He salutes the two men as he returns to the others. The two men repeat the gesture like trained soldiers while the others mimic the motion. No emotions are on display, and no tears are shed for the lives that will eventually be spilled.
“Oh, and Fynn, the name is Faas, don’t forget it. I meant what I said. Say it, and I’ll come fetch you,” he calls out.
With those words, Faas leaves us behind with the two men standing there, having made peace with their fate. I frown as I try to remember if I ever told him my name.
Caria storms away from the scene, leaving the men by themselves, and I run after her, not paying them any mind either. She tells me in rambling words that she must find Reiner and tell him what happened. Hearing his name, I suppress a flare of anger. Reiner, the one who beds her, the witch that made her cum for all of us to hear, formeto hear. Having a name for the bastard doesn’t make it easier, hatred surging through me as I repeat the name in my head.Reiner. The headache worsens, Jodelle’s voice penetrates my mind, and her words of love for me. I do my best to block out the traitorous thoughts of jealousy over Caria, making the throbbing bearable.
A figure appears in sight. Reiner crosses the street with large steps, barging toward us, Caria crashing into his arms. How did he know we were coming? He barely acknowledges me as he embraces her tightly. Caria’s shivering form relaxes into his hold. Reiner soothes her, lovingly caressing her hair as tears start to fall, and all I hear are her sobs and his murmurs. Hekisses the top of her head as he whispers in her ear. The words come out choked as Caria tells the bastard what happened, the encounter with the Dhampir, and the realization hits me that terror consumed her because of that Dhampir, not just a slight fear as I expected. A bitterness that I feel grounds me, envy that it is the bastard holding her instead of me. He is the one who gives her a sense of safety, and my presence does not. A flash of pain strikes my head, my eyes bulging from the sting, and I swear softly.
“Thank you, Fynn, for protecting Caria. Standing up to a dhampir takes courage. Whatever this Faas told you, know their sole purpose is to destroy everything that stands in their way. You two make a great pair. I can see that. I’m sure he was trembling from the idea of you two joining forces against him.”
His words take me by surprise and unintentionally evoke a sense of pride, which I shrug off, telling him it is no big deal. However, Caria intervenes and convinces me it is. She says that she wouldn’t have known what to do without me, but I kept her safe. Caria hugs me, tightening herself around me and pressing her breasts against my chest. She pulls me in and whispers softly in my ear thatIam her hero. I can’t help myself as I quickly whiff her hair, embracing her closely, her scent intoxicating. Finally,Iam the one holding her, comforting her. Feeling her small body against mine, fitting so perfectly, her tits squeezed against me; I forget the bastard is even there. My body responds, and I feel my cock twitching in my pants. Before I start grinding against her with a hard-on, I try to remove myself, but she won’t let go. I feel my erect dick bulging against her stomach, embarrassment taking over, yet she still doesn’t let me go. She stands on her toes, rubbing herself against me, and all I want to do is push my cock between her tits and cum on her face. I feel horrible andaroused by the thought. She needs me to provide solace, yet my mind is in the gutter.
“Next time we meet, let me thank you in private,” she whispers, her warm breath fanning against my ear.
My breathing turns ragged, and a scorching pain lurches itself into my brain as an image of a naked Caria with flushed cheeks and perky tits is conjured by my mind. An image where she wantsmeto fuck her instead of that dickhead. I can’t help myself. I do my best to suppress my thoughts, but it's as if something is forcing them through nonetheless.
“Yes,” I manage to say through the pain as I grit my teeth.
Caria lets me go, biting her lower lip as she looks at me sultrily, which is not helping, and I excuse myself, hoping my arousal is not too evident. The idea of leaving her behind with that prick evokes a vexation within me, but I am unable to control myself any longer. I need to get away from Caria before I perform an act of stupidity and lust and tear our bond beyond repair.
