”

He dipped his head down in a bit of embarrassment again but nodded to her request all the same, with only a momentary flicker of his eyes to her breasts. “Okay,” he mused, “I figured I should get used to this peasant rot now,” he added with some humour, “but I don’t think I can stomach it.”

That was enough to confirm for her that he was not as bad off as he thought. People truly down on their luck had to scrounge for coin for the cheapest of ale. He had chosen an actually decent blend, despite his complaints and melodrama.

The man raised his hand though and got the barmaid’s attention, ordering a fine bottle of Sylvarin wine from her homeland as he gave her a pleasant smile.

She smiled and her eyes brightened as her hand went to her hair, fixing an out of place strand among the large, bouncy waves. “I guess it’s pretty obvious,” she reflected, referring to her elven heritage.

With a shrug of his stately shoulders, he said with some amount of modesty, “It doesn’t take the refinement of a noble to notice the ethereal beauty of a fair elven maiden.” He managed to make the words sound like he was reciting a poem, and perhaps he was. She wasn’t a master of human poetry, after all.

The wine was uncorked and poured up before them both. The barmaid — though buxom — did not garner any of the now-entranced noble's attention, despite her efforts. Anjasa had a corner on that market, she could tell.

Yet she appeared calm and confident; she was used to preferential treatment. Her thumb and finger rubbed down the stem of her glass wantonly, “So tell me. What is so horrible that you’re reduced to having to sit with me instead of some empty headed — ” Anjasa stopped herself and grinned. “Some stunning noble woman.”

That elicited a laugh from the handsome young man, despite his attempts to hide it. He licked his lips and tried his best to straighten his hair, “Ah, first.” He cleared his throat, “Allow me to introduce myself, madam. I am Sir Loren Faro.” He then coughed, deflating just a bit, “Or at least, I was to be.”

“Well, it’s a pleasure,” she smiled and dipped her body down to show off her cleavage once again. “Sir Loren Faro,” she said with a bit of an exaggeration to her tongue motions. “I like that. I think that’s what it shall be. I’m Anjasa.”

Her banter made him smile just a bit, though she could see the tell-tale signs of gloominess trying to fight it. She won out of course. “That’s a lovely name, Anjasa,” he repeated sweetly and raised his glass. “To you then. A beautiful elven lady with a name as exotic as she looks.” He was neither fae nor dainty like many noblemen were. It seemed his current soft-spokenness was something brought on by melancholy rather, evidenced by the increasingly firm tone to his voice.

She brought her glass up and clinked it delicately, “So what’s happened? What ragamuffin could hurt such a handsome and charming man as you?”

Tipping back the drink, she made a soft moan of appreciation before lowering the long stemmed glass back to the table.

Loren shook his head, setting that thick head of golden brown hair to swaying gently. “No. I’m afraid I just...” he sighed softly. “I lost my inheritance.” He paused then added, “In a competition I mean, not like... down a drain.”

“You bet your inheritance?” She whistled lowly as she looked over his body. “You must be huge,” she paused a beat, “-ly confident.”

That succeeded in bringing another blush to his cheeks, but he poured her up more of the familiarly expensive wine and shook his head. “Not... no, not exactly,” he said. “My father, he ah,” he cleared his throat. “He disapproved of my habits and set me against a cousin in a competition over who would retain his inheritance.” He looked down in his drink glumly. “I went drinking the night before.”

She had to suppress her laughter, and she licked over her lips. “Well, we all get cock...y from time to time. So who’s this cousin and how’d he even get chosen for the possibility, huh?”

Loren shifted in his seat slightly, and she knew his blood was rising from the way he looked at her, even amidst his tale. “Like I said, my father,” he cleared his throat again, “he did not care for my habits, and uh... the company I kept. He felt it a good lesson to make me compete for my inheritance, and I thought I had it in the bag but...” he shook his head glumly. “His name is Zarach. You’ve probably not heard of him,” he said with an irritated exhale. “He’s an extended member of the family, far removed. Family doesn’t even own land. Well,” he screwed up a corner of his lips, “they don’t until my father passes... which could be anytime now. In the meantime, they use that scrap of paper to humiliate me.” He brought his glass of wine back up and sipped sullenly.

“Well,” she leaned forward thoughtfully, her finger rubbing along the seam of the wineglass. “Can your friends do anything to help you out?” Her foot brushed against his pant leg casually as she recrossed her legs. “Surely they would like for you to be back in that other bar with them.”

He forced his gaze away from her in some measure to maintain control in his melancholy. “I doubt it,” he intoned sullenly. “I thought of plans to get that testament away from my cousin, but,” he shook his head sadly. “I couldn’t do it. And if I were caught... it’d be worse than my current predicament.” He peered about distastefully at that, though looking back at her soft, supple body soothed him.

“Well,” she mused thoughtfully. “You’re not alone any more, are you? You’ve fallen into the lap of a guardian angel.” Her lips spread into a smile, and she ‘absent mindedly’ pressed her breasts together for a fleeting moment, fanning herself. “It’s warm in here, don’t you think?”

The blatant stare he gave to her breasts as he nodded would’ve been embarrassing for anyone. “Aye,” he tugged at his collar just a bit then drank some more of the wine, finding it far more agreeable than the ale. “You’re... you’re not like other women, are you?” he asked her with a curious gaze. “I mean, not even the elven women I’ve met.”

“Well, everyone starts to look the same if you only spend time in the same places,” she grinned as she tipped back the rest of her wine. “But no, I doubt I’m like the other elven women you’ve met.”

He managed to tear his eyes away from her tits to stare into her emerald gaze. “You’re probably like... a princess back home or some such I bet. An ambassador to Normevor?” he guessed, rather incorrectly. She noticed his free hand rubbing at his thigh instinctively, unable to get to what it really wanted to touch, she had no doubt.

She smiled calmly as she shook her head, “No, nothing so glamorous. Just here trying to experience new things. You don’t realize how different humans and elves are until you surround yourself in their culture intimately.” Her words were like honey as her foot stroked up his leg again, lingering. “So what types of things did your father disapprove of? Drinking?”

His leg twitched at her touch, but pressed back to her foot. How he wanted her! It practically oozed out of his pores.

“Aye,” he nodded then grimaced a bit. “And... women,” he admitted with another blush of his cheeks. “He didn’t care for me associating with anyone but the most prim and proper noble ladies,” and she could tell from his tone that he didn’t share the sentiment. “Obsessed that one would woo me and I’d plant a child in her and there’d be some bastard to contend with.” He rolled his fetching eyes.

“Well, I imagine that’d be your problem, not his,” her lips quirked, her brows rising slightly. “Did any manage to disappoint him so?”

His brows rose and he stared at her wide eyed. “Huh?” Then getting her meaning he shook his head, “Oh, no no.” He drank down more of the rich wine, “I was not so daring as my father seemed to think I was. He took the club's reputation a little more seriously than he should have.” He cleared his throat and lowered his face, glancing to her from the corner of his eyes, and she could tell he was desperate not to embarrass himself further in front of her.

“That's an even bigger shame,” she lamented for him, “I can’t have any more children, but if I could, well, I’m sure there are other arrangements besides making off with an entire inheritance,” she smiled coyly. “Still, if I were you, I’d just be filled with spite. You’re taking it quite well, considering.”

Loren looked a little overwhelmed, but he took the compliment with a half — smile and a nod. “Thanks,” he said, looking to his empty glass, “I, uh, please, excuse me if you think this rather forward of me, madam Anjasa, but,” he cleared his throat yet again, seeming to have developed quite the habit. “But would you care to join me for an evening with some more fine elven wine, since I seek to enjoy the last of my privilege before being cast off?” The hope in his beautiful amber eyes was palpable, and stood in contrast to his strong jaw and masculine good looks.

“Are you a poet as well as a noble?” she smiled amiably before giving a soft nod of her head. “And I think that’d be delightful. Do you have a place nearby?”

Her acceptance seemed to nearly floor him, and he delayed a moment before nodding abruptly. “Y-yes, I do,” he stood up and quickly ordered another bottle. “It’s just down the road,” he smiled pleasantly. “It’s my family’s townhouse; it’s mine... for the time being.”

Taking the bottle of wine, he extended his arm to her in a gentlemanly fashion.

She threaded her arm through his, and even in her heels she was a good half foot shorter than him, “I’m sure your father can be made to see sense.” Her fingers stroked his arm. “You’ll be back to high class soirees before you know it.”

“I’m afraid it’s a bit late for him to change his mind,” he lamented as he led her down the cobblestone street of the city. It was night and the people they passed by her of the respectable sort, thanks to the merchant class status of the neighbourhood. “He’s been unconscious for days. The healers say he’s not likely to come out of it before... before he passes.”

“And what of your cousin? He doesn’t happen to have a fatal illness just itching to see him out in the next day or so?”

The building he took her to was one of those nice, rectangular structures. Old, by human standards, with some lovely carvings. He led her into the dark interior. She judged immediately that even before this incident he was definitely out of favour with his father, for there were no signs of servants and what furniture there was laid beneath protective cloths.

“He is hale and hearty,” he replied with some sadness as the heavy door clicked shut. “Sorry for the state of things,” he apologized, guiding her towards the stairs. “I’ve only kept the room up above set for myself.”

She followed after him, hand still around his forearm while schemed. He was a handsome man, and she would have eagerly spent the night with him at any other time, but a man down on his luck was all the easier to manipulate. Should she save him from his sorrows, his gratitude would be enough to buy her a small villa...

Anjasa’s smile widened at the thought, “Well, just who knows about this deal?”

The townhouse was still in good condition, despite its obvious disuse, but when he took her up to the main bedroom she could see the antique furniture was clean. Any one piece would be worth more than most peasants made in a lifetime. As turned on the lamps she caught sight of a large canopy bed and double doors opening onto a balcony.

“My cousin and I,” he said glumly, setting the bottle down on a dresser which contained a number of glasses and previously emptied bottles. “He plans to humiliate me by springing it unannounced after my father passes, I’m sure,” he said heavily.

“Well, if three know a secret, there’s only one sure fire way to keep it hidden,” she offered morbidly as she looked over the bed with obvious interest. It had been a while since she’d been in such an opulent room, and the sight made her smile.

Meanwhile the young nobleman blinked and stared at her, a little surprised at her remark. Obviously having trouble reconciling such a harsh statement with his preconceptions of her, it was perhaps only that generous hourglass figure that distracted him enough to let it go without question. “Wine?” he offered, turning to uncork the bottle.

“Absolutely,” she spun about to look at him with a light expression that belied her previous statement. “So, do you have copies of the will?”

Popping the cork off with a bit of carelessness, undoubtedly brought on by too much drink already, he began to pour up the glasses. “Copies?” he repeated with some confusion, loosening his collar and handing her the one fluted glass. “Oh yes. One for me, one for my cousin,” he nodded before taking a sip. “Not that having a copy does me any good. All it says is I can’t have any damn thing. The fewer copies of that, the better. Preferably none,” he remarked dryly.

“I think we could make it so,” she agreed as she sipped from her glass. “After all, his word against yours won’t carry much weight, will it? You’re the son. His true heir.”

He stared at her, looking a bit surprised by her idea. “Take it?” he repeated with a furrowed brow. “I mean... that would sort of solve everything, wouldn’t it?” he mused, his collar undone low enough to show a bit of that chest hair so common on human men. “But they would never let me near it,” he said as he sat down on the edge of the bed facing the balcony.

“Well, it’s not like they know me. And I do look quite the diplomat, you know, once I get out of these clothes,” she teased, her lids descending part way and making her look even more enticing. She’d been drinking the entire night, but she'd been at this long enough to how to handle her liquor.

Sitting there mulling over her words, he looked a bit dubious. Or perhaps it was just the fact that his mind — judging by the bulge in his crisp pants — was elsewhere, and he had come there with intentions on her that didn’t involve conspiring.

All the same, he brushed his hand through that thick head of hair again and mulled it over. “Well... maybe. But it’ll be locked in a safe or something, I’d imagine.”

She nodded thoughtfully, taking a step towards him and let her hand fall to his exposed chest. “I’m sure in the morning, when we’ve sobered up, we can come up with a plan. After all, you must surely know your cousin well — he must seem so predictable to you. He probably uses his own birthdate for his code or something.”

Loren blinked and his eyes trailed up her curvaceous form, resting at her breasts yet again rather than her emerald gaze. “I...” he laid his glass aside, the feel of her fingers upon his chest only troubling his ability to think even further. “You’re a very special woman after all,” he admitted with some astonishment in his voice.

Anjasa’s smile grew and she shook her head modestly, “I simply hate to see something so cruelly stolen from someone. Your cousin did nothing to deserve it,” she dismissed with affection, ignoring the fact that he’d done even less.

He blinked repeatedly, as if doing so could chase away the fog of alcohol. Though coupled with the tantalizing stroke of her fingers on his chest, moving through his peppering of brown hair there, he couldn’t seem to focus entirely. “If I can get my inheritance back,” he began and licked his lips, staring blatantly at her rather generous breasts, “I’ll owe you. A lot.”

“For now, how about we just chase cast worries to the side,” she purred smoothly, her eyes half lidded. Her stare was seductive, cunning, but most of all, it was hungry. She wanted him, for all his upset fears and worries.

Anjasa had never been shy about chasing what she wanted, and wasn’t above sleeping with men — and women — for money. Yet this was pure, manipulative desire on her part. A swank place to stay for a night, and a new, rich, boy toy. “You just lay back for me.”

The crisp white and black trimmed outfit he wore had weathered his drinking well. It creased a little as he reclined back immediately, as if her very words had kicked out some suspension beneath him. “Gods,” he swore as he looked up at her with his amber eyes, “if Father knew what an elven vixen I’d met...”

“He wouldn’t be able to do a damn thing to stop you,” she finished as she straddled his hips, leaning over him and letting her large breasts fall towards his face beneath that stunning red dress. Her black, full hair framed her exotic, tanned features and she licked over her lips slowly.

With that longing gaze of his on her bust he nodded. “He couldn’t stop me,” he reiterated and very brazenly he lifted a hand. He was not a small man, did not look the type to be meek, and perhaps the way he reached up and squeezed one of those large mounds then was proof of that true self poking out of his melancholy.

She gave an exaggerated gasp of pleasure as she pushed her plump chest down into his palm. Her hips rocked slightly as she nodded eagerly. “What right does he have to control you? You’re a grown man,” she urged him. “You’re strong, and virile, and deserve to have beautiful women fall for you.”

Anjasa could see it. The spark of something in his eyes lighting up right before her. That large, human hand squeezed her sumptuously large bust with a hard tightness, as if he were re inflating back to the man he — she assumed — was. “Even Elvish women,” he added as his eyes widened.

“I saw you at your worst, and I still wanted you, didn’t I?” she asked smoothly, bending down over his body and kissing just below his ear. “I couldn’t wait to be in private with you, could I?”

Her clever words were working. She felt his manhood swell beneath her as she sat atop his groin. The pleasant thickness grew so very fast, throbbing eagerly up against her. While those fingers of his clenched her teat tight, too tight, causing her a twinge of pain. “That’s right,” he husked back to her and inhaled her scent deeply, the rich aroma of lavender and sex such an excitement.

She traced along the seam of his ear with her tongue, groaning at his brutality. “You’re so rough,” she panted, but there was only pleasure contained in her voice. “What a bad boy you are,” she purred as her hands worked over his chest, freeing him of his shirt in a skilled, eager deftness.

Seeing him without his shirt on showed him to be in better shape than she would’ve guessed. He might have spent his time drinking and whoring away his inheritance, but he must have spent at least some of that time training. His broad chest was toned and strong, even for a human. She could see where the roughness of that grip came from, because his biceps were swelling nicely.

“When I see what I want,” he began in a low voice, “I take it.” He clenched her tit again and leaned in to nip her neck as his own chest rose and fell with his increased breathing. Those dark nipples of his stiff on his bare chest, and only a silver choker-like chain to garb his upper body.

She moaned louder, right next to his ear as her hips ground into his body once more. “I hope your neighbours don’t call the guards,” she mused. “I have a feeling it’s going to be a long night.”

She pulled away from him just enough so that she could start to tug up her dress over her thick, toned thighs, revealing her sex to be deliciously bare beneath.

Loren had been built back up by her, and not just the pleasantly large cock that swelled through his crisp, white black pants. As he gazed at her bare slit, his eyes went wide and he went speechless. He even managed to let go over her breast just to touch his face, as if to prod himself out of his stupor. “That’s beautiful,” he muttered, as if it was the first he’d seen.

The first that mattered anyhow.

She looked down over her body, torso tilting back slightly so that she could look at her smooth pussy with only the strip of dark hair tufted at the top. “You think?” she asked curiously, her finger delving to it and drawing out some of the hidden juices.

The effect she was having on him was obvious by his quickened breathing. He reached out as she touched herself, brushing his own thumb over that strip of hair. “By the light of the gods, I’ve never seen a more perfect one,” and he swallowed down the saliva he’d built up in a matter of seconds.

She smiled, looking so touched and pleased as her fingers worked together to spread her lips for him, showing off that pink sex lewdly. “I’ve not thought much about it,” she admitted as her torso bent back more and her thumb glided over her clit. “Oh,” she sighed, taking in a deep breath. “Do you think you’ll fit?”

The swell of white fabric over his groin rose up with the thick throb of desire beneath. “I better,” he murmured as his thumb continued to trace that thin strip of soft pubic hair, lavishing in it as if it were some rich fabric from a foreign land. “Or I’ll make it fit,” he added on more firmly, and she saw his handsome face contort a bit, making him look sterner as he gazed longingly at her sex.

A visible shiver ran through her and her nipples stiffened beneath her dress at the threat. Her breath caught, and for a moment, she forgot she was supposed to be playing him. Making him fall for her. Making him need her.

Instead, the only thought that filled her mind was of him fucking her, and two of her digits pushed into her wantonly exposed sex.

Loren was entranced by the sight of her fingering herself. It was only when his desire reached the breaking point that he snapped out of it enough to use his free hand to pull her dress from one shoulder and expose a heavy breast. He took hold of that large mound and squeezed its bare flesh, hard and unrestrained. “Fuck,” he swore. “You are the hottest...” and he trailed off as if unable to finish the words.

Her bare nipple was so tight against his palm, the large flesh surrounding it allowing his fingers to sink in. Her large breasts full and heavy as she pressed into him. “You wanna fuck me?” she asked with a lewd grind of her hips.

The wetness of her cunt pressed into his fine pants, but he didn’t care or notice. He simply groaned at the feel of her against his cock, wanted more desperately. “I’m gonna fuck you,” he responded firmly, and he sat up and wrapped his lips about her areola. He suckled her there with a ravenous hunger, tugging on that full, hard teat as his other hand fumbled with his pants, managing to undo them through sheer desperation it seemed. The pressure of release caused that thick, veiny cock to pounce out and slap against her fingers and labia, so hot and hard.

Her fingers paused, her eyes entranced by that molten manhood. Some of it was for show, an exaggerated tinge of lust coming to her gaze, but beyond it all, Anjasa was a slut. Strip away her ambitions, her cunning, her manipulation and greed, and she’d still sleep with any man with a big enough cock to please her. If Loren was a pauper, she still would have fucked him on the streets.

“Oh lords,” she hissed excitedly.

Regardless of how much of it was show and how much was genuine, he ate it up. He clenched her breast then reached up, taking hold of her long, black hair and tugging it as he twisted her head to the side so he could bite at her neck. “You like that?” he asked in a deep husk. “Bigger than those elven ones, huh?” he remarked, and she watched that thick, pink shaft throb lewdly betwixt her thighs.

“Yes,” she hissed as her hand went to the back of his head and drew him in, feeling dizzy with her own lust. She rubbed her clit, eagerly, and then brought her fingers to her lips, suckling their honey with a moan.

Loren, who had been so sad and despondent earlier, grasped hold of her hair and breast tight as he flipped her over onto her back upon the bed. He shimmied his pants a bit lower as he ground his thick, hard cock to her quim and loomed over atop of her. “C’mon,” he husked, and she knew she’d awoken the man inside him. “You want it,” he urged with another grind over that damp slit, “beg for it.”

Her green eyes opened wide in surprise, but her lips parted nearly instantly. “Please, my lord... You can’t leave me here wanting like this. My pussy's burning,” she confessed as she squirmed beneath him. “Fuck me!”

He looked like the type, to her, to draw it out and make her beg long, but she could tell she’d already had too powerful of an effect upon him. His dick swelled too hungrily for her, and he couldn’t bear to taunt her any longer. Instead he moved his hips to grind his cock down over her cunny until the crown pressed to her slit. “Here you go,” came his dark voice. “Time to make it fit,” and despite the bragging he was able to cram that thick girth up into her with the aid of her juices. Though he let loose a surprised moan at her tightness as he clenched her tit for support.

