50: Endings

[Start from the beginning]

The city was beginning to return to normal after the horrific recent events. Little, it seemed, could subdue the people of Haredil for long. Commerce was essential, and the city's inhabitants had lives to lead, even after the temporary inconvenience of a plague of zombies. The market was open again, sellers hawking their wares, and, for the most part, there had been very little structural damage.

And yet, if you knew the city as well as Almandar did, you could tell that it had not yet quite got over the shock. It had been only two days after all, and, if you looked carefully, you could see the haunted expressions on some of the faces, the nervous glances that tried to remain well-hidden. Trade might be going on, but it was a little less raucous than usual. Many had lost loved ones or friends, and much of the previous day had been spent cleaning bodies from the streets. That was something that nobody could forget in a hurry.

Of course, he was one of the few who had any idea what had really happened. For the rest, there was no clear indication that the undead would not return. Last night had been quiet indeed, everyone barricaded inside, lest it should all happen again. A few pointed to the double Lunar eclipse, saying that that had somehow magically caused the dead to rise, but others pointed out – quite rightly – that they didn't really know that. Nobody was even sure quite where the dead had risen from, and there was no good explanation as to why they had vanished so suddenly.

Almandar knew the truth, of course, but there was no way he could tell anyone. They would demand to know why he had not issued a warning, and the fact that he hadn't known the full details, or known the time of the crisis until it had happened wasn't something that would be likely to go down well. Emotions were running high, and he did not want to risk a confrontation. And he had never become an adventurer simply for the glory.

So it was with something of a sense of guilt that he now walked the streets of the city, one of many lost in their own thoughts, yet reassuring himself that it still stood. In the long run, nothing would change, the events would pass into history and folklore, as so many had before. Haredil would go on, because it always did.

"Please help me!"

A woman had grabbed his arm, holding on tightly. So lost had he been in his reverie, he had not even seen her approach. In fact, he was not sure entirely where he was… close to the merchant's quarter, perhaps, but he could not put an immediate name to the street he had wandered down.

"What's the matter?"

She was a youngish woman, slender with dark hair and a rather haunted expression, lines on a face that would otherwise have been pretty. Somehow, he felt that she had seen more in her life than anyone of that age should have had to. Her clothing was plain and simple, the sort favoured by servants or junior clerks. She was clearly distressed, and he could not help but feel that it might, in a way, be his own fault.

"Just come!" she said, pulling at his arm, her face turned away from him, looking towards the corner at the end of the street. Her voice seemed desperate, anxious.

It had to be something to do with the undead attack, surely? Some legacy of his failure to deal with the issue before it turned to bloodshed. The feeling of guilt spurred him on, allowed her to pull him forward.

"What's your name?" he asked, as they half ran down the street, turning onto a wider avenue that was more familiar to him, "what has happened?"

She didn't reply, and he didn't stop to wonder why she had picked him, when there had to have been a dozen people closer to the building they were now approaching. If this was something he had been responsible for, even if indirectly, he had to make amends. The woman almost pushed him towards the door, which was standing half open.

"Quickly!" she said, "please! He's at the back!"

He stepped inside, finding the corridor undecorated. There was a door at the far end, and another on the side, opposite a staircase that ran to the upper floor. There would likely be a kitchen at the back, but he still wasn't clear what the problem was. Deciding that, with the woman approaching hysteria, it was more useful to see what was happening than to quiz her, he hurried on down the passageway towards the door.

There was a sudden sting in his neck.

He stopped, reaching for the source of the pain. A small dart was stuck there, buried into the flesh. He looked in that direction: staircase. Looked up: a figure darting out of view.

He lunged for the stairs, but his legs felt suddenly weak, and he stumbled.

"I'm sorry… so sorry," said the woman, and he turned to see her looking mortified, in his direction, just before his legs gave way entirely.

Numbness was spreading through his body. It had to be some rapid acting poison! He cursed himself for his gullibility, but there was nothing he could do. How had he got himself into this, alone and unguarded?

"I'd run if I were you," said a woman's voice from upstairs, "I'd run as far from this city as you can, and never come back."

His captor took one last look in his direction, her dark eyes pools of regret, and, yes, her look said something of a deep, unspoken pain. Then she bolted out of the door. He wondered who she was, as mist filled his vision, and his eyes fluttered shut.

The last thing he heard was footsteps coming down the stairs.

──◊──
Almandar woke lying on his side on a wooden floor. At first, he was groggy, vision blurred and his limbs still refusing to move at his command. Somebody else was walking about in the room, soft leather soles making a distinctive, yet quiet, sound against the floorboards. He couldn't see them, not yet.

The footfalls stopped. "Ah, you're coming round," said a voice, the same one he had heard from the upper floor of the building.

"Wh… whhherrgh…." His tongue and lips were responding little better than any of the rest of him.

"Shouldn't be long now," the voice informed him, and he was able to turn his head fractionally in her direction. He could see a pair of leather boots, but nothing else. "I'd just wait, until you get some feeling back in your limbs. Drow drugs; they're really rather useful."

Even as she spoke, some feeling was returning. He realised that his hands were bound together, the cords digging tightly into his wrists. His legs didn't seem to be similarly restrained, but without his hands, he couldn't cast spells, and, whoever she was, she presumably knew that.

And just who could she be, anyway? Nobody else knew about his involvement with defeating the Presence, and, if anyone had known enough to target him, they would probably know enough to be at least grudgingly grateful. Drugging him and tying him up seemed a little extreme.

Unless the Presence still had allies, of course, he thought with a cold chill of fear. There had been thirteen people entering the Rotunda, according to Calleslyn and the others, and there had been twelve bodies by the time the night was over. They had been told that the thirteenth had fled, but what if that wasn't wholly accurate? That had been a woman, hadn't it? What if she'd changed her mind, and come back for revenge?

The thought was decidedly worrying, especially since nobody would have any idea where he was.

He felt a sharp tingling in his legs as the circulation began to return to normal, and he was able to force himself up onto his knees, arms still a little wobbly, but basically functional. He shook his head, finding his vision fully restored, and took a good look around.

He was in a large, windowless, room. Too large for the building he had just been in, unless it occupied the entire upper floor, which seemed unlikely. The floor was well polished, made of high quality wood, and the walls panelled with expensive engravings. There were some well upholstered chairs in the corners, but they weren't being used. The only light came from up above, a skylight, showing that it was still day outside.

His captor was standing in front of him. She was nobody he had ever seen before, a woman a little shorter than himself, dressed in tight leathers with a black hooded cloak. A shortsword hung in a scabbard from her belt, and the hilt of a short dagger peaked from the top of one high boot. He could tell, by the way she bore herself, that she was competent and adept, perhaps with as much experience of combat as he had.

