The noble district had eroded down to caves, stalactites, and melted bone.

  Somewhere around the abdomen, the body cavity had ended, narrowing down into tunnels and corridors that snaked through the earth. Isaac could only guess that there had been an extensive series of aqueducts running along the district—many of the homes, most of them carved out of the natural granite, had completely flooded with groundwater, and there were entire rivers flowing through the streets, the natural process of erosion slowly dissolving all of the carefully sculpted architecture. Once, there had been public fountains, bathhouses, sewage systems. Now, it hardly seemed different than an ocean cove. Within a few more centuries, all traces of culture and art would be gone.

  They made their way through the tunnels and caves, leaping over the canyons carved by groundwater rivers, squeezing through the teeth of growing stalagmites. Neither of them found a good place to rest. If the carved out homes weren’t flooded, many of them had simply caved in, and Zaria was very insistent that they shouldn’t camp in the open streets—they needed a properly defensible structure. Despite their growing exhaustion, and the drying cakes of sandwyrm blood clinging to their clothes, they continued to travel deeper into the earth, guided by bulbous lampposts of cartilage light.

  After what seemed like hours of cave exploration, they came across a vast open chamber with a large, jagged lake in the center. Ground water dripped in streams down the thin remnants of ancient pillars. Some faded mosaics were barely clinging to legibility on the floor. On the walls, there were arched holes acting as ventilation shafts, somewhere steam could enter from the broiling rooms.

  This had been a public pool and sauna. Now, it didn’t seem much different than any other cave. After thousands of years, there was more craggy rock than carved stone.

  “Finally,” Zaria said, throwing her pack off her shoulders. “Some bath water.”

  Isaac cracked open several layers of dried blood as he slipped off his own pack. “Didn’t think you were familiar with the concept.”

  “Be a good squire and seal off the entrance, would you?”

  He casted an anti-necrotic warding spell into his hands, spreading the thin film of purple light around the mouth of the cave entrance. He doubted it would do much good. If the necromancer was determined enough, she could breach it fairly easily, and the other sorcerer would just command their thralls to blast it down. Still, it was better than nothing.

  By the lip of the public pool, Zaria was hastily shrugging off her armor and clothes. Her spotted fur was caked in green blood, and the few unsullied hairs appeared golden when they caught the cartilage lamplight. He could see the muscles of her back flexing as she unclasped the last of her garments, the shadow of her tail moving over the curve of her rear, the briefest glimpse of her breasts bouncing as she—

  “Isaac.”

  He nearly tripped on the roughly worn stone.

  She had turned to him, completely naked and smeared in blood. “You got some purifying chemicals on you? The water’s rather brackish.”

  He fought a very hard battle to keep his eyes on her face. “Are you—can there be some modesty, please?”

  “What for? We’ve already fucked, haven’t we?”

  “That’s, uh—”

  “Isaac,” she said. “I have tits. Got a cunt betwixt my legs. I trust you were aware of this.”

  He cleared his throat. “I do know some—uh, some purifying. . . .” He moved quickly towards the pool. “Evocations. One second.”

  He crouched down at the edge of the pool, trying very hard to force the blush from his face. True to her word, the ancient water had congealed into something brown and full of sediment, long-dead pond scum floating listlessly on the top layer. After a few mnemonic attempts, soft beams of light shined from his palms. They dissolved the dead plant life as easily as dripping groundwater had eroded the stone around them. Over the course of a minute, the light crawled across the entire length of the pool, leaving the water almost pristinely clear.

  Her hand slapped his back. “No idea how I managed to get through life without a servant mage at my beck and call. Indispensable, you are.”

  “Keep calling me your squire, and I’ll start charging you for this.”

  “Oh?” She crouched behind him. “What’s the price gonna be?”

  He didn’t answer.

  After a long moment, she stood back up, positioned her feet at the edge of the pool, and dove headfirst into the water. Her body twisted nimbly underneath the surface—he could see her doing flips, the thicker tufts of her fur waving with the motion, and her hips seemed to curve in such a way—

  He stood up, almost went to eat some rations, remembered he was covered in dragon blood, and made his way over to the opposite end of the pool. Gingerly, he removed his own clothes and waded into the shallows. The water was freezing cold. A thick film of green blood spread around him as he ventured up to his chest. He scrubbed his skin with his bare hands, scraping a heavy layer of grime, fluid and sweat from his body. It felt like he was rubbing off the collective weight of his entire journey.

  He had come very far. He had survived against seemingly impossible odds. But, instead of feeling hopeful at the closeness of his destination, instead of imagining the face of his father, he thought of the sorceress and her oceans of bone.

  She was manipulating them. That much was obvious. Summoning the sandwyrm when they were facing off with Soren had been a smart ploy—the dragon had already been agitated enough that its attack couldn’t be avoided. She’d merely focused its strike on the intruders in her tomb. Either the beast would kill them, or she’d have their help killing it. Either way, she’d gain some advantage.

