Vassal by Sterling D'Este (ebook reader computer TXT) 📕

Taking the glove, she sniffed it as one might inhale the essence of a bloom and growled appreciatively. “You’re a wretched, terrible boy,” she murmured, the words purred compliments. She inhaled once more then handed the gloves back. “Did you enjoy the battle yesterday?” Clearly, she had.

Tristan’s grin widened. “Their trick wasn’t very good, was it?”

The bandit’s pitiful attempt to ambush them from behind had done nothing to help them. They should have given up their ridiculous notion of letting the travelers go free if they gave up their things. It might have been less of a pitched contest if they had just attacked entirely by surprise.

Then, maybe Enyo would have gotten a few more. He doubted even the priestess would have been so easy with Alphonse had her mouth been dripping with sinew.

Ah well. “It was nice to punish them for it, to prove that we’d not fallen for their little ruse.”

❂

Enyo’s arm dropped away from the tree, and she slunk over to Tristan, her body loose and easy. Had anyone realized she had been getting wound tighter and tighter? The bloodletting had been a release for the Goddess.

Now, she glowed.

He reminded her of Va'al in all the right ways. Smart, cunning, ruthless, wicked. Perhaps he was a descendant.

Perhaps he’d be more…

The Goddess curled up against his chest, rubbing her cheekacross his body affectionately. Like a wild animal greeting one of the pack.

Or marking her territory.

Those hands, which had so easily punched through a man and yanked out his heart, slipped about the belt at his waist, pulling it closer...

“Well then…” Tristan took Enyo’s hips in wide hands and ran them up her sides. “I guess that was the answer you were looking for.”

Tristen pressed one hand up beneath tawny locks to grip a fistful of hair just behind the Goddess’s skull, pulling her head back to look at him. Then he kissed her, hard and demanding.

She actually gasped, startled by the sudden grab. Her face contorted in feral temper only to be tamed by his ferocity.She growled deep in her throat and yanked Tristan’s hips closer with enough force to make him stumble.

Then, she was climbing him like he was one of her many beloved trees, arms wrapped about his neck, kissing him ravishingly as her legs locked about his hips.

Enyo peeled herself away long enough to bite cruelly against his throat, perhaps thinking for a moment to rip out that lovely voice.

⚄

Tristan clenched his jaw at the press of Enyo’s sharp teeth, lips locked in a smile. He gripped her thighs where she wrapped around him and shoved her against the tree where he’d been leaning.

By all the fucking realms, why did she have to be wearing so many clothes?

Tristan growled, the sound coming deep from his chest, and yanked at the folds of the dress where they hung from Enyo’s knees, struggling to shove them back, up and over her waist. He’d made some progress too when someone shouted incoherently behind them.

Tristan half-turned his head, preparing for some violent blow from Delyth, but only the boy stood there, pale-faced and wide-eyed. He chuckled. “Shoo, little mage. The adults are talking.”

From where she was pinned against the tree, Enyo was squirming, trying her best to unlatch Tristan’s belt. She leaned forward to run the tip of her tongue up his neck and along his ear, uninterested in their audience.

“You know mages, they like to watch,” she murmured into Tristan’s ear, one hand creeping below the neckline of his shirt at the back of his neck. Perhaps giving Etienne a little show.

✶

Etienne had never been a violent person, but as Tristan laughed at whatever Enyo had murmured in his ear, he wished for a sword as wicked as Calamity to drive through the other man’s back.

“You— you can’t—” he sputtered, the words sounding pathetic even to his ears.

Tristan and Enyo didn’t care that he was here, wouldn’t so much as give him the respect of hesitating.

Delyth, at least, could have made them listen.

Tristan’s word’s from the day before came back to him, ringing through his ears like some macabre nursery rhyme: You couldn’t save her. You couldn’t save her. You couldn’t save her.

And there was nothing he could do this time either, but let some shitty excuse for a thief and a bastard use his best friend’s body while he stood there, useless.

Etienne gripped big handfuls of his own hair, tugging at his scalp. He had no supplies for spells, and any magic would only set the Goddess off. Should he go get Delyth? Would she get there in time?

He couldn’t leave, couldn’t leave Alphonse alone with Enyo and Tristan.

But maybe… maybe he could do what Delyth would?

Etienne reached for the simple eating knife at his belt and slid the blade across his palm in a searing line of pain. His blood ran freely, red and glaring.

What was it that Delyth called Enyo?

“Taouk.” Etienne’s voice shook. “I would like to make an offering.”

❂

Enyo had very nearly gotten that unwieldy belt unlatched when the smell of blood hit her. She stiffened and peered over Tristan’s shoulder with wide eyes. They were filled with lust and hunger.

Each impulse warred within her and the Goddess growled, nibbling Tristan’s neck with her eyes clamped on Etienne. The mage had never offered her blood before. And even as sated as she was from yesterday’s fun…

He was a powerful mage. A death speaker too. His blood might be particularly potent. Each sacrifice was making her stronger, Alphonse weaker, Enyo’s control cementing and complete.

When would she get the chance again?

Her hand at Tristan’s belt slipped lower, brushing against the length of him, hard and ready, and separated only by clothes. She moaned.

Etienne’s blood was pooling in his palm. But Tristan was so firm and terribly mannered…

The coppery tang of blood filled her nostrils, filled her mind. How could she think straight?

Tristan leaned his head back and huffed in need or frustration. His hands still tugged at Alphonse’s dress.

Etienne stepped forward, his eyes desperate. He