The Onyx Throne - Ch.66-67

Chapter 66

By the time they made it down to the inn's common room a couple of hours later, Lethelin had her game face on. Mitchell had finally managed to get her to accept that whatever was going to happen was going to happen, and there was no sense in worrying about it now. When he tried to explain the expression "no use crying over spilled milk" she had appreciated the idiom but liked hers better.

"The fish has already spotted the bait," she'd said as she finally agreed with his assessment.

"For now," she'd informed him in their preplanning session, "We're just trying to get a feel for the general mood of the people here. Try to listen in on any conversations about things outside of town. Traders move through here fairly often so we should get some good gossip. If anyone asks your opinion on something that you have no idea about, just say 'Daylight or darkness' and shrug."

"What's that mean?"

"It means that such things are beyond your understanding or care, and either Stollar will guide things in his wisdom or Denass will judge their souls after those involved die."

Short, sweet, and to the point. Mitchell liked it.

They arrived early enough to claim a table near the center, and one of the serving girls informed them that, while dinner and an ale were included in the price of their room, anything extra they would have to pay for. After that, they played the happy couple easily enough. Lethelin got a lot of greetings as word spread of how she'd gotten one over on poor Elgrin. She even had a couple of free ales sent to her and Mitchell. Bari had glared at her more than once as she went about her business, but most of her ire seemed to have been directed at her husband for being fool enough to gamble in the first place.

The takir had been removed from the spit some time before, and the fire was mostly just low coals. When their plates were brought out, Mitchell was a little surprised at the portions offered. The little inn they'd stayed at before crossing the mountains had given them much less food for the price, and the fare at the bathhouse, while enough to fill him up, had also been significantly less generous than what had just been set in front of him. After so long on trail rations, Mitchell knew he wouldn't be able to finish the whole thing. He felt bloated just looking at it.

The slab of meat that had been cut from the roasted takir was bigger than his hand and thicker besides. It had been topped by a brown gravy, and he saw various potato-like vegetables and mushrooms also covered in the same sauce, and some dark brown flatbread that reminded him of Indian naan. Looking around he saw that other people were taking the two-tined fork and the short stubby knife to carve off parts of the meat before rolling it in a slice of the flatbread. Lethelin had begun to do the same, so he followed along, doing his best to look like a native. The ale, once Mitchell took a taste, had a distinct apple flavor to it which he found pleasant.

As they ate, they listened. There were indeed a few traders in attendance, and Mitchell did his best to listen without trying to appear interested. If the plan had not been decided on beforehand, he never would have suspected Lethelin of a thing. She looked like she had tuned everyone out to eat, while he was sure his behavior was obvious. She assured him he was doing fine and told him to just relax and enjoy the atmosphere.

He did his best and tried to tune his ears to the various conversations around him. There were still words he didn't know peppered in the conversations, but he got the gist of most of it. One of the traders in particular -- a gnome of indeterminate age with a wild crop of white hair that looked as if it had never seen a brush -- had been in Lorivin a couple of weeks prior and was particularly upset about the long wait times to get past the city gates as things were being checked more carefully.

"In the queue for no less than four hours, was I! Four, says I!" the little gnome nearly screetched and Mitchell watched as his long pointy ears quivered in outrage. "A runner to my buyer I sent to see if he could move me up. Word came back that his ankles were up 'round his ears, were they! Everyone stopped and searched, they were!"

The gnome's odd way of speaking was straining Mitchell's understanding of Common grammar. Lethelin told him in hushed tones that he was probably from one of the northern gnomish enclaves. They tended to form their own communities rather than mix much with the population at large and they were a bit quirky.

"They talk funny up there."

"Sounds like they're checking everyone going into the city, though."

"Mmhmm," she murmured around a mouthful of roasted vegetables.

"Looking for us?"

"Pobawwy," she said.

Mitchell grinned at the assassin as she tried to talk with her mouth full.

"Didn't your mother ever teach you not to talk with your mouth full?"

"Uh-huh," she said as she swallowed. Then she stuffed some meat into her mouth while eyeing him with a smile. "Bu' I dinn' lifin' berwy well."

