still there.
Tosh raised an eyebrow. “Uh …”
She reached behind her back, untied her dress. “You didn’t think The Wounded Bird’s hospitality was limited to food and drink, did you?”
“I … uh …”
She let the dress fall. Naked. Darshia’s skin was impossibly white, like fresh snowfall, nipples bright as raspberries. She pulled her coppery hair loose and it fell in waves past her shoulders. The red patch between her legs had been cropped into a narrow strip.
The less-exhausted parts of Tosh’s anatomy immediately rose to the occasion.
Darshia climbed onto the bed, straddled him. His hands immediately went to her plush backside. She leaned toward the small table next to the bed, and one of her pendulous breasts brushed Tosh’s face. He went dizzy. She blew out the lamp.
In the total darkness, he felt fingers tugging at his belt.
“Just relax,” Darshia whispered. “Let me do all the work.”
* * *
Some hours later, Tosh felt soft hands shake him roughly by the shoulders.
“Wake up! Hurry!” Darshia’s voice, a frantic whisper.
Tosh tangled naked in the sheets. It took him a moment to remember where he was. Ah, yes, lovely, lovely Darshia and her talented hands and amazing mouth and soft, creamy—
“Get up! Now!”
“A moment, my love,” Tosh mumbled. “I can be ready for you in a moment, I promise.” The woman was hungry for more? Well, who was Tosh to refuse a lady?
“Not that , idiot. Wake up.”
It donned on Tosh that something untoward was afoot.
He sat up in bed, rubbed his eyes. “What’s going on?”
She shoved his clothes into his hands. “The Perranese are here.”
He stood abruptly, attempted to put on his pants.
“No time.” She grabbed his arm, dragged him to a small closet and opened the door.
“Don’t you think they’ll look in the closet?”
She ignored him, knelt and pried up the floorboards inside the closet. There was a ladder underneath, leading down into darkness. “Get in.”
“Where does that—”
“Get in!”
He got in.
Hear heard Darshia replacing the floorboards overhead as he descended into darkness, fumbling to keep hold of his clothes and boots. Ten seconds later, the ladder ran out, his foot dangling in midair. The floor might have been two inches below or fifty feet.
Tosh was still trying to decide what to do next when strong hands grabbed him roughly from behind, another hairy paw clamping down over his mouth.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Rina watched the snow devils, appraising them deliberately even as they bore down on her, snarling, from the steep slope to the side and up the stone steps in front of her. She understood how fast they were moving, closing quickly, a deadly and efficient hunter pack.
But she watched them in slow motion—the tufts of hair curving out and up from their foreheads like horns which earned them the devil name. The flat, apelike faces, curved tusks, long arms and gangly legs propelling them through the snow. Their high-pitched wails echoed through the valley.
The lead snow devil, the bull, leapt for her.
She was already spinning, cutting it in half across the chest, blood spraying in a fine mist. Rina came around again to catch the second one at the neck, its head popping off in a fountain of gore.
The third understood in some animal way that this prey was not as easy as it had first seemed and hesitated, thought about retreating even as the point of Kork’s sword entered its chest and came out the back in a wet, bloody splatter. To Rina, the Fyrian’s sword felt like an extension of her own body—natural, easy. It was her sword now.
She withdrew it from the snow devil’s body just in time to wheel on the two coming down the slope.
Rina laughed. In the last few hours, events had given her many reasons to cry, but she set aside those thoughts until later and delighted at the ease with which she had dispatched the snow devils.
A sword through the throat. She withdrew it in a spray of blood,
Tosh raised an eyebrow. “Uh …”
She reached behind her back, untied her dress. “You didn’t think The Wounded Bird’s hospitality was limited to food and drink, did you?”
“I … uh …”
She let the dress fall. Naked. Darshia’s skin was impossibly white, like fresh snowfall, nipples bright as raspberries. She pulled her coppery hair loose and it fell in waves past her shoulders. The red patch between her legs had been cropped into a narrow strip.
The less-exhausted parts of Tosh’s anatomy immediately rose to the occasion.
Darshia climbed onto the bed, straddled him. His hands immediately went to her plush backside. She leaned toward the small table next to the bed, and one of her pendulous breasts brushed Tosh’s face. He went dizzy. She blew out the lamp.
In the total darkness, he felt fingers tugging at his belt.
“Just relax,” Darshia whispered. “Let me do all the work.”
* * *
Some hours later, Tosh felt soft hands shake him roughly by the shoulders.
“Wake up! Hurry!” Darshia’s voice, a frantic whisper.
Tosh tangled naked in the sheets. It took him a moment to remember where he was. Ah, yes, lovely, lovely Darshia and her talented hands and amazing mouth and soft, creamy—
“Get up! Now!”
“A moment, my love,” Tosh mumbled. “I can be ready for you in a moment, I promise.” The woman was hungry for more? Well, who was Tosh to refuse a lady?
“Not that , idiot. Wake up.”
It donned on Tosh that something untoward was afoot.
He sat up in bed, rubbed his eyes. “What’s going on?”
She shoved his clothes into his hands. “The Perranese are here.”
He stood abruptly, attempted to put on his pants.
“No time.” She grabbed his arm, dragged him to a small closet and opened the door.
“Don’t you think they’ll look in the closet?”
She ignored him, knelt and pried up the floorboards inside the closet. There was a ladder underneath, leading down into darkness. “Get in.”
“Where does that—”
“Get in!”
He got in.
Hear heard Darshia replacing the floorboards overhead as he descended into darkness, fumbling to keep hold of his clothes and boots. Ten seconds later, the ladder ran out, his foot dangling in midair. The floor might have been two inches below or fifty feet.
Tosh was still trying to decide what to do next when strong hands grabbed him roughly from behind, another hairy paw clamping down over his mouth.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Rina watched the snow devils, appraising them deliberately even as they bore down on her, snarling, from the steep slope to the side and up the stone steps in front of her. She understood how fast they were moving, closing quickly, a deadly and efficient hunter pack.
But she watched them in slow motion—the tufts of hair curving out and up from their foreheads like horns which earned them the devil name. The flat, apelike faces, curved tusks, long arms and gangly legs propelling them through the snow. Their high-pitched wails echoed through the valley.
The lead snow devil, the bull, leapt for her.
She was already spinning, cutting it in half across the chest, blood spraying in a fine mist. Rina came around again to catch the second one at the neck, its head popping off in a fountain of gore.
The third understood in some animal way that this prey was not as easy as it had first seemed and hesitated, thought about retreating even as the point of Kork’s sword entered its chest and came out the back in a wet, bloody splatter. To Rina, the Fyrian’s sword felt like an extension of her own body—natural, easy. It was her sword now.
She withdrew it from the snow devil’s body just in time to wheel on the two coming down the slope.
Rina laughed. In the last few hours, events had given her many reasons to cry, but she set aside those thoughts until later and delighted at the ease with which she had dispatched the snow devils.
A sword through the throat. She withdrew it in a spray of blood,
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