Her hair, what he could see of it below the hood, was a rich brown, but her skin was pale, as if she rarely saw the sun – something quite difficult in Haredil, for all that she had no trace of an accent. Yet it was her eyes that immediately caught his attention. They were dark, hard and emotionless, fitting the calm yet determined expression on her face. More than that, they had a slightly odd colour, even in the shadow cast by her hood, a reddish glimmer in irises that it seemed should really have been brown.

They reminded him, vaguely, of garnets.

"Where am I?" Yes, it seemed he could speak properly now. That was something at least.

"The house of a merchant named Lady Amloth. She doesn't need it any more."

"Because she's dead," he pointed out, wondering what her reaction would be to his knowledge.

Her expression didn't even flicker. "I killed her," she said, matter-of-factly, before shrugging, "well, partly, she killed herself. But mainly it was me."

"The other woman… the one who took me into the house… who is she? Is she all right?"

His captor looked at him strangely. That question, at least, had caught her off guard. "She's gone," she said eventually, "she was a servant of Amloth's. If she knows what's good for her, she's running as fast as she can right now. But, either way, she doesn't matter."

"So," he said, seeing that she didn't seem about to speak again, and was just standing there, watching him, "I'll ask the obvious: who are you, and why am I here?"

"My name," she said simply, "is Zarenis. And you are here because you failed."

He didn't say anything to that. Clearly something had gone wrong, and surely it involved the Presence. But what?

"You destroyed the underground shrine," she said, after a pause, "blew it apart with a fireball. And, yes, it saw that, and it knows who you are. It could hardly fail to notice something so close. I imagine your plan was to prevent the Presence from coming through to this world, but, if it were really that simple, don't you think that the previous adventurers who tried to stop it would have done the same thing?"

"The Presence is not defeated as easily as that. You just delayed it a little. As it turns out, only a very, very little, considering how long it has had to wait."

She turned away, walking over to something hidden in the shadows at the corner of the room that he hadn't seen before. She picked it up, and stepped back towards the middle of the room, holding an ornate sceptre, ending in a large crystal surrounded by wickedly sharp prongs. Almandar had never seen it before, but he could guess what it was from the legend of Throndar.

"The Presence has come through," she said, almost reverently, "it has a living anchor to this world now. It is in my blood, and soon I will release it. Haredil will become the Hell-city, one end of a permanent bridge through which demons can enter this world. Its armies will be magnificent, its power unimaginable. And those armies will march at my command, they will bring me wealth and comfort, and all those other things that I could never have before."

"We'll keep mortals around, of course, because we'll always need slaves. Genocide really isn't very interesting, but being the physical avatar of the Presence, its voice here in the solid world… that should be good enough, don't you think?"

She seemed to have stopped her little speech, and Almandar examined her face for any sign of weakness. He wasn't finding one.  "So why haven't you done it already?" he asked instead.

"Oh, that's where you come in. The Presence wants you to see it triumph. It feeds on that kind of emotion. It loves betrayal best, but horrified despair is pretty close. So we held back just long enough for you to know that you have lost, to see your plans come to nothing. It's a pity the others can't be here too, but, well, it reduces the chances of something going wrong, and you are the one that destroyed the shrine. So…" she shrugged again.

"What is it? The Presence, I mean."

She gave a short, barking laugh; he got the impression that laughter wasn't something she was particularly used to. "I can see why you're the magician. Always curious!"

"But it’s a fair question,” she continued, “what is the Presence? Let me see… it's a dead god, essentially. Apparently 'dead' is a relative term for beings of that sort of power. It wanted to manifest in our world, to rule things directly, which, as you know, is not something the gods have ever done. So they turned on it, killed it, imprisoned its remains in Hell. I don't think it is truly divine any more – being dead will do that to you, I suppose – but it's close enough."

"And if it does get a foothold in this world, none of the other gods will be able to stop it. Not any more. What can they do, point their worshippers in the right direction through hints and fortuitous discoveries? That's the best they can normally manage, and it's a bit late for that now."

"Who knows, maybe they've already tried, and failed,” a thought evidently struck her as she spoke, and she looked at him curiously, “how did you know where the shrine was, or that you had to destroy it? Did a priest point you in the right direction, or did a favoured worshipper of some deity coincidentally come across a piece of valuable information at just the right time? Does your little group of adventurers have some patron deity, who might, perhaps, have been unusually generous towards you of late?"

He said nothing, but could not quite keep the realisation from his face.

"Thought so," she said, "well, you can tell whichever deity it is that they failed. Although they'll know soon enough, of course, so it's rather redundant."

She had let the servant woman run away, he realised. She could have killed the witness, but instead she let her run. It was a small mercy, but perhaps a real one. Was there a spark of morality in this woman after all, something he could appeal to? It seemed his only chance.

"Why do you want to do this?" he said, "bring about hell on Earth? There have got to be easier ways to achieve fame and fortune. You don't need to destroy everyone else along the path. The Presence is hardly an improvement on the world we have! It will spread misery and destruction, and you will be at the core of it. You're not Amloth… heck, you killed her. Why? Because you knew she was evil?"

"Do you want that?” he went on, “do you want to be Amloth? What has the city ever done to you that you would want to drag it down like this? What has the world ever done?"

It was the wrong thing to say, and he realised that as she took a few sudden steps towards him, face at last showing real anger.

"Look at me!" she shouted, throwing back the hood of her cloak. She jabbed her free hand towards her forehead, and he saw two small horns there, her garnet eyes suddenly very apparent. "Look at me! I'm a tiefling! I'm damned; I have the blood of demons in my veins."

"Everyone who sees me, all they ever see is this! The product of unnatural lusts, tainted by pure evil, a miscegenation spawned in the pits of Hell. That's what I am, that's what I'll always be, to everyone."

"You… you're a half-breed, like I am. But your non-human half is an elf. People like elves, even if they don't understand them. Elves are handsome, elves are good and helpful. You're probably a great hit with the ladies, am I right?"

"But me… no, I'm some foul offspring of horror. I see the disgust in people's eyes when they look at me, when they see my horns, my eyes, reminding them that the world is not a safe and happy place. I have nothing, nobody. I never have had. I'm deformed, not like you."

He flinched back at the force of her tirade. He hadn't thought she was deformed, even after seeing the horns.

"Perhaps you haven't met the right people," he said. "Some of us can see past that. I think you're an attractive woman, and perhaps you just need a chance."

"If it wasn't for these?" she spat, pointing again at her eyes and horns.

"I didn't say that. You're attractive, really. Why don't you want to believe that?"

