back.
“ I will,” Marquette says, interpreting his expression.
Carrig frowns. “Imogen will be awaiting my return. I can sustain myself until then.”
Marquette frowns. “Speed is critical.”
She moves to him as Baird holds Siana, who watches and says nothing.
Carrig does not move, letting the Druid approach him.
When she draws near him, his breaths come hard and fast in anticipation. Her hand moves to his chest. Carrig winces, and she snatches her hand away.
Carrig grabs it.
“ Whatever you do, do it quickly,” Titus says, his eyes on the paling horizon.
Carrig ignores him, drawing the Druid against him gently. “I am sorry. I hunger, and it is not your body that I love, that I crave.”
“She knows,” Siana says softly. “She but tries to ease you, warrior.”
Carrig lets his forehead fall upon Marquette’s. Their flesh presses together.
“Use me, Carrig the brave.”
His breath hitches once, twice.
Carrig's head dips, his lips brushing across hers. When the thud of her pulse can be seen beneath his lips, he does not move his head.
Fangs punch from inside him, piercing her skin.
“Ah! Hurts,” Marquette whispers.
Titus moves around the pair. “Give me your eyes, Druid.”
Marquette's wide eyes seek Titus, and Carrig tightens his hold on her small body.
Titus stares at the Druid as Carrig suckles at her throat.
A talon elongates from Titus’s index finger.
Baird knows what will happen, but not if the Druid desires it.
“She is not in her right mind,” Baird says.
It is Siana who says, “Let her have pleasure during a painful feeding.”
Titus nods. With his left hand, he plucks her skirt high, inserting the talon on his right hand gently into her pussy. With small strokes, Titus distracts Marquette enough from the pain of the feed.
Marquette's eyes widen, her breathing becoming ragged. “Yes.”
Carrig pulls a final bit of blood from her throat as Titus gives a last stroke high and deep inside her now-slick channel.
Marquette cries out once, the whole of her vibrating from a release so powerful, it leaves her body limp. Carrig catches her, sealing the points of his entry.
Titus removes his talon.
“ You have the pleasure nub,” Carrig says, surprise lighting his expression. He eyes the talon that melts back to be hidden by a plain fingertip.
“ I am Faction. Which really means I am mixed, Exotic—and other.”
“ Reaper,” Baird comments. “That trait is not known amongst other species.”
“ True.” Carrig gives Titus a thoughtful look, but Titus’s eyes are all for Marquette.
“ How are you now, Druid?” Titus asks.
Marquette is boneless in Carrig’s arms. “I am well.” She smiles at Titus. “Very well.”
“And for that, I am glad.”
Carrig keeps Marquette against his body and Titus watches, a grim look on his face.
Baird frowns.
He wonders if Titus has come to terms with her eventual fate to breed a Reaper. Maybe, if circumstances were different, she could be bred by a rogue. There were some who were worthy, but why waste a breeder if there were no certainty of possible daywalker lineage?
“ Shall we go?” one of the other Druid females asks, her palm sweeping toward a horizon gone white with the coming dawn.
As if on cue, Carrig's skin begins to smolder.
They cannot move with vampiric speed; the Druid females could not keep up. Except for one.
Siana now stood on her own two feet.
“What say you?” Baird asks.
“ I say I will be most grateful to stop and rest.”
Siana turns toward the Reaper's lair, and they move through the woods, keeping to the shadows which linger before the coming day.
*
Baird spies the great doors of the Reaper stronghold and whistles an unusual bird call, a signal.
In response, the sliding chain moves through the circular port, beginning to pull the doors open. Baird moves quickly, leaping from shadow to shadow.
Carrig turns, his eyes light inside a face blackened like soot. “Take her!” he
“ I will,” Marquette says, interpreting his expression.
Carrig frowns. “Imogen will be awaiting my return. I can sustain myself until then.”
Marquette frowns. “Speed is critical.”
She moves to him as Baird holds Siana, who watches and says nothing.
Carrig does not move, letting the Druid approach him.
When she draws near him, his breaths come hard and fast in anticipation. Her hand moves to his chest. Carrig winces, and she snatches her hand away.
Carrig grabs it.
“ Whatever you do, do it quickly,” Titus says, his eyes on the paling horizon.
Carrig ignores him, drawing the Druid against him gently. “I am sorry. I hunger, and it is not your body that I love, that I crave.”
“She knows,” Siana says softly. “She but tries to ease you, warrior.”
Carrig lets his forehead fall upon Marquette’s. Their flesh presses together.
“Use me, Carrig the brave.”
His breath hitches once, twice.
Carrig's head dips, his lips brushing across hers. When the thud of her pulse can be seen beneath his lips, he does not move his head.
Fangs punch from inside him, piercing her skin.
“Ah! Hurts,” Marquette whispers.
Titus moves around the pair. “Give me your eyes, Druid.”
Marquette's wide eyes seek Titus, and Carrig tightens his hold on her small body.
Titus stares at the Druid as Carrig suckles at her throat.
A talon elongates from Titus’s index finger.
Baird knows what will happen, but not if the Druid desires it.
“She is not in her right mind,” Baird says.
It is Siana who says, “Let her have pleasure during a painful feeding.”
Titus nods. With his left hand, he plucks her skirt high, inserting the talon on his right hand gently into her pussy. With small strokes, Titus distracts Marquette enough from the pain of the feed.
Marquette's eyes widen, her breathing becoming ragged. “Yes.”
Carrig pulls a final bit of blood from her throat as Titus gives a last stroke high and deep inside her now-slick channel.
Marquette cries out once, the whole of her vibrating from a release so powerful, it leaves her body limp. Carrig catches her, sealing the points of his entry.
Titus removes his talon.
“ You have the pleasure nub,” Carrig says, surprise lighting his expression. He eyes the talon that melts back to be hidden by a plain fingertip.
“ I am Faction. Which really means I am mixed, Exotic—and other.”
“ Reaper,” Baird comments. “That trait is not known amongst other species.”
“ True.” Carrig gives Titus a thoughtful look, but Titus’s eyes are all for Marquette.
“ How are you now, Druid?” Titus asks.
Marquette is boneless in Carrig’s arms. “I am well.” She smiles at Titus. “Very well.”
“And for that, I am glad.”
Carrig keeps Marquette against his body and Titus watches, a grim look on his face.
Baird frowns.
He wonders if Titus has come to terms with her eventual fate to breed a Reaper. Maybe, if circumstances were different, she could be bred by a rogue. There were some who were worthy, but why waste a breeder if there were no certainty of possible daywalker lineage?
“ Shall we go?” one of the other Druid females asks, her palm sweeping toward a horizon gone white with the coming dawn.
As if on cue, Carrig's skin begins to smolder.
They cannot move with vampiric speed; the Druid females could not keep up. Except for one.
Siana now stood on her own two feet.
“What say you?” Baird asks.
“ I say I will be most grateful to stop and rest.”
Siana turns toward the Reaper's lair, and they move through the woods, keeping to the shadows which linger before the coming day.
*
Baird spies the great doors of the Reaper stronghold and whistles an unusual bird call, a signal.
In response, the sliding chain moves through the circular port, beginning to pull the doors open. Baird moves quickly, leaping from shadow to shadow.
Carrig turns, his eyes light inside a face blackened like soot. “Take her!” he
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