  Now, she had spared their lives in the hopes that they’d help her defeat the puppeteer sorcerer. Isaac could agree with the wisdom of such a truce—parasite magic was incredibly powerful, and the puppeteer would certainly be hostile to a Diet member such as himself. Whoever this interloper was, they were just as much of a threat to his mission as his father’s captor. Still, it didn’t make the sorceress’ obvious attempts at divide and conquer tactics any more palatable.

  They were safe in this bathhouse, for now. But their new alliance with the necromancer was little more than a reprieve for both sides. Once the puppeteer was dead, the conflict would resume, and he knew that she would be preparing her betrayal. He would have to do the same.

  “Isaac!” Zaria called, head bobbing on the other end of the pool. “Come on over! Water’s lovely!”

  He blushed again. He was beginning to hate how easily he did so. “I’m fine.”

  “That was not a request, squire! Get over here!”

  “I don’t—” He looked into the deep water. “I don’t know how to swim.”

  She stopped paddling. “Truly? Didn’t you say your tower was next to a river?”

  “Yes,” he said. “I saw it every day. At night, I’d fall asleep to the sounds it made. I’d bathe in the water frequently. But I never—” He rubbed some crusted dragon blood off his chest. “No one would ever teach me, and I was always too scared to wade in deeper. Kept imagining the current dragging me under, and I’d just . . . get discouraged.”

  She stroked closer to him. “Could show you some lessons, if you wish.”

  “No, I—” He gestured over to a broken down section of the stone wall. “I noticed some, uh, lichen growing on the rocks. It’s a species with very fibrous shoots. We could make a fire out of it.”

  She looked at him over the water, mohawk trailing down past an eye.

  “I’ll go do that,” he said, wading back out of the pool. He was now acutely angry at the blush on his face.

  He exited the pool, shivering and naked. He collected her dagger, went over to the small cave-in, used the blade to scrape off as much lichen as he could, and brought the ball of leafy fungi over to their packs. After using some scattered rocks to build a campfire, he lit the lichen with a small torch of flame from his hand. It spread fast, and the flames gave off frequent cracks as the mycelia popped.

  Zaria continued to swim around the pool, performing lazy strokes. From the edge, he washed his filthy clothes as much as he could and laid them out by the fire to dry. He sat down on the craggy floor and stared into the flames, still cold from the water, trying to warm himself.

  Frustration built inside of him. He hated the fear he had felt when staring into the water. As a boy, after his training and studies, he had frequently walked to the edge of the river by his tower. Every time, he had promised himself that he would take the plunge. He would jump into the water, past the point where his feet touched the bottom, and he would teach himself to swim. But every time the water passed his chest, and every time he stared into the dark murky currents, the fear would overcome him—not just the fear of death, but the fear that his uncle would spot him shirking his duties. Every time, he had cowered away.

  He still couldn’t do it. He was still afraid. He had faced dragons, pirates, and an army of necromancy, but this one basic task still eluded him. Others knew how to swim. They did not consider it something to fear. The sound of Zaria splashing behind him only made his fists clench tighter.

  Why couldn’t he do this? Why was it so daunting in his mind? Would he feel this fear when doing any other basic task? Would he be afraid to order a drink in a tavern? Would he be afraid to ride a horse?

  Would he ever be able to live a normal life?

  A rush of water came behind him. Zaria had climbed out of the pool, water streaming down her spotted fur. She sauntered over to a stone bench next to the fire and squatted down on the edge, holding her hands to the flames. “Toss me some rations, would you, love?”

  He reached over to his pack and flung a few cuts of salt meat her way. He began to pound his fist into a brick of hardtack. The only sounds in the bathhouse were the crackling flames and their labored chewing.

  They were both naked. Of course, they had to be. Their clothes were filthy and wet. Their state of undress shouldn’t be noteworthy. And yet, he was afraid again. He felt vulnerable. Exposed. He was terrified to meet her gaze. She was right—they’d had sex already. They had fucked. Why was he so nervous? What cause did he have to feel this way? Why was his heart pounding so—

  “You got a serious look about you,” Zaria said.

  He glanced at her briefly. Even that felt like too much. “I’m fine.”

  “Thinking of your father?”

  He blinked, caught off-guard. “No. Not at all, actually.”

  “Why not?” She ripped off a hunk of meat. “We’re close now. Gotta be. Might be time to rehearse a speech.”

  “I’ve . . . never actually thought about what I’ll do when I reach him.” That wasn’t quite true. He had thought of it—occasionally. Mostly, the thoughts had made him afraid, and he had never figured out why. “The focus was always the journey. The dangers I’d face. How much harder I had to train to face them.”

  “Well,” she said, scooting forward on the bench, “after being imprisoned for so long, I’d say he’s thought much about it, to say the least. Probably cry his eyes out at the sight of you.”

  He tossed another wad of lichen in the fire. “He feels like a stranger to me. You know, he’s just . . . an idea. I’ve never seen his face. I’ve never heard his voice. All I know about him is what others have told me.” Something occurred to him. “I’ve really just been thinking about all the things I’ll do after I rescue him, all the places I want to travel, and he’s not in any of them. I’ve never included him in my fantasies. I . . . I don’t want to. I don’t really want him to be in my life.”