"Because it's not true," she shouted, "and even if it were, it wouldn't bloody matter! What the fuck are you trying to do, Almandar? Seduce me, and turn me over to the side of light? Because if you are, you have seriously picked the wrong woman. While you've been whoring around town, or whatever the fuck you do, I've actually been working. That shit doesn't work on me."

"I will have respect! I will have power. I will never be loved, but I will be feared, and I will have more than I have ever had before. I will be the Demon Princess, and nobody, nobody, will ever look down on me again."

"Listen, I…" he began.

"Enough!" she barked, "be silent! Be silent, and witness your defeat like you’re supposed to!"

She raised the sceptre, and the crystal at the tip burst into brilliant white light flooding the room. White fire seemed to wreathe the teifling's form, and then more flame burst around her, forming a blazing tornado.

It looked like an illusion – for one thing, it wasn't burning the floor. But he could feel the heat on his face. Instead of an illusion, it had to be something contained, magically stopped from spreading to its surroundings, yet just as deadly if you touched it. He scrambled backwards out of the way as it grew to engulf more of the room, Zarenis' own form now hidden behind the orange, roaring, wall.

He bit at the cord tying his wrists, but it was too well secured… and even if he could cast spells, what could he do against this? He had no idea.

And the Presence was coming.

──◊──

Zarenis found herself suspended in the middle of a vertical tube of fire, orange walls of flame spiralling around her, heading upwards to who knew what? She could feel the heat on her flesh, almost burning, and yet, for the time being almost comforting. She felt exultant, her emotions heightened, basking in a kind of euphoria that she felt was more than just the proximity of her final triumph.

She looked down. Her feet were suspended in the air, and below them she could see the great, hollow, corridor of fire stretching down for what she somehow felt had to be an almost unimaginably huge distance. Although, without any landmarks to measure it against, she could not say how she knew that.

Somewhere far beneath her was a roiling cloud of darkness, and, despite the distance, she sensed that it was rushing up towards her. Towards the physical world. Perhaps it was as clear a view of the Presence as she would ever get.

A voice sounded in her head, and she wondered if this was what Amloth had experienced. Yet it wasn’t truly a voice, for she could not hear the sound of it, could not say whether it was deep or high-pitched, masculine or feminine. It was more as if words formed themselves within her head, a more detailed and clearer version of the way it had spoken to her before. She could not even say what language, if any, it was speaking in; she just knew the meaning of its words instinctively.

 I COME, it said. I HAVE TRIUMPHED. THE PORTALS ARE OPEN, AND I ARRIVE. I AM THE OMEGA, THE HARBINGER OF THE ESCHATON, AND I BRING A NEW WORLD TO REPLACE THAT WHICH IS TO FALL. MY ENEMIES HAVE FAILED. I AM REBORN. I AM THE INEVITABLE OUTCOME OF FATE.

The sceptre blazed in her hand, white light drowning out even the glow from the fiery walls. She could hear the beating of a gigantic heart, and more than that, she could feel it resonating through her body, her own blood rushing through her ears in perfect time with the sound from below.

MY WAY HAS BEEN PREPARED, AND YOU SHALL BE REWARDED BEYOND ALL IMAGINING. YOU SHALL HAVE ARMIES, AND RICHES, AND SLAVES BEYOND NUMBER, AND THE WORLD SHALL FEAR YOUR NAME. OF ALL MORTALS ON THE SURFACE OF THE WORLD YOU SHALL BE THE GREATEST.

I HAVE CREATED YOU, THIS IS MY FINAL VICTORY. YOU WERE CREATED FOR THIS PURPOSE, YOUR WHOLE LIFE HAS MOVED TOWARDS THIS POINT UNDER MY GUIDANCE. FOR GENERATIONS I HAVE NURTURED YOUR LINE, AND EVERYTHING HAS BEEN AS I DESIRED IT. THIS IS YOUR DESTINY.

THIS IS WHY YOU EXIST.

Zarenis raised her head, now looking blankly into space, not at the force that was still rushing up towards her, climbing the long distance out of Hell. She thought back to every moment of her life, every moment of despair and humiliation, every horrid moment of subordination and squalor.

She felt an unfamiliar burning sensation in her eyes, and for a moment she could not place it. The she realised that she was crying.

NOW ALL HAS COME TO FRUITION. YOUR DESTINY IS FULFILLED. FOR EVER ON, YOU SHALL BE THE GREATEST OF ALL MY SERVANTS.

Zarenis screamed, a raw yell of pure anguish and despair, ripped from her lungs by the force of her emotion.

Then she hurled the sceptre downwards with all her strength, straight into the bottomless pit beneath her.

It struck the Presence with a brilliant flash, and exploded. The dark cloud retreated even faster than it had come. This was what Throndar should have done, all those centuries ago, but he had delayed, and he had not been in her position.

The fire around her disappeared, and she found herself plunged into darkness. She was not in the real world; she was still wherever she had been. And she had just destroyed the magic that had sustained her.

Silently now, finally accepting her fate, Zarenis dropped like a stone, and plummeted down to Hell.

──◊──

Almandar awoke to find himself lying on a four poster bed with red satin sheets and a luxuriously soft mattress. He was fully clothed, but no longer bound or tied in any way. He tried to remember how he’d got there – he didn’t even remember blacking out, although he supposed he must have done. The last thing he remembered was watching the pillar of fire form around Zarenis, and trying to bite through his bonds. Then… he was here.

“I did it.”

He pulled himself up sharply at the sound of the voice. Zarenis was sitting in a chair just beyond the end of the bed. The room they were in was sumptuously decorated, almost palatial. He assumed, for lack of any evidence to the contrary, that he was still in the same building, probably in Amloth’s personal bedroom.

Knowing what little he did of Amloth’s tastes, he shuddered inwardly to think what sort of things might have happened in this room. But he quailed even more at the dead sound of Zarenis’ voice, and of what it implied.

“We’re…” his voice trailed off, unable to finish the sentence: ‘… in the Hell-City’.

“I did what you wanted,” she said, her voice still flat. Not the calm professionalism of when they had first talked – before he had raised her ire – but a dull affect, as if she was emotionally drained, and in a state of shock.

“I defeated the Presence, destroyed the sceptre. It can’t get out of Hell, not ever again. It still exists, of course. If the gods couldn’t destroy it permanently, I hardly could. But it won’t ever be a threat again.”

Relief flooded through him, and he almost collapsed back on the bed, a prayer to Sarlene on his lips, but his emotion was soon tempered by the flat expression on Zarenis’s face.

“You did the right thing,” he pointed out, wondering why he even had to reassure her.

