“I love you,” she panted. “I love you, Akraz, I love you, I love you!”
To the beat of those sweet lies, rapture poured through him, and out of him, and emptied him of himself as his cum spurted hot and deep into her pulsating cunt.
“I love you, I love you,” she said over and over, even after he collapsed on top of her. He buried his face in her hair, wanting to weep. He had ordered her to say it, just as he had ordered her to pleasure him a thousand perverse ways this evening. She had obeyed, to save her life and the life of the elf lord she truly loved. Her compliance, her need for him, addicted him like wine. She awakened in him all his darkest possessiveness and lust. But he could not fool himself. Declarations made under coercion meant nothing.
“I love you,” she moaned into his neck. He did not have the heart to silence her.
But he knew better than to believe her.
Chapter Ten
Akraz rolled off Laya. He had fucked her fully dressed, but now he removed his black tunic to give to her. She wiggled into it. The hem reached her thighs. She looked as striking in black as in white.
A flutter of black wings interrupted his reverie. A black swan landed on the rampart and transformed into an ebon-haired beauty with purple eyes. She wore black gloves, a high-collared black dress, and a hooded, floor-length black cape.
In his arms, Laya stirred and tried to collect herself. “Strathgora?”
“I have come to collect,” said the wizard’s daughter with a weird smile.
“Collect?” Akraz asked sharply.
“The dress, of course,” said Strathgora. “It belongs to the Garden collection. It’s magic you know. Not easily replaced.”
Laya pried herself from Akraz’s protective embrace. She picked up the dress where Akraz had dropped it and glanced down ruefully at the tatters of the once exquisite gown. The bodice and skirt had been ripped open. The white silk brocade and frilly petticoats were soiled with wine and semen.
“I’m afraid it’s rather ruined,” Laya said in a small voice. She glanced sidelong at Akraz. “I’m sorry, I never expected…”
“I did,” interrupted Strathgora. “Why do you think I gave you the bodice-ripper? I haven’t all night. Give it back.”
With a shrug, Laya handed the torn dress to Strathgora, who received it with a black-gloved hand. She shook the tatters in her hands, once, twice and thrice, and the material began to sparkle and billow. Within moments, where rags had been, the shining white gown hung in Strathgora’s hands, as crisp and full as new.
“Oh!” exclaimed Laya. “That is magic.”
“Yes.” Strathgora set aside the dress and drew off her black gloves. “It was a wedding dress fashioned by the wizard Zagor the Cruel, who married a new woman every night and had her murdered in her wedding gown. You can understand that with that many brides, he didn’t want to deal with the expense of buying a new dress each time.”
“What a charming story,” Laya said faintly. “Why are you removing your gloves?”
“Don’t worry, my dear, I won’t harm you,” said Strathgora. “I intend to do you a favor in fact, and kill the brute here who spent the night ravaging you. Of course, after that I will let you take the blame for his murder, and the subsequent wrath of my father.”
“You won’t get away with it, Strathgora,” Akraz warned. He should have seen this coming, he cursed himself. All his scheming would have been for naught if Strathgora eliminated him now.
“Will the brave Goblin General try to run from the touch of a young girl?” mocked Strathgora, advancing on him with her arms stretched out like an eager lover. “Don’t forget I also have a winged form.”
“If I die from poison, everyone will know you committed the crime, not the elf wench.”
“I’ll wrap the leash you used on her around your throat to suggest she strangled you. Chief Yaguz will perform the investigation, and if he discovers any discrepancies, he won’t care.”
“But why?” cried Laya. “Why are you doing this, Strathgora? What have we ever done to you?”
“It’s not what we’ve done,” said Akraz. “It’s what I know. Isn’t it, Strathgora?”
“It’s what you know I know, to be precise,” she said. “I cannot let you tell my father that I overheard his plans for my future. He must think me ignorant if I am to counter him.”
“There’s another way, Strathgora,” Akraz said, his mind racing. It was not what he had planned, but if he could only convince this heartless bitch… “Help us escape. Me, Laya and the elf Lathaniel who is a prisoner in the tower.”
“You must be mad.”
“Then we’ll be gone, no threat to you.”
“You’ll be no threat to me dead, and that’s quite a bit simpler than trying to sneak three people out of Mount Murk,” Strathgora pointed out with undeniable logic. She lifted her hand to his face and held it a mere breath away from his cheek. Akraz stood very still.
“I plan to betray your father to the other side,” he said, gambling everything. “I am going to warn the elves about his imminent attack on Sylvindell and offer them a way to counter it.”
He heard Laya gasp in surprise beside him, but he did not dare wrench his eyes from Strathgora.
“This is your selling point?” she asked dryly.
“Your father will not dare offer you as a virgin bride to the Dark God in the wake of a humiliating defeat,” Akraz said. “It will buy you time to plan your own future. Unless you want to be Queen of the Thirteen Hells.”
Strathgora shuddered. She was, after all, Akraz reminded himself, quite young. She let her hand fall away from him. Thoughtfully, she replaced her gloves.
“Why the elf in the tower? I can get you two out right now, but he is under guard. My father isn’t done playing with him.”
Because Laya loves him. “Three, or no deal.”
“Very well. But you two must leave first, now, while I have you here. It will take me longer to reach the third one, but he will join you later.”
Akraz hesitated. Nothing would stop her from going back on her word, if she even understood the concept of a word of honor. But he hesitated to push his luck any further.
“Agreed.”
Strathgora slipped her hand into a pocket on the inside of her cape from whence she procured two tiny vials. “Drink this. It will turn you each into birds. Fly due west for the rest of the night, but land before sunrise. The magic will wear off with the changeover of the light. If you forget to land, you will plummet to your deaths. I saw it happen to a white swan once. It took us a week to clean up the mess.” She wrinkled her nose.
Akraz took the vials. At least he didn’t need to speculate if they contained poison. Strathgora would not need to bother. He handed one vial to Laya.
“On the count of three?” He raised an inquiring brow. Laya nodded. “One…two…three!”
They swallowed the potion.
Akraz had expected them to become swans, like the captives in the Garden of Poisons, or Strathgora herself. Instead, they became two eagles. He gave silent thanks for the power and wingspan of eagle form as they flew, for they had but six hours before dawn to fly past the regions of Chavana under the control of Zathstragomal’s minions.
They could not speak to one another, but with screams they urged one another on to a final burst of speed as the eastern horizon began to lighten. They could see the campfires and tents of an army in the hills ahead. The question was, whose army? Akraz recognized the banners of several human lords, but that told him nothing. Had the soldiers of these lords submitted to Zathstragomal, or did they represent a strike force loyal to the Lost King?
Akraz wanted to fly past the army, just to be on the safe side. The first rays of light peeked over the edge of the earth already, however, and he could feel his wings tingle. Even if dawn had not threatened them, Akraz could see that Laya was exhausted. They dared fly no further.