  The fire gave a sharp crack.

  “That’s understandable. Your experience with mentors wasn’t the best.” She crossed her legs. “You’ll get to know each other. Maybe that’ll change.”

  He broke off more chunks of hardtack, just to do something. “We’re close to the treasure, too. You happy about that?”

  “Some, I suppose. Can’t say the idea of being filthy rich doesn’t tickle me a bit, but. . . .” She shrugged, chewing again. “Not thinking about it neither, actually. More happy that my old crew aren’t hounding me so fiercely. You should’ve seen the way they fled from us.” She laughed. “Never seen Soren turn craven like that. Think I’d give all the gold in the world just to see the back of her ears flop away again.”

  “Some of us probably should’ve been running with her.”

  “Oh, don’t you start that shite again. I saved your life, sir mage. Nothing can change that now.” She paused. “And thank you for me helping me.”

  “Sure,” he said, still gazing into the fire.

  “Isaac.”

  He looked over to her. She was sitting on the bench, hands on her knees, elbows gently pushing her breasts together, and her wet fur hung like blades of grass across her body.

  “Thanks for helping me,” she said. “I know you went out of your way to do so. Just want to say—it’s appreciated.”

  He shrugged with what he hoped was nonchalance. “Just doing my duty. Someone had to stop her from tossing bombs. I mean, think of the archaeology. All the history we lost.”

  “Absolutely nothing else motivating you, was there?”

  “I would never aid the cutthroat who took me hostage.”

  “Oh, aye. Course not. Just spill your want inside her.”

  He became aware of his nakedness again. He tucked his legs tighter against himself, staring into the fire.

  She stood up from the bench. “Would you stop that sullenness already? We’re close now. We fought our way through more shite than anyone could’ve expected us to. We’re alive. Stop acting like the world’s gonna end.”

  “We still have to kill the necromancer,” Isaac said. “And the other sorcerer—she’s scared of them. That means we should be scared of them, too.”

  “Oh, fuck off. What do I got to do to cheer you up?”

  He looked over to her, ready to say something, but the words stopped in his throat.

  She was standing next to the fire, and the shadows of the flames danced across her body. The light illuminated the curve of her breasts, the shadows cast by her nipples jumping and leaping across their expanse. Orange flickers played across tawny fur, running down the trail of spots on her hips and thighs. And, between her legs, cast in deep shadow, he could faintly see the folds of her sex, a thin hint of pink that sent his mind racing.

  Heat. Wetness. Pressure. Sliding. Pounding, beating, exploding—

  “Has something of mine caught your attention, squire?”

  He almost looked away. He almost changed the subject. He almost let the shame win.

  But something stopped him. A sharp sense of certainty pierced through his fear.

  “Yes,” Isaac said. “It has.”

  She hummed from her throat. “Truly, now? Feel free to be specific.”

  The way her fur had been soft and warm in his face. The way her flesh had bounced against him. The blend of hard muscle and soft fat. The tightness. The weight. The curves. The heat, the smell, the sounds.

  “I don’t know where to begin,” he said.

  She cocked her hip, and the shadows rolled across her chest. “Am I making you lose your words, Isaac?”

  His breath seemed hotter than the fire. “Yes.”

  “Have you been thinking about me since the chapel?”

  He was on his feet without a single thought. “Yes.”

  “Do you want to fuck me?”

  He moved towards her like a runaway carriage.

  But she pushed him back, holding him at arm’s length. He pressed his shoulder deeper into the pads of her hand, remembering the way they had gripped him in the chapel.

  “Isaac,” she said. “Are you sure you want this, now?”

  Fur. Heat. Pressure.

  “More than anything else in my life,” he said.

  She blinked down at him. “Well. Fuck me if that’s not incredibly arousing, but—” She gripped his other shoulder, holding him tight. “There’s no pressure on you. I’m just teasing. Don’t want you feeling obligated into this.”

  “Zaria,” he said. “I don’t think you understood me before. I liked what happened. I liked it so much that it made me rethink everything I ever knew about life.” The words came rushing out of him. “I want to fuck you.”

  For a moment, she looked at him very carefully. Peering into his eyes, looking for any sign of doubt. Then, slowly, her usual grin emerged, like she had stopped forcing it down.

  She paced backwards towards the stone bench, dragging him along. She sat down on the edge of the ancient furniture and rolled her shoulders back, baring her breasts. The parting of her thighs told him she had already grown wet and ready.

  “Go on, then,” she said. “Far be it for a knight to deny her squire the best medicine he’s ever tasted.”

  His inexperience reared itself again. He didn’t know what to do. He didn’t know the proper pace of things. His life had always been strict routine, a listed delineation of steps and procedures. He looked at her, and the fear of failure twisted inside his guts.

  Then he caught a waft of her musk. Instinct took over. The last word she had said.

  Tasted.