“Did I?” she asked. So far, she hadn’t looked straight at him, staring off into the middle distance, but now she turned to look at him, and he caught an unaccountable look of anguish on her face. Her eyes were even redder than usual, and he found himself wondering if she had been crying.

“Yes… yes, of course. Think of all the lives you have saved, of the untold misery you have averted!”

“I didn’t do it for them,” she said, almost too quickly, he thought. A harder edge was creeping into her voice, too; at least she was showing some sort of emotion now, recovering from whatever shock had engulfed her. “I did it for myself.”

“It controlled me, it was responsible for everything,” she said, anger clearly rising, although no longer directed at him. “All my life I have been at the mercy of others, all my life people have curtailed my freedom, had power over me. I want to be free, and it would never let me do that, I would always be its servant, no different than anyone before me.”

He wasn’t quite sure what to say to that, other than “well, you’re free now.”

“But I’m not, am I? Nothing’s changed. That’s why I can’t help thinking I made the wrong decision. Everyone who ever controlled me still does. The Guild, the world… everyone. I’m still what I was before this started. Perhaps what it was offering was the closest thing to freedom I could ever have. And now that chance has gone forever.”

“You can do whatever you want,” he pointed out, “the world is as it is, but you don’t have to be a slave. You’ve got skills, you can use then. It’s possible to leave the Guild, you know; a friend of mine did,”

“What, and become an adventurer like you? I don’t think so. That’s no life, at least not for me. And what sort of skills do I have, really? What other sort of life can I lead?”

He threw his hands up in despair, “then leave the city! Find somewhere else! It’s a large world out there. Travel to the west; the elves live a pretty free life. Just stop wallowing in despair like this. What’s your problem? I can hardly imagine that it’s lack of bravery.”

Suddenly, she rose to her feet, knocking her chair backwards, and glaring at him with rage. “Because of these, remember?” she jabbed a finger towards her horns, her garnet eyes flashing. “I am demon-spawn; and that isn’t something I can just run away from.”

She looked down, suddenly quiet again, reaching a hand out to steady herself against one of the posts of the bed. “I was falling down to Hell,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. He wondered if anyone had ever seen her so emotionally vulnerable before. She didn’t seem the type to normally open herself up like this. “When I awoke, and found myself here, I thought it was Hell. I realise it isn’t now; I don’t think Hell would actually be like this. But for a moment, I thought it was.”

He tried to digest the concept, tried to make some meaning out of it, but failed. “What do you mean, you were falling towards Hell?” he asked.

“Just that,” she said, raising her eyes towards him again, “I destroyed the sceptre, and the magic that suspended me… wherever I was… stopped. The Presence may even have dragged me down with it. It would hardly be surprising, after all. So, yes, I was following it down to Hell, where it is imprisoned.”

“But you’re here,” he pointed out.

“Evidently,” she said, with a hint of sarcasm.

“So what happened?”

“There was a light,” she said, uncertainly, “a light from above me. It seemed to be reaching down for me. And then…”she faltered, about to say something, and then suddenly changing her mind, “then I was here. In the other room, that is. And you were unconscious. I brought you here. I didn’t know what else to do.”

A light from above, as she had been falling into Hell… the conclusion was obvious. But she was leaving something out, and Almandar thought he knew what it was.

“What else?” he asked, “Did you feel anything when the light touched you?”

Zarenis looked at him wide-eyed, “I felt…” she said, then faltered again, turning away from him, refusing to look at him, “I felt…” she whispered, and the last word was inaudible, something she couldn’t quite bring herself to say.

Almandar moved forward on the bed, kneeling at the foot of it, closing the distance between them. “…Loved?” he asked.

She nodded mutely, still not looking at him, then spoke, her voice breaking with emotion, “cared for, sheltered…”

“You asked before,” he said, “which deity had helped us, which gave us the clue to look for the Presence at just the right time. It was Sarlene, the goddess of love.”

She turned to face him then, incredulous. “Sarlene? Seriously? But she’s… she’s…” she shook her head.

“Not important? Not dramatic and righteous? But she is; she’s everything. Without love, what is the point of anything?”

“But surely…”

“Why deny it? You felt it yourself. That doesn’t sound like Pardror or the Sun God, does it?”

“But it was all fake! It wasn’t real, or true. Besides, why would Sarlene rescue me?”

“Because you did the right thing… for whatever reason. Because you’re as important as anyone else. All right, I’m not going to say you’re a good person, because you’ll probably shout at me if I do,” although he wondered if what was behind those garnet eyes was quite so ruthless and self-serving as she liked to claim, “but you still deserve love, everyone does,”

She leaned towards him, scowling, fists clenched on the bed sheets, “you’re forgetting these,” she said, not even bothering to point this time, “demon blood, remember?

“I’m forgetting nothing; that’s what you look like, who your parents were… whatever… but it’s not you. Look past them, and really see yourself for a change. Tiefling or not, you still deserve to be loved.”

She thrust her face towards him, until they were inches apart, her breath warm on his skin, glaring garnet eyes filling his vision. “How can I look past them when nobody else can?”

“I can look past them. And if I can, others can, you just haven’t let yourself notice it. I said earlier that you were an attractive woman. That wasn’t a ruse, as you seemed to think. I really meant it. You are… you are actually quite beautiful.”

“Prove it,” she snarled.

Almandar suddenly took Zarenis’s face in his hands and kissed her for all he was worth.

The tiefling’s eyes widened in shock, and her hands feebly pushed against him. He recalled that she had a dagger in her boot, and was suddenly relieved that her first thought had not been to use it. Zarenis let out a muffled cry of outrage, but he held her tightly, arms pinned against her side, as much to stop her remembering the knife as anything else.

His intention had been to stop there, to pull back, his point made. But, to his surprise, he found her responding, lips pressing against his, her mouth opening to slide a warm tongue past his own, small panting noises rising in the back of her throat. The kiss went on for a lot longer than he expected, and, then at last, he did pull back, releasing her arms as he regained his breath.

Zarenis immediately pulled him back in for another hungry kiss, lips devouring his, hands running through his hair, gripping his shoulder. He wrapped his own arms around her, responding in kind. She had evidently ditched the cloak at some point before bringing him to the room, and he could feel the curves of her body through the tight leathers, and the thought was beginning to excite him.

The tiefling leapt up onto the bed, pushing him backwards to land on the satin sheets, lips still locked together. She at last pulled herself away, panting, brown hair mussed, one of her horns poking through. Her face was flushed, almost delirious.

“That wasn’t quite what I was expecting,” he informed her.

She ran her hands over his body, feeling it through the cloth of his tunic, and then began pulling his shirt free of his trews, running nimble fingers over his exposed belly. She was grinning, although he wasn’t entirely sure that that sight was reassuring.

