Page 40 of Runaway Hucow

And the truth was, she didn’t want Spike to stop. She wanted him to keep going, wanted him to fill her body with his hot, thick seed the way she’d imagined him doing that first time she’d seen him standing in front of the auction block in Crooked Valley. Tomorrow, when her head was clear, she would probably regret that. Maybe Spike would regret it too. But this evening she didn’t care.

Spike was grunting like a beast as he rutted her. His cock seemed to flex and twitch inside her. It wouldn’t be much longer now. Only a few more thrusts and she would feel the liquid warmth of his climax flooding into her.

Only a few more thrusts…

Just then, the door of the cottage crashed open. Peyton released her lips and stood up to face the intruder. Spike pulled out of her. Tess turned to the door. A vision of feathers and fluttering wings filled her eyes. A piercing scream stung her ears.

The eagle flared to a stop and landed beside her on the table, its long curving talons clattering against the smooth wood. The great bird turned its head to one side, showing Tess the profile of its powerful beak as it glared at her from one gold-rimmed eye.

“Chase!” a voice roared, as deep and rumbling as a rockslide. “To me!”

With two beats of its wings, the eagle launched itself off the table, glided across the room, and perched on the extended arm of the figure standing in the open door. It was a bisonman. The biggest one Tess had seen yet. He was as tall as Peyton and as bulky as Spike. Even though the door was built large, the bisonman’s broad shoulders barely fit between the jambs, and the tips of his horns all but scraped the top of the frame. His upper body was bare, and a bright slash of gold curved down his torso like a luminous tattoo, beginning at his left shoulder and ending in a point just above the top of his britches. His dark eyes smoldered beneath the shade of a heavy brow. His mouth was set in a menacing scowl.

Tess didn’t have to guess who this intruder was. She knew right away. Roscoe was home.

He did not look happy.

CHAPTER 21

Roscoe was not happy.

Then again, he never was.

He’d learned long ago that the world was a hard and dangerous place, and that went double for the lawless lands west of the Hundredth Meridian where centaurs roamed and snakemen slithered and gangs of greedy bandits prowled the skies in ships that sailed on air. In a place such as this, happiness was complacency, and complacency was death. And Roscoe was nothing if not a survivor.

Hence the perpetual scowl that had become his resting expression.

At the moment, however, Roscoe wasn’t merely unhappy. He was downright angry, and he could feel his anger steadily turning into rage, like a locomotive building up a head of steam and rapidly running out of track.

“Just what in the Sam Hell is going on in here?” he roared. It was, he immediately realized, a fairly stupid question, and the stupidity of it only made him angrier.

It was plain what was happening, or rather what had been happening a few moments ago when he’d kicked the door in with his hoof. His two younger brothers were standing on either side of the family dinner table, as naked as the day they’d dropped from their mothers’ hindquarters, and between them on the table lay an equally naked hucow, her dark hair damp with perspiration, her tanned skin glossy with sweat. It was clear the little hucow had been exerting herself, and it was also clear how. Her lovely legs were open as wide as her brown eyes and gaping mouth.

She was, perhaps, the most beautiful hucow he had ever seen.

There was only one other who could possibly compete with her for that title, but she was gone now. Long gone.

Roscoe stared at the little naked hucow sprawled on the table between his brothers. He stared at her hard, and he felt his cock thickening inside his britches.

That made him angrier still.

On his wrist, the golden eagle ruffled its feathers and dug its talons into his flesh. The bird’s name was Chase, and Roscoe had raised him from when he was just a hatchling. To some, the eagle might have seemed like a pet, but to Roscoe he was much more than that. Chase was his friend, his companion, an extension of his will. And apparently he was the only thing in this whole damned world Roscoe could trust. The bisonman twitched his arm slightly, and the bird fluttered over the nearby windowsill, where he began to preen himself.

Roscoe returned his attention to the situation at hand. He still had not received an answer to his question, so he decided to ask another, less stupid one.

“Who is she?” he snarled, pointing.

The hucow had rolled off the side of the table, and she was standing up now, attempting, rather ineffectually, to conceal those parts of her body no decent woman would want a stranger to see. Spike was beside her, handing her the clothes he’d just gathered up off the floor, and Peyton was on the other side of the table, hopping on one hoof as he struggled to pull his britches up over his hardened male member.

“Her name is Tess,” Spike said. “She’s a hucow.”

“I can see that!” Roscoe said, stomping forward. “And I don’t give a damn what her name is. I want to know who she is. As in: where the fuck did she come from, and what the fuck is she doing in my house?”

The hucow, Tess, quailed away from him, trying to cover herself with the shirt and jeans she was holding. Her feet got tangled, and she started to stumble backward. She would have fallen flat on her ass, but Peyton, who still hadn’t quite managed to stuff his willy back into his britches, caught her before that could happen.

Meanwhile Spike, still naked and unabashed, stepped forward and pressed a hand against Roscoe’s chest, holding him back.

“Roscoe, stop it! You’re scaring the hucow.”