  He dove between her legs like a bloodhound sprinting towards the scent of its target. His knees hit the craggy floor, and his hands gripped at her thighs, fingers sinking into meat and fur. The heat radiating from her loins wrapped around his face—a long inhale burned her heady musk deep into his brain, and his sharp exhale brushed against her glistening sex. Shivers spread through the skin, bristling the fur.

  “Hold a moment.”

  She wrapped a loose hand around his cheek, her thumb pushing his chin up to meet her gaze.

  Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  “You realize the sorceress is probably watching us, aye?”

  “Good,” he replied. “I hope she can hear us, too.”

  A laugh tumbled out of the hyena. “You got some real depravity tainting your soul, don’t you?”

  He breathed onto her loins again, marveling at the way they glistened.

  “Be honest,” she said, a hungry glint in her eyes. “How often did you jerk your gherkin up in that tower?”

  “I could’ve been a carpenter if my only job was painting walls.”

  He pressed his lips to hers, and her laughter turned into a shuddering sigh. His tongue traced across her creases, dug through her folds, only barely keeping pace with his desire. The hand on his face shifted around to the back of his head, and her thighs closed around his ears, eclipsing the room from sight, hot and soft and burying him deeper.

  “By the cunt of—” She breathed out. “I’d heard humans had smooth tongues, but—”

  Her emissions coated his face, soaking into his scraggly beard. She tasted almost sour, slightly metallic, the texture viscous and coating his tongue—every time he drew back for a breath, strands of it clung to his mouth, still connecting him to her, and the sight only made him dive in deeper, mouthing and kissing and licking. His arms roamed around her thighs, supporting them on his shoulders, and his hands wandered along the curve of her hips, looking for something to grab.

  “Forget it,” she said, her hand resting on his head. “Forget everything I said about you being my squire. I—fuck, this is your new calling, love. We’re gonna do this every fucking day from now on.”

  He pressed his face deeper, rubbing his nose through her lips as his tongue circled her opening.

  “Oh, did you like me saying that?”

  His hands tightened on her thighs. One of her hands came down to grip his, and the claws of the other started stroking through his hair.

  “I’d have you on your knees whenever the feeling striked me.” Her thighs pressed around his head. “I’d have you drinking only my juices for sustenance.” Her hips slid forward along the bench, grinding against his face. “I’d do any favor you asked of me, so long as you kept that tongue between my legs.”

  The blush on his face was almost as hot as the feverish pulse coming from her loins. His sensations were all a blur of liquids—her wetness, his saliva and sweat, the water from the pool. The fear of not knowing what to do fled from his mind. He drew shapes with his tongue, roaming in circles, side to side, squeezing his muscle down to a needle to dig through her folds and pushing it out flat to drag across her lips. She responded to every one of his touches. Her fingers massaged through his hair, her thighs shivered and flexed, her breath stopped and started. Every reaction confirmed the rightness of his efforts, sending him further into lust and frenzy.

  And he also found more than a little satisfaction in making her squirm the same way she had done to him.

  “Higher,” she panted. “Isaac. Higher—the fucking—higher—”

  He moved upwards, his ears rubbing through the embrace of her thighs, and he began to mouth at the hood of her sex. She immediately bucked herself against him, her legs leaving the floor to drape across his back. He enclosed his mouth around his new target. Remembering anatomy diagrams, he began to suck in earnest, keeping the seal of his lips tight but soft.

  A gasp echoed across the ancient bathhouse. Her tail whacked against his chest, wrapping itself around his neck, and she bent one of her legs over the other, squeezing his face into her lips. He was now completely locked against her sex by the vice-like grip of her thighs, smothered in muscle, fur and fluids.

  “Don’t stop,” she growled.

  He had no intention to—in fact, the forcefulness of her embrace only made him work harder. He dug his tongue in, gently licking the nub of flesh while his lips provided suction and pressure. Streams of her juices ran down his chin and neck. She was a burning hot furnace against him, and the texture of her loins grinding against his face almost made him forget to breathe. He was growing dizzy, her feminine musk flooding through his nostrils, every subtle note of the scent boiling his brain, and every single gasp of air was drenched in her taste.

  He could not have imagined a more delightful prison. He could not have imagined anything close to the reality. He could not have imagined how he had lived his life without this.

  “Squire—I’m—”

  Her legs locked him tighter, and she began to outright fuck his face, her pace erratic and needful, wringing him for all he was worth. Isaac held on by the meat of her thighs, continuing to lick as best he could while she bucked and shifted and grinded. He felt her growl vibrate down her body, felt her heartbeat thunder through her lips. In one final effort, timing it purely by her groans and gasps, he pressed his mouth to her sex and buried his face in her folds.

  Her climax announced itself with a flood of emissions, all her muscles flexing and shaking. With her hand and thighs gripping his head, and her fluffy tail wrapped around his neck, he remained locked tightly in place as she rode out a gushing high note of ecstasy. After he had seemingly swallowed more than a waterskin’s worth of her juices, she began to relax, slowly releasing him from her hot and wet embrace.