“It’s been a wild day,” she told him breathlessly, “it’s about time I had some fun, and I can tell,” she glanced down to the growing bulge in his trews, “that you’re willing. Which, as I keep telling you, is a rare opportunity.”

“Been a while, has it?” he asked with a grin, as she began to pull his tunic and shirt up around his chest, fingernails lightly scraping against his skin.

“Longer than you know,” she replied, her voice a growling purr, “much longer.”

He wrestled free of his upper garments, tossing them to one side on the wide expanse of the bed, the red satin cool against his bare back. He pulled himself up onto his haunches, and kissed Zarenis again.

She responded eagerly, nails running down his back, hands pressing, kneading him, yet not scratching hard enough to draw blood… not quite, anyway. She seemed like a wild animal, released, desperately hungry. She wasn’t the most beautiful woman he had ever met, although he hadn’t been lying – she really was much more attractive than she gave herself credit for, and the horns and the strange coloured eyes weren’t at all a drawback as far as he was concerned. But, right at the moment, she was certainly one of the most enthusiastic.

He reached for her belt, and she sharply batted his hand away, hissing as she gave him a sharp shove. The belt held her sword, and he guessed she didn’t want him touching that. She undid it herself; tossing it far away from the bed, well beyond his reach. Her boots and knife followed, as he took the opportunity to remove his shoes.

He didn’t have the chance to do more before she was on him again, hands roaming over his naked torso, teeth lightly griping his lower lip. Zarenis let out a low growl, more filled with wordless lust than aggression, and he ran his hand down the smooth curve of her leather-coated back. He gripped her buttocks, feeling their taut shape… there couldn’t be an ounce of fat on her, he reflected; she was as athletic as any adventurer he had known.

She leaned back suddenly, yanking his hands away from her rear, and shaking her head – although what she meant by that, he had no idea.

“No, no,” she said, “let’s see just how ready you are.”

She pulled his trews down around his knees, and her fingers grabbed the drawstring of his undershorts. He wriggled on the bed to make her task easier, raising his hips as she finally exposed him, the reality of his arousal now entirely clear.

“Hmm… you really do mean it,” she said, gripping his shaft, and running her hand along the length, squeezing lightly as she did so. She let him go, but only to cup his balls instead, fingernails lightly scraping against his scrotum. “Yes…” she whispered, almost a hiss.

He reached for her, intending to try and remove some of the clothing that still hid her from him, but she was there first, pulling herself free of her tunic, even as his cock rubbed against the tight leather over her strong thighs. Perhaps she preferred to undress herself, part of her insistence on freedom at all costs, not submitting to others.

He just hoped that she got on with it.

Zarenis wore a short-sleeved cotton shirt underneath the tunic, revealing bare arms as well-muscled as he had expected, a tattoo of a dagger rising from a mass of thorns below her right shoulder. The hem of the shirt had just pulled free of her trews, and at last he had a chance to feel more of her, his hands reaching up underneath, caressing her belly and flanks.

She was athletic indeed, and he could feel firm muscles underneath warm skin that was surprisingly soft and smooth. Before he could pull her clothes up to reveal more, however, she had leaned forward, and they were embracing and kissing once more, she pressing her lips against his cheekbones and chin, her breathing harsh and full of desire.

He kissed her nose as she dipped lower, towards his throat, and then her forehead, blowing a strand of hair out of the way. On a whim, he moved his head slightly to one side, putting his lips into position, and then sucking one of her dainty horns into his mouth. His tongue ran over the rough surface, as his lips pressed at the skin around the base, and she let out a gasp of delighted surprise.

Grinning wider than ever before, she pulled herself free and kissed him passionately on the lips once more. His hands roved up under her shirt, hiking it up, feeling the expanse of her back, the warm and surprisingly supple skin beneath his fingertips.

“You want this, huh?” she growled, ending the kiss as she raised her arms and pulled her shirt off.

Almandar grabbed onto her, pushing her back onto the bed, admiring the heave of her breasts as he leaned over her. They weren’t bad for someone with such a toned body, pleasantly rounded, and just the right size, tipped with moderately large brown nipples.

He kissed her throat, running his mouth down to her cleavage, and then allowing his lips and hands to explore Zarenis’s breasts, lightly squeezing them, kissing and sucking as she gasped in pleasure. His free hand ran down her side, gripping a buttock with the intention of moving round to undo her trews.

“No,” she said sharply.

“No what?” he asked, puzzled, wondering what he’d done this time.

She was silent for a while, and then, “I’ll do it.”

He wasn’t sure that was what she’d initially meant.

Nonetheless, she wriggled free of her trews, revealing a plain pair of cotton panties and deliciously strong looking thighs.

He pressed himself into her, cock now resting against cotton instead of leather, nestling in the curve of her loins. He kissed her shoulder and neck, running up to ears, brushing her brown hair aside as he rolled her over onto her side.

Zarenis gave him a growling purr in response, and added “that’s nice.”

She moved over onto her front as he moved his kisses to her shoulder and then down to her back, moving ever lower. Suddenly she stiffened, a gasp that sounded a little like panic rising from her lips.

What’s the problem?” he asked, concerned now. If he didn’t know what he was doing wrong, how could he know what to stop?

“I don’t want you to see,” she managed, the words seemingly torn from her throat, as she tried to lever herself up again, against the weight of his body atop hers.

“See what?”

“I just don’t…” the words trailed off, and she turned her head to look at him, garnet eyes wide with some sudden fear.

He levered himself up off her, and looked over her back. What was there to see? Then his eyes wandered lower, to the only part of her still covered, and a suspicion began to rise in his mind.

“Oh,” he said.

“I told you I was deformed,” she said, face dropping back into the sheets, shoulders slumping dejectedly, desire all but vanquished.

“And I told you,” he said, “that you aren’t. You’re just different.”

Gently, and as carefully as he could, he pulled the tiefling’s panties down, and saw just what he’d expected.

Zarenis had a tail.

It was a tiny one, barely more than a stub, perhaps an inch and a half in length. It was black and covered with a rubbery skin at odds with the pink flesh of her buttocks. It flared slightly at the tip into a flattened diamond-shape, and was clearly useless, vestigial, too small to be apparent when she was clothed.

“It doesn’t make you ugly,” he said, “it really doesn’t.” She gripped the sheets, refusing to look at him. “More importantly, it changes nothing.”

He kissed her in the middle of her back, and then continued his motion lower, towards the top of her ass. He kissed the tail, lightly, and was surprised when it twitched, jerking slightly at his touch.

“See?” he said, softly, “it doesn’t matter,” and kissed it again.

“You don’t mind?” she said, surprised, rolling over onto her back again, leaving his face now inches from her crotch. “You still want to…?”