They shared a laugh which caused her to spit up some of her food, and that only made them laugh harder. For a moment, Mitchell forgot about the mission and just enjoyed the company of the beautiful and deadly woman next to him. The second beautiful and deadly woman he had fallen in love with, in fact. Just what were the odds, he wondered.

"What are you thinking about?" Lethelin asked him after he was quiet for a bit.

"About how I've managed to attach myself to two of the most dangerous women in Awenor. Either you or Allora could kill me without breaking a sweat, but instead I get to do this..."

Mitchell leaned forward and planted a kiss on her lips, which she accepted eagerly. Her lips were warm and soft and tasted of the apple ale she'd just drank. He held it for a moment, and he felt their tongues touch just slightly before they broke apart. Lethelin had a touch of color in her cheeks, and Mitchell was feeling warmer, too.

"True, I could kill you without breaking a sweat, but then I wouldn't get to experience that tongue of yours myself."

Mitchell arched an eyebrow.

"Allora told you about that, did she?"

"Mmhmm," Lethelin said and licked some of the sauce off her fingers. "Among other things."

Mitchell had a moment where he debated being upset about that or not, but decided that it really didn't matter. He had assumed Allora would give her at least some details and really, what difference did it make if they shared things back and forth. They were sharing him, after all. The more he thought about it, the more he liked the idea. What guy didn't like his partner bragging about him to other women. Mitchell certainly didn't mind.

"I had to almost drag it out of her, though," Lethelin added. "She was surprisingly shy about the whole thing."

"Anyway, back on topic," Mitchell said as Lethelin sucked another finger and gave him a devilish grin. "Are you worried about what he said? About being checked?"

Lethelin wobbled her head.

"We won't be going in the normal way, so it doesn't matter. If anything, that will make it easier since they will have so much attention focused on the city gates. And Lorivin is a big city, so they will be hard-pressed to manage even what they have already. People are going to complain and that makes everyone stressed and stressed people get sloppy, make mistakes, and are easily distracted."

"You sound very confident."

Lethelin nodded.

"I am. Didn't I mention I was one of the best?"

"I think it's come up."

"I'll get you and Little Miss Prissy Britches inside the city walls, don't worry. After that, it's up to you."

They toasted and settled back to continue their recon. Unfortunately, except for their luck with the gnomish trader, everything else was fairly mundane. There were some grumblings about the lack of rangers patrolling this section of the Shadow Glen and there had been some troll attacks in a town a few leagues further west inside the forest, as well as one story about a goblin tribe that attempted to lay siege to an entire village. It apparently failed in spectacular fashion, the young man said, when a civil war broke out among the goblins who then began slaughtering each other.

"They killed themselves almost to the last one!"

The story had attracted a fair bit of attention and that last bit caused a few people to chuckle audibly.

"Not even goblins are that stupid!" shouted one customer, waving the tale off.

"It's true!" said the man telling the story. "My cousin told me the whole thing! Had business with a farmer from Redfern. Said they were stuck behind the walls for three days while the goblins tried to scale the defenses!"

"Sure, sure, Brenin!" called one patron. "Just like that time giant scorpions appeared in the forest and saved you from the troll? Giant scorpions that only haunt the sands of Iletish!"

"Oh, or how about that time he said he was seduced by a Fey princess?" one woman called out.

"She wasn't a princess," Brenin tried to yell over the laughter. "She was just as beautiful as one. And the scorpion did save me! Old Lennig said they must have crossed the peaks looking for food! The troll was just tastier."

"I saw the girl he left with that night," another man said. "She weren't no Fey princess! Troll, maybe! Giant toad?"

"Living or dead?" a dwarf woman with coal-black hair worked into dreadlocks asked.

"Couldn't tell!"

Another big round of guffaws.

The ribbing of poor Brenin continued for a few more minutes before the man finally gave up and retreated back to his table to nurse his ale.

Mitchell laughed along with everyone else although he didn't try to join in with the jokes. He was surprised how comfortable he felt among the people here. He spotted at least four different races, backgrounds he couldn't even guess at, but everyone seemed to be getting along. Mitchell knew he couldn't take a single data point and extrapolate that to a whole population, but everywhere he'd seen so far had been a true melting pot in a way that the US and its myth of multiculturalism could only dream of. Anytime there had been more than a handful of people together, there were different species interacting and getting along. Here proved no different. Dwarf interacted with elf interacted with gnome interacted with hafling interacted with human.

They all had an easy way about them. A good-natured sense of community that he had never really felt before with groups of his own people.

"What are you grinning about," Lethelin asked him.

"It's a little hard to explain but..." he struggled to put it into words. "Everyone just sort of... gets along. How many universes are represented here, yet they're like one big blended family."

Lethelin wasn't sure what to do with that.

"Why would what universe someone comes from change how they treat others?"

How to explain thousands of years of tribalism on Earth? He decided not to try. It would just spoil the mood.

"It's just surprising, that's all."

"People fight all the time, obviously, but whether they're dwarf or human has nothing to do with it. We were all slaves here once, all of our ancestors brought here against our will."

Mitchell nodded that he understood but he still had trouble believing it was really that simple.

The good mood continued among the patrons for another hour or so. Lethelin got asked to play more rounds of Iva from people who were having trouble believing the story, but she politely declined. Mitchell got questioned a few times as he was known to be with the beautiful human girl who had so thoroughly whipped Elgrin and he got to hear a few tales about their lives in the Shadow Glen. He even got to use his new expression a few times.

"But," a human woman named Tisha said as she bemoaned the high price of goods over the last several months, "Those jivi fuckers they got running things up in Lorivin have really shat in the dragon's mouth if you ask me. It's going to lead to a riot and then they'll be sorry. Be like nest of skitterbacks in a temple! Don't you think?"

Mitchell nodded as if the woman had said something wise. Then he shrugged and gave his best "whaddya gonna do" face and said "Daylight or darkness, Tisha. Daylight or darkness."

"Ha! Stollar's own truth, that is! Daylight or darkness. But just between you, me, and the fairies, I'm hoping they meet the darkness sooner rather than later."

Mitchell nodded, and then touched his ear before touching the rim of her cup and she did the same. He'd discovered quickly that that was how they toasted here. He was basically saying, "I'll drink to that."

When he glanced at Lethelin, who was talking to Tisha's wife about Iva strategies, she gave him a sly nod of approval.

"Keldin!" Tisha suddenly called over to the bar, getting the attention of a dwarf woman with tawny red hair that flowed elegantly down her back. "Come meet our new friends!"

Keldin finished up her conversation with a gnome she'd been talking to and strode over to their table.

Mitchell couldn't yet decide how he felt about dwarven women. They were as squat as the men were, and thickly muscled. While they're features were definitely female, the word that kept coming up as he tried to describe the ones he'd seen so far was "handsome". They didn't have the elegant attractiveness of Allora or most of the other elves he'd seen, nor the lithe, dangerous beauty of someone like Lethelin, but they still managed to look feminine enough even with their wide jaws and flat noses. And they were large-breasted and broad-hipped, every one of them. He could certainly appreciate that.

"This is our other wife, Keldin. We live over in Wildespell. Just passing through tonight on our way to Onyxford."

"Oh, interesting," Mitchell said.

"Aye," Keldin said. "My cousin's just had a baby. It's a ten-day on the road, but the little hellion was named after me, so figure I owe it to Thela to go meet my namesake."

"Have a seat," Mitchell said, indicating the last open chair.

The more they talked, the more Mitchell started to fall in love with the people here. He felt a sort of resonance in his chest and knew it was Awen touching his mind.

"They are a wonderful people," she said, her voice warm and soothing. "I am glad you could see this side of them before the fighting begins."

Mitchell agreed.

A short time later, an elfin woman stepped up to the little stage in front of the hearth at the far end of the common room and began to play an instrument that looked like a strange blend of a hand-held harp and a guitar.

It had what almost looked like a fret board about two feet long, but it appeared it was there for support rather than for fretting notes. A bow-like piece of thinner wood was attached to the end of the neck about where tuners would be on a guitar and it curved down at a gentle angle to meet the body of the instrument. The body itself was an elongated oval with an equally elongated sound hole through the center which the strings passed over before reaching a bridge where they were secured to a body made of a dark-red colored wood with faint tan accents running through it.

The woman was striking as well. She had long auburn hair and yellow-gold eyes. Her body was tall and willowy and she wore a simple red sleeveless dress that exposed graceful limbs that ended in surgeon's fingers. She sat in a chair and placed the device across her body, resting it between her legs the way a classical guitarist might on Earth. She also wore a krisa on her brow with two stones in it.

She began plucking the strings and tuning and in a few moments the crowd had quieted down and everyone oriented themselves to the stage and waited expectantly.

Then, without preamble, one of her stones began to glimmer noticeably in the inn's warm light, and she began to sing. Without warning, Mitchell found himself being carried away.

Her voice latched onto his mind and he started to see things flickering at the edges of his vision. The language she sang in was not Common but something else. Something melodic and ancient. The words were a lover's hands caressing his skin, the chords were memories of first kisses. He had never experienced anything like it in his life.

Around him the bar began to fade, and instead he saw two young lovers, a human woman, maybe only seventeen or eighteen years and a man whose race and age he couldn't quite determine. He appeared young at first glance, and elf-like but then he appeared ancient in the next moment, despite there not being a single wrinkle on his flawless golden-hued skin. His eyes were also emitting a golden light that bathed the woman in gentle radiance.

The woman in the vision was herself almost ethereally beautiful as well -- eyes the golden-brown hue of pure honey and skin like fresh cream. Her hair was a strawberry blond that put Mitchell in mind of August sunsets over golden prairies. Their figures went from sharp and vivid to hazy as the words of the song passed through his consciousness. They were dancing on a field of stars, her simple farmer's dress more elegant on her than any royal wedding gown and the man in simple white slacks cinched with a golden rope and a loose-fitting golden shirt.

Hand in hand, eyes only for each other, the cosmos became their ballroom. The melody rang in Mitchell's ears, and they moved in time to the slow rhythm that the singer was striking on the body of the guitar as she worked the strings. The couple pirouetted through planetary orbits and swirled technicolor nebulae around their feet as they glided through the heavens.

Mitchell could feel his heartbeat quicken as the song reached a crescendo. The couple in his vision began to dance more passionately now, their eyes devouring each other as their bodies grew closer. Hands started to roam and clutch hungrily and the surrounding universe began to swirl as if they were a black hole around which all began to rotate.

As the song reached the final note, the singer's beautiful soprano voice hit a fermata and held it for an impossibly long time. In his mind's eye, Mitchell watched as the two lovers finally kissed and then their bodies went supernova and exploded into a dazzling rush of luminescent comets that resolved into tiny little motes of light that then became fireflies zipping over a field of grain. In the distance across the field, Mitchell could see a simple farmhouse with a single candle burning in the window and in the sky above, two moons, one silvery and one golden.

Then the song ended and Mitchell was gasping and felt dizzy. His vision cleared and he was once again in the common room of the inn. Mitchell rubbed his eyes and looked around, almost feeling like this wasn't the real world he was now sitting in. The real world was up in the heavens with the dancing couple. Mitchell fought to process his thoughts and around him he saw others with smiles on their faces, a few had tears, but no one seemed to be suffering the same effects as he was.

"She's pretty good," Lethelin said over the sound of clapping that was building in the inn. "Academy trained, no doubt. Wonder what she's doing all the way out in the back country."

Then she saw Mitchell, trembling and sweating in his seat and a look of concern replaced her appreciative smile.

"Mitchell, what's wrong?"

"What...?" He looked at her and struggled to focus. "What just happened? Did everyone see that?"

Lethelin looked confused, but to her credit, it only lasted a moment.

"Oh, balls," she said, then her voice dropped to a near whisper. "This is your first time experiencing a music mage! I'm sorry, Mitchell, I didn't think."

"A music mage?"

The crowd was settling down and there were calls for more songs, but the singer said she needed to rest, and she would be back at the top of the next hour. She was applauded again as she left the stage, and she bowed politely. Several patrons went up to the stage and dropped coins or gemstones into the small box near the edge.

"They use spells and enchantments to enhance their performances. Her itisk -- the thing she was playing -- is enchanted, and she has spells to create visions and illusions that work in time with the music. The first time can be... well, intense, as you're just now figuring out. And she's quite skilled, as I said. Not the best I've ever seen, but certainly better than what I would expect to find in this little village."

She tried to hide the smile, but she wasn't very successful.

"I'm happy you're happy," he said, only a little annoyed. His head was still