  When he sat back onto his heels, finally able to get a good look at her, she was splayed across the bench, leaning back on her elbows and panting.

  “You know,” he said, swallowing a bit more, “you sure can make some cute moans.”

  She seemed to remember his existence. She sat up higher on the bench, her thighs parting around his head, and tried to say something. Nothing intelligible was heard. Finally, she grinned, all her teeth glinting orange in the firelight, and fell backwards onto the stone furniture, gazing up at the bathhouse ceiling and letting out a long sigh.

  Isaac’s tongue felt numb and slimy. His short beard was dripping wet with her juices—he looked over to the pool, considered washing himself, but decided against it. The prospect of her fluids drying on his skin and hair made a roaring heat burn inside of him.

  All at once, Zaria began to sing.

  “By the burning sands, by the spouting sinks

  He found his want, and he found his drinks.

  With a thirsting hand, all atop the sand

  He licked her cunt, and called her grand.”

  Isaac blushed so hard that he thought her emissions might evaporate from his face. Zaria laid on the bench, her loins still dripping wet, her voice bellowing the shanty with a flat pitch and a moaning rhythm.

  “Hey, hey! Away!

  Gnashed her gash till she dripped and splashed.

  Hey, hey! Away!

  Sucked her muck till she tossed and bucked.

  Hey, hey! Away!”

  Isaac tossed more lichen into the fire and rummaged through her pack for a waterskin. He took out two, drinking greedily from the first.

  “O, he noshed it once, and he noshed it twice

  He drank her straight like the sweetest spice

  He drank her fast, and he drank her slow

  And he damn near got her guts in tow

  Hey, hey! Away!”

  “Catch!” Isaac shouted.

  She looked up in time to see the second waterskin flying at her face. She caught the pouch, still giggling to herself, her eyes reflecting the firelight back at him.

  “Get your strength back,” he said. “We’re going again.”

  She snorted like she was waking from sleep. “Are we, now?”

  Isaac angled his body close to the fire. Hanging in silhouette from the flames, his cock stood hard and painfully erect. Without taking his gaze off her, he wiped some of her emissions from his face, and used it as lubricant to wet his member, stroking up and down with a firm grip. He had never felt more rebellious in his entire life.

  Zaria’s response alternated between laughter and attempts to catch her breath, guzzling down the waterskin like it was the last chance she would ever have. “What happened to my innocent squire?”

  He approached her again, but she didn’t rise to greet him. Instead, still lying on her back, she opened her legs and reached down a hand to spread her lips, her pink walls glistening with saliva.

  For a moment, practicality pierced through his lust, and Isaac began to worry of mechanics. Angles, depth, leverage. The bench she was lying on was about as tall as his knees, and his cock was perched at a rather strict angle. Half-crouching between her thighs, he tried to force himself into a proper position, pushing against his own anatomy in multiple ways. Panic rose up inside him. His body knew exactly what it had to do, but his conscious mind was betraying him, making him question every decision.

  “Isaac.”

  He looked up at her like he was committing a heinous crime.

  She had risen onto her elbows, and her snout had curled into deep, gouging lines. “Either you fuck me, or I’m fucking you. Make a choice.”

  And, suddenly, that simplified things.

  It was like battle. Like fighting the necromancer. Either he killed her, or she killed him. Just like the life and death struggle of combat, there was no time to hesitate. Hesitation was defeat.

  He would not lose to the necromancer, and he would not lose to her.

  Without any words, he gripped her thighs for leverage, aligned his cock with her slit and speared himself into her.

  The sensations struck him in a blur. She was tight, slick, roaring hot. Her cunt gripped him like a fist. He burrowed himself through until his thighs slapped against the meat of her ass. A ragged breath escaped him—there were so many exotic sensations burning through his mind that he felt compelled to stop, remaining stationary and hilted into her, struggling to regain his focus.

  He heard a growl. Suddenly, Zaria ripped her thighs from his grip and wrapped them around his hips. She squeezed him deeper like she meant to break him in half, pushing him further than he thought his anatomy might’ve allowed. Her face had the appearance of someone ready to fight to the death.

  Isaac growled back, surprising himself more than her, and he bucked his hips back against the grip of her legs. He only escaped because she seemed to let him—even still, he did not get far. He had no choice but to continue the attack. Leaning his hands against her abdominal muscles, he thrusted with a surging need, harder than he thought either of them could handle. She was hotter than a furnace, she was softer than silk, she was wet and tight and perfect, she was better than he could have ever dreamed, and he could not pound hard enough to sate his wants.

  They fell into a savage rhythm. Her flesh rippled with every thrust, his body making the most obscene sounds when it crashed into hers, and she kneaded at her breasts, panting as loud as he was, her legs finding the rhythm of his thrusts and propelling him deeper at the apex of his motions.

  “Harder!” she yelled.

  Isaac increased his pace—as much as he could through her leg-locking—but the mechanics were working against him. The bench was not at the right height. His positioning was awkward and straining his legs. He was already drenched in sweat, growing exhausted from the effort.