“Goddess, yes,” he replied, and with a cry, she pulled his head away from her hips, and into another passionate kiss.

He was lying on top of her, hands roaming her toned body feeling the muscles of her arms, thighs, and belly, her breasts pressed against his chest, her nipples unmistakably hard, firm points pressing into him. She was writhing beneath him, slowly and sensuously, legs wrapping around his, hands exploring his back, occasionally moving down to tightly grip his buttocks. As they kissed, mouths greedily pressed against each other, he felt the blunt tips of her horns rubbing against his forehead, a harshness contrasting with the texture of her skin that was only serving to further excite him.

He dipped a hand between her legs, running through the short brown hair to feel damp lips clearly swollen with desire, There was nothing ‘mutant’ down there, nothing out of the ordinary, not even if he... she hissed slightly, breath warm against his chin…  no, not even inside.

“Ready?” he asked, needlessly, perhaps, under the circumstances, but aware of how strongly she felt the need for autonomy.

She nodded, eyes locked on his, one hand around the back of his neck, the other on his hip. “Just get on with it, and…”  She threw her head back, teeth bared as he thrust himself inside, a passionate growl in the back of her throat.

Zarenis’ strong thighs gripped the half-elf’s own as his hips began their rhythm, slowly grinding himself in and out. The tiefling’s sex fit him like a glove, and the way she moved her body beneath him was enticing, delightful. One of his hands gripped the satin bed sheets, as another held her increasingly slick and sweaty flanks.

She pressed her lips against him, teeth brushing against his cheek, almost biting as he felt her warm breath coming in time with his thrusts. Her hands were gripping him, wandering over his body, toes rubbing against one shin as she wrapped her legs tightly about his own.

The tiefling pressed her head back down into the sheets again, throat bared so that he could kiss it, tongue savouring the taste of her.

“Harder, faster…” she demanded, her voice a growling purr, overwhelmed with the force of her lust.

He complied, smooth sheets rucking beneath her buttocks as their mutual pace increased. She responded by slapping his ass, her breath coming in hard gasps, barely suppressing her moans, garnet eyes wide, face flushed.

“Oh fuck…” she grunted, “it’s been so long… harder…”

She arched her back, hips pressing into him, lips now pressed hard into his chest, horns pressed against his chin, fingers digging hard into his flesh. Almandar let himself go, pounding into her as hard as he could, his gasps of exertion drowning out her own muffled cries.

At last he exploded inside her, and felt the tiefling’s body spasming against his, limbs going rigid, a drawn-out high-pitched cry subdued by his own flesh pressed against her mouth.

They both went limp, and Almandar gently withdrew himself, rolling onto his back beside her, chest heaving, satin sheets cool against the dampness of his skin. She had certainly been demanding, but he had happily risen to the challenge…

──◊──

Zarenis brushed a hand through her hair, sweeping it away from her horns. She had just regained her breath, and was currently delighting in the feel of the cool air against her naked skin. She glanced over to Almandar, who smiled back at her in response, his own skin glistening from their recent exertions.

That had been most unlike her.

It wasn’t that she didn’t like sex; she liked it as much as any other person, for all that she rarely got the opportunity to indulge. But, in a way, that was it: she didn’t often get the chance, and she was more than capable of holding her desires in check. While she was on a mission, she was focussed on the goal, and the rest of the time she was usually too busy avoiding attention.

True, the mission was over now, for all that she did not truly want to think about what that implied or what the future held for her, But still, her reaction to Almandar kissing her had been as unexpected for her as it apparently had for him.

He was a handsome man, she couldn’t deny that. But normally, she would just have slapped him, and then regretted it later. The fact that he didn’t seem to be put off by her nature was a surprising one, and she had no doubt that, even in a different situation, she would probably have wanted to have sex with him. But to respond so quickly… she had been acting on her instinct, rather than on her usual calm thought processes.

She was glad that she had, no doubt about that. Almandar had turned out to be the best lover she had had… admittedly, not a long list, but still… Had she walked out, she would have kicked herself afterward, even not knowing how good it was going to be. But why hadn’t she?

Sarlene, it had to be Sarlene. Almandar had claimed that the goddess of love had rescued her, and she no reason to doubt that. It fit all the facts, after all. Somehow, the goddess’ magical embrace had removed her usual inhibitions, had given her an opportunity she normally never had.

She had never thought much about Sarlene. To be fair, she didn’t worship any of the gods, seeing them as, at best, irrelevant to her life, and, for the most part, actively hostile to her very existence.  But she could see, for example, the advantages of the god of knowledge, and even Pardror had an obvious relevance, even if only as an enemy of her kind. But Sarlene… what was the point of her?

She didn’t need love, and had never experienced it in any case. She was a distraction, a source of weakness that didn’t belong in the harsh world that even most of the other gods seemed to inhabit, Yet, apparently, she had just spared Zarenis’ life, and had left her with a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to enjoy herself.

She wondered, briefly, if Sarlene had also affected her responses, but she decided that that probably wasn’t the case. The warm feeling that had lingered after her deliverance had just put her in an unusual mood, that was all, stripping away some of her usual reluctance, allowing her to get closer to someone than she usually would.

The sex had been fantastic, but she felt confident that it would have been as good no matter what. Just the knowledge that Almandar wasn’t repulsed by her, and didn’t have some kinky obsession with demons was enough to give her a thrill. She had actually, for a while there, felt like a real, normal, woman. The way he had touched her, kissed her… that had been totally new to her.

It was, she had to admit, the best sex she had ever had in her life.

She realised that, while she had been reflecting on the situation, her right hand had crept between her legs, and she was absent-mindedly stroking herself. Her pussy tingled with desire, and she felt her nipples hardening in the cool air of the room. Damn, she was still horny.

Considering the force of the orgasm she had felt just minutes before, that was somewhat surprising. But it was also thrilling, and Zarenis had absolutely no intention of ignoring the returning desire in her loins.

The tiefling rolled over onto her side, and stretched her hand out to her partner’s body, stroking his flat belly. He moved his head to one side, still lying on his back, and gave her another smile that she could not help but interpret as affectionate. He actually seemed to like her; it was such an unusual experience that she didn’t quite know how to respond to it.

So, instead, she moved her hand lower, towards his groin. She ran her fingertips, with unusual tenderness, through the slight tangle of his pubic hair, and stroked his cock, still slightly damp with her juices. It was, she noted, quite flaccid, and didn’t currently seem to be responding to her ministrations.

She tried to keep the disappointment from her face, but evidently failed, because the next thing he said was, “again? So soon?”

She nodded, mutely.