I stalk toward the inn and run upstairs, where I find Jodelle sitting on the bed. She’s excited to finally see me after being alone the whole time within the confinement of these bedroom walls. Without me to protect her, she’s unable to leave the room. Those big, doe-like blue eyes look up at me as I stand before her; she’s beautiful. Not being able to contain my feverish excitement, I command her to undress, which she obediently does. Impatiently, I rip off her bra and panties, my anger taking over. I grab her legs and flip her on her stomach. She yelps in excitement. Quickly, I pull up her hips, her round ass in front of me. I don’t care to check if she’s ready for me, if her cunt is wet enough, and I insert my dick between her pussy lips. The first few pushes go a little rough, and she cries feebly, but with each thrust, her slit becomes wetter until she is soaked. Her groansand moans only encourage me to fuck her harder. I fist my hand in her blonde hair and plunge my fingers into her soft skin as I pump. Jodelle whimpers from the pain and pleasure while I fuck her roughly from behind instead of Caria. The pain is finally going away with each thrust. She bucks against me, and I pull out. My hand still twisted in her hair; I drag her onto her knees in front of me and tell her to suck my cock. She opens her lips and starts to lick and suck my tip. I take her head and force myself into her mouth. She chokes on my cock as I begin to fuck her throat deeply, strings of saliva dripping on her bare breasts. Jodelle tries her best to accommodate my ruthless desire as she gurgles and whines. I look at Jodelle, struggling with my cock shoved down her throat, tears spilling on her cheeks, and I imagine it’s Caria instead.
Caria is on her knees, those golden suns looking up at me like I am her God, the only one, willingly drooling over herself because she can barely swallow the size of my dick. Her tight cunt is sopping because she craves my cock so badly. Only a slight sting resurfaces as I conjure that picture of Caria wriggling underneath me, ready to swallow my cum on her knees with her tits bouncing. Her beautiful red hair is being fisted by me instead of that asshole. The imagery of Caria is what sends me over the edge; I pull out of Jodelle’s mouth, and long strings of semen spurt on her face while she coughs.
I look at her as she’s catching her breath, my cum all over her face, hair, and her tits. I contain the urge to smear it all over her. I still feel anger, a desire to fuck, to ravage, but it isn't with Jodelle.
After Jodelle cleans herself up, she crawls into my arms, and we cuddle in bed. I feel like an asshole for being so rough with her, even after she says to me she enjoyed it—the worry she experienced from my not touching her has dissipated. Itell Jodelle I love her so much, showering her with kisses, and I mean it; yet a nagging feeling tells me I do not love her completely. She might have my mind, but my heart is not entirely hers. I ignore the emotion, quelling it effectively… for now.
DIARY ENTRY:
Keir is so pale, it looks like his veins are painted on his skin like a map. He’s also losing weight rapidly now. This is not supposed to happen, not yet. We need more time. I need more time.
Showdown
HARLOT
Chapter 14
We’re strolling leisurely through the garden; Emrys has his arm loosely around my waist, the lush greens surround us, and birds are singing. It’s… peaceful. A welcome change after the commotion of the last few days, the attack on the city, the revelation of the Dhampir, Elijah… and the devastation my rejections keep bringing to him. My mind spins with conflicting emotions when it comes to Elijah. I feel both drawn to and repelled by him. I have this urge inside me to ensure he is alright, while another part of me fervently prays he did not make it through the night. But I would have felt it; I would have known if he had died. Elijah is very much alive, and I am torn on how I feel.
I refocus myself on the present, on Emrys, and look at the landscape and the massive building that I now call home, too. The walls on this side of the fortress are covered with lilac wisteria, in full bloom, thorny deep red roses, and almost black ivy with dark green nerves. The odd-colored plant moves along with us, creeping over the stones almost as if it’s following us. I eye it cautiously, apprehensive about its nature.