  Instead, when he hilted himself inside her, he rubbed his pelvis against her sex, remembering the way she had done so before. He continued this new tactic, his strikes losing some of their ruthless frequency, hoping for a reaction. She was gripping her breasts as if she meant to tear them off her chest. A snarl flared from between her teeth, and Isaac thought of an explorer approaching the den of some vicious beast, the warning growl of a predator that told the ignorant traveler that they would surely die if they proceeded any further.

  “Deeper!”

  He gave it his all. He held no strength in reserve. He struck so hard and fast that he thought his testicles might succumb to sheer blunt force trauma.

  Finally, Zaria rose from her prone position, her arms reaching towards him. She hugged him tight enough to force the air from his lungs, and she flung him on top of her like the opening of a wrestling match, rolling her hips in time with the flip to still keep him embedded inside. He fell face-first into the valley of her breasts, the soft globes pooling over his shoulders, his entire body resting on top of her, his feet barely able to reach the floor.

  “Deeper!”

  And, suddenly, he could thrust deeper. The angle had changed, the pressure had shifted, their anatomies had more properly aligned. His hips bucked like they had no other place or purpose, and he was amazed that his cock was not rearranging her intestines with every impalement. There was no part of his body that was not compressed against her form in some way—her arms were like vices around his back, her wrapping legs accelerated every one of his thrusts, and his face was smothered in the thick fur of her chest. He rubbed his cheek against it, relishing the texture, burying his nose in the hairs and breathing deeply of her scent.

  “Squire! Suck on my tits!”

  Isaac complied without the slightest hesitation. She relaxed the grip of her arms just enough for him to scoop one of her breasts towards his face, and he sucked on her areola in much the same way he’d done to her nethers, sealing his lips around the nipple, gently tugging and licking as it tried to bounce back and forth. Her response was somewhere between a growl and a shudder, the claws of her hands digging at his back.

  On the craggy stone wall next to them, the shadows of their bodies were mashed into one giant form. It didn’t look much different than the necromancer’s mass of bones—a seemingly horrible configuration of gyrating shapes and grasping limbs, all of it undulating upon itself.

  Isaac couldn’t help it. He laughed at the mental image, the nipple freeing from his mouth.

  “What’s this?” Zaria shouted. “You think this is fun and games, do you?”

  This only made him laugh harder.

  Suddenly, in the middle of one of his thrusts, her tail brushed against his ass. The sensation was so unexpected that he nearly fall off her body entirely. Her grin widened as she kept batting it against him like a wandering dust feather, forcing him to brush against the fluffy appendage with every buck of his hips. He discovered, rather forcefully, that he was ticklish.

  “Stop it!”

  “Make me!”

  Feeling that he was losing the tactical advantage, Isaac laid his body flat against hers to free up his hands. He casted a thin layer of ice across his palms, somewhat impressed that he had such fine control of the element despite his other ongoing efforts. He pressed his icy hands below her armpits, and her scream of shock was almost girlishly high-pitched.

  “That’s cheating, Isaac!”

  “Fuck you! I’m winning!”

  She pried his arms off her flanks, growling and panting. Her legs strangled down on his hips, all but sealing himself against her, and he dipped down to suck at her breasts again, almost as an angry response rather than a consensual exchange of pleasure. He wasn’t exactly sure who was fucking who anymore—he was losing ground, running out of options.

  And now the pressure was building inside him again. From the sound of her breathing, the same was happening to her. Suddenly, he saw his chance at victory. He used the last of his strength to unleash a full-frontal assault—he pounded and sucked and gripped and grabbed and used all the leverage there was to offer. Their breaths grew more erratic, the echoes of striking flesh bubbling into a frantic pace, all their movements desperate and needful and wanting.

  She would cum first. He could feel it on every writhing inch of her body. He was going to win.

  But then she bent her head down towards him, rubbing her snout against his ear, and, in a quiet, cooing voice, she whispered only a single word.

  “Squire.”

  Isaac’s orgasm exploded through him, eclipsing all his senses. Zaria’s came a distinctive second later. They tightened their grip on each other like they met get swept away otherwise, and he seemed to pump every single drop of cum he had into her, her walls contracting and trembling around him, her claws scratching across his back, her legs pressing him as deep as he could possibly go, sharpening every single note of ecstasy. When the waves of pleasure finally receded, it felt like waking from a dream—his mind reeling, his entire body tingling, all his muscles going limp.

  He buried his face in the fur of her chest, rubbing his cheeks through the fluffy hair. It seemed almost impossible that someone like her could be so soft and warm . . . and that he was starting to deeply enjoy the way she smelled. Lying on top of her as he was, he found that he no longer missed the comforts of his bed.

  But her hands were still on his back, and their presence caused worry to pierce his thoughts. Had he done well? Had he not gone hard enough for her? Had there been some technique he could’ve employed to improve the experience? Had she ever had anything better than what he could—

  Her fingers burrowed beneath his chin, lifting his head up towards hers. And just when Isaac was about to apologize, just when he thought he needed to explain his failures, she kissed him.