“You’ll just have to wait a little longer,” he said, and then flashed her a grin, “but not too much longer, I think.”

She let out a grunt of frustration, and rolled over onto her back again, staring at the curtain draped over the top of the four poster bed.

“On the other hand,” he said hastily, “I’m sure there’s something I can do while we’re waiting.”

He leaned up on one elbow, and bent over her, pressing his lips to her exposed throat. Normally, she would have flinched or struck out if someone came close to such a vulnerable area, but right now, it just felt good, and she let out a light sigh of pleasure as he began to move down over the top of her breastbone.

Almandar’s kisses moved to the top of her cleavage, and then began to move up the soft swell of her right breast. His free hand slid over her ribs, and up towards the breast on the other side. Zarenis felt her nipples hardening further in anticipation, and her breath caught in her mouth.

Hand and mouth reached their respective sides simultaneously. The half-elf’s tongue lashed over her right nipple, as he caught her left between thumb and forefinger, rubbing it gently. Zarenis moved her legs against the sheets, pressing her thighs together, as she lifted a hand to run through his hair, trailing along the slight points of his ears.

He sucked and tweaked, and Zarenis had to bite her lip to stop herself crying out. Loud signs of emotion were not her style, but if he began to take her again the way he had previously, she wasn’t sure that she could hold out so well a second time.

Almandar released her breasts, but only to move lower, lips and tongue sliding against her abdomen. Her breath was coming harder now, and she closed her eyes, trying to steady it. She could feel him moving lower still, one hand now caressing a raised thigh, the hair of her mound brushing against his mouth.

She moved her legs slightly apart, wondering if he was as good with his fingers as he was with his cock, and she felt him press soft lips against her most intimate areas. Then, not his finger, but his tongue, lapped slowly along the whole length of her pussy, barely parting her hot and yearning folds.

She knew about it, of course, but had never personally experienced it. But then, nobody had ever spent this degree of attention on her. She clamped her jaw shut as a whimper threatened to burst from her throat as Almandar pushed his tongue deeper, lapping at her juices.

She snapped her eyes open, glanced down, to see his head pressed into her groin, tongue probing her, driving her to new heights. Zarenis grasped her breasts in both hands, tweaking her own nipples as she spread her legs as far as she could.

Almandar reached her clit, and the tiefling bit her lip as she growled with lust. She pushed her lips back against his face as he continued to pleasure her, and felt the satin sheets sliding against her buttocks. Her tail jerked at the sensation, and she released one of her breasts, to press her hand against the back of her lover’s head, guiding him on.

“Oh, fuck…” she whispered. She was almost starting to believe in the power of the goddess now, this felt so good.

She was positive that the half-elven adventurer could have driven her to climax with his tongue alone, but it seemed he had other ideas. After what seemed an eternity of undiluted pleasure, he levered himself free, and moved up beside her, to press a kiss on her lips.

Zarenis grabbed his crotch, finding him no longer at all soft down there. She grasped his shoulder with her other hand, kissing him harshly on the mouth, pressing her body tightly into his. As he finally pulled back for air, she saw two red marks on his forehead, where her blunt little horns had dug into him. She had marked him; she liked the thought of that.

She ran her hands over his chest, rough hair against her fingers, and gently flicked one of his nipples. She ran her hand along the length of his cock, even as he placed one on her hip, stroking her rounded buttock.

“Still exhausted?” she teased.

“Not really.”

“Not even a little bit?”

“Well…”

“Then just lay back,” she commanded, “because I’m not in the slightest.”

She gave him a hard push, and he twisted in the sheets, so that the red satin wrapped around his lower legs, and then jumped on top of him, thighs straddling his hips, his balls nestled against her mound. She growled, knowing that, what matter what else was the case, demon blood still ran through her veins, and raked her hands across his torso.

“Want to fuck a tiefling?” she asked, “want to fuck someone with demon blood?”

She growled again, longer this time, intending it to sound menacing, although it actually came out more of a purr. Almandar's face looked enrapt, his eyes locked on hers, mouth slightly parted, and she heard his breath coming harder. She reached down and found him still hard as he rubbed his cock against her inner thigh.

Zarenis raised herself up, legs spread, and pressed the tip of his erection against her pussy.

“I’m waiting for a ‘yes’,” she told him, with a playful snarl.

“Yes!” he said hurriedly, “absolutely yes!”

She pushed herself down over him, feeling his hard cock plunging into her, and had to press her lips firmly together to stop herself crying out with wild abandon. As it was, a muted groan rose in her throat, easily loud enough for him to hear.

Almandar was large, larger than anyone else she had known. Yet not unpleasantly so, and the truth was they seemed to fit together as perfectly as it was possible for two people to do. He filled her, spreading her lips, his wonderful cock pressing deep insider her cunt as she pushed her hips as far down onto him as she could, his balls squeezing against her buttocks.

She grabbed onto his chest to steady herself, and her thighs and hips began working as she continued to ride him. His cock plunged in and out, and there was no need for her to beg him to go faster or harder, for she controlled all the motion.

At first, to her later surprise, she began to enjoy him slowly, riding up until his cock almost popped loose, then thrusting herself back down on him again, inching back inside. It actually felt wonderful, just taking her time, and they were both panting with pleasure, his eyes wide, drinking in every inch of her naked, heaving body.

She began to increase the tempo, feeling his hips pushing back against hers as he met her rhythm, striving to get himself deeper insider her still. The sensations flooding through her body were unbelievable, every inch of her shuddering with passion. He grabbed her ass, close to her tail, and she didn’t care, just wanted to continue fucking him over and over, wanted his cock to continue thrusting inside her.

His other hand reached for one of her breasts, first cupping it, and then tweaking the nipple. She let out an involuntary growl of pleasure, and gripping onto him as hared as she could, began to move back against him even faster than before.

Zarenis closed her eyes, finding the pleasure almost unbearable, her mouth clamped hard shut to hold back the abandon she was so close to surrendering to. Her buttocks slapped against his flesh, his cock pounding into her over and over, his hand squeezing a breast suddenly sensitive to his every touch.

What the fuck… she didn’t care any more!

Zarenis let out a full-throated moan of deep passion, surprising herself with its volume. Still she continued to grind against him, harder than ever. She groaned, swore, cried out over and over, giving full reign to every sensation. He was doing the same, but she could barely hear him, and she knew that she couldn’t last much longer like this.

“Oh fuck…” she cried, “oh fuck… oh goddess…” it was the first time in her life she had ever used those words, “fuck… rrraghh!… yes, yes… fuck… YES!”

It felt like an explosion; a yell ripped from her mouth as she climaxed for the second time that day. Zarenis almost wept with delight as Almandar followed suit, pumping her full of his juices again as his cry mingled with hers.