She knew how to grasp a man just so, to make him feel like he had the biggest cock in the world, and her body angled perfectly for it. She cried out noisily beneath him, a wild shout of passion filling the room. “F-fuck!” she cursed, her body grinding against him as her legs moved around his waist and clasped him into her. “Oh fuck you’re big!”

The deposed lord to be pulled back his hips and thrust again immediately, his balls slapping against her noisily as he thrust with wanton abandon.

She was good. Almost too good. She could bring out such fire from men’s hearts, and his was blazing as he gripped her tit and hair so tightly, bucking into her like a piston. An exquisite look of pleasure covered the face hovering over her as the handsome young man thrust away ravenously. His toned chest heaving as he struggled to keep his eyes open against the tide of pleasure. “Dammit you’re one tight elf bitch,” he cursed at her, though she knew it was anything but unpleasant for him.

And the cruel word only made her cunny throb harder, more genuinely around him. She got off on this, on their lust and passion, and her body sang as he slammed into her. Each thrust sent her breasts rippling, her body rocking beneath him on the bed as she clung to him with her legs and pussy. “No chance of me getting knocked up!” she growled and squeezed his cock harder. “Nothing to lose — pump me full of your load!”

Her words surprised him, and he blinked, trying to clear the fog of lust away from his gaze as he looked down at her beautiful features. Something rolled around in his head. Doubt? Did he think she was trying to trick him? What mattered was he never slowed down, never ceased that hard thrusting.

In a growling voice he said, “I don’t even care anymore!” And she knew that was true, she had him so jacked up on desire for her — the throb of that thick shaft a testament to it — he’d not be pulling out either way. Which was good, as his panting and the swelling of his girth let her know it was coming.

“Oh Lord,” she hissed, no longer the generic curse and praise to the upper class, but to him and him alone. Her pussy clenched around his throbbing, heated masculinity, and she moaned loudly, “Please!”

His pumping all but ended, instead he gave her a couple last, savage thrusts as she felt his dick swell within her. He groaned so lewdly as he came then, his shaft pulsing as he spurt thick, virile seed into her depths. “Yes,” he grunted, “yesssss.” She could make kings from boys with some sweet words and her hot body. He revelled in the sweet pleasure of release inside her exquisite folds, spurting to the very last drop all he had inside her.

Her moans and cries filled the room, encasing him in the safe, secure knowledge that he’d fucked her well — that he was a man.

“Fuck,” she groaned at his final thrust, her entire body shivering and her nipples poking out hard atop her massive breasts. “Fuck that was good. Fuck, you’re good.”

He was grinning, the look of confidence and self — satisfaction ripe on his handsome young face. He could make smugness look good there in the afterglow of sex.

Heedless of the mess he’d make he yanked his dick out of her, leaving her to drool his seed onto the rich bedspread. “You’re a lucky woman,” he didn’t leave her, instead he climbed up over her, knees on either side as that slick, honey glistened, cum stained cock dangled out before her face. With his hand still in her hair he pulled her head up towards it.

Her eyes rose to him as her plush lips parted, her tongue moving out already to taste their combined juices. It was so sweet, so dirty as he manoeuvred her head, forcing her to do something she already wanted to do very badly.

Loren watched her with a bright sparkle in his amber eyes, his gaze intense as he stared. “That’s it,” he growled, and despite just cumming she felt the thick organ twitch with excitement still. He might have been a wastrel lord, but he had stamina and virility, she realized. “When I’m Lord Faro,” he began, pausing to lick his lips, “I shall reward you, my elven slut.”

Her tongue swirled around his cock in appreciation, and her dark lashes descended as her moan ran through his organ. To think of how many women he’d fucked, how many he could have, it made her blood pulse and her head feel faint. She wanted his lust, his passion, and for the briefest moments she almost felt a pang of jealousy.

He purposely plucked his organ from her mouth and slapped that thick shaft against her face. “Until then... I’ll have my fun,” and with a sadistic grin he slid down over her form. The alcohol seemed to have done nothing to diminish his libido, for he flipped her over, tugged her to the edge of the bed and parted her ass cheeks as he lined up his cock tip with her anal pucker, prodding it without hesitation.

She gasped, truly shocked. Surprised at how hard he still was, by how forceful he’d become, but her bottom presented to him eagerly all the same. “Be careful!” she pleaded, knowing full well it’d be fruitless. He’d hurt her, but it’d be in the best way possible.

With his cock.

Clutching her long, dark strands as if it they were a reign, she his beast of burden, he yanked, tugging her scalp as he forced himself inside. “C’mon elf slut,” he grunted as his shaft sank agonizingly slowly into her tight rear. “Don’t be like that. You were so much fun,” he taunted, and she knew she’d found a dark one in that formerly melancholy lord.

She whimpered his name, her body prickling with pain and intense sensations that one could never get outside of the bedroom. She’d tried to find drugs, devices, contraptions, anything that could compare, but it was impossible.

The feel of a powerful man dominating her was entirely unique and did things to her that nothing else could.

Loren had only gotten a few inches inside her, but he was already anxiously tugging and pushing his cock into her, eager for the sweet friction of that tight hole as he yanked her hair. “C’mon,” he growled, and a hand struck her ass cheek. He stared down at the sight of her tan ass being crammed full of his pink dick, her puffy pussy lips below drooling his pearly white seed, still so fresh.

Gasping, she tried to push against him, to meet the pain he was causing with her own as he shoved that oversized cock into her hole. It burned and seared through her and she wanted to claw herself away from him, but her body needed the pain. Her clit throbbed needfully and she cried louder, her breaths coming on hard and fast.

Her praise and coaxing, mixed with the alcohol, had brought out the animal in him, and that animal was pumping into her insistently. The light slap of his groin striking her plush ass cheeks growing as he grunted with the tug of her tacky inner walls clinging to his manhood. With so little lubrication it was pure force driving his motions.

She’d picked him well. Seen through the sad outer shell and managed to pick a big dick with a sadistic streak.

She couldn’t be more grateful, even as her toes curled and her fingers dug into the plush blankets. “Fuck!” The word bounced off the walls and she screamed with gurgled pleasure and pain. “Fuck fuck fuck,” she coaxed herself through, taking more and more of that thick member into her tight canal. It was like a mantra, a way of working herself to take it all.

The sounds of his grunts and curses were lost in the volume of her own shouts, but despite his enjoyment of her, she knew it wouldn’t be short. He’d only just came, and the slow pace of thrusts in her tautly stretched anal canal would bring him to a slow boil.

By the time he was panting over her, his dick swelling with impending release, she was a ragged mess of having been fucked and used for so long. He quaked and shook, struck her ass with his palm again. “Gonna cum,” he managed hoarsely.

Her body prickled with sensation, her mouth hung open as she panted and cried into the bedroom air. Her mind was hazy, and no more were there thoughts of manipulation. All there was, was his cock and her body and the things he could do to her, and it was more than enough.

With a violent shudder, he released himself inside her. His thick cock spasmed wildly as it disgorged its seed, filling both her ass and cunt with the rich, pearly white essence. He was so noisome in the process, his mouth hung open as he gasped and groaned. “Fuck... yes! Take it,” he managed with a bit of a drunken slur, right up until he was drained dry and he slumped onto her back, panting.

Her dress was wrapped around her waist like a belt, and she felt like her body was on fire. She hadn’t even realized that tears had wetted the blanket beneath her, and she moaned appreciatively as his weight fell against hers.

He didn’t stir again though, and now his heavy, much larger — and stronger — form lay atop her. His face buried in her dark hair as their sweaty, exhausted bodies lay prone together.

Chapter 2

The little cafe was not in the nicer side of town. In fact, it sat perched on the very edge of the old city itself, and from where Anjasa sat at the outdoor table she could look through the dilapidated wall onto the slums beyond.

Broken down by age and lack of care more than the warfare it was meant to guard against, that old wall gave way to a view of poorly-constructed wood homes and shanties beyond. The cobblestone of the city’s roadways melting into hard packed dirt and filth that the impoverished commoners there trod upon daily.

So even though the outdoor cafe lingered so near to squalor, Anjasa couldn’t help but feel she still sat in luxury looking upon that scene.

“Cousin Zarach lives nearby,” murmured the young, hung-over noble beside her, his voice rich with distaste. Whether his disgruntlement came at the very thought of the cousin who’d ‘stolen’ his inheritance or at the lowborn neighbourhood in which he lived, so near to the slums, Anjasa couldn’t tell. Probably both.

“No wonder he’s trying to bilk your father for all he’s worth,” she sneered as she forced a smile to her lips. “Well, no matter. You have far more persistence and worth than he.” Her fingertips found his jaw and stroked him there, feeling his pampered flesh. “We won’t tarry long.”

The handsome young noble still wore his fancy suit from the night before, though it had lost a bit of its splendor after their night together drinking. The stubble she felt beneath her fingertips added to his looks. If he could just get rid of the sullen, hung-over expression while he sipped the brown brew, she could even appreciate it as quite rugged.

“We don’t have much time,” he grumbled, eyes squinted from the bright morning light. Then with a deep inhale she could sense his feelings of frustration rise again. “What are we even doing here?” he moaned. “We can’t very well steal the thing from him. Living here — of all places — he’s probably more prepared for thievery than anyone.”

“Common thieves, dear. I’m not common. You just sip your drink and point me in the right direction. I’ll check things out and tell you what I think,” she gazed at him seductively. She was still looking bright and vibrant despite their debauchery and drinking from the night before. Her hair had taken on a sexy, slept-in look, and her skin was glowing with excitement even though her dress was far too salacious for such an early hour.

Furrowing his brow, the handsome young noble gave her a quizzical look, though it only lasted a heartbeat. He was far too sore and sour from his state of post inebriation to do more than that. “Just over there,” he indicated, gesturing off down the street.

The place didn’t take long for her to pick out from the rows of homes. It was larger than the others, but more than that, it was gated and barred with wrought iron metal bars and spikes. From the gates to the windows, it was all barred up and shut off. It was obvious that the owners possessed great wealth, considering the neighborhood, for who else would go through such trouble of protecting a home along the edge of the Stink Streets, as they were colloquially named.

She had to hold back a laugh as her fingertips grazed her new lover’s stubble and down his Adam’s apple, “Tell me what I need to know about your dear cousin. Who lives with him? What hours does he keep? You know, what weaknesses does he have?”

Anjasa's fingers played their way down his chest, edging further and further towards the top of his tailored pants. “Quickly, before I get distracted.”

That, more than anything that day, got Loren’s attention. He perked a bit and sat straighter in the chair. “I... I dunno,” he hesitated, looking flustered for a brief moment before he seemed to regain some of that confidence she had instilled in him the night before. “He had dropped out of the family’s notice for a long while before he popped up and impressed dad — ” he cleared his throat, “ — my father.”

“Well,” she cooed and swept her hand lower, teasing over the thickness of his pants. “I guess I’ll just have to get acquainted. I’m a little over dressed, but I’ll return soon,” she promised with a broad grin.

The baffled young noble watched her get up and leave. The slinky red dress she wore hardly seeming to match his own idea of ‘overdressed’. That merciful, surprised silence gave her the opportunity to slip away.

Early morning pedestrians were too tired and preoccupied with the start of the work day to give her the kind of notice she could’ve expected at any other time, and that was ideal. It gave her the opportunity to more casually inspect the ominous manor. She noticed it was recessed in from the other homes. Making it not so deep, but broader and taller. It was definitely a manor as judged by the neighbourhood, though not like any she’d ever known a noble to live in.

Merchants? Definitely. Crooked guards on the take? Maybe. Nobles? No, never.

Though one thing she did note was that the front gate was unlocked. Even there, on the edge of the Stink Streets, the owners didn’t seem to expect robbery so early in the day.

Aside from that, none of the windows seemed vulnerable; the bars thick and fairly new. The home was obviously recently fortified by the standards of the old part of the city. The iron gating was definitely put in within the last half decade by her judgement.

It would suit her needs just fine. The actress in her craved challenge, but making a scene was... less preferable. At least in public.

Still, shame had its limits. She kicked off one of her shoes, running half-barefoot to the door as forced tears trailed from her eyes. She was wearing a tight red dress, but it looked slept in and used, and her hair was already a tousled mess of waves and curls. The vibrancy and light in her eyes shifted to one of terror and fear as she brought her small fist to the door, looking around frantically.

“Someone, please! Let me in!” she pleaded with the heavy door. Her fingers clasped the knocker and brought it down again and again.

Her panic seemed so real, so genuine, that even she began to feel her pulse race and adrenaline kick in, the skilled con woman slipping easily into the role of damsel in distress.

Anjasa didn’t get the immediate sort of response she was hoping for, but at last she heard the sound of metal and wood moving on the other side of the heavyset door. When it pulled open, she found herself staring eye to eye with a big, muscled man. Thick biceps stuck out of a short sleeved shirt that looked old and worn. Hair was tied back from a face pock, marked and covered in scars.

“The fuck is this?” he cursed, looking her over with utter confusion.

“They’re after me, please let me in,” she pleaded, her green eyes going wide as her hands reached out for his arm. “Please, I’ll do anything!” Her voice quivered and her eyes held such genuine, big tears as she begged.

The large, brutish looking man stood his ground, a hard gaze on his face as he watched her. “Git off a me, ya skank!” he bellowed, shoving her away. To which she allowed herself a graceless fall to her rear, in keeping with the act.

“Berro!” came a stern, commanding voice at which the brute halted and stiffened.

“Jes’ some trollop lookin’ for a handout, boss. Tha’s all,” he insisted.

She looked behind her, as if someone were hot on her trail, before she leapt to her feet once more and began bawling harder. “I don’t want anything! I just need a place to hide. Please, I’ll pay you back! Whatever you want, and then some!”

The large man, Berro, appeared ready to push her off again, but then from out of the dark manor behind him a pale hand descended on his shoulder. “Go back to the Stink Streets and tend to business,” came the commanding voice, addressing the doorman.

“But boss — ” Berro started to protest.

“Just do it. And close the gate this time,” and with that he hesitated just a moment before slipping past her, a deathly glare as the voice invited her inside to the gloomy dark abode. “Come in, hun. Shut the door with you. You’ll be safe.”

She almost lost her footing, momentarily forgetting the discrepancy without her left heel. It only added to the effect, though, as she practically toppled into the house and struggled to close the door behind her. She was out of breath and tears still reddened her cheeks, but her big, watery eyes went to her ‘saviour’. Her target.

Her elven eyes adjusted quickly to the sudden change in lighting. The only illumination was a few strands of light that seeped in from around the thick drapes over all the windows.

Though once she did she was greeted with a surprising sight. The tall man before her looked like no noble she’d ever seen. Bigger than the young wannabe Lord Faro, this man was pale, and sported a long head of equally colourless hair. She might’ve mistaken him for an older, distinguished gentleman, except his face looked young and unblemished. All but for the large scar that ran from his chin across his cheek.

“Who is after you?” he asked, standing calm and confident before her. Not the poise of a noble, but with an air of confidence and command nonetheless. It made him look like more of a swashbuckler than a lord-to-be.

“I don’t know, some guys,” she whimpered, moving towards the large man as if seeking his comfort. “I woke up, and the last thing I remember was going in for a drink last night...”

When she touched him, she realized that although he was tall, the noble was not so large as she thought. The vest and billowy shirt he wore beneath gave him the appearance of bulk, but beneath she felt hardness. Lean muscle, as he placed his cool hands upon her arms just beneath her shoulders.

“Hmm,” was all she got out of him at first, but he moved one hand up to her neck, and she felt the cold metal of his rings as he tilted her head back and gazed down at her. His eyes seemed dark, though she couldn’t make out their colour clearly in the dark light. He had a pair of lovely lips that contorted in contemplation. “Bad business, that,” he stated. “Where did you get the drink?” he asked, studying her.

She caught her gaze before it lingered over long on his mouth, trying to shake her mind free of the thought. “At one of the clubs... not around here. I’ve never been here before,” her voice trembled. “What if they find me?”

His almond shaped eyes narrowed just a bit as he casually inspected her. His gaze was piercing, but casually so. He radiated authority, and though he wasn’t the most handsome man she’d seen as of late, his calm control, unique features, careful tending and rugged look all added up to something worthy of notice.

“You’re fine here,” he assured her, perhaps satisfied with her tale at last. “Come,” he said, his strong hand guiding her towards one of the rooms along the main entryway. He pulled out a wooden chair for her. “Sit down, miss...?”

“Anjasa,” she whispered, leaning into him more than necessary. Perhaps a little too much, even for her ruse. He smelled so nice, though. Felt so warm. She’d slipped into the role with such ease, the distress and fear coming so naturally to her that her instinctual behaviours started kicking in.

She needed men; their strength, their scent, their flesh. It was a compulsion beaten into her, but it was something that brought only warmth and need to her body.

She slipped into the chair, taking in a deep breath. “I owe you my life,” she said breathily, staring up at him. He had the perfect vantage point of her overflowing cleavage, and her pulse quickened.

The flicker of the man’s eyes towards her generous figure did not go unnoticed, but he did not swoon as she might’ve hoped he would. Instead he helped her into the chair and squeezed her shoulder. “It is not common to meet an elven lady such as yourself so far down the by the wall, Miss Anjasa.” His voice was husky and rich, not the same sort of carefully-trained voice of Loren's, but it carried its own charms.

She drew in her lower lip and let her head tilt forward. Her hand trembled against his thigh. It was a casual motion to almost any, but for her it was planned and professional.

Despite his demeanor, her trick did its job, and he looked directly where she wanted him to. “There there,” he comforted with a squeeze of her shoulder. “How about a cup of tea?” He was already stepping away from her towards a doorway at the other side of the dining room. As he pushed back the drapes she could see — with her dark adjusted eyes — that it was the kitchen. Modest for the manor’s size.

“Can... Can I come with you?” she asked, her hand gripping the back of the chair, struggling to stand up. She paused and drew in her lips, shaking her head. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be suspicious of you...”

He hesitated just a moment but stood aside, holding open the curtained doorway for her. “Certainly,” he said, sounding at ease.

The kitchen was tidy and clean, but obviously saw regular use.

She brushed past him a little too closely before bending down to remove her right shoe. “I don’t know where I lost the other one,” she murmured half apologetically as she slowly worked her body in front of him. It was practiced, the way she tilted her figure just so, revealing a little more of herself as the hem of her red dress rose up as she set her shoe aside, leaving her barefoot in his home.

“You’re so kind... This city doesn’t seem to contain a lot of people like that.”

Dressed in a pair of tall boots, he set a kettle upon the stove, and lit the fire as he casually set about the tasks with practiced ease. “It does and it doesn’t,” he mused as if that were wisdom. “They have kindness for those they know. But anyone outside of that? Well,” he gave her a light smile as he set up the cups, “caution wins out, Miss Anjasa.”

“But not with you,” she observed, watching him with a certain curiosity. She was a gorgeous woman, even dishevelled and worn out, mostly due to her elven heritage.

The kitchen possessed a small table with but two seats, and he pulled one out for her. “I suppose I’m more of a curious man than I am a frightened one. And your arrival at such an early hour is certainly something to pique a man’s curiosity,” he explained, easing her to the table.

She let out a dry laugh as she sat herself down more primly than before, her face slowly losing its flush and returning to its natural shade. “Your security guard contrasts you nicely, then,” she observed as she leaned forward against the table. “I still don’t know how I got here.”

“Well,” he said with a handsome, pursed lip smile, “we’ll find that out eventually. And he’s not my guard,” he explained just before the kettle whistled, and he poured up the water into the two cups. She heard the opening of his tea leaf container almost at the same time she smelled its lovely aroma. It wasn’t local, but nor could it be one of the expensive or exotic teas she was used to.

“Friend?” she asked as she tried to relax her body enough to look casual but natural enough that it still looked tense. She was an expert at manipulating the slight things about her body to suite her role.

He made the tea for her with a practiced hand, she noted. Adding in a tiny bit of syrupy sweetener he looked at her, eyes alight even in that dark room as he watched her. “Cream?” he asked simply, ignoring her question, his body looking quite appetizing twisted at the waist as he was to see her.

“Yes,” she answered, a bit taken aback by how breathy it sounded. It had only been a few hours, she chided herself. She had more control than this.

Where he had been miserly with the sweetener, he gave her a generous helping of the rich milk, stirring it in before bringing the two cups over. “Here you go,” he said smoothly, slipping into the seat across from her at that small servants table. “What brings you here from the elven lands and into such tragedy, Miss Anjasa?”

She laughed a bit, accepting the hot cup graciously and taking a sip. She winced at the heat, but it felt cleansing at the same time. “Curiosity,” she answered simply.