  He froze in surprise as her tongue moved past his lips. It slithered past his teeth and coiled around his own muscle, seeking and batting. On complete instinct, he followed her lead—he closed his eyes, pressed his lips against her muzzle, and pushed his tongue back against hers. They flexed together, curling and probing, wrapping and sliding, and she took great care not to hurt him with the slight barbs of her muscle.

  Then, just when he was starting to remember that he needed to breathe, she pulled back, still holding his chin, and her brown eyes opened slowly, meeting his own with a smoldering gaze. She must’ve felt how violently his heart was thundering in his chest.

  Suddenly, she sat up off the bench, almost as if most of his body wasn’t draped across her torso, and her hands moved to grip him for leverage. He felt himself flung over her shoulder like a limp rug.

  “Hey! Let me go!”

  She stood up, shifting him to a more secure position on her shoulder, moving over to the fire and their supply packs.

  “I will not be treated like this!”

  He felt a hum vibrate through her chest. His head was bouncing upside down against her back, barely avoiding the scythe of her wagging tail. She seemed to be digging through both of their packs, kicking things around with her feet.

  Isaac casted a small fireball in his palm, making sure the element swirled with much energy and flourish, and held it out backwards for her to see.

  “I fucking dare you to,” she replied.

  He ended the cast, letting his limbs hang listlessly, feeling like a hunted animal that someone was dragging back to their hut.

  Without warning, the world flipped, and he landed hard on his back. She had laid out a bed of their sleeping rolls and white shawls, layering the fabrics so deeply that it was actually somewhat comfortable to lay on. The lichen fire was warm at his side, and the shadows danced across the calm surface of the pool. His head sank into their packs, grateful for the comfort.

  She pounced on him.

  The impact of her weight knocked the breath from his chest, and she used the opportunity to pin him against the pile of bedding, clutching and enveloping. She scoured his face and neck with licks, almost to the point where it felt like losing a duel to a pink sword. Wherever she licked, she also rubbed, kneading her furry cheeks against his skin, grinding her scent deep inside. At times, the cold tip of her nose pressed into his neck. She inhaled greedily, a pleased growl rumbling from her chest, and she continued to drink in his aroma as she licked and rubbed.

  Isaac laid still, letting her do as she pleased—out of compliance or genuine desire, he wasn’t sure. He imagined a wildebeest being eaten alive on a prairie, and decided that the lack of bite wounds on his neck was an improvement on things.

  Finally, she stopped, rose above him, let her tongue hang low, and dragged it along his features at a glacial pace, wide and heavy and hot. She was forced to pin him down halfway through. By the end, there was a gash of wet, hot skin running diagonally along his face, and he felt a hundred baths might not have cleansed him of the experience.

  She shifted her body down. Her head rested against his chest, and she wrapped her arms around his back, adjusting the grip like one might fluff a pillow. Warm fur enveloped his entire body, her breasts spilling across his abdomen as she relaxed herself on top of him. With the nearby fire, and the layers of bedding beneath, he felt surprisingly snug. Of course, the impressive weight of his new blanket made it clear that he would not be going anywhere without her permission.

  “Are we not going to clean up first?”

  “Nope.”

  “. . . I’m still hungry.”

  “Rations’ll be there when we wake.”

  Isaac gazed up into the eroded stone ceiling, listening to the lichen fire pop and sizzle. “Zaria?”

  “Hm?”

  “I think you’ve ruined my sexual tastes forever.”

  She melted into giggles. “Oh, ‘twas always my plan, squire.”

  Her cheek nuzzled into his chest. Her breathing slowed. Their heartbeats almost synced together.

  Sleep called to him. The day had been long, and he couldn’t say that this was not the most comfortable he’d felt since the start of his journey. But, through the haze of their coupling, he felt his uncertainties rise again. The necromancer. His father. What they had just done. What it meant. What he was doing. The future.

  Her ear twitched. “What’s the matter? Heart’s beatin’ crazy.”

  “What do you like about me?”

  She shifted her head, as if opening her eyes. His heartbeat only went faster.

  “Not gonna answer that.”

  “Why not?”

  “Isaac, my intentions towards you have never been subtle. Ain’t much that needs interpreting.”

  “I know that—”

  “Are you not enjoying this experience?”

  He was covered in saliva, sweat, half a carpet’s worth of her rubbed off hair, and several drying smears of their intimacy. Her body was soft, warm, and almost crushing him.

  “I am.”

  “Then why are you trying to think your way out of it?”

  “I—I can’t help it. I’ve always had to. . . .”

  He’d always been struck for wrong behavior.

  “Fine,” she said. “I’ll indulge you just this once, and only ‘cause I’m getting an earful from your chest. I expect no more of this shite in the future. It’s not healthy thinking, believe me.”

  “Sorry.”

  “Shut up. How’re we gonna split the treasure?”

  “What? Evenly, I thought.”

  “I’m talking mechanics. Gonna count it by hand? Draw straws for the goblets and grimoires?”

