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

They had just… disappeared.

Chest tight with anxiety, Delyth drew Calamity without pausing to calm herself, and the sword played on her anger eagerly.

Enyo’s wanted him for ages, it seemed to whisper, and now you’ve let them slip away.

Delyth tore away in the direction the sword pulled her, heart hammering with red words. She would find them. Find them and tear him in two.

Only, even when the sword pulled her straight down, Delyth still could not see them. The trees here grew thick over the ground below. With a growl, she folded her wings and dropped into them, tearing through leaves and small branches.

When she got far enough down to see them, Tristan was clothed in nothing but his skin, standing above a river where Enyo swam. Even as she watched, he readied himself to jump.

Delyth’s grip around the sword tightened, any thought of fighting its pull wholly forgotten. When Tristan jumped, so did she.

They collided mid-air, the sudden force of Delyth’s leap, throwing them both back, away from the river. Tristan was up surprisingly fast for having been ambushed so thoroughly, but Delyth didn’t stop. She dropped the sword, balled her fist, and slugged him in the mouth.

Her teeth were bared, eyes wild. She pulled back for another blow.

But, without the sword in contact with her skin, she could see through the fog. Alphonse was still here. She would see this.

Tristan spat blood at her feet while Delyth struggled to calm herself. “Alright, you big winged bitch, let’s play.”

She looked at him, naked and growling, and somehow, her desire to pummel him faded. He was away from Alphonse. She’d got there in time.

Instead, Delyth just snorted derisively and turned her back on him.

Shestooped to pick up the sword and straightened to find Enyo stepping naked from the river. Her hair was slick and dark from water. Beads of it raced over the pale skin of her breasts and thighs as she moved, catching the hints of sunlight filtered by the branches overhead.

Gods, Alphonse was beautiful.

And it wasn’t fucking fair.

Why did Enyo have to be the one stepping wet and naked into such a mild day, her gaze glued to Tristan?

Delyth closed her eyes and looked skyward for the unjustness of it all, her shoulders tensed with frustration.

When she turned to look again, Enyo’s body was brushing Tristan’s, her hand clenched around his chin. It wasn’t an affectionate touch. Even from this distance, Delyth could see Enyo’s fingers flex with force, Tristan’s skin paling around the little points of pressure.

Gods. She was going to kiss him.

Delyth halved the space between herself and where they stood, her eyes wild, only to be stopped as Enyo spoke.

“You’re bleeding,” the Goddess said, and there was a raw, half-starved note to her voice reminiscent of a hunting animal.

It was the blood. She wanted blood.

And she had told Delyth, all those weeks ago, that the children of Moaz had virile blood.

In desperation, Delyth unsheathed her dagger and slid it hurriedly across her palm, opening far deeper a cut than necessary.

“Taouk,” she said with a grunt of pain. “I would like to make an offering.”

⚄

Tristan’s lips opened in anticipation, Enyo’s mouth only inches away from his. He knew the hunger in her eyes, the ferocity, but he didn’t care. He wanted her kiss. Wanted her.

Her fingers were bright points of pain, digging into his jaw, but he didn’t mind. Not when she was moving closer.

He could feel her breath upon his skin.

And then, she was wheeling away, careening almost drunkenly towards the priestess, her lips still parted. Tristan was dragged stumbling after her, Enyo’s nails catching in the skin of his face.

Even with the Goddess turned away from him, he understood the sudden hesitation in her frame. Did she want blood spilled in battle, or an offering, willingly made?

He hardly thought the priestess would have had it in her, but he knew he had lost the moment Enyo’s claws left his face. She all but appeared at Delyth’s side, grinning and breathing deep as she scooped up Delyth’s hand. She immediately brought it to her lips, anticipation no longer enough to sate her.  Sounds both carnal and surprisingly placid erupted as Enyo slurped on the blood.

Tristan wiped a hand across his mouth, smearing red ichor from his lips. Already, four small bruises formed along the left side of his jaw, one slightly larger on the right. He watched Delyth and Enyo with disgust.

Both women had fallen to their knees, but while the smooth slope of Enyo’s bare back was soft with the pleasure of blood, Delyth was the picture of discomfort. The muscles along her neck were tensed in pain, her face pale and turned away. It was as though she could not bear the thought of precious Alphonse burying her face in blood.

Served the bitch right. Tristan had never seen a priestess of any God purposefully mutilate her own flesh to stop the God from feeding on another. The Gods took what they wanted, and that was that.

But then, Delyth wasn’t really a devotee, was she? Just a spiteful, jealous lover.

Idiot. She fought for the body of a dying woman, soon to be replaced. Let her enjoy what ‘ministrations’ her little bird gave her now.

Fuming, Tristan turned away and clothed himself. It had been enough of a blow to his pride to be struck down naked. He wasn’t going to wait around and watch Enyo choose the mutt over him. And perhaps, after all, Etienne would be around to toy with.

⥣          ⥣           ⥣

All afternoon, after Delyth and Enyo returned from the woods, Tristan walked at the front of the group. Etienne didn’t mind. The man’s temper was vile, even more so after the morning’s run than before it. He’d stumbled back from some hidden path, face bruised and clothes mussed only to turn on Etienne, spitting insults like poison sucked from a wound.

For hours, though,