Seemingly at ease in the small kitchen with her, he sat back in the chair and crossed his legs as he took a sip of the tea, unperturbed by the hotness of it. “Curiosity did not kill the elf. Not today,” he joked with a bit of a wry, friendly smile. “Fortunately.”

She cracked a smile and tried to hide it, demurely, beneath her mass of wavy, black hair. “You never told me your name,” she said softly. “I’m guessing this place is yours?”

His exotically shaped eyes moved about the place, as if it were new to him. “Oh, I own it, yes,” he stated, taking another sip. He placed down the teacup though and touched a hand to his chest, “My apologies, Miss Anjasa. Quite rude of me to neglect introductions. But you can call me Zarach.”

“I’m the one that came pounding on your door at such an early hour,” Anjasa bit her lower lip. “I really owe you big time. Who was your friend, then?”

He shrugged his shoulders casually and smiled. “Just some worker from nearby. Occasionally I pay him to take care of some things for me. With this much property it helps to have an extra pair of hands now and then,” he ruminated before taking another sip. “Where are you staying, Miss Anjasa?”

“I have a room in the trade district,” she gestured lightly in that general direction, finishing off her tea. She rubbed the back of her hand over her forehead and tried to tidy her hair. “Oh, I must look such a wreck.”

He rested down his own teacup and gave her a half — smile. “Nonsense,” he said, “you look lovely.” He wiped the corners of his mouth with his thumb, “Especially for a woman who has just braved such a harrowing set of circumstances.”

She laughed, the sound coming off as bitter. She looked down, her eyes hidden demurely, “What you must think of me to be so foolish as to accept a drink from a stranger.” She sighed before her gaze rose to his face and she gnawed on her lower lip.

“Hey, Zarach... do you mind if I stay here a bit? Just until I calm down?”

He stood up, “You’re a brave girl to accept a drink from a stranger so soon after what you’d been through.” With a soft smile he added, “And I would let you stay, of course. But I’ve some business to tend to. Ah,” he looked her over then smiled, “perhaps you should come with me. You’ll be in safe company — the safest, in fact — and I’ll see to it you get whatever you need.” The offer presented so tantalizingly, his face lit up with a warm, welcoming smile.

“I watched you carefully,” Anjasa promised him, but she looked hesitant. “Where do you have to go?”

“Oh, not far at all,” he replied pleasantly. He extended one arm, “I realize you’ve lost your shoe, but I think there’s something here we can find to do you. At least until we come by a clothing store of some sort.” The wry smile he gave her was so disarmingly charming, the crook of his arm extended invitingly.

“Do you have a wife?” she asked, slowly forcing herself to stand, growing a bit more cautious as he became friendlier. “And... I don’t have any money on me. Obviously. I’m pretty sure they stole my purse, because it wasn’t nearby when I came to.”

A shake of the head. “No, I do not. And you needn’t worry about money. Not today at least, Miss Anjasa. What kind of man would I be if I forced a damsel in distress to go without after coming to me for help?”

“A lot better than most,” she offered. Her hand snaked in around his arm and she tilted her head back to look at him curiously. Sure, she’d told Loren she’d not be long but, well, these things sometimes took time. If he couldn’t be patient enough for her to work her magic, he didn’t deserve the money anyways.

With her hand on his firm, strong arm, he guided her towards the front door once again. He opened a closet door beside the main entryway, and she saw there a strange assortment of coats and shoes. Women’s and men’s, bizarrely. “Help yourself,” he invited. “I have a lot of night time parties. A lot of...” he smiled wryly, choosing his words purposefully, “Successful night time parties. As you can see, last night’s left a lot of guests... disoriented by the end. I’m sure you’ll find something that fits adequately for now.” He gave her a bit of a courteous bow, “I’ll be right back.”

She laughed a bit, and was surprised to find the sound genuine. Ah, if only she could get the two to reconcile...Both cousins were appealing in their own way.

She dug out a pair of simply black heels that were close to her size, and slipped them on before looking around the entranceway.

Unlike the secure bars on the home, the place itself was much older. It was stylishly classic and understated, but she could see fine wood craftsmanship. Not the stonework of the wealthiest neighbourhoods, but it was obvious even to her that the humans who had built it had done so with great care and dedication.

She was interrupted from her study as the silent man appeared behind her, lowering a white as snow shawl about her shoulders, the fur so soft and delightful she barely felt it against her skin at first. “To replace your missing coat,” he explained, and she saw he wore a large, simple black trench coat that covered his form. It made for a stark contrast to his pale hair and face.

“Well, I wasn’t at your party last night, was I? I swear this fur is mine,” she teased. Brushing some of her dark hair from her face, she looked up at him curiously, “So what type of business are we off to do then?”

He secured a hat from a rack nearby, a particularly wide brimmed hat that matched his coat. “Oh, just your typical sort of thing,” he said, tugging gloves on over his hands before opening the door, letting the bright outdoor light stream in. “Restaurant, inn, entertainment. You know the sort of place by now, I’m sure.”

With his arm extended again, he invited her to take it, a warm smile upon his face.

“If the order of those things was slightly changed, I’d assume you were asking me out on a date,” Anjasa teased, slipping her hand into his arm lightly. Her work could wait. She could spend all day looking for that piece of paper, or have him so smitten he told her all about it.

Either way, she’d win.

The lord-to-be laughed as he escorted her out, locking the door and the gate behind them before taking her down the street from whence she came. She even passed by the little cafe, where she saw the rather morose Loren staring into his coffee. Suddenly the young man didn’t look as appealing as he had before, not when compared to the confident and dashing man at her side, wearing a pleasant smile as he guided her down the street.

How fast he faded without her compliments to perk him up. “So, I guess you’re a businessman, then?” she inquired gently, probing him.

The large hat he wore kept the midday sun out of his face, but she could see him much clearer all the same as he smiled down at her. “Oh yes,” he remarked. “Something of an entrepreneur, you might say. I have multiple business interests that range across the city.” He shared the information with ease, not seeming to care to hide anything with how easily he answered her.

“So why... do you live where you do? I mean, I don't meant to offend, but you're rather surrounded by... ruffians.”

He gave a deep, amused laugh. “Oh, multiple reasons,” he patted her hand atop his arm as he guided her along, approaching a rather curious building. It was built into — or out of? — the city's old wall, and bridged both sides of the divide. Part poverty, part simple working class commoner. “I believe it’s important a business person keep close ties to the foundation of their wealth, primarily.” He flashed her a wink, “Never lose perspective, Miss Anjasa.”

She laughed, genuinely. “A hero of the working class, is that it? With your rich night life and rescuing damsels in distress?” It made her green eyes sparkle with a bit of excitement and life that she hadn’t felt in a while.

With another hearty chuckle he guided her on towards the strange building, with its weirdly angular rooftop that sprouted out of the stonework of the old wall. “Not quite,” he stated, opening the door for her in a courteous fashion. The sound a piano playing emanated from inside.

Once beyond the doorway she could see that she’d entered the most curious club she’d yet to visit since entering the human lands. The floor had numerous tables and booths, a massive bar, but multiple stages as well. The clientele was sparse, but she could tell it was no simple inn and restaurant. Some of the customers ate or drank, but obviously the true nature of the place had yet to kick in. Even the piano player seemed to be idly passing some time rather than performing seriously.

She drank it all in inquisitively, feeling something warm deep in her stomach. She didn’t move away from him, but her eyes went everywhere: over the patrons, over the room, and finally back to him. His candor held her curiosity, along with some apprehension.

Loren and she had a late start to the day, and it was already about noon. With so large an establishment and so few customers around at lunch time, she could guess that the true business of the establishment had to be concentrated in the evening. The lingering, faint scent of exotic spices with a tinge of perspiration even gave her a sense of familiarity.

The dashing Lord to be on her arm, however, simply guided her to the far end of the bar. “Here, Miss Anjasa,” he said cordially. “Take a seat and order whatever you care to. Food, drinks. Whatever.” He gestured to the bartender behind the counter. “Anything she wants,” he commanded simply.

Her worries dimmed a bit as she looked to the barkeep and gave a small smile. “I don’t imagine you really do coffee and bread?” Her voice was a bit quieter, as if she didn’t want to disturb the midday gloom.

“Of course, missus,” chimed the man, wringing a towel between his hands.

Zarach reached out and touched her chin ever so gingerly, guiding her gaze back to his smiling facade. “I just have some business to take care of in back. I shan't be long. Indulge to your heart’s content,” he added with a smile. “The breakfast special is close to decent. And they make it all day... for me,” he added with an uneven grin.

She fought back the urge to lunge for him, but something about that presumptuous and kind motion knotted her stomach. It was possessive and gentle all at once, and she even felt herself begin to flush.

It wasn’t like she had any real loyalty to Loren. At least, not in so far that she actually had genuine compassion for anything other than his money. From what she could tell, this man deserved it far more. At least he worked a little, Even if it was seedy.

Perhaps especially because it was seedy.

“Enjoy, you’re safe here,” he assured at last, walking behind the bar to one of the back doors, giving her a momentary glimpse of a hallway beyond, a room full of mirrors and little else.

She hadn’t been sat there long before the meal was served up to her. Coffee, bread — both toasted and not — with eggs and bacon on a separate plate. “In case ya wanted ta heed the advice o’ the boss man.”

“Boss man, hey?” she laughed, taking a bite of the toast before smearing it with some fruit jelly. She pushed her hair away from her ear and leaned in to the bartender, “What’d you do to get stuck on the day shift here? I imagine this place is a riot at night.”

Despite her allure — or perhaps because of it — the man shifted a bit awkwardly. “I work here day and night, mostly,” he explained. “If’n ya need anythin’ else, ma’am, just give a knock on this here bar, an’ I’ll come from out back.” With that, he promptly scurried into back, as if terrified of her.

It took only a moment to calculate it wasn’t her he was scared of. The way she was escorted in by the ‘boss man’ and treated with deference, it was clear some bonds of ownership had been laid upon her in the eyes of the wary old worker. He was near petrified that he might say or do something that’d offend and get himself in trouble.

She didn’t know why it amused her, but she did understand the terror that ran in a current beneath her ribs. She knew to be wary of men that frightened others so thoroughly. More importantly, she knew how rarely she was able to listen to that instinct. The same behaviour that others found frightening, she found irresistibly alluring, and she squirmed in her seat as she drank her coffee.

Distracted as she was, she didn’t notice as one of the patrons who had only just entered walked up along the bar. He was an ordinary looking sort of fellow, dressed in work breeches and shirt. A commoner. He gave a distinct whistle as he eyed her with the sort of lewd appreciation the bartender would only have dared in his dreams. “I ‘ad no idea the ol’ Puss’ had hired on an elven dancer,” he remarked, eyes wide with devilish thoughts as they roamed down over her.

“Hold it in your pants,” Anjasa crooned. “I’m not hired yet.” The compliments made her glow inside, and she realized how much she’d forgotten about her past. Sure, she could never forget what happened to her, but the comment was a reminder of how good this part of it could feel. The chase. The desire! The need that went just above the edge of lust.

Something about bringing money into the picture just made it seem so much more primal, in its own way. It made it seem real. It quantified the lust and determined just how far it ran.

“Also, that’s a horrible nickname. Ol’ Puss’?” she chided.

The man gave a big toothy grin and laughed at her remark. “The Pixie’s Puss,” he announced wryly. “Leastways, that’s what she used to be called. These days it’s the Prancin’ Pixie’s. Public indecency laws or some such.” He rubbed a hand off on his pants, “But you ain’t gotta worry ‘bout gettin’ hired, missy. I say you’re a damn shoe in.”

“Well, maybe you could be my first customer when I am,” she teased, going back to her toast and finishing it off daintily. “Isn’t it a little early for you to be lookin’ for pixie’s pusses anyways?”

With the sleazy sort of grin men tend to give in his position, he replied, “With all due respect, missy, ain’t never too early for that.”

The little interlude was interrupted by the sound of some loud thud from the doorway Zarach had gone through, and the bartender rushed out, wide eyed and alert. He looked between Anjasa and the ogling patron and exclaimed, “S’Lucas!” He bustled over towards the man, muttering lowly to him. She couldn’t make it out but judging by the way the patron’s eyes went to her with wide eyed alarm then trailed away sheepishly, she could surmise the gist of it.

“Come ‘round back here,” the bartender beckoned the man. “Got a barrel ya can haul out for us.”

Wow, wasn’t even dating the man and already he was cock blocking her. Still, she was on a mission, so it was probably for the best. Besides, she was still supposed to be traumatized from the night before. She grinned as she took a bite of some meat, the grease only appealing to her because of the coffee at her side.

She ate away in peace, and the other patrons buried themselves in their own food or drink. The bartender and ‘S’Lucas’ seemed too busy in the kitchen to pay her any mind. She could hear more sounds coming from that back door though. Another thud, some raised voices. From where she was she couldn’t make out anything clearly though. It was clear Zarach must have gone into that hall and vanished into one of the many rooms beyond.

Spirits, if he was boning some other woman while sending away her only source of amusement...

She finished half of her meal and downed the coffee with some amount of grace before standing up and slinking towards the door. She was as stealthy as them came, with her light footsteps and elven grace, and her slender fingertips went to the doorknob.

The sounds of talking carried through the door, though not clear enough for her to make out exactly what was being said. She turned the knob carefully and slipped in.

The rooms lined with mirrors made a lot of sense, knowing what kind of entertainment the place boasted of at night. More interesting to her were the voices from the room down at the end of the hall.

“You know what, Mervin?” and she recognized the voice as Zarach’s right away. “You’ve convinced me. I believe you,” he stated with such cool control as always. “You don’t have the money.”

The response he got was from someone decidedly less calm — it sounded like it came out of a mouth full of gumballs. “Oh f’ankyou sir. Oh gods...” he sobbed. “I swear it’s the troof!”

Anjasa bit down on her lip, and she felt the adrenaline begin to pulse through her. She knew what happened next. It was the same thing that always happened next when you pissed off someone like Zarach.

Nothing good.

She slipped forward for a better look, situating herself with practiced care.

Even in the new heels she wore, she managed to creep into position without a sound. The sight that greeted her was that of the brute she’d first met at Zarach’s. He held the arms of a portly man, who sagged down onto his knees. Blood and saliva drooled from the limp man’s swollen jaw into a pool on the wood floor, which was littered with broken teeth.

“But you know what that means, Mervin?” continued Zarach. And she saw him, standing there with his coat and hat off, but those leather gloves still on, creasing as he flexed his hands. He bent down so the beaten man could look him in the eyes, “It means you’re a dumb asshole who can’t earn a decent income off the finest tits and asses the city can provide, lubricated with some strong-ass liquor. And how fucking useless do you think that makes you, huh?”

The battered man sobbed again, but Zarach snapped an immediate punch into the man’s gullet. It was fast as lightning. Mervin didn’t even seem to feel it right away, it struck him so fast, but soon after it was withdrawn he vomited onto the floor.

Her nose crinkled in distaste, but her heart pounded. Anjasa was afraid for a moment that it would give her away, that fast little thump thump, thump thump. It terrified her and thrilled her, all at once, and she caught herself thinking back to Loren. To how sweet and dejected he was. How he’d led such a simple, pampered life.

And then there was this man, so much more familiar to her. So much more dangerous for her. She knew she should flee, get back to Loren, and tell him whatever he needed to hear for him to pound her hard before she disappeared into the night. Her lips parted and she struggled to suppress a moan.

Anjasa was fucked up. She knew that, and she knew she shouldn’t feel such a heat between her thighs at the scene before her, but she couldn’t help that. She hadn’t been able to help that in a long, long time.

It was clear with how strong and capable Zarach was, that his henchman wasn’t holding Mervin up for the sake of restraining the battered man. No, he was holding him up for sheer convenience, as he seemed to have long ago lost his ability to stand up under his own power.

That dashing beast of a man looked relatively unperturbed by the whole thing. He brushed back some of his long, white hair, looking every bit like a civilized man. “Dump him out back, Berro. I’ll have to find a new manager to manage this place, it seems.” In a flash, Berro grabbed what little hair the portly man had, held his head up and kneed him in the temple, knocking him unconscious before dragging him off towards a back entrance opposite her.

Anjasa bit in her lower lip, even as she tried to slink back to her little barstool. That was where she should have stayed. If she had, she wouldn’t feel such an uncomfortable, gnawing ache deep inside her. As soon as Zarach had opened the door, she’d felt that same, familiar pang in her. Familiarity. History. Desperation.

It wasn’t long before he rejoined her, though seeing him again in his coat, hat in hand, she would never have guessed what he’d been up to had she not seen it with her own two emerald eyes.

The pure smile he gave her managed to overpower the scar that ran from his chin across his cheek, making him look only pleasant and handsome as he touched back upon her arm just beneath her shoulder. “I trust old Bert tended to you well, Miss Anjasa?” The words were caramel smooth and sweet.

“He was a peach,” Anjasa agreed as she lowered herself off the stool. “Quiet here during the day,” she mused as she leaned in towards him. His touch, it was capable of such horrors, of such power, and it made her heart pound harder. “How was your business?”

So at ease with her closeness, he even let his hand slip from her arm to beneath along her torso. “Business is business,” he stated, “tedious and messy.” Though one could never have guessed looking at his clean clothes and near unblemished features. “I trust you weren’t kept waiting too long? I know it’s been a harrowing day for you thus far.”

“It’s been getting better,” she reassured him, unintentionally adding a bit of a seductive edge to her voice. Her dark lashes fluttered and she took in a deep breath. She had to keep it together. “Is that all you had to do?”

His arm tightened around her and welcomed her in against his hard form.

“For now,” he responded. “We have some time to go tend to your needs,” and the words sounded so rich and enticing, even though he didn’t change cadence or pitch at all. Was she just reading into it? “I can escort you back to your hotel, or...” he smiled so pleasantly. “You can remain my guest for a while. I’ll take you to the shops, get you whatever supplies you need, and you can stay the night at my place.” He gazed down at her and for the first time she noticed what a curious shade of red his eyes were. Perhaps there was some mixed parentage further back… “What do you say?”

Her breath quickened and she cursed herself for being so obvious. Her face dropped away from him, and she felt that familiar throb between her thighs. “I couldn’t think of anything I’d enjoy more,” she admitted. She was, after all, broke. That was why she’d slept with the noble born in the first place, wasn't it?

But no matter how much she rationalized it, told herself she didn’t have a choice, she knew she did. A woman like her always did, and ought to always take the option that wasn’t so dangerous. Still, as her gaze slowly worked its way back over his body and to his face, she knew that for her, there was no other way.

“Come along then,” he bade her, and though his fingers never dared to touch upon her round ass, he guided her to the door with gentle, controlling pressure on her lower back.

Chapter 3

He might have lived and operated his business in the working class areas of the city, but when he took her shopping, Zarach brought her straight to the rich side of town. He’d already bought her loads of goods, ordered the shop keeps to send the stuff over to his place at a specific time, and seemed ready to keep at it. “What say you to one more stop before we head back, Anjasa?”

“You’re certain?” she grinned, and her eyes twinkled with exhilaration. She hadn’t had such a shopping spree in a long while, and even that drove a sexual current through her body. Everything about him was everything she knew she should avoid, and everything that her body craved.

Becoming indebted to a man, whether by his generosity or not, rarely led to happy endings. Yet as they passed a jewellery shop, she couldn’t help but pause at the emerald set in the display. The teardrops that so matched her eyes beckoned her, and she squeezed his arm. “You really don’t have to spoil me.”

He was too keen an observer to miss out on even a subtle cue, let alone one so obvious. Yet with a simple smile he said in his gravelly voice, “I have a feeling you’ll make it all worthwhile. If only with your lovely smile.” He guided her into the shop without delay, insistent on buying her a necklace.

Her mouth opened as if to speak, and she would have dallied if not for that firm hand on her back. The constant pressure, a reminder of his presence and of what he’d done so recently with those hands.

Was he trying to manipulate her? She tilted her head at him curiously, and for a second she wondered who it was in control.

“Should I box that up for you, sir?” asked the clerk.

“No,” Zarach responded, picking up the extravagant chain then holding it up as he smiled to Anjasa. “Allow me, m’lady,” he said, bringing the necklace down to her as she moved her hair out of the way. With steady hands he guided the fat emerald down between her generous breasts, reaching his fingers down and adjusting it perfectly without nary an inappropriate slipup. In fact, nothing he did crossed that border into indecency, not in the slightest. But oh, how tantalizingly close he always came.

Her breath caught as she felt the metal warm to her flesh, and she swallowed. Touching it gingerly, her eyes fell modestly. “This really is too much, you know.” Her voice was so genuine, so honest for once in her life. It was too much, but only because she feared repayment.