  “Oh. Uh, no. I’ll do a survey. Bring it back with my main report to the Diet collegium. When they send an expedition team, they’ll bring minting officials to appraise the horde, carry it back to civilization, convert it to modern currency, and hold it in trust for us, like a bank.”

  “Your robed ledger keepers’ll just give it to an outlaw like myself? Won’t pull some wordy legal shite to steal it from me, will they?”

  “It’s rightful discovery. Anyway, I’ll make sure to—”

  “Supposin’ I’ll have to sign a bunch of contracts that I can’t read to get the coin back, won’t I?”

  “Well, yes, but—”

  “No chance they just burn me to cinders on the spot, neither?”

  “Hey, no—”

  “You realize, as well, that we still gotta get back to your wizarding world in the first place. Soren wasn’t the end of my pursuit. Half the ships of the desert will be on the lookout. They’ll never stop hunting me.”

  “I have to walk back, too. We can go together. Couple fireballs will keep them away.”

  “And you’ll still honor our deal despite you already gettin’ your father out of it?”

  “Well, yes. It’s—it’s only fair.”

  “Isaac, I’ve been cheated all my life. Had my siblings come home with half the purses they’d really pinched ‘cause they stashed some beforehand. Had my father sell me for coin. Had my pirate mates taking everything I couldn’t steal myself. Had more cunts than I can count betray a deal just ‘cause it was cheaper to do so.” Her cold nose rested on his pectoral. “Suffice to say that I wouldn’t trust an innkeep to toss me an ale that wasn’t watered down, and, now, here you are, telling me that you’re gonna go out your way to split an ancient treasure with me, barely a day after I was threatening your life for it.”

  “. . . I’m not sure how I can convince you otherwise.”

  “Don’t have to. Not a doubt in my mind that you don’t mean what you’re saying. The fact that you clearly hadn’t even considered any of this just seals it further.”

  He didn’t answer.

  “Speaking of threatening your life—first time I saw you, you were exhausted, dying of thirst, and climbing to your feet for a last stand. Had no chance against me at all, and still went down swinging. In the chapel, with my dagger at your neck, I saw naught but defiance in your eyes. Been on the receiving end of that treatment more than once, and I was never that strong with my throat bulging ‘round a blade. I mean, fuck me, we just had a dragon come screaming out the earth in front of us, and your first instinct was to run forward and scream right back.”

  “It’s what I was trained for.”

  “Speaking of that, too—you’ve got a rather cutting edge to your words, sir mage. Some half-decent wit, if I do say so.”

  “I use it to hide my massive cock.”

  “Fuck off,” she said. “How’s it work that someone who’s been smacked like a dog all his life gets to be so quarrelsome? Thought your uncle would’ve beaten that out of you.”

  “He tried,” Isaac said. “But he could only punish my words, not my thoughts. No matter what he did, I always had my mind. That was my refuge. My promise to him. He could strike till I was bedridden, but he’d never take my thoughts from me. I promised myself that my mind would always be free and wild.” He paused. “It’s more pathetic than I’m making it sound.”

  “Not at all. Sounds like you kept your principles despite everything you’d ever known trying to rob them from you. Like you bent every effort to make yourself be better than your environment.”

  “Essentially.”

  “Think we’re very alike in that regard.”

  He listened to the fire crack and sizzle.

  “Also, your tongue’s just perfect for licking cunts.”

  “Alright, that’s enough.”

  “I’m serious now. Feel free to do so at any time.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Don’t even need to ask. Just the sight of you on your knees will send my heart aflutter.”

  “I’m sure.”

  “Think of how mad the sorceress’ll get. Part of your duty, if we’re being honest.”

  “Well,” he said, “I suppose I just have to, then.”

  “Aye. Proper squire, you are. Couldn’t ask for better.”

  He stared up into the craggy ceiling.

  “That good enough for you?” she asked.

  “Yes. I—uh—thank you.”

  “Don’t thank a lass after fucking her, Isaac. Gods above.”

  “N-no, I mean—thank you for—I’ve never had—m-my uncle would always— ”

  “I know what you mean. Just teasing.”

  She settled her head against his chest. The thicker tufts of her fur brushed against his stomach, tickled down his legs. With his eyes, he traced the mohawk running down her neck and upper back. He wanted to stroke it. His fingers curled on the rough stone, daring to lift.

  He thought of her rejecting his touch. He thought of her shoving him off. He thought of her standing up, moving away, and never looking at him the same again.

  But he wanted to, and so he did. He settled his hands on her upper back—with one, he stroked through the long hairs, and the other he used to gently scratch around her fading wounds. Her response was a quiet noise in her throat, a slight shift of the muscles. He kept his efforts gentle enough that they might aid her in sleep, and she sighed like it was the first time she had relaxed in recent memory.

  “Isaac?”

  “Hm?”

  “I’m glad it was you that blew up my ship.”

  “. . . I've met worse pirates.”

  Her breathing slowed. He never stopped scratching. Eventually, she began to snore with a soft timber.

  He fell asleep with the smile still on his face.