She remained on top of him for a few moments, stunned at the intensity of it, at her own surrender to the passion. She was flushed, hot, covered in slick sweat, her breasts heaving as she rolled off him, and collapsed at his side on the bed.

Almandar tried to say something, but couldn’t find enough breath to do so. She waved a hand at him dismissively, equally incapable of speech, and relaxed her aching body against the bed. This time, even she needed a rest.

For a while at least.

──◊──

Almandar was kneeling on the bed, hands gripping Zarenis’ waist, as she squatted before him on all fours, her hands tightly gripping the sheets, already stained with the fruits of their passion. Amloth, he suspected, must have spent a lot of time keeping them clean, since satin was hardly ideal for such purposes, no matter how good it felt against the skin.

Slowly, yet firmly, he thrust himself in and out of the tiefling’s eager cunt. The sheets were bunching under their knees, sliding against the mattress with the force of their mutual motion. Her breasts swayed in time with the little grunts of pleasure that she let out as he continued moving inside her.

They had woken to find the sun set, and the moons rising into the sky, flooding the room with more than enough light to see each other by. Almost immediately, their hands had been all over each other, savouring every crease, every curve of each others willing bodies. Now, here he was, taking her from behind, less urgently than before, but still overcome with passion, still excited by the feel of her body against his, of her cunt enfolding his thrusting cock.

There was no doubt in his mind that Sarlene had a hand in this, giving them both a reward for a job well done. It had been a long time since he had felt youthful enough to make love three times in such a short span. Yet he was as eager and ready now as he had been when they started, and she was evidently the same.

How long had it been since they had woken, even? The moons had noticeably risen in the sky, and, yet they continued, both overwhelmed with desire, yet, on this occasion, simply taking delight in the experience, with no desperation to near another climax. He recalled the time he had been with Davnait, and the spell she had used; this was somewhat like that, yet feeling entirely natural, despite the fact that, logically, he knew they should both be exhausted by now.

Zarenis turned her head towards him, looking over her shoulder to whisper encouragement. Not that he needed any. Her thighs pressed against his, her buttocks pumping against his hips as he continued his actions. He moved his hand back to rub the base of her little tail, making it jerk, and coaxing another whimper from his lover.

It seemed an eternity later that he finally pulled out, neither of them yet spent. She moved around in the bed, pushing herself into his arms as he lowered himself onto his haunches. They kissed, for what felt like the hundredth time… and possibly was. Their hands roamed each others’ bodies, his caressing her breasts, shoulders, ass and thighs, hers seemingly everywhere at once.

Zarenis lowered her head, and he rained kisses across her nose and forehead as her hands began exploring his belly and buttocks. She dipped lower, hair ruffling against his lips, then ducking to kiss his chest, licking his nipples, then lower still, to his navel.

Almandar sighed with pleasure as the tiefling wrapped her lips around the head of his cock. He actually hadn’t thought she would do that – she didn’t seem the type. But, if not she was learning fast, and he gasped out loud as she pushed him further inside, tongue enfolding him, horns pressing against his loins.

He ran a hand through her hair, holding her head in place as she continued to suck. All too soon, she pulled herself free, gasping for air, a trace of her spittle falling back onto the sheets. They kissed again, fiercely, his own taste in her mouth, as surely hers must have been on the source of her attention just moments before.

Zarenis lay down on her back, moonlight casting its shadow across her body, legs held apart. Still on his knees, he shuffled up to her, taking one athletically muscled leg in his hand. He bent down, blowing cool air across her damp groin, then straightened up again, moving her onto her side, her leg held high.

Once again, he thrust into her, and the tiefling let out a small moan of satisfaction as he did so. From this angle he could push deep inside her, but he kept his motions slow and languid, knowing that neither of them wanted this to end soon.

The room was filled with the sound of his panting, her surprisingly soft moans, and the gentle slap of flesh on flesh. Zarenis raised an arm over her head, brushing her hair aside as her hips continued to move against his. Her cries were wordless as he moved his hand to caress her body, watching the way her breasts moved, the way the moonlight dappled against her skin.

He released her, eventually, and they were kissing again, bodies pressed close together, both kneeling. He brushed his hand through her hair, cradling her cheek, as he gazed into her eyes.

“It’s time,” she whispered, her voice husky.

“Time?”

“To end this. So we can go our separate ways. As you know that we must.”

He nodded, it had been a blissful experience, but they both knew it could not continue forever. He would always hold the memory in his mind – how could he ever forget it – but it wasn’t something permanent. In the end, they were too different to make any more of it than this, two strangers colliding in the night.

Zarenis shifted against him, her arms still around his back, moving her hips up, then sliding back in to his lap so that he could impale her once more. She gasped, whispering encouragement to him as she slid up and down his length.

Almandar gave a silent prayer to the goddess, thanking her with every fibre of his being for the experience of this night, for everything she had done for him over the previous few weeks. He remembered all of them, offering the name of each to Sarlene in his supplication.

Helsa. Lyrette. Ostrid. Ansreal. Ashabi. Jiranda. Ravette. Skirina. Davnait. Nariti. Gut’rul. Kara. Yarai.

And, most of all, especially now: Zarenis.

Her body was slick against his, her back smooth against his hands, her breasts sliding against his chest, thighs tightly gripping his hips. He teased her tail again with the tip of one finger, feeling it move in response. Her hips were grinding against his, her moans quickening as they held each other, eyes locked, breath in perfect synchrony.

Almandar pressed his lips against his lover’s ear and whispered her name. Seconds later, he let out a long wordless groan as he came inside her for the third, and final time. Zarenis writhed against him, crying out again and again as she was swept up in the throws of what was evidently an incredible, all-consuming multiple orgasm.

And then, blissfully, it was over.

──◊──

Four years later

Zarenis leaned back on the makeshift couch, trailing one hand in the hot sand behind her. She glanced down the beach, watching the solitary white cloud, off on the horizon, drifting lazily against the bright blue of the sky. The sun beat down on her, warming her bare arms and legs, the long brim of her hat shading her face from the brightness.

She had come north, away from the dust and emptiness of Haredil, its cobbled streets and marbled domes that held nothing for her. Here, on the island, she had found people who venerated her appearance as a sign of divine grace, not as a hideous mutation. She was their leader now, of sorts, although she passed few judgements, preferring to let them do as they would.

She had power, but no real need to exercise it, most of the time. She had a home that was near paradise… yes, an actual home, somewhere she felt that she could, at long last, call by that name. They thought her beautiful, and tended to her every need. Delicious food, fine drink, a feather mattress of remarkable softness. Who could possibly want more?

The sex was pretty good, too.

THE END