Feared it, and craved it.

“Nonsense,” he chided simply, his long index finger trailing down the chain and rubbing the glimmering emerald without so much as a brush against the thick mounds of breast flesh at either side. “Now come. It’s growing late, and much awaits us back at my place.”

Chapter 4

During the day, the barred-up manor had looked dark and ominous. As the pair approached following the sunset, she could see light glowing betwixt the bars on each window, the place lit up from inside. It did not, however, detract from the fearsome nature of that iron shod fortress.

“Your new things should be awaiting you, my dear,” he announced smoothly, guiding her from the gate towards his door, a hand on the back of her shoulder beneath that luxurious fur that kept the growing chill at bay.

Anjasa knew that playing along like this was bringing her deeper and deeper into danger. She didn’t know what she was getting into, not really anyway, and that lack of information was liable to get her killed in every worst case scenario she could think up. Better outcomes didn't get much brighter.

Still, she felt enchanted with him and almost grateful for that sense of fear that he was bringing back into her life. It shouldn’t have, but it left her with a warm, familiar sensation she had difficulty turning away.

“You certainly know how to spoil a lady.” Anjasa grinned up at him, and realized how much control she had lost.

Zarach had only a casual smile for her, moving up and opening the door without a need to unlock it, apparently. Once inside she could see the place much better, for an overhead chandelier was lit. The dozens of candles on it shed light upon the expansive main hall.

“Allow me,” he said cordially, taking the fur wrap from around her and stowing it into the closet, along with his own things. “How about some wine, sweet woman? I’ve got a few nice vintages here in house,” he stated affably, his ruby eyes trailing down her form to the large emerald on her chest casually for a moment.

Her skin flushed and she nearly accepted before she paused. Her finger swept some hair away from her face as she lowered her eyes demurely, “I probably shouldn’t tonight. I don’t want to... become trouble again.”

With a soft laugh he reached back to the door and slipped on heavy lock in place after another. “Nonsense. See?” he gestured as the last bolt slid into place. “Safe as could be in this home, dear lady.” He smiled widely, took her arm and guided her towards the stairs gently. “There’s a lovely spot upstairs I think you’ll enjoy relaxing in. Wine or no.”

The cool, practiced calm. The charming facade. She knew what treachery and pain lurked beneath it, yet it didn’t stop her from allowing him to lead her body wherever he wished. Anjasa had always been a slave for men, especially charming, powerful ones.

Charm was optional.

The more afraid he made her, the hotter her body flushed, and the more she needed to see what he’d do next.

“So are you having another party this evening?”

“Not quite,” he started with an uneven smile, taking her up the stairs. “We’ve some time to ourselves, and then an associate or two might drop by later on. Nothing big,” he assured her, guiding her down the hall and opening up a door onto a spacious room, lined with rich, luxurious sofas, cushions and a bar. The only other notable features were the opening onto a balcony and the fact that one wall was lined entirely with mirrors. “Why don’t you take a seat, my dear? I’ll make you a drink.” He guided her towards the most lavish looking sofa she'd seen in a long time, leading her to it by the hand. “If you have no preference I’ll just take it upon myself to provide something you’ll love.”

“Host’s preference,” she smiled as she looked around, finding it strangely unnerving just how familiar this room was. “You enjoy mirrors, I take it?”

Casually he walked over to the bar and began to take out some bottles of very fine looking alcohol. “Oh, mirrors just multiply beauty, after all. So a room in which you concentrate beauty seems ideal for them, no?” He said with a playful smile to her as he mixed some drinks.

She was still feeling as haggard as she had the night before, but just being around him seemed to fill her with new life. Even in that worn red dress, she looked vibrant as she glanced to her reflection. Her skin had taken on a warmer hue, and that gem between her breasts was exquisite.

He brought one back to her in a curious looking glass, “You’ll love this. It’s a bit sweet,” he said.

“And I won’t wake up not knowing where I am?” she asked as she accepted it. She crossed her toned legs and shifted to make room for him.

She’d seen him mix the drinks and pour them from the same decanter, and he drank from his own glass before smiling and nodding to her. “Unless you’ve a very low tolerance for alcohol, Miss Anjasa, I dare say your memory shall be fine.”

Zarach sat down beside her in the space she provided, a hand resting itself casually upon her ankle as he watched her with a smile.

“Unfortunately for me, I am not a cheap drunk,” she teased as she took a sip. It suited her just fine, and she smiled broadly, “Thank you. You make quite the bartender. And tea maker, by the way.”

“A man has to be prepared to entertain a lovely lady without notice,” he responded with light humour, his strong hand squeezing her calf. The drink was certainly strong, but not beyond her experience to handle. “Are you peckish at all, hun? Could I offer you a bite to eat?”

Her head tilted to the side and she felt her cheeks warm, “I imagine you must be. Have you eaten at all today?” Her black waves spilled over her bare shoulder, and her leg moved towards him of its own volition.

“Your concern for me is touching,” he laughed as his fingertips lightly trailed up the back of her calf towards the hem of her dress. He downed the rest of his drink then laid the empty glass aside. With a smooth motion he leaned towards her, the intimidating man, so pale and yet strong, looming over her with his lips moistened. Yet before anything more could come of it they heard a knock from below and he froze. “He’s early,” the words spilled out of his mouth as he retreated back just a bit.

“Wait right here, hun,” and with that he rose and started towards the door, adjusting his vest.

She hadn’t realized she was holding her breath until he stood up, and it was though the momentary spell had broken. She could still feel the lingering sensation of his fingertips on her smooth legs, and was amazed at how primed she felt.

Powerful men were definitely her weakness, and she nodded a bit dumbly, “Of course.”

He gave her a smile before shutting the door behind him after he left.

So close. She felt it, he had been ready to move upon her and the moment was ruined by someone’s errant interruption.

She wasn’t surprised by the annoyance she felt burning beneath her skin, nor the rage. Anjasa was not a woman that looked kindly on things being taken from her. Especially not when those things were gorgeous and troubling men.

She was also not someone used to idling around, and once more she stole to the door, her footsteps quiet on the wood floor.

Despite the fact that the door was far below, and a hallway separated her from it, she could hear murmured voices as if they were far closer. It sounded like her dark host was but a few feet away, though she could not make out what was said at all, except for an, “Are you sure?” in that now familiar voice.

When he returned back to the door, it confirmed for her just how close he was, for she didn’t have time to slink back to her sofa before it swung open and he looked to her with raised brows, finding her out of her position.

She gasped and laughed it off, shaking her head. “I guess I don’t have time to top up my glass before you get back, then.”

“Allow me,” he offered, moving towards the bar, taking up the decanter and topping off her glass. He stood quite close to her, more so than before he’d been interrupted with her. “So impatient,” he remarked, filling a second glass, presumably for himself, though as his gaze trailed back down her face towards her chest he seemed uninterested in anything but her as he slowly put her between him and the bar.

That heat, the pressure of a strong body against hers made her lashes flutter and her loins warm. Her breathing caught again as her large chest swelled against him, and she forced herself to exhale. “So that’s all for business?”

He extended one arm past her waist as if he were about to hold her, though he rested it upon the edge of the bar instead. But a few inches from her face, his hard body touching hers, he eyed her through narrowed slits. “Curious if we can move on to pleasure, hmm?” he remarked with a wry smile, his free hand moving up to her face, fingers lightly touching upon her jawline.

“Something like that,” she whispered, her head tilting into his touch. This was still business for her, she convinced herself. She had to get that will, or, at least, convince this man that he wanted to reward her heavily for being his. That was, at once, more frightening and more exciting than the idea of setting up Loren with the estate.

After lavishing his fingers in the smooth touch of her flawless elven face, he let them dip down, tracing along her neck towards her chest and the heavy chain that supported her new, expensive necklace. “Tell me, Anjasa,” he breathed in a deep voice, leaning in so very close towards her.

The moment was so intimate, so close as he pressed his groin to her, pinning her to the bar and looking like he’d kiss her any second. “Why’d you come here?”

Her lashes descended once more as she enjoyed his closeness, his touch. His awareness. She licked her lips and left them glossy before she finally raised her emerald eyes back to his gaze. “To meet you,” she answered back, truthfully. He’d long figured out that he was on to her, and she played it the only way she could.

As she suspected, there was no surprise in his steely gaze, just the same calm, cool exterior as he trapped her between his own fearsomely strong body and the sturdy bar. “Good,” he said without explanation, his fingertips trailing down along her collar bones, then tracing the outline of the necklace’s chain towards the fat emerald. “But why did you wish to meet me, hun?” he asked in that same deliciously masculine voice as he slipped his digits in under the gemstone to lift it from her flesh.

She smirked for a brief moment before her teeth drew in her lower lip and chewed on it for a second. “Because I was curious.” Her heart pounded harder between them and she squirmed to try to alleviate some of her arousal. The threat of him knowing, though, proved far too powerful to still with just a brief press of her thighs.

The motion did have the effect of stirring something in him, though, but it was his groin, not his sympathy. For as she felt that familiar swell of manhood bulge against her body, he took hold of that large emerald, clasped it in his hand and twisted the necklace about so that the links bit into her neck.

He moved in closer to her, their lips nearly touching. “I have a little rule, Anjasa,” came his chillingly calm voice, almost in a hiss “I never repeat my questions. Even if I don’t get the right answer the first time,” and she could read the menace in his eyes, despite his calm facade.

Her cheeks flushed and she felt the blood flow through the rest of her body with equaled heat. She knew she shouldn’t tease him or delay, but he was making her heart race even if he didn’t realize it. It was probably better that he didn’t.

His breath washed over her lips and she parted hers, licking them once more. “I was curious about you. After speaking with your cousin.”

She had felt that chain begin to tight again in that brief moment before her last sentence. He relented then, but only barely. It was still a tight and uncomfortable presence that made breathing difficult, thanks to what was just previously a lavishly expensive gift.

His own tongue licked across his lips slowly as he watched her with an unblinking gaze. “Tell me more,” he whispered ominously, his cock already swollen to such knee-weakening proportions against her.

“I know what you’ll be soon, after the death of an old man. And you deserve it,” she added on, but her mind was already growing hazy with more lustful thoughts. Her hands gripped the bar behind her and her pinky finger brushed his. “There’s not much to tell. I’m impulsive.”

The towering thug of a lord pressed against her harder, the choking pressure of the necklace tightening around her neck again. It clenched her throat shut, and she could not force any air through as he stared at her blankly, no sign of disapproval but for the tight hold of the choke chain upon her neck.

She didn’t move to try to get away, but her hands tightened on the bar, and her pussy throbbed between her legs. It wasn’t until her face began to turn an awful colour that her hand moved into his, her eyes widening in fear. True fear. Not the fear of being with an unstable, cruel man. Not the fear of being punished during sex. This was the fear of the imminent, looming death.

Without the subtlest movement but for that of his eyes, he then released the hold of the chain and watched the colour return to her face. She felt her throat open up again. Life-giving air rushed to her lungs in sweet relief.

She gulped in the air and coughed, her head lowering as she felt her knees go weak with the sudden rush of oxygen. Stupid, Anjasa, she berated herself. Why couldn’t she stop lusting for these men?

“You’ve known since I accepted the tea,” she praised him, but her eyes remained locked on his chest as she tried to breathe.

He stared into her, almost through her, a while longer. The tight press of his body keeping her from slipping down onto the floor as his one arm was about her. He spoke at last, his voice demanding, controlled. “What were you planning?”

She shrugged slightly, her lids descending, “To do what I always do. Act, then think,” she smiled. “Maybe get the will in return for a reward.”

Her honesty was rewarded with a gentle, but almost imperceptible loosening of the chain about her neck. His gaze moved up across her face and locked with her own. “And what will you do now?” the question so simple, stated plainly, but she knew the implications of it. There was only one right answer: serve.

The thought made her body clench, and it felt so delightful. Warm, pure pleasure. It wasn’t the uncoiling of an orgasm, nor was it the fleeting bliss of sex. It was something more primal, something beaten into her over long, horrible years.

“Whatever you want,” she murmured obediently.

The necklace loosened enough to reward her for that, though it remained a leash about her neck as he brought his other hand from the bar up along her back. He grasped hold of her long, dark hair, pulled back on it so that her neck had to arch lest he rip the strands from her head.

“My cousin is a nuisance,” he husked into her ear, leaning over her shoulder as he let go of the chain and grasped her hip. “Don’t you think?” with a slow, powerful grasp he twisted her about, giving her just enough room so that she was able to turn and face the bar before he pressed her cheek down onto the bar top.

“He’s useless,” she agreed, feeling that cool metal touch her burning cheek. She knew it would come to this. That there was no other alternative but to choose her allegiance between the two sparring relatives. No one liked loose ends, least of all she, but Loren had been a fun time. This man... He would not be sulking in a bar if he lost his fortune. He’d simply make a new one.

Bent over her backside he spoke in that increasingly low voice right into her ear, “Though nuisances can still be problematical.” He retracted from her just a bit, still pressing her head down onto the bar, but the press of that hefty manhood relinquished. “You have your uses though, don’t you?” and she could read the lewd suggestion in that question.

“Many,” she agreed, and her fingers tightened on the bar. She hated the lack of his body against hers, and her eyes narrowed in annoyance. Who had broken up their moment? Who had interrupted them and turned their relationship into this...

Business.

She felt the return of his second hand, the fingertips trailing up her thigh, pushing the hem of her dress up slowly higher. “What uses will you offer me, Miss Anjasa?” and he sounded for all the world like the calm, collected man who had treated her so generously all day. The threat needn't be spoken.

“Whatever you need,” she assured him. “I’m adaptable.” His fingers were like fire to her, and she both wanted the soothing heat and feared the searing pain it would bring. It was exquisite. Her legs were toned and shapely, her thighs were still thick and powerful beneath his hand, and she pushed into it almost imperceptibly.

His touch gravitated around her beautiful thigh to its smooth inner flesh. His fingertips glided up to her sex, where he found her bare, her slick lips delightfully nude so that nothing kept his digits from feeling her arousal. “You’re offering me this then,” it was less a question and more a statement, but with his pause, she knew it required an answer.

“Yes.” She was too needy to give a smartass answer, her body so primed for his touch. It was like sparks going through her, everything seeming to be intensified in her high adrenaline state. She couldn’t even bother feeling ashamed that even the top parts of her inner thighs were coated in her feminine cream.

His hand withdrew from her, and though she couldn’t move her head thanks to his tight hold, she could hear the faint noises with her keen elven ears. The softly moist sound of lips moving upon fingers followed by the noise of a leather belt and fabric pants coming undone. “And you’re offering to help deal with my cousin for me,” the words arrived with that familiar feel of a man’s bulging crown brushed against her labia. He may as well have been bribing her.

Her knees threatened to buckle, but she pushed herself up on tiptoes, trying to beg him in. She felt so warm, and she squirmed trying to force him to fuck her. “Yes.” She was in no position to argue, to try to spare Loren’s life. Not now.

She got one of her wishes though, for he pressed that bulging shaft into her, spearing open her waiting quim upon his thick girth. He gave but a low ‘umph’ of satisfaction as her tight folds gripped his length. He hilted himself inside her, bending over her as he leaned to her ear, rasping out his words. “And when you’re done all that, you’ll offer your body to me, and I will sell it at my club.” The next thrust followed immediately after, striking her deep and hard, jarring her core.

Her fingers dug into the bar, and even in the moment she realized what a harsh bargain she was getting. All for being curious. For not heeding her instincts and just buggering off. She couldn’t say she didn’t know it was coming, though, and she couldn’t help the fact that it too made her moan.

The idea that she’d be only making money for him, though, made her body tense.

Her thoughts were hard to focus, however, for the cruel man’s thrusts came on quicker, more forcefully. He was pounding into her with a depth and intensity the drunken Loren couldn’t have hoped to match the night before. With a harsh yank on her hair he brought her head back further, his dick swelling inside her canal as he spoke into her ear darkly. “You’ll be my own little pet elf whore. And if you’re a very good girl, I’ll continue to reward you. Wouldn’t you like that?” he asked, and his hand cracked down against one of her ass cheeks between thrusts of his cock.

She couldn’t remember ever feeling so primed, so needy, but that wasn’t a surprise. Her mind had dimmed considerably as he fucked her so... so righT. Her body was being pushed to painful limits, her muscles cramping as she was thrust against the bar again and again, but it was all so exquisite! He was so cruel, yet so in-control.

“Yes,” she blurted out, and even she was surprised by the honesty in her tone. For that moment, that heated moment, that was what she wanted.

The crude slaps of their bodies striking one another, his pale human flesh on her tan elven skin, striking again and again. He held nothing back, showed no mercy, but just as she felt his shaft swell within her, could sense in that practiced manner that he was approaching his own release, he yanked himself from her.

With a cruel tug, he pulled her off the bar by her hair so she dropped to the floor on her knees. “You’re going to be the most prized bitch in my stable,” he remarked, gripping the base of his dick and taking hold of the thick pole, letting her see it for the first time just as he struck the side of her face with it.

She watched, transfixed as she lamented the emptiness. Tears sprang to her eyes at his denial and her entire body burned as she opened her mouth, lunging for him. She needed him inside her. She wasn’t ready to lose him already. For this moment, for this to be all over. For him to relinquish her to his patrons.

For the first time since she’d met the man, there was surprise in his eyes as he watched her swallow his dick. It wasn’t enough to make him delay long though, for soon after he was pumping his shaft into her mouth, face fucking her as he held her hair so that those heavy balls of his slapped her chin. “Maybe you’re more special than I thought even,” he gasped a bit breathlessly.

She never slowed down, never stopped, as she licked her own juices from him. She tasted that sweet, elven fluid mixing with his human taste, and hungered for more. She didn’t want to be one of his whores. She wanted to be his. At least, for now she did. She felt her throat constrict and protest as she took him deeper and deeper, needing him to fill her.

She needed him to want her to himself.

He was breathing heavily over her, watching with such concentration as she struggled to earn his favour.

Savouring the moment, he licked his lips before finally pulling his dick out of her mouth and keeping her at bay by his hold on her tresses. He grasped his own shaft and began to pump it in front of her. “This way suits you best,” he grunted out just a moment before the first shot of cum lanced out of his bulging, purple crown and across her face.

She closed her eyes by instinct but her mouth still hung wide open as he defiled her face with his seed. It wasn’t what she wanted. She wanted him, fucking and threatening her, until she couldn’t take any more. She wanted him to punish her, but for him to make it clear that she was his to punish. Instead she now felt cheap and low...but carried an appeal of its own, and she licked the cum from around her mouth.

The man’s seed was slow to taper off, coating her in its rich flow until at last he was done. He pressed the crown to her full lips, squeezing out the last drop before he sighed in conclusion.

“There,” he husked in that familiar voice, pulling her head back so she had to gaze up at him, across his heaving chest. “You’re going to take care of my problem for me. Then you’re going to come back here, fall to your knees, and beg me for a place at my feet. Understood?” and his hand tightened on her hair with that last question.

“Yes,” Anjasa answered simply again, her emerald eyes trained on him as he took control of her body. “I understand.” Her knees ached from the floor, but it was such a comforting feeling. It was right, and she licked around her lips again. “I’m not stupid.”

He stared down at her. “Good,” Zarach tucked his impressive tool back into his pants and reached down. He undid the clasp of her necklace and yanked it off rudely. “This shall be yours again once you’ve earned it,” he said in that collected voice. “Now you’re going to go with my compatriot outside and take care of my little problem for me. Show your value in another way,” he ordered with just the slightest hint of a smirk.

“I work better alone,” she remarked bitterly as she pushed herself up from the ground. It wasn’t quite embarrassment that burned in her face, but there was some shame there. At being babysat, and at having to face someone with cum still lining her cheeks. “And I will earn it back. Quickly.”

He stared her down a moment, his lip crooking just a bit. “We’ll see,” he laughed, tossing the necklace aside onto a sofa and gliding to the door. “He’ll inform you of what is to be done, and how. He'll also be keeping an eye on you to make sure you follow through,” he added, looking her over before he opened the door.

Before she could take the exit he slammed a hand to the wall and pinned her there, shoving his face up nearly to her cum-stained one. “Do this perfectly, and maybe you’ll be the prize morsel of my home and my parties instead,” the promise a perverse twinkle in his eyes.

Hope crept into her face. And desire. She barely knew what it was, but he made it sound like something she should want, and that was enough to make it so. She wanted to be a highly sought after prize, not just a random girl of his.

In all things, she strived for the best. “Then that’s what I’ll do.”

The slightest of smiles crept upon his face before he finally pulled back and relinquished her to the freedom of the hall. Nary a word more for her.

Chapter 5

Anjasa saw the dark man watching her over her shoulder as she cleaned away Zarach’s mess. He had kept quiet as he guided her to the washroom, his dark, seemingly black-lined eyes glued to her.

There was no escaping the fact the man was foreign, but he seemed at least human. His skin was a sandy brown, his clothes dark leather that covered the whole of his body up to his jaw, but for his sleeves, which showed signs of some exotic tailoring. He was about the same height as Zarach, but judging by the strong arms he sported, he had to have been stronger still.

About his head he wore a hood and a face mask that covered all but his eyes. Those curious eyes bored through her, as if surmising her very soul. They weren’t right. And though they should’ve looked appealing to her, instead she got some strange feeling that she was in danger. Danger beyond that of the mortal, as if her very soul were in peril.

She’d been in trouble like this before. Rather, she’d gotten herself in trouble, just like this, more than once. One of the downsides of living so long was being able to repeat her mistakes as often as she could. Anjasa knew why she did the things she did. After all, her time at the hands of the man she only knew as ‘The Jailer’ were filled with training.

Still, it always surprised her just how deeply he’d affected her very mind and soul.

Yet even he couldn’t touch her like the strange man behind her, and as she finally put the washcloth away, she didn’t speak to him. She didn’t see the need.

Normally she’d be coy, playful even. She’d get herself in more trouble, and love the punishment she received from him. With this one, though, she was obedient in a way she’d never known herself to be.

Done with her cleaning, he quietly led her back out into the candlelit hallway and down to the front exit. He paused long enough for her to get shoes and claim one of the coats, though as soon as she had pulled it on, he had opened the door and was standing outside waiting for her.

She could only follow him into the night as he began to lead her across the yard to the gate. His scent came to her, musky, masculine, but hinted with strange spices that made her think of the desert.

“What are your plans?” he asked, his voice strangely accented as he quietly manipulated the gate open then closed.

“I figured you were supposed to inform me of my plans,” Anjasa shrugged. “Take care of his problem. Perfectly, it was suggested.” She felt uneasy, and there was so much she wanted to ask the man, but she didn’t dare. Not yet.

He led her on down the street, turning into one alley, then another. The strange man had no fear of the lower class district’s dark ways. “You are going to convince him you have found the location of the will,” he explained in that same, almost melodic accent, his voice deep and dark. “Beneath Zarach’s family crypt. You will lead him there. I will take care of him.” He glanced back at her for a moment, the tall killer — for she sensed it on him without need for further evidence — moved with such a liquid grace. “Unless you have a better idea.”

Her heart pounded with each step, and for a brief moment, she wondered if she could do even that. Condemn a man who had done her no wrong, simply for being lazy? Simply for being a noble, she corrected herself.

She didn’t have many options, that much she knew. At least, in regards to saving Loren. Unless she could slip them both away into safety, they’d both end up dead. She chewed her lip thoughtfully. If she simply didn’t comply, Loren would die, with or without her help. The man couldn’t even be bothered to fight for his inheritance, let alone his life. He was useless. No threat.

He’d let her go in there without warning as to the true nature of his relative, though, and shouldn’t he have at least warned her of that? Of what might happen — to both of them — if she were caught?

“I can’t think of anything else, but then, I haven’t much sleep,” she gave him a candid smile and kept to his side.

He said no more afterwards, the long silence dragging on until she realized she was back in front of Loren’s place. The nameless killer turned his gaze upon her at the end of the dark alley. “You will go in alone, but I will always be near.” His eyes, dark but holding some strange ethereal aspect, turned towards the building. “Go, before he drinks himself into an unusable state.” He added, somehow knowing, “The door is unlocked.”

“Thanks,” she murmured as she walked across the street.

She took a breath as she put her hand to the door, letting herself in, silently. She had to find some way, somehow to warn Loren, but what options did she have? She thought back to their night together, and it hadn’t been bad. A somewhat standard tryst, but he had made her happy, if only for a while. That had to be worth something.

She’d killed before. She’d been cruel and heartless, and she knew that at some point she would pay for her sins. But that wasn’t who she wanted to be, and as she walked through his home, she dreaded what Zarach had awakened in her. She’d wanted it. She wanted him, what he’d offered her.

And that terrified her. Was she to let herself be so easily controlled?

She knew the answer, just as quick as she’d had the thought: yes. Powerful men could take her, bend her to their will, and rule her with just their commanding presence. She headed towards Loren’s bedroom.

She heard him before she saw him. His voice carrying out of the open room where she’d slept with him the previous night. He was singing. Morosely.

Pushing the door open she saw him sat there, near the open balcony door. He was reclined in his chair, his fine jacket and shirt undone, leaving his chest exposed as a bottle dangled from his one hand. That brown hair of his was an appealing mess, but he hadn’t noticed her.

She moved into the room quietly, observing him with such sorrow in her eyes. She didn’t care about the trinkets and baubles that Zarach had bought her. She would always have stuff, and she'd always be able to get more when she cared to. What she wanted was something deeper, and far more dangerous.

As the self-pitying young man lifted his bottle to his lips he turned his head towards it and caught sight of her. “Fuck!” he exclaimed and jumped in his seat, dropping the wine with a loud clatter, the last of its contents spilling out onto the floor. “You fuckin’ snuck right up on me!”

She smiled, trying to hide the melancholy that lingered there. “I was enjoying your song.” Anjasa bent down, picking up the bottle of wine. “How much have you drank today?”

He tugged his jacket down and ran a hand over his hair, trying to regain some measure of composure as he looked around, then up and over her. “I thought somethin’ had happened,” he murmured. “You... sided with him or somethin’,” he guessed. With a rub of his eyes he added, “Not that much drink,” and she knew it was a lie.

“You didn’t give me much warning about what type of man he was. It took me longer than I anticipated to find the will.” She forced her fingers not to twitch as she handed him the bottle back. “You aren’t looking well.”

Loren took the bottle back in hand and pushed himself up. To his credit he didn’t wobble, or perhaps he simply wasn’t as drunk as she first thought. “I told you I don’t know much about him, really,” he said, lifting the bottle and taking a drink before offering it to her. A slight smile crept onto his lips. “I shouldn’t have doubted you though... you just...” he blushed a little, “you seemed too good to be true.”

She swore her heart broke a little and she forced a smile to her lips. She wanted to be his saviour. That was the person she wanted to be, someone who helped people.

That just wasn’t the person she was.

“Look, go wash your face with cold water. Wake yourself up. I’ll go make you some coffee and we’ll head out together, okay?”

He began following her instructions right away, even as he questioned, “Where are we going?” He went to the washroom and splashed some water from the basin there into his face. “You seriously found it?” and his excitement was rising. It was slow to take off, probably a result of his long, depression driven drinking.

“Do you know anything about his family crypts, Loren?” She was hopeful that even he could help her save him, but in the state he was, she could have easily taken him out on her own if she cared to. She didn’t have any doubt that the fearsome man across the street would have no trouble with it, even as she did her best to try to make him alert.

Loren ran his wet fingers through his hair, slicking it back before he toweled off his face. “No. Why would I?” he asked with some confusion. “Two different branches of the family,” he explained, though a small smile was tugging at his face. “Damn I missed you,” he breathed, tossing the towel away and then stepping towards her to take hold of her hand. “I’m going to make you such a lucky girl once I have my inheritance,” and his face lit up with his cresting joy.

Damn it, damn it, damn it. She smiled, but her stomach lurched. Why had she spent the day with him? She’d been hoping to spend the night, to be able to look around while Zarach slept, but he was far too smart for that. She knew that now. He was a bright man, cunning, capable. He got what he wanted, and right now he wanted her to suffer, and Loren to die.

She wasn’t enthused by either of those things right now. She also knew, though, that seeing Zarach again would weaken any of her resolve and she’d beg, like the trained slut she was. “Well, we need to act fast, before he realises we’re onto him.”

Loren nodded, squeezed her hand and then began to do up his shirt and jacket once more. “You’re right. There’s no time to waste.” He grinned stupidly as he tugged her towards the door, “Come on. You’ve done so well, there’s just a bit farther to go!”

“Yep,” Anjasa sighed. Just a little bit more before all Zarach’s loose ends were tied up. She glanced around outside Loren’s house, looking for the man she knew she wouldn’t see.

Chapter 6

There was no sign of the mysterious stranger the whole way to the graveyard. The streets were only sparsely populated this late at night, and the graveyard itself was devoid of all life.

To his credit Loren had enough forethought to bring equipment, including a lantern he used to guide them, checking the noble family crypts in search of the one they were after. “It should be around here, I’d imagine,” he murmured in the dark of the night.

How was she going to get him out of this? She was already wrenched with guilt and fear. There were two choices, and both demanded perfection. Either she made the both of them disappear, running away with nothing to their name and an utter reliance on her to support the both of them, herself and this weak man she'd met a few days ago.

Or she’d have to get him killed.

Either way she’d end up selling herself, she mused with some annoyance. Why did Loren have to be so useless in the first place? She deflected the blame onto him, and even though it felt good for a time, it soon passed, leaving her with nothing but despair.

Loren paused before one crypt. “Here!” he hissed into the silence of the graveyard. The lantern’s light revealed the family crest, and when the young noble reached for the barred gate over the crypt’s entrance it swung open. “It’s unlocked...” he said breathlessly.

“Lucky for us,” she mused, and her hand found his forearm, pressing herself to him. “I’ve never been in a crypt before,” she admitted. She knew what would happen to her. The moment she saw violence, the minute she saw that hired thug take Loren’s life, she’d be putty once more, lost in a haze of lust, and her conscience was punishing her for it already. “Be careful.”

Loren’s suspicions seemed to fade, and he took her hand in his, squeezing it reassuringly with a smile. “Don’t worry. It seems the place has been in use with the lock open and all, but that makes sense if he’s hidden the will in there. He just got careless. I’ll protect you if we’re caught in the act anyhow,” he said, leaning over and giving her lips an angled kiss, his eyes glittering in the lantern light.

He pressed his body into the crypt’s stone door, sliding it aside with a few heavy grunts.

She had to do something. She wanted to scream at him to run, but she knew that they were being watched. She had no way to warn him without risking her own life. She had to trust that he’d be able to escape, and her with him, without being caught by that... man. She hesitated to even call him that, for he didn’t seem like a mere human.

“Loren,” she said breathlessly, but there was nothing more to say. Not then. She was trapped.

“It’s okay,” he murmured back to her, leading the way as he pushed into the darkness.

The light of the lantern didn’t travel far, but she could see the outlines of the stone tombs. The rows of shelves that held each protected dead relative. “Do you know where in here?” he asked quietly, as if afraid to break the silence. “I’d rather not start popping open tombs and rooting through corpses, Anj,” the familiar name rolled off his tongue so easily.

Her fingers clutched his arm, trying to pass him a sign. A warning. “I don’t know, Loren. I just know it’s somewhere in here. We’ll just have to be alert.” She tried to emphasize the words in the most subtle way possible, but she knew that it was far more likely that Zarach’s hired hand would figure it out before Loren.

Loren inspected the rows. As he trailed down his assembled ancestors, he noticed something. “Hey... you see this, Anj?” he asked, and as he indicated to the floor she could make it out: markings upon the stone that indicated something had been dragged out repeatedly. “Here,” he pointed it out, handing her the lantern as he went to take hold of the intricate stone carved statue there, trying to push it out of the way.

She took the lantern and held it near him as she took the chance to glance around the rest of the room. Her heart thudded hard, and she was afraid Loren could hear it but he was too distracted. “Hurry,” she whispered.

It’s okay,” he assured her before putting extra effort into pushing that statue aside. He groaned with the effort, but finally it slowly began to move. It made no noise, the stone smooth where it had been moved repeatedly. Tension held the air for she knew that dark killer couldn’t be far off. Why hadn’t he struck yet? He’d said he’d be following. There was no way she could’ve lost him during the descent.

Her thoughts were stolen from her as Loren gasped and she looked, seeing a stairway that descended down beneath the crypt. “It’s... it’s a hidden entrance to... something,” he remarked, the poor fool utterly bewildered.

Had he laid an ambush down there? She gripped the lantern harder. “That’s probably where it is.” Her voice felt so choked off. She glanced around the room again, looking for a potential weapon.

A wine bottle was all that stood out to her. Someone must have left as an offering to one of the deceased. Not ideal, but she plucked it up nonetheless before following Loren down into the dark.

The stairs spiralled down at least a story into the ground before leveling off into a wider area. She smelled something amiss before she saw it. “What is that?” asked the young noble, and the metallic tang in the air was so oddly familiar. It came to Anjasa from her memory quickly: blood.

Already she felt her knees weaken in fear, and she knew this was the place. Her steps slowed, and she begged her hand not to tremble. How many people had Zarach killed down here?

It filled her nostrils, and her stomach went queasy. “Blood,” she whispered, and it was so quiet she wasn’t even sure Loren could hear it.

Continuing undaunted, Loren probed further into the stone catacomb. It was built so long that neither of them could tell at all how much further it extended. Though still holding the lamp in one hand, when she heard a soft groan to one side she turned the lamp in that direction she saw something more alarming than she’d anticipated: a lone woman, wearing the tattered remains of a dancer’s outfit, lay on the other side of a barred cage, blood pouring down her head to her torso.

She was still alive, but so deathly pale it was hard for Anjasa to tell whether she was too weak to survive — assuming she could be freed then and there.

Anger rose up in her, but she forced her scream to die in her chest. Her breath came harder and she looked around, panic making her more alert. She would not die down here. She would not let Loren die down here. There was a way out of this, she simply didn’t know it yet. She refused to look at the dancer again, but her heart ached.

“Loren,” she repeated, “I don’t like this.”

Her heart stilled. There was no response.

No sound permeated the catacomb. Even the sickly dancer at death’s doorstep neither moved nor groaned further.

As panic spilled into her breathing, she finally heard something, the sound of scuffing upon the floor. It too went quiet immediately after, though it came from deeper ahead, out of the range of her lantern.

She instinctively didn’t believe it could be the killer. He’d never be so careless as to make a sound like that. Her lantern lifted as she took a step forward. She could feel the prickly heat grow under her jacket, and her hair began to stick to her forehead.

Following after the sound, all she caught was a glimpse of a booted foot seemingly kicking out in her direction, vanishing ahead. She followed it, though just as she nearly gave up in futility she found it: Loren’s body. Still and upon its back.

Before she could see his face, a hand landed upon her shoulder, its strong grip yanking her about to stare at the visage of the dark, stony killer towering over her, still and quiet.

Her shoulders slumped. She had nothing to say, and even her thoughts seemed to go quiet. All that remained was a sense of failure, of once more leading someone she liked into doom. It was a feeling that never grew easier to cope with.

In the dark of that catacomb he stared down at her in her misery a while. He observed her wallowing, and it was some time before he said, “You did well in luring him here.” The statement simple and direct, uttered in that strangely foreign manner, so deep and dark.

“Would you classify it as perfect?” she almost hissed, biting back her bitterness, her angry rebellion. It was too late.

It had no observable effect upon him either way. He held her shoulder in the same precise grip, still watched her with his deathly gaze. “You wished that man to live, did you not?” he asked in his rich, lilting accent. “Yet you led him here all the same. Why is that?”

“I wish for me to live more,” she admitted. That was what it boiled down to. She wasn’t willing to try to lead Loren away if it meant that her life was going to be put at risk.

Was there shame in that?

Certainly the dark killer before her understood that sort of reasoning, though he showed no sign of it. “You think sacrificing him will help secure your life with Zarach?” came his sinister voice, his hand holding her in place while he studied her with unblinking eyes. “By now you’ve been able to discern what a fickle, cruel man he is.”

She laughed and gave a slight nod. “Well. I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it.” Her eyes rose to him, narrowed in her curiosity before she glanced away and lowered the lantern. “It seems good enough for you.”

The silence hung between them in that dark space. He was slow getting to his words. “You would do this thing for a slight hope of securing your own life. What would you do for something real?” he asked, and she felt she could see it there: some faint flicker of change in his cold eyes. She had something he wanted.

Anjasa was a survivor. If ever there was a word to describe her, that was it. She’d been through the pits of hell. She’d fucked and pleased men, demons, and worse things still. She’d dared people to take her life and still she clung to it, after so many years. After so many close calls, tempting death like was something she craved.

Yet still she survived and persevered.

“What it takes,” she answered honestly. She wasn’t above putting other people’s lives beneath her own, and sometimes that even gave her a sadistic thrill. She’d felt something for Loren, however fleeting, but it was mostly pity. Pity wasn’t an emotion she had much time for in her lifestyle, and already she was finding her mourning period had begun to pass.

The dark killer nodded to her in some mild approval. “You could hope to last with Zarach for a while, if you are as skilled and committed as you seem to be. But he would ultimately grow bored, and with his cruel nature your fate would be sealed.” The words came so fluidly, so truthful in their undertone. “He was a great asset for me, I thought. But as his power grows, he becomes increasingly obstinate. Ego gets in the way of reason. And when it would come to a matter of import at which I could not suffer a refusal, I fear he would force me to do him in and waste resources sooner than submit to my.”

Her eyes narrowed as she stared into the dim light, taking in his words. “Then why did you so willingly execute a claimant to his power? Without that will, at least, he would have had one less leg to stand on.”

Even in the dim light she could see the slight betrayal of the dark man’s humour. “Your friend is not dead,” he confessed, and she knew the words to be true immediately. “He is unconscious, but unharmed.”

Relief washed through her, and she couldn’t help but smile. “The dancer doesn’t have the same luck?”

The ominous man’s eyes moved towards where the dancer was, even though no light reached anywhere near her form. “It is likely too late for her,” he said before looking back to Anjasa. “But as you can tell, Zarach is a twisted man. Giving him any more power will only lead to... complications. Yet there needs to be someone to run the affairs of the criminal underworld, no?”

“Of course.” She took a step away from the frightening man, towards the woman. She’d had to sit by while others like her had been tortured and killed, but there was still an inkling of hope as she inspected the cage. “What did you have in mind?” she asked the killer.

“You will go back to Zarach,” he began. Silently he had come close to her under her notice, standing right there alongside the bars next to her. “You’ll pretend to know nothing of his charnel house. You’ll report how you tricked him into a blackout-drunk unconsciousness, then handed him to me for disposal, which I performed before your very eyes,” he paused, watching her keenly. “A knife through his throat, I made you watch him bleed out. You’ll ingratiate yourself with him, use your ways to make him comfortable. Pleased. At ease. Then... wait.”

She took out a hair pin from somewhere between the waves of her hair, fixing it into a lock pick. “And if he grows cold before my wait is up?” Her elven ears perked as she listened to the sounds of metal on metal, working the lock with practiced ease.

“I will be there,” he said simply, as if his presence guaranteed it all. “You need not worry for her,” he added with a gesture to the unconscious woman, pulling open the door as Anjasa unlocked it. “I will take your friend and her away from here once you leave. Loren will take a long nap, until you are ready to return to him with a tale of how you saved him from the catacombs and rescued the will all at once. And as for her,” he resumed with a nod towards the sickly dancer, “I will bring her to what help there is before I return to you and Zarach.”

“Thank you.” Anjasa righted herself and folded her arms, looking at him keenly for a moment. “And I’m to trust you in this, I take it? Is my stink of desperation that obvious over the bile down here?”

So tall and mighty, he reached one hand up and smoothly took hold of her face. He wore nothing on his arms but a wrap of leather about his wrists and palms, and her chin rested against the leather as he touched her with his cool grip. “You’re a survivor,” he pointed out. “You will do what I want, when I want it, because it will be your best shot at getting through this mess alive.”

He stared down at her, into her, his head tilting just slightly as he observed her.

“Fuck, all I wanted was a damned drink,” she sighed. How easy was it to fall into the underbelly of society for her? How many bosses had she pissed off this late in her life?

Nothing about that man before her felt natural, not his dark gaze, not his cold grip. “What you wanted is irrelevant. Only what you need now. And you need to survive. Keep that in mind, and we shall have a long and mutually beneficial relationship, elf.” He leaned down closer to her level, the dark mask over his lips moving as he spoke, “Zarach lost his usefulness to me because he has ceased to put his life before his pride and ambitions. Do not make the same mistake.”

She laughed, her eyes sparkling in the lantern’s dim light as she shook her head. “If you knew me better, you’d be in on the joke,” she assured him. Pride. She'd figured that was beaten out of her long ago, and her ambitions only stretched so far as experiencing freedom to the fullest.

“Set her up somewhere decent, and I’ll take care of it in the future, alright?” she asked, her tone more serious.

“If she survives,” he added, the agreement implicit. “Now go. Do as I say and you will have earned for yourself life, riches and a lord on a string in the end.” He released her face and stood aside, giving her room to leave.

She opened her mouth but thought better of it, quickly moving up the catacomb steps and gulping in the musty air. At least it didn’t stink of blood. Was she really going to trust this faceless brute? She’d dealt with men worse than him, demons and dragonkin notwithstanding. Anjasa was a woman who must seem, to her acquaintances, to have a death wish.

That couldn’t be further from the truth, though. She loved life. She loved living. She just wanted to experience both the pain and the pleasure, the fear and the excitement. She wanted it all.

Her walk back to Zarach’s place, though, was mostly filled with fear. Walking through the winding streets alone at night was a risk in any neighbourhood, but through the lower class dredge was worse still.

Chapter 7

She made it back unmolested, somehow, only to arrive at the gate in time to witness Zarach’s henchman Berro unlocking it for her. “He’s waitin’ inside,” the doorman stated, ushering her on in gruffly.

The dark manor was just as she had left it, the chandelier casting its light upon the great main hall as she entered during the late night hours. Berro followed behind her and pointed up the stairs, “Up there,” he gestured to a different end of the manor this time, away from the room she’d first been used by the lord to be.

“Thanks,” she smiled brightly. She’d just succeeded, after all. Killed off the competition, returned a glowing prize that deserved to be rewarded and displayed. Everything had gone just as planned.

She had rehearsed the lie the entire way there until she almost believed it, heart and soul. There was no treachery, no hidden agenda, and certainly no plan as she kicked off her shoes before striding proudly towards Zarach’s new hiding place. The lattermost was at least partly true.

The door was open as she approached, and within she saw a massive canopy bed, thick drapes all about, and well lit by candles. But as she entered, there was nobody within. Zarach was not to be seen, though there could be no other room in the direction to which Berro pointed. This was the place, and judging by the wealth on display, it had to be Zarach’s personal bedchambers.

A shiver ran down her spine as she walked in, her shoulders straight and her head dipped demurely as she looked around. Her hands clasped behind her back, thrusting out her chest as she cleared her throat.

He came from behind her, hand moving to her shoulder as he stepped into the room, shutting the door with a click of the lock.

He said nothing at first, but she felt him bend down over her shoulder to speak into her ear in a husky whisper. “Undress. Tell me how it went,” his breath lapping at her lobe as his other hand touched upon the back of her thigh, that strong, cruel grasp a reminder of all she had witnessed him do.

It had excited her then, and even though her fear of him had grown by leaps and bounds, it continued to light a fire in her loins. Her fingers went to the clasps at her side and her dexterous hands stripped away that red, worn dress. “It was perfect,” she admitted as she pushed the straps off her shoulders, letting the material gather at her waist.

“It was... easy, even. Your friend is efficient.” She licked her lips and moved towards his body, even as she continued to reveal her curvaceous form. She was fit and toned, but her breasts and ass were soft and feminine, and almost too large for her small, elven frame.

“It must have,” he remarked, walking about her slowly so that his boots padded softly on the carpeted floor. “Otherwise my compatriot wouldn’t have sent you back to me quite so pristinely,” he remarked with a wry crook on his lips that made the scar on his face look malicious. “How did it feel to offer up a sacrifice for my favour, bitch?” and he lowered himself onto the edge of the bed, his vest from earlier gone, only an open white shirt on, that displayed his pale chest, ridged with firm abs.

She tapped into that part of her, that primal area she tried so hard to deny its existence. Her lips quirked as she pushed down the dress to the floor and stepped out of it, completely nude to his gaze. Her sun kissed skin made her look like an exotic treat just as much as those elven ears and curious, emerald eyes.

“Exquisite,” she gasped as she knelt before him, her eyes still brazenly trained on his.

His crimson gaze was glued upon her as she knelt before him, just as he’d demanded.

Zarach reached out, stroked a hand back over her glossy black hair to the back of her head, where he grabbed a fistful of the locks and twisted her head at a painful angle. “Did you have to fuck him to get it done?” the question asked so harshly as he glared down at her.

Her face screwed up, and for a moment she felt anger flash through her. “No. He trusted me.”

His brow relaxed slowly, he gradually loosened his hold on her head, the pain of his grasp diminishing as he watched her. “Did you do him in, or did you need Jaral to do it for you?” His cold, commanding stare locked on hers as he waited for that answer.

Her eyes averted from his and her face began to flush. Just the way he made it sound, like it was a weakness, embarrassed her at the same time it thrilled her. “He did it.” Jaral. “I’ve... I’m no killer.”

Something happened inside his mind. He was so unreadable normally, but some war between relief and disappointment was raging within him before he released her hair. “Very well,” he said. “Can’t trust a bitch in your bed who could slit your throat anyhow,” he remarked, loosening his grip on her hair further.

Yet she didn’t slip away or accept the give of his hand. She made him tug lightly, and the prickling of her scalp made her squirm as she knelt before him. “Did I do good?” she asked, hating herself for sounding so needy, but her lust was mingling with her fear, and it was making it so much harder to think.

She looked at him, and wondered if she’d have to kill him one day.

With the hand on the back of her head guiding her roughly, she found her thoughts drifting to the mysterious Jaral. She couldn’t understand why. She’d never felt anything but revulsion and fear for him in all the brief time she’d known him, but as she found her face forcibly pressed into Zarach’s groin, the scent of masculinity permeating her senses, thoughts of the strange man with whom she'd conspired wafted into her mind.

“You did good enough for now,” stated the pale crime boss, his manhood swelling against her face through the fabric of his pants.

“I did what I was told,” she agreed as she nuzzled his package, feeling his heat radiate through her. Her pulse quickened. “Exactly what I was told.” She would get through this. She always had before, and he was no worse than the others she had serviced.

With his hand upon the back of her head, he ground his girth against her before he stopped, the throb of his shaft having grown rapid. “Unbutton the trousers and take it out,” he husked, yet in her mind the eerie presence of that foreign killer lingered in her mind. He had lost none of his ominous aura, yet a sort of ethereal link seemed to have been formed between her and him. Like a magical tether.

Mystical or physical, she knew she was bound, yet it was still unnerving. She looked up at Zarach with seductive eyes. Her fingers went to work, eagerly, and her skilled hand pulled him from the fabric with relish. Her gaze dropped and her mouth hung open, and she wondered for a moment if Jaral was somehow spying on her. Even then, in that private moment.

It was strange, to be confronted by one powerful man’s impressive cock right before her eyes, yet to feel that unnatural tug on her consciousness back towards the dark villain she’d entered a pact with. She’d always been driven by lust, by hunger for power and a man’s cock, yet as she confronted Zarach’s impressive member she had to struggle to focus.

“A good, obedient elven bitch like you would be a rare thing,” remarked Zarach, still clenching a clump of her hair as he kept her face at his swollen groin, forcing her face up along that lengthy shaft.

She swallowed and tried to focus. She’d never had trouble with that before when confronted with the heated pulse of a man’s sex against her cheek. In fact, it was usually everything else that fell away, leaving her empty headed and aroused. That was what got her into this position in the first place. She shifted on her knees and felt the tug of her hair in between his fingers.

She knew what Zarach had been doing yesterday: grooming her. Trying to win her affection and loyalty, which he knew he couldn't buy. But if he couldn't win it, he could force it.

With a tight hold on her long black hair, he pulled her up from his groin and onto the bed, forcing her face to the mattress, so that her heavy breasts mashed against the rich comforter. “I assume you deserve a little reward then,” he remarked, rising up behind her onto his knees. That proud, thick cock stuck out towards her, as if reaching for the sweet prize of her quim. “For all your diligent work for me this evening...in spite of your earlier lies.”

Her body burned with need, even if her mind felt distant and distracted. Her knees parted and she bared that glistening, swollen sex to him. The position was hardly dignified, but she got the impression he didn’t want her dignified.

He was so much hotter when his threats were implicit rather than realistic, but it didn’t matter. She still wanted him to fuck her. To feel that comfort, that familiar sensation of a man inside her.

With a grasp on her head by her hair, he bent over her, no need to guide his cock in by hand, it was so stiff and full. He merely took hold of her hip and pressed that full tip against her, forcing it in, rough and hard.

There was no delicate touch with him, not since he’d taken her at the bar. He just rutted into her as though she were a low class hooker at one of his establishments, plowing away with cruel stabs of his manhood, again and again.

It felt so debasing, and not in the way she liked and craved. The way that told her that a man needed her, needed to control her entirely. The feeling of being just a replaceable woman, someone interchangeable was at once depressing and terrifying.

One thing she’d learned fast was that the moment a man sees you as just another toy is the moment your life truly is held in the balance. As he pounded into her, she clenched her muscles, squeezing his cock and begging him in harder, and faster.

She wasn’t just some whore.

She was Anjasa, and she was one of a kind.

Her motion succeeded in eliciting a throaty moan from him, that squeeze of her muscles about his length irresistible even to the cruel man that was using her. “Yess,” he hissed after a groan, his hand striking her ass cheek hard with a loud crack that filled the room, drowning out the impact of their bodies, the slap of his sac against her clit and mons.

All the while, as she resented the debasement and feared for her life, thoughts and images of that dark stranger entered her mind. Did she hope he would be different? Did she dare dream on some unconscious level that he’d be what she’d wished Zarach would be? Or was it something else altogether, just a psychic tug brought on by that foreign man’s ways?

No matter what it was, it was a distraction, a way to cope with the man that had turned cruel on her as if she were just some discardable toy. Her ego was bruised and her rage simmered. She was special.

She’d been made into something despicable. She had desires normal women would cringe from. She had needs that suited male lusts, and even they were rarely able to match her depravity. Her body was curvy in all the right ways and she kept her skin immaculate.

She wasn’t another pretty face. She was a trained slave, a skilled assassin, and a thief, as well as a woman that could far out earn any competition.

Anjasa kept reminding herself of that, even between the strange fantasies of a man she didn’t know and the moans for a man she had so quickly come to loathe. Her mantra reminded her of her value and made her work harder to please the cruel Lord to be.

She managed to evoke gasps and moans from him as he pounded into her, breaking his cool, cruel facade with unasked for pleasure. Another strike of his hand against her ass cheek, leaving it red and swollen answered her diligent efforts, and he tugged on her hair harder.

Yet as he huffed and swelled within her slick canal, thoughts of that dark man, Jaral, filled her mind. She could see him so perfectly in her mind’s eye, unmoving, his gaze ominous, yet cool and in control. He reminded her of what she thought Zarach to be before he showed his true colours.

In her mind she watched as he moved his hand towards that face mask, hooked a finger into it and...

Zarach came. A noisome affair, he yanked out of her first, gripped his shaft and beat his thick cock off so that he spurt his creamy seed all over her tanned ass cheeks and up her back. “Fuck!” he cursed through his own release, as if even that pleasure couldn’t still his venomous voice.

She cried out, cursing his interruption and the fact that he couldn’t even give her the satisfaction of him cumming in her. Her scalp prickled from his harsh fingers, and her body felt sticky from the exertion, but she was terrified of what would come next.

Now that her use to him was over.

His exposed chest heaved in the aftermath of his climax, and he stared down at her with his ruby gaze.

The moment dragged on long as he climbed down from his high of sensation, though the first move he made came as a surprise. For he released her hair then brought his fingers to her neck. He touched her there gingerly. “I wonder what an elven bitch tastes like,” he murmured, more to himself than to her.

Slowly he began to bend down towards her, and instead of feeling comforted by his sudden tenderness, his seeming desire to kiss her neck, she felt impending doom instead. The kind she’d felt not long ago in the presence of that masked killer.

As he poised there, but inches from her neck, a knock came to the door, interrupting them. And he ceased.

Her breathing had stopped, and she hadn’t noticed until he pulled back. It was like the wind was knocked out of her, and even though she tried to gulp in breath, it didn’t come easily. He’d turned so quickly from his condescending ‘hun’s to malicious ‘bitch’, and her mind reeled.

Pulling away from her, he did up his pants and went to the door. He opened it, not acting annoyed with the interruption, which seemed odd to her. Though when she heard the deep, dark voice of Jaral she thought she understood. “It’s taken care of.”

“And the bitch?”

“She did her job diligently,” he replied, his voice cool and composed, only a slight tinge of surprise there.

“Good,” responded Zarach, in an instant he was back to the bed and grabbing Anjasa by the hair again, yanking her off the bed, dragging her across the floor to the door. “Take her out of my sight. The dawn’s approaching,” and he nearly tossed her out into the hall.

To her credit, she didn’t stumble. Her grace was both innate and cultivated, though it was impossible to see it as she was treated like some animal. Her body burned with anger as she moved out through the door, standing up straight as if she couldn’t be cowed.

Her nudity didn’t bother her, but she refused to glance back at Zarach, even as she felt his cum begin to caress the curve of her ass.

“I’ll put her away for the time being,” responded Jaral, reaching out and taking her arm as he turned and guided her down the hall. She heard the door slam behind her as the pair rounded the bannisters and climbed down the steps.

Jaral quietly told her, “Be silent,” as he led her past the thug Berro at the door — who stared at her nude form lasciviously — then down to another door into the basement and another barred door at the bottom.

It wasn’t until they had that second metal reinforced door between them and the thug above that he stopped and looked to her. He inspected her in the dark stone basement in her nudity, satisfying himself it seemed with her state of being. “I arrived too late to do the deed this time. But not too late to save you from his reckless hunger,” and his hold released on her arm, his hand slipping up her form as he meticulously adjusted the dishevelled black hair covering her forehead and face.

Her eyes fluttered shut for a brief moment at that tenderness, starved for affection already. The slightest amount of it made her blossom after such humiliation and her smile was genuine. Even if he did frighten her.

How was it that someone with such a foreboding presence could become the lesser of two evils?

“Too late?” she tilted her head, finally opening her eyes to look at him curiously. “Hunger?”

“You don’t know what he is yet?” he asked incredulously, his thickly muscled arm twitching just a bit as he continued his delicate grooming, returning her to her usual state of beauty after her harsh use. “I will kill him. But thanks to what he is becoming, it shall be no easy task, Anjasa,” he stated in that dark, rumbling voice. Even through the fog of fear that he caused, she knew that combination was something that would set most any woman’s knees to quivering.

She swallowed and her gaze dropped towards the ground as her finger rose to her neck and touched the flesh there. “You know, when a guy says he wants to taste you, it’s usually a good thing.” Why did her voice sound so weak and tired?

It was then she remembered just how long it had been since she'd slept, and she sucked in a breath. Why didn’t she want to leave him? Spirits, even hearing her name was like a tender caress.

“Not in this case,” he corrected solemnly, the last of her hairs into place. His cool fingers caressed her cheek on down along to her chin. “I will clean you,” he stated, slipping around her, lighting a lamp then wetting a cloth in a wash basin.

The basement was dingy, cold, and unpleasant. Though she saw there was a mattress in one corner, simply laid upon the stonework floor.

As she studied her surroundings he returned. He laid a hand upon her shoulder as with the other he used a lukewarm wash cloth to wipe the mess of Zarach’s seed from her back in gentle strokes. “Your friend is safe. Though he will not awake for some time,” he stated. “And as for the dancer... the physician told me her fate rests on whether she can keep food and water down. She has lost a great deal of blood.”

“What did she do?” she asked weakly, barely wanting to know the answer. She’d seen girls die before, and had to beat more than one for the pleasure of her bosses. She suppressed it all deep within her and it was unpleasant confronting those memories once more, confronting the fact that she wasn’t as good of a person as she wanted to believe.

His dextrous hands guided the moist cloth over her backside, along the clefts and valley of her round, shapely rear. He cleaned the foul spunk of the man above off her skin before he put the cloth aside.

“Nothing,” he replied at last, standing so very tall over her. “Zarach has used her to feed. Callously. Without regard for her life or his own safety.” The foreign man walked about her, standing in front of her once more, “I thought he had promise once. But I learned his restraint only came from fear. As his power has grown, his fear has gone, and with it... all restraint and thought for everything. Even his own life and safety.” His dark eyes seemed to soften as they met her emerald gaze. “He could have seduced that girl. Made her give him what he wanted willingly. But he has passed beyond that point. He forgets how to be clever as his power grows with each passing night.”

Anjasa stopped biting her lower lip and gave him a soft smile, “Yea, I noticed that much. Were you the one who told him of my deception?”

Slowly he nodded to her. “He was still aware enough to know your arrival was a ruse. But he thought you merely another woman seeking fortune from him, and he intended to use you as a feature attraction for his club, doubtlessly. But when I told him of your likely dealings with his cousin...” he shrugged lightly. “His reason failed him.”

His gaze slipped away from her at last, and he looked about. “It will be an uncomfortable stay here. But I will see to it you last it through unharmed.” His eyes locked with hers once more, “I can do that much, at least.”

She snorted a bit, her smirk growing, “Fuck, he treated me better when he thought I was a nobody. What kind of rationale is that?” She looked back towards the bed, and her words were soft, “I’ve slept in worse.”

That mask hid his lips, but she knew he smiled beneath it. His hand lifted again, and he traced the backs of his fingers over her jawline, up to her cheek. “He was too much the fool to realize he could have cultivated a bond between you and him that would have lasted lifetimes. A beautiful, elven siren to serve an immortal lord,” he shook his head, feeling the shame in lost opportunity. “He would spit on the finest of opportunities over his own ego at being fooled.”

“I barely know Loren, you know. Just met him last night in a bar. I just wanted a free drink.” And then it spiralled into something so much darker. She looked to Jaral and there was some hint of respect for him, for his awareness and understanding of her.

Of who she was. What she was.

It sent a shiver down her spine and left heat in its wake, her nipples tightening atop her large breasts. Suddenly she felt naked in an unprecedented way, even as he wiped her free of another man’s seed.

Jaral was a man of contradictions. She detected such an aura of death and danger from him, on some instinctual level she’d honed over years of courting such threats. Yet he exuded those things that provoked attraction and lust in her: the power, the confidence, the control, the physical beauty — in what she could see of him. Even his speech and looks went that bit beyond. For he was stunningly gorgeous in his physique, she could see that in how the leather outlined his figure so tightly, how his bare arms showed off well-honed muscles. Yet his words and looks were hued by the exotic, the foreign, making him all that much more intriguing.

And intrigue always added to appeal.

“Good,” he said simply, his fingers gingerly feeling out her skin, back across her flawless features. The cool digits a comfort, even in the cold dark of the basement. “That foppish boy has his uses, but he is not a man that could hold your attention for long.” His eyes flickered back from her hair, where his fingers tangled “No?”

“I led him to his doom, didn’t I? I wouldn’t do that for someone I had faith in.” It was true. She didn’t warn Loren because she didn’t trust him not to fuck it up, to get them both caught and killed. And she didn’t expect he’d be able to start over from squalor, not like she could. He wasn’t someone who could survive outside of wealth.

Jaral moved almost imperceptibly, as if he were about to lunge in and kiss her, take her right then and there. Instead he said, “With his circumstances, you could cultivate him into something advantageous. I suspect you had intended to already, before things went sour.” He stepped in nearer to her, their bodies so close that her stiff nipples brushed his leather. “Just as a powerful and properly capable man could cultivate a bond with you, to put your skills and assets to great advantage.” She was so close to him she could feel the air through his mask from his words as he spoke, “Zarach should have been that man.”

“What do you know about my skills and assets?” Her head tilted to the side as a pulse of heat spread out from her belly, making her skin prickle and feel more receptive to touch. She was cautious, though. She’d forgotten just how quickly she could get out of control, and her encounter with Zarach was a stern reminder.

“Charming,” he laughed in his own affable way of speaking, “you could wrap a man about your little finger. Silent. Stealthy,” he remarked, his fingers moving down from her jaw across her neck, only grazing her skin lightly as he moved . “A consummate actress. And last but not least,” he paused, his knuckles tracing her collarbone, “beauty beyond compare.”

She drew her lower lip into her mouth to stop it from trembling, but it was hard. Standing in the dingy basement, a prisoner to a cruel man, and something else entirely to the killer that touched her so gently. Her mind grew a bit hazy and she shut her eyes, inhaling deeply to try to still her thoughts. Instead, her nostrils filled with Jaral's masculine scent, and her body shuddered.

“Yet your... boss... is still immune to me. A shame.”

Jaral laughed. It wasn’t curt or derisive, but amused. “Boss,” he repeated, his fingers dipping down and grazing her ample breasts, so large and bare as they rested to her chest. “He is not my boss, and never has been.” She could see the hints of a smile at the corner of his exposed eyes. Those exotically shaped, coal lined eyes of his. “Associates. Business partners in some manners, perhaps. But never was he my boss, fair elven lady.”

As his knuckles curved about the swell of her breast he said. “You are weary. You need rest.” He didn’t pull away then though, simply let his eyes dip low, observe her perked nipples as his fingers strayed near without touching them. “When next Zarach comes for you, capture his attention. I will end him,” he stated so casually in that deep, foreign voice of his. “I will end him and his injustice at spurning your uniqueness and value will be righted.”

“You act like you know me so well,” she remarked cautiously, noting that she felt a bit breathless. Her eyes narrowed suspiciously as she stared at him. “You know things no person ought to know, even watching me from afar. How do you see these things?”

His gaze was slow to travel back to hers, his dark hazel coloured eyes locking onto her emerald. “I am... observant,” he put it, though she knew that it wasn’t that simple. There was something not quite right about him. A less travelled woman might not have noticed it, might have taken the mental influence when she was on her knees before Zarach as just animal attraction. But it was beyond that.

Anjasa was mistress of lust and desire, after all, but she knew he was no mere human.

“I shall make time for your questions once this situation is resolved. I know you have much time to lavish in such things,” he said, lowering his hand away from her but with a final motion just barely brushing against her nipple and areola. “But events are in motion, and should be resolved promptly. Rest, sweet elven beauty. Rest and be ready. For Zarach. For his doom. For your future. For me.”

He leaned in then, and though his thin dark mask still covered his lips he kissed upon her forehead in a tender motion, his strong, dextrous hand upon her shoulder lightly.

In a day less fraught with bad decisions, she might have begged him. Seduced him. Made him hers.

Yet, for once in her life, she felt content to wait. That tingle ran down her spine, the way her sex pulsed with need, and tried to calm herself. She could be patient. She wanted to prove something to herself, that she wasn’t as stupid as she’d been all day. Even as she let out a sigh of need at that light touch, and the barest whispers of his flesh on hers.

“Thank you,” she murmured into his chest.

His cool, sandy brown fingers slipped from her shoulder, leaving a strange tingle in his wake as he pulled away to the door. He paused there and looked to her before she could slink off to the dingy, lonesome mattress upon the floor. “Do not fret. When Zarach comes for you, I will not be far. No matter how it seems. Rest well, for things are assured with my hand in it.” With that he opened the door and vanished through it, leaving her alone in the manor’s strange basement.

When finally she curled up on the bed that was stuffed with something far too uncomfortable, she realized just how exhausted she was. All of her troubled thoughts and concerns slipped away, and even her worries and fears couldn’t keep her awake.

Chapter 8

Awaking in a dark dungeon of a basement to the sound of approaching footsteps down the stairs was not a pleasant experience. Yet for Anjasa, it was somehow all too recognizable. She had faced imprisonment before, and the torment it entailed.

It was hard to tell how long she had been there, but she felt as if she had slept long, albeit uncomfortably on the uneven mattress. The eye slot in the heavy, metal, reinforced door slid open. “Get up,” a brutish voice demanded.

She stood and stretched, more provocatively than she knew she should. It came naturally to her though and she didn’t realize how she was arching her back. Even as she worked to remove the tension in her muscles from the long slumber, she was a trained seductress, against her instincts.

The locks on the door slid across, and with a noise that contrasted so starkly the silence with which Jaral had done it, the door slammed open. “Here,” Berro barked, the low-class thug tossing some trashy dancer number to her feet. “The boss might want some entertainment before he heads out tonight. See to it you’re ready if he does. I’ll take ya up to the parlour once yer dressed.”

“I can dress and walk.” Anjasa didn’t want to spend another minute down there that she didn’t have to. Even though she’d slept well, now that she was awake, she didn’t want to be left alone. Too many memories of her past were waking up with her, and she scooped up the outfit eagerly. It wasn’t much, just a belt that passed for a skirt and a slinky top that barely contained her breasts, but she pulled it on as she walked towards the door.

The thug Berro had no compunction about ogling her as he prodded her up the stairs. He took her back through the manor and up to the parlour where Zarach had first shown her his impatience and cruel disregard for her. “Wait in here,” he growled, giving her a shove into the room with his grimy hand, staring at her ass as he did.

He didn’t leave her right away though; the muscle lingered at the door, blocking her way and staring. Staring in that way she’d seen countless men do over the years as they calculated their odds at getting away with something.

It made her skin crawl. Carefully, she made her way to the sofa, but didn’t sit.

Anjasa was a fairly short woman, even for an elf, and far curvier than most. She was unarmed, covered only by those tiny strips of white fabric, but it didn’t matter. She was dangerous, and she knew how to defend herself from men like him.

Years of practice had taught her how to hurt them in the most brutal ways, with only her nails and teeth.

It didn't seem like much, and it really wasn't, but just those slight motions readied her to fight as she took in the room around her. All the while, she looked as placid and docile as possible. “Thanks.”

The gears were turning in Berro’s head slowly, but ultimately her caution proved unnecessary. He calculated the cost of taking her to be too high, and knowing Zarach as she’d come to in so short a time, she wasn’t surprised.

He grunted something to her in return, gestured to a tray on the bar. “Food there,” he muttered and stood in the doorway, apparently intent on going nowhere right away.

What was before her seemed to be porridge of some sort, with a piece of bread and some water. Utterly unimpressive fair, and a testament to the disregard Zarach had for everyone.

Anjasa rolled her eyes when her back was turned on Berro. He reminded her of an orc. An unattractive one at that.

She also noted, of course, that there was no beautiful emerald next to her bowl. The idea that he had taken her out and spoiled her only to turn on her so quickly made her body flush. Would he have let her keep it if Jaral hadn’t told him about Loren? She doubted it.

His kindness only existed to make it worse when he yanked it away. She had known too many men like that in her life not to recognize it. Even when he was buying her the world, she knew why.

So why had she returned to his home?

She could see through the thick drapes that the sun was set or already setting, the day spent in sleep it seemed.

The porridge was tasteless, save for an odd tang. It was as unpleasant as the gruel she was forced to eat back in that dungeon so long ago.

Nevertheless, as she ate it she couldn’t help but note some sound of amusement from behind her, and when she turned she saw Berro laughing and grinning like a fool as he shut the door and left her to her own devices in the closed room.

She made a face and pushed it away, not wanting to know what had tickled him so. Jackass.

She looked around for somewhere to hide it, for she knew that Zarach would see it as a slight. That she hadn’t accepted his gracious gift of tainted porridge.

With plenty of time to spare she had no issue finding a seemingly discarded ice bucket behind a pile of cushions, in which she discarded the porridge into and closed up.

Zarach, it seemed, was in no rush to get to her. She found herself lingering in the opulent party room all by herself for what had to have been an hour or two. The tedium of being treated so shabbily grated on her nerves.

In her youth, when she was still being trained, this was how she was treated. Locked up and discarded like a meaningless nuisance, less than vermin. Lower than anything. It had been horrible, and it had made her so hungry for men. For their company, for their affection. She devoted herself to her craft, to become something that should never be discarded again.

Zarach’s ego, though, was large enough to suffocate her. She couldn’t even get comfortable for the fear that she’d leave a crease on her body that he wouldn’t care for. Any little thing could set him off, she understood, but pacing only bred her thoughts and the embarrassment.

She never should have offered to do this for Loren. To get it into his head that she would so easily rob his cousin and make him rich.

No, she corrected herself. She should have run. The moment her wallet was dry, she should have found another city to disappear into. Weren’t these the types of relationships she was trying to get away from? Fuck, she thought she was doing so much better simply because they were mortal men, but they could be worse even than demons.

At last she heard the sound of the master of the manor approaching, his distinctive boots thudding against the floor. She knew to prepare before the door swung open, revealing the tall, pale tyrant.

She smiled, and it was genuine, for his presence was an interruption of her morose thoughts. Immediately she kneeled in front of the couch, facing him with her head down. Her black hair curled around her shoulders and the white fabric strained against her chest.

Zarach paused, and though she could only see the shine of his polished leather boots, she could tell he wore a fine suit. “Obedient as always,” he mused in his husky voice, striding towards her slowly with that same calm, collected manner that had first enticed her.

“You look in better condition than most of my guests after their first night,” he remarked, reaching out and letting his fingers move through her glossy black hair. “I trust your accommodations were comfortable, then?” and she could detect the faint trace of dark humour in his question.

She didn’t speak. Instead she nodded, and there was some tease of desire that ran through her body. How, how she wanted this.

But she wanted it for real. The things she would do, the things she could make a man want... It made her hunger, but it wasn’t for him. She could never trust him enough to actually supplicate herself to him. Her pleading would be for his pleasure, not her own, and it was so much sweeter when those strong emotions were shared.

Zarach’s long, slender fingers curled into her hair and tugged back, forcing her face to angle up as he gazed down at her. He made her meet his crimson stare. “It’s a big day for you,” he whispered softly. “You’ve earned some rewards. My favour,” his lips curving into a wry little impetuous smile. “Something beyond jewels and baubles, even.”

She could smell the cologne off him, the rich scent that covered up something else. Something dark. The coppery aroma of blood.

She pushed her repulsion aside and smiled, her white teeth gleaming between her dark pink lips. She felt like a small animal, begging for her Master’s approval. It was so familiar and foreign all at once. There was no bond between them, no respect. She was just some bitch, and there was no pleasing him as such.

With his cruelly tight hold on her hair he pulled her up to her feet, forcing her to move her agile, toned legs to keep up with the unforgiving tug. “How about you show me a little dance?” he rasped with a gleam in his eyes as he let go of her hair and moved back towards the couch. “Show me your appreciation for the gift I’m going to give.”

He reclined upon the opulent sofa, arms to the sides, stretching his long, lanky body out upon the rich cushions. Zarach would have been so sublime a man, had he not gotten so full of himself, so recklessly cruel to potential allies.

She didn’t want to know what his present was. She wanted to stall the moment, and she straightened her hair. There was no music, but that didn’t matter. She recalled a beat in her head and began to move her body in remembered, seductive motions.

The art of exotic dancing was something she took quite seriously, and was one of her most notorious — and useful — skills. She knew angles that her body looked best in, and each small movement was practiced. Precise. Her hips swayed and circled, her hands framed and drew attention to her body. The outfit he’d provided her left so little to the imagination, so little of the tantalization that was part of the art proper, but she pressed on.

Her fingers teased along the cloth seams, calling her nipples to attention before delving her fingers beneath her skirt. She was already wet, she noted with some annoyance. Dancing for a man that terrified her, that treated her like a possession, and still she couldn’t calm her body from its arousal.

Was she really such a broken woman that terror was a lubricant for her?

She licked her lips as she brought her breasts to his face, and all the while, she was so careful of not drawing attention to her neck. She avoided certain moves, certain teases, just to try to keep the focus on her feminine gifts before what she knew he hungered for.

A creature out of nightmares stood before her. Something she’d heard of, but never before encountered. Though the pale skin and eyes seemed to match up to the tales.

Yet as she taunted and teased in her well-honed art form, he reached out and put an arm around her, yanking her to him onto his lap and shattering the rhythm. Her buxom breasts struck his face for a moment, and he kept her pinned to his groin, where she could feel the swell of his manhood below.

“Very nice,” he husked to her, licking his lips with his face so near to hers. So near to her neck.

Her throat constricted, and she forced herself to swallow against the dryness. “Thank you,” she whispered, her voice sounding so small. She shifted, bringing her knees onto the sofa on either side of him. It gave her a bit of height, and she squirmed against that hardness.

That was something she understood. Even then, it was something she craved. A deep blush went through her body and she wondered if she’d always be a slave to her lust.

His powerful hands went down to her shapely rear, clutched her round ass cheeks, gripped them tight and hard. Zarach leaned in and licked along her jaw back towards her neck while he fondled her luscious flesh below.

He was so cruel, so cold, but her sultry maneuvers, her skillful dance, it had all managed to bring the base man inside him out. “I think I’ll claim you all for myself,” he hissed to her, and she felt him nip along her cheek, moving towards her ear.

She hated how her heart leapt and a smile warped her lips. She was proud of herself, of getting special treatment from this fickle monster. It was an accomplishment, wasn't it? Her hands stroked along the back of his shoulders, pulling herself into him. “Yes,” she whispered to his ear and she ground against him with such need and heated desire.

She couldn’t help herself. She needed this.

Squeezing her cheeks, he gnawed at her earlobe, tugged it with his teeth then lifted her with his arms. In a swift motion he pushed her over onto her back atop the plush sofa beneath them. He forced himself betwixt her legs and ground against her sex as he fondled her form. Harshly into her ear he said, “You seem too good to be true, but perhaps you’re all that after all.”

She was trained for men like him; men who had power, who had influence, who had dark desires and needed a willing slave. It was something that made her unique, but it was also a great source of conflict. Even as she feared him, as she was manipulated in his strong arms, she felt a need throbbing beneath that small skirt. It flipped away from her thighs as he lay her back and she was so wantonly exposed, her arousal already thick in the air.

Could they just start over? Without the deception?

Did she even want that? She knew, rationally, she didn’t. But for that moment, when he touched her, praised her, all else was drowned out with her moan.

There was just the contact, his hand moving up her body to grasp a breast through her thin strip of a top, to squeeze that supple mound so mercilessly. It was then that she noticed it; it was nearly a miracle she did. Her head just happened to be tilted just right towards the balcony entrance, the gentle motion of the drapes drawing her eye as something dark slipped into the room.

Her attention was brought back to the man atop her though when Zarach’s mouth went to her neck. Her vulnerable neck. His parted lips poised there at her smooth flesh before he... bit.

She expected something else. His teeth sank into her, but it was like any other man’s bite in the heat of the moment. He suckled and kissed and nibbled, but she felt no fangs. No pierce of the flesh. Barely even a twinge of pain, for that matter certainly not the stuff of vampire legends.

She moaned.

Maybe it was the safety and security she felt, though it wasn’t quite that either. Just the opposite, in fact, for her body grew hot with shame knowing Jaral had heard. It was purely primal, that bit of pain something she needed as much as pleasure. She couldn’t help the fact that her back arched her breasts further into his rough hands, or that her hips refused to stop grinding him.

This was who she was. Who she really was.

Zarach went at her madly, with a lust she’d longed for the day prior. Her responses absorbing him in her body, drowning out the world about them. She played her part so well, but the speed with which things went from there startled even her.

Then a dagger sank into Zarach’s back.

Instantly, the pale man struck out in defense, forcing Jaral to step away. She watched as her ravisher got off her so quick, made all the more impressive by the fact that he staggered and gushed blood.

Anjasa knew how to defend herself, but the speed with which the two men acted stunned her.

Blows were traded. The dark killer’s arms struck out. Zarach deflected. Deflected again. Blocked. The next struck home, and a second dagger sprouted from Zarach’s chest.

The pale monster spat forth a spout of blood, eyes wide as he muttered in shock. “S ... Sire?”

“No longer,” came the deep, accented retort. And in another explosion of moves that seemed to defy possibility, the dark Jaral struck out with a kick that Zarach, stabbed and dazed as he was, resisted and pushed away. But the one two strikes of his hands could not be guarded against, and Zarach’s face was knocked back. The hilt of the dagger then struck, plunging it further into his chest still.

Anjasa was almost afraid to blink, afraid that she might somehow miss something important as she struggled to move away from the blood and fighting. She was almost nude and had nothing to defend herself with. What could she do, even if she did?

The way they moved...

It was like a macabre dance, playing out so quickly before her disbelieving eyes.

The number of blows Zarach took but kept standing, the movement of both of them so fast, beyond the abilities of any mortal.

The bloodied and battered almost noble struck back, and in a desperate motion he shoved the assaulting Jaral away so that he crashed through the mirror wall and into a room on the other side.

“Why’d you turn on me?!” Zarach shouted with a spray of blood. “You said you’d make me a Full Blood!” he cursed, moving not towards the stunned Jaral but the door, yanking it open.

As soon as it was opened, though, he was greeted by the visage of the dark titan Jaral. A hand struck out, hitting the wounded Zarach in the throat with a loud crunch of his larynx. “You would only be an eternal nuisance, Zarach,” the senior vampire intoned. Jaral’s movements were unhindered, fast as ever, where the battered Zarach was slow. Unable to resist any further as another blow hit the dagger and pushed it so hard Anjasa saw several inches of its blade pierce through his back.

She could do nothing but watch in horror. She wanted to flee, but she couldn’t turn away. Her arousal finally started to dissipate though there was still an inappropriate throb at the testosterone in the air, and she tried to make herself small on the couch.

Cowering.

What had she been reduced to?

As Jaral knocked Zarach back to the balcony door, she heard the metal groan and bend at the impact. Their strength and speed were so startling. How could such thick metal be bent and twisted like that?

The pale noble’s mouth opened, and he tried to speak, but instead of words, only blood sprayed out. Jaral stepped up to him, pushed his face into the metal bars, and took hold of the dagger again. The gory sound of him breaking through ribs and ending Zarach's twisted life was chilling. The dark man released the body, and the deed was done. The lifeless form of the man she’d just been passionately making out with crumpled to the floor.

It was as if time returned to normal then. That hyper speed reality of their combat came to an abrupt end as she watched Jaral turn towards her, his dark gaze upon her as she lay there, cowering.

More shame. It was becoming a wretchedly familiar feeling lately, and she stood up to try to be free of it. Her breath was quick, and when she tried to speak, it sounded off. “You made him?”

“No,” he responded, and she noticed his chest wasn’t heaving. He didn’t even seem to be breathing as he stood before her, tall and mighty. “I was making him into something greater. It is a process that takes time. But he disappointed me.” The only shift in his demeanor was the flaring of his nostrils, the glint in his eyes as he watched her. “He would only have been a liability — a dangerous liability — if I finished his transformation.”

“I wouldn’t argue with that.” Or him, at that moment. She tried to stop the trembling of her hands by hugging her ribcage. “So... that’s it? He’s not going to come back, or anything?” She knew how to talk technical of demons, dragons, incubi, but these... vampires, it was a new and unknown field.

Jaral came towards her, though his movements were so fluid and agile it almost startled her in her heightened state. “He was no true vampire,” he grimaced, his hand coming up to her cheek, cupping it lightly, letting her have a close look at his sandy brown arm, the specks of blood upon it. “Not yet. He had great power, but it was fleeting... required much sustenance to maintain.” His thumb stroked over the smooth flesh of her cheek towards her nose. “He is finished. For good.”

Her brows furrowed and her lips turned down.

She knew she wasn’t as strong as some. Yes, she was crafty. Yes, she was stealthy and could be cruel as she needed to be at times. She’d fought and fucked with beasts far stronger than her, but they didn’t look so human. So inconspicuous.

It unsettled her until she felt his flesh against hers, and found her tremors calmed. “Well... thanks,” she murmured, and her fingertips went to her neck where Zarach had bit.

“He didn’t even have fangs yet,” he assured her as she felt her unblemished neck. Not once had he broken the skin of her neck. Though as Jaral touched upon her skin, her attention was drawn to just how abnormally cool his touch was. The lack of heat in his flesh which she’d noticed before but dismissed in the cool of the basement. “He had to cut his victims with a blade, or tear into them like a wild man, which he was too disgusted by to do.”

Anjasa laughed a bit scornfully, “I just figured it always felt that...” she stopped herself. Good. It felt good. All of it felt good with him this evening, and she lamented the loss for a fleeting moment.

“Has she been able to keep down food?”

“So far,” he nodded, stepping to her and raising his second arm to put it upon her hip as his other fingers knit through her hair. “You did well,” came his deep, dark purr. “He and I were bound by blood,” he stated. “Because of that, he would have sensed my coming had you not been so... enrapturing.”

She hadn’t done anything differently than she would have any other night. If he’d asked her to dance for him the night before, she would have done just as good of a job. That was what she did. What she was a natural at. Everything else was just... everything else.

Her eyes fluttered shut, and she knew she ought to feel fear. Even if he did protect her, even if he did save her, they never did it out of the goodness of their hearts.

“So what now?” she breathed.

He released her hair and retracted his hand. He pulled down the facemask to unveil himself, and what lie beneath stunned her.

Anjasa had lived long, many lives by the reckoning of humans. She’d seen and been with countless stunning males. The Sylvarin lands were full of gorgeous elven men, after all, but Jaral? His was a male beauty that was ethereal in a whole other way.

The rest of his face matched his eyes. Pronounced cheek bones and jaw, smooth unblemished skin. A neatly sculpted beard. He looked like he was only a fresh young man by the standards of humans, but she knew that couldn’t be true. Not when she stared at those luscious, full lips of his, so well — shaped, outlined by the black of his beard and marked by the protrusion of two fangs.

“Now we move forward from here,” he announced simply, his dark voice so much more enticing without the light muffle of his mask. Though through it all, the beauty, the charm, the vigor, she still sensed that aura of dread that accompanied his true nature.

She swallowed, forcing her eyes to look away, because she felt that warmth begin to fill her once more and she inhaled sharply. It took her several long seconds to finally formulate words again, and even then her body showed what she was most trying to hide.

It wasn’t a secret that Anjasa was addicted to sex. To bad boys. To pain. Anyone who spent a moment’s time with her could sense it, and this man promised all three, and then some. This... beast.

In him was power unspoken of. Unimagined by mortals. It was as if he were a pure demon with all their skills and abilities and none of their drawbacks.

Her stomach clenched, and she shifted to her other foot. “Go forward... convincing Loren to...” She couldn’t remember. Spirits, how could his face do such things to her mind?

“Loren is yours,” he awarded her smoothly in his deep voice. “Your play thing. You shall mould him. Make him into a useful man,” he said. “I have no doubts you can handle him, but he is not what I speak of.” His dark eyes studied her, his head tilting one side, then the other, almost like a hungry predator eying a very delicious prey.

Her pulse raced and her tongue ran along the seam of her mouth as she slowly forced her gaze back to him. “What do you want me to do?”

With his mask dropped to dangle from his neck, he reached out, took her hand in his. “Follow your desires,” he said, guiding her hand towards him, touching her fingers to his chest and abs through the leather he wore. “Embrace a new Master, who recognizes your potential. Your worth,” and each word seemed at once so honey sweet and bitter as coffee on his deep voice.

Her fingertips twitched, rubbing against his firm body and she swallowed. Was that what she wanted? To leap into the arms of another dangerous man, one who she knew full well could end her in a blink of an eye? He’d seemed kind to her, but then, Zarach was initially as well.

Better question still... did she have a choice?

Undeniably, she wanted him. He was what she’d been looking for, for decades, without her fully knowing it. Someone incontestably strong and handsome. Someone she'd never have to hide her nature from.

It was as if she was watching herself head down a path she knew was dark and ominous and fraught with horrors, but her screams of warning died in the back of her mind.

The alternate path was awfully dull.

“What do I do?”

With his chin tucked down as he watched her. He raised his hand from hers — that powerful, deadly hand which had been responsible for slaying a man — and brushed his knuckles back across her cheek and into her hair. “Be mine. Attempt to please me further. Do your best not to disappoint me... too much.” He leaned in, tilted his head and let his cheek graze hers as he murmured into her ear lowly, “I can smell your cunt how it yearns still. Zarach did not satisfy you — could not, not as I can.”

Oh, the things she knew she should have felt at that cool hand, those crass words.

It didn’t matter. She didn’t feel them.

Instead, she felt the things that no other woman could. Arousal. Desire. Lust. Her breath held as she pushed her body into his, her curvy form pressing against his hard, leather coverings. She wanted him. That was irrefutable and had been for some time, and she would drop to her knees and beg for him if she had to.

Everything that held her back — pride, shame, fear — were all things she was told would hinder her ability to please. It was, quite likely, why she’d not been happy in so long. She was fighting her true nature, her true desires, and she didn’t want to anymore.

Anjasa’s head tilted to his cheek, feeling her burning flesh cool against him as her lips parted. “And if I refuse?” she asked, though she knew she wouldn’t. Couldn't.

His fingers combed through her thick hair, his neatly trimmed beard grazed her skin as he nuzzled against her. All the while he rubbed his other hand up her side, then down, skirting her round ass.

“I will punish you without leaving a mark,” the deep words a throb against her eardrum. “I will make you serve me as tool, reward you with things, and all the while dangle before you what you could have, what you could be. With me.” His cool breath with each word washed over her ear. “You will go from here. You will take your toy Loren, and you will groom him. Serve my will whether you realize it or not. But all the while, you will suffer from the void of having turned me down. Empty where you could have been full.”

His voice changed then, his next words something else, as if quaked by desire so rarely exposed on that charming but cool man, “I’ve not found a mortal woman whose body has interested me in many long years. But yours stirs my loins as if I still had a beating heart to pump full my manhood.” Poetry or no, she felt the bulge that attested to the reality: he was hard for her, so very firm and large.

How did he make her potential refusal sound like such sweet, agonizing torture? It was if he spoke to her very soul, plucking at the strings of her body like an expert musician.

How did he know her so well?

She inhaled sharply, and her hands rose to his arms, feeling the bare flesh there as she pulled her body into his. “And if I accept?” She was surprised that her voice sounded so... hungry. Pleading.

Desperate.

The whole of his demeanor changed then, if only subtly. He wrapped his arm about her, slipped a hand beneath her skirt and squeezed her bare rump against his powerful palm. The other brushed through her hair, down to her neck and together he used those mighty limbs to nearly crush her against his hard body. “You will,” he said, his dark eyes a glitter in the dim room. His beautifully masculine face so delicious, even with the mark of evil upon them: those sharp fangs, those eyes, that predatory scent. “And you shall see.”

He pressed his mouth to hers then, his tongue slinking out between those two prongs and betwixt her lips. How strange it was, the cool yet moist muscle meeting her hot mouth, prodding and exploring as he kissed her with such passionate desire.

Her fingers gripped him tighter as her breath became shallower, her lips pressed against his so eagerly. The metallic tang of blood was still in the air, but it didn’t bother her. It was the scent of victory, of conquest, and this beautiful devil was the victor.

He’d fought for her and won, and now she couldn’t resist him. She didn’t want to.

She felt like she was stumbling headfirst into another trap, but it simply didn’t matter to her. She’d always been impulsive, led more by her arousal then her mind, and he was stunning. Gorgeous.

And she was already so fucking turned on.

Amidst a sea of opulence and destruction, the dark vampire lifted her up with his hand upon her shapely ass, gripping it and holding aloft her weight without the slightest strain. Jaral pressed her to him as their tongues lashed and danced. And though he’d claimed to have not lusted for a woman in many long years, he groped and grabbed at her with an intensity and passion that dwarfed any of the heart throb young men she’d encountered.

Those strong arms of his held her up as he moved towards one of the cushy sofas, his cold, hard fingers digging into her shapely cheek and weighty breast.

She was actually surprised how much that difference in their body temperatures stoked her lust. She felt her skin more responsively as his hands so rudely made her his, and another moan spilled from her lips. Fuck, she needed this. Something real. There was no sorrow, no anger. Just need. Primal and true, like neither Loren nor Zarach could give her, and it ran through the both of them.

Her hands gripped his arms, her legs wrapping about him lewdly as her nude, wet slit rubbed against his leather clothing.

Jaral skirted the sofas and pressed her up against the wall, as he went for her mouth again and again. He only relinquished his hold upon her flesh to pull back and begin to undo the buckles and straps that held his leather into place. Once she felt him begin to undress, her own dexterous digits took over and he went right back to fondling those large breasts.

She peeled back that skin tight leather bit by bit, revealing the chiseled muscle atop smooth, brown flesh beneath. A chest of dark hair that formed a ‘V’, then trailed down betwixt abs, leading towards the treasure of a stunning male organ once she pulled enough of that suit away.

Anjasa had been fortunate enough to have met men of such generous proportions as of late, but like Jaral’s stunningly attractive face, his cock was that of a statue and wonderfully proportioned. Thick and with just a slight curve, it bloomed into a ridged crown beneath a dark foreskin.

She couldn’t stop trying to glance between them, to stare at it. She wanted to simply pay homage to it, and she could already feel her mouth begin to water. She swallowed back her saliva and gasped as he kissed her once more, Even though her tongue still danced with his, she was distracted.

Her fingers wrapped around his shaft and pulled back the foreskin, her wrist awkwardly positioned between the two of them, but it didn’t matter. She couldn’t relinquish her hold on him.

The dark killer that had stalked her shadows was revealed from his coverings to be a morsel of perfect human masculinity. A male beauty that would ignite jealously in, but with a stature and bulk few of them could have ever hoped to challenge.

Whatever twisted sorcery was responsible for his vampiric nature, it had enshrined an exquisite male form with immortality. As that thick shaft pulsed within her grip, she could only be thankful.

And for his part, Jaral lusted for her hardly any less. He kissed with passion and intensity. He moved from her lips down her neck, and with a yank on her skimpy top, he exposed a breast to claim it as his own.

She didn’t tell him to be careful. She wanted to, of course, but she couldn’t. Part of her wanted him to be careless, but mostly she simply knew she was in no position to tell him what to do with her.

And that was part of the appeal. Her body writhed against his, needing him so badly. She wanted to feel him everywhere, to touch his chest, to worship his cock. She wanted to devour and explore him in a way she hadn’t felt in years.

The way her tanned flesh looked against his obsidian skin was exquisite, and how her large breasts dimpled around his hand... She whimpered his named, tinged with such lust.

For a man so cold to the touch, there was a fire of passion in him that was astounding. More so because it was all for her. It was no simple male desire for a warm, tight place to unload. It was all for her narrow slit, her large yet supple breasts. He wanted it all. He squeezed that massive mound of hers, pinched the peak of her areola as she felt the pointed fangs scrape and threaten her neck.

She’d never thought on such things, for vampires were a thing of legend, not one of the dark denizens of the world she had experience with. Yet to have him kissing, suckling and teasing her neck as his large dick throbbed, needful, desperate in her grasp, and the effect it hand on her was a high she could not explain.

This male beauty wanted her. Wanted her body. Wanted her beauty. Her charm. Her seduction. Her cunt. He so very obviously wanted her cunt, to plunge into her neck and drink of her blood. She was everything this dark image of a man could want. It dawned on her just as his mouth reluctantly moved from her vulnerable neck to her breast, to kiss and suck at her teat.

Her mind was a fog, and she didn’t know if she could take it much longer. Her nipples felt so tight that it was painful, and she swore that she heard a dollop of her honey hit the floor. It didn’t even matter that they were still in a room of death; Anjasa was used to that over the years. All that existed was them, alone in this house.

Alone in the arms of a man that could rip her to pieces. It sent the predictable shiver down her spine and she arched her large breasts towards his dangerous mouth. She couldn’t remember the last time she was so worked up.

His hunger could not be sated upon her breasts alone though. And at last he relinquished the fleshy mounds and stabbed for her womanhood with the same precision he’d ended Zarach; his thick cock plunging into her over wet cunny and jarringly striking the entrance to her womb as he let loose such a low groan of satisfaction.

Anjasa’s voice encircled them, that high scream of excitement piercing the air. It was so sudden, but it was perfect. She was so wet that it was no issue for him to sheath himself deep inside her body. Her head tilted back, breasts rising and falling with each rapid breath. Her body felt like it was on fire.

Jaral grasped her beneath her thighs, his strong grip digging into her fleshy legs as he tugged back then thrust again. The lust in him was a ceaseless buzzing, and he wasted no time with softness. He had to have her, and that sensation of having his cool, pulsing shaft inside her molten hot cunt was bizarrely satisfying.

The wet slaps of his hard body striking hers, sending her ample honey into his neatly trimmed, dark pubic hair filled the shattered room. And the dark monster inside her moaned with each new jackhammering thrust.

She didn’t care what she’d gotten herself into. All she knew at that moment was pure, mindless bliss, and her moans and screams kept echoing off the walls around them. She barely knew him, but that didn’t matter. This was all she needed to know about him.

That he could calm her worries and her fears, that she felt she could trust him to fuck her right, that alone sent wave after wave of heat crashing through her sex, and she squeezed his cock in thanks. He was exquisite, and she could already feel her body scream for release.

The motions of their rutting had caused his leather suit to strip back away from his chest, leaving it increasingly bare and vulnerable to her searching fingers. Her nails able to dig into that hard muscle, run through the beautifully light forest of black chest hair.

His tempo only increased, yet as she squeezed his manhood in her thanks, she could feel it: she elicited from that soulless monster his first satisfying orgasm in untold years. His motions never ceased though. She could feel the primal lust in him with each hammering stab. The spurts of his creamy white seed from his swollen glands not enough to end his ravaging, nor even slow it as he growled out her name as if reciting the title of a goddess.

Oh gods, she whimpered as her vision went hazy and her fingers dug into his shoulders. Her hands were shaking. She loved the feel of a man cumming in her, and Zarach had denied her that pleasure over and over again. The way the pretender's hips bucked, how hard he stabbed into her. How reckless he became, and how little he cared for her comfort. It was pure selfishness on his part, and she wanted every last drop.

Her teeth found his ear and she tugged it, letting out a moan around that cool, brown flesh.

The incessant wet slap of their bodies as his dick crashed deep into her quim again and again resonated throughout the room. His brown flesh impacting her elven body with barely restrained desire.

He had emptied his loins into her, added his tainted essence to her flood of sexual fluids, yet he had no shortage of desire. He grabbed her breast in one hand, squeezed and mauled that beautiful mound as he then took her whole body and flung it — and him — onto a sofa, where he mounted atop her and continued his wild thrusts.

This was what she needed.

Beyond a doubt.

Her voice was strained with her screams and cries, and even though they sounded pain he had to know it was pure delight. She almost felt like crying with joy, for she’d finally found what she’d been looking for, after so many years.

Someone worthy of her.

She hadn’t met anyone, man or woman, able to handle her, control her, in a long and lonely decade. Now, with this specimen, her legs clamped around him, refusing to let him go.

Jaral was locked into her, his brown, needful dick pounding into her cum sodden, honey slick pussy with no sign of slowing or stopping, as the virility of that gorgeous man refused to wane.

Chapter 9

It was impossible to say how long their first tryst had gone on. Anjasa couldn’t measure it in time, she could only count the aches, bruises, scratches and bite marks. He’d not fed from her, but that didn’t stop him from teasing her with those sharp fangs.

Though one thing she knew was that dawn was not too far off as amidst the chaos of the shattered room, Jaral lay atop a broken divan that they’d busted, not during the fight, but during their fucking.

There was a lot of furniture in various stages of broken, actually.

For a cold, immortal man, his sandy brown flesh glistened with perspiration somehow, heightening the appeal of his muscles as he stroked a hand along her thigh. Even then, as she leaked his seed from their countless climaxes and was too worn from the vigorous activity to move, he still had it in him to grope and fondle her.

She hadn’t felt so satisfied in so long, and she curled into him, letting his cool touch soothe her battered flesh.

“Is Berro still... around?” she managed to whisper, her voice as cracked and as worn as her body.

Splayed upon the sofa with her, the whole of his dark body was on display. Ripe with muscle, a delightful smattering of his dark hair across his form, that dark vision of beauty and male power put his arm around her, held her to him as he spoke in his deep voice “He is locked in the basement,” he said simply. “I took care of him before I came for you,” and his lips found hers again.

“He’s a jackass,” she yawned, stroking down his abs and revelling in their feel. “He put something in my porridge.” Their bodies looked beautiful together, hers so tanned and smooth, his so much darker and richer.

“I could put something in him to return the favour,” he remarked in that exotic accent of his, those curiously shaped eyes — outlined in black — moving to her as he admired her beauty even then. Though she couldn’t help but be reminded of how Jaral had plucked those daggers into Zarach.

She laughed. It wasn’t a rational response, but neither was killing someone over a stupid prank. Still, her fingertips traced along Jaral’s jaw, slowly making their way up towards his mouth. “How long have you been... like this?” she mused, mostly to herself.

Those eyes of his, so entrancing and unique, were partially lidded as he watched her, letting her move towards his lips and those sharp fangs that marked him for what he was. “One might measure it in centuries,” he speculated to her, his strong fingers caressing the side of her breast as he lounged there with her, "but that would cheapen the experiences that have come with immortality.

Her lip quirked, “Yea. Me too, for the most part. We’re lucky to be us.” Her fingers ran over his full lips before she let her hand drop to his chest casually. “So what now?”

She’d asked him before. She felt adrift without direction, without meaning, and he could give all that to her. She needed him to give her purpose again. Otherwise, she'd have to seize it through him.

Reclining upon a mound of cushions on their broken divan, he let his eyes drift shut — or very nearly so — before he answered her in his deep, foreign voice. “I have a business to run now,” he began. “The tedious business Zarach conducted are now mine. And you...” the slightest of curves came to his lips. “You shall cultivate your little sprout. Be there to wake him. Bring him to the will. And, over time, to make sure he puts that gift to good use. My use.”

She let out a soft sigh and let her fingers play in his chest hair. “And where is this elusive will, anyways?”

“I have it,” he waved, his body a stunning statue before her as he lay there motionless, not even the rise and fall of his chest from heavy breathing. “Gold means little to me, except for when it can buy power. A lord in your pocket wins you influence.” he let his fingers curve about her breast and squeezed. “A big step.”

“And Loren is quite... malleable. He was ready to give up before... well, I suggested a few things. Fuck, I’d say he had given up.” She just wanted to stay there on that ruin of a couch for the rest of eternity, though. “Do you sleep?”

“No. Not quite,” he replied, though with his eyes closed and his body as still as a corpse, she could have easily been fooled. Though the still partially turgid member that rested against his lower abs — a testament to his desire for her that it had any life left in it after their full night of debauchery — stirred just so every now and then to thwart the impression.

“You can handle Loren well,” he added. “I have no doubt. And we shall discuss details on my uses for him later. I trust you know how to wrap a man about your little finger enough to not need my lecturing,” and she could see the faintest hint of a smirk there, betraying his humour at the idea.

“Oh, no, I’m completely helpless,” she teased back. “Fuck, if there was a hint that I was helpless it was only because I had no clue of anything about Zarach, and after he took me to his upscale club... Well, naive seems a lot better than sexpot sometimes.”

“You did not fool me,” he remarked with a wry smile. “I watched you work from the shadows these past few days. I saw your shifts. Your subtleties. Your cunning,” he let that last word roll off his tongue so appetizingly. “I will tell you more of my plans in time as you need to know. As you become of greater use to me,” he added, his tongue licking along his upper lip... no, his fangs, she realized.

She breathed in his scent that still reminded her of a far off exotic desert and smiled down at him. It was genuine, and affectionate, and she quickly tried to disguise it as her fingertip traced his jaw. “So do I have time for a cat nap before I save the world?”

“The boy will not awaken until you ask it,” he explained, and with a smooth, fluid motion he slipped from their position and stood up, hoisting her curvaceous form into his arms and carrying her without issue. “So take all the rest you need,” he said in his deliciously dark voice, smiling to her as he carried her out of the room and past the stairs in their nudity.

“This is going to take some getting used to,” she purred. It was a lie. She was only too eager to be lifted around by him, like some feather light toy.

He took her to Zarach’s old room, that richly appointed little fortress that was bereft of windows, and had too many locks for an interior door.

With an exceptional ease, he put Anjasa up over his shoulder, shut and locked — all five bolts and locks — the door before moving to the bed. He tossed her upon it and climbed in after to lay beside her. “I will rest here,” he said.

“Paranoid fucker, wasn’t he?” she sighed, and despite herself, she felt just a tinge of pity for him. It was just a brief, fleeting moment, but she mourned what they could have had, and let herself feel thankful for what she’d received in turn.

Power. She understood what he said when money was only a tool to get it, and the kindred thought made her smile.

Jaral had said he didn’t sleep, but he laid there at the center of that large bed upon his back, his dark brown body on display before her as he pulled her to him and held her close, looking for all the world as if he were ready to fall asleep. Or die. His cool flesh was countered by the abundance of thick, warm blankets at her disposal though.

“He was both paranoid and reckless,” he intoned to her. “The most obnoxious of combinations,” and he sighed at the wasted time. Even those who had no shortage of time, like herself, could lament wasting it upon a disappointing fool it seemed.

She certainly knew she hated it. Even spending the night with a man who couldn’t bring her to a boil was enough to sour her mood. How long had Jaral put into grooming Zarach? It didn’t matter. He was no more, and in his place, she had Jaral.

A man worthy of her time and devotion.

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More by the Authors

Series:

Possessed by the Vampire:

Claimed

Hunted

Caught

The Warlord:

The Warlord’s Concubine

The Warlord's Queen

Her Master

Her Master’s Madness

Her Master’s Corruption

Novels:

Her Descent

When Dreamers Wake

Corrupted Hearts

Magic Academy

Vile

Outcast 1 & 2

Novellas:

In Her Dreams

Brutal Passions

The Enforcer: 1

The Enforcer: 2

The Fembot

Biography

J.E. & M. Keep love to combine fantasy, scifi, horror, romance and mystery into exciting and titillating novels.

They are long term, loving partners in a very happy relationship and because of this, they love to torture their characters. Dark romance touches all of their stories in one way or another, from elicit trysts to forbidden love.

Some of their work contains dubious consent and erotic pain, so it’s not for the faint of heart. Their stories are often called twisted and arousing – at the same time.

All work is 18+, trigger warnings available on the second page of every book. If you want to hear about new releases, sign up for the newsletter!

Owners of Darknest Fantasy Erotica, J.M. Keep has been writing smut as a pair for over 10 years.

Website: http://jmkeep.com

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