Crawling ivy, Emrys tells me, is a strong-willed species of ivy that only grows in certain places, such as places of residence. Here, it does the bidding of whoever owns the castle, another layer of protection, as its vines will capture those not welcome. If you are caught, its roots will trap you, wrap around you like a cocoon, and with no escape, you’ll die of strangulation or starvation, your remains feeding the earth. The plant used to be a rich, deep green color reminiscent of emerald. However, after the war, the color withered to a state of near black, adapting itself to its new surroundings, with only its nerves serving as a vague reminder of that striking green. I envision the castle walls as they looked back then, covered in vibrant green, coral, and lavender. It must have been a beautiful sight.
I learned that before the war, the place was inhabited by White Witches, all of them belonging to the same coven. Hence, the ample references throughout the building represent the Light and its previous owners. Emrys taught me that the Blood Witches are spread across eight covens, each representing a moon phase, a beacon of the night, the dark. In contrast, the White Witches stand for light; their forces conjoined, burning bright as the sun. This makes them more powerful, the Light prevailing over the Dark for centuries.
Just like the White Witches, the Blood Witches draw their magic from nature. Each coven has its own magical powers, and the poisonous flowers imprinted on their skin are reminiscent of their deadliness, but also serve as a distinction. A recognition of the sort of powers they wield. He mentions that before the war, they wore different flowers, as the blood they drew was voluntarily given through the likes of bargains, unlike now, where it’s taken by force, another twist caused by the imbalance.
My brows knit together when he shares that piece of information. I never gave much thought to the origin of magic for the Blood Witches, but it never occurred to me that, in thepast, blood was donated voluntarily. It makes me wonder what the humans have done to the Light to be punished alongside the darklings. All these changes forced upon this world not only affected the Dark but also impacted the humans living on this planet, the ones they cohabited with for such a long time. The more I unravel about the war between Light and Dark, the consequences that sprang to life after the defeat of the Light, the more blurred it all becomes. Humans doted on the Light and told stories about the good old times and how wonderful life used to be.
I am unfamiliar with much of the world, and my mother doesn’t share any knowledge, though I wonder if she knows this much. When Emrys shares stories of this world, I hang on to his every word, eager to digest it all.
We haven’t returned to the city since the attack; instead, we have remained in the castle, trying to keep away from the violence, my brother Fynn, and Elijah. There is no news of additional attempts, and word has spread that a dhampir is part of the human group, the Hunters. The Blood Witch encountered him after putting up magical wards around the city to keep humans out. I’m sure the witches and vampires residing in Valorya have also taken other precautions, but the element of surprise is now lost.Elijah is a hunter.All I feel is loathing as it crosses my mind; my core coils at the idea of sharing a life with him, giving my body to him—a man who willingly kills and destroys, following a dhampir, a supernatural creature. The irony is not lost on me.
Emrys shows no bother when it comes to this Dhampir, a child of a human, usually a woman, and a vampire, despite its strength, its instinct to kill what is part of itself. Intelligent creatures, Emrys has called them, not one to test its powers against a being that could wipe its existence with one blow if itdesired to do so, such as himself. I am still not entirely familiar with Emrys’s powers. But he speaks of the Dhampir as if he can make him vanish like a mere pest, which is reassuring. All I know is that Emrys is either avoided like the plague or worshipped like an ancient God, regardless of his age, often younger than most vampires or even Blood Witches. Even the First Quarter witch does not dare to challenge him; seeing the male witch work with the Death Witch, it is evident that Emrys outranks them all.
It's the first time we've taken the time to roam outside; the weather is damp instead of the constant rain we've had lately. Emrys insisted we’d go outside and breathe in some fresh air. As we traverse the lush landscape, the flowers and trees flourish after the constant downpour, and a statue catches my attention. The gray stone is weathered, with a rough surface and moss covering part of its face. Its lower part is overgrown with regular ivy, which is overtaking it. A red fluid flows from the eyes of the stone sculpture, dripping on the leaves and falling to the ground, where I see a crimson spot. Astonished, I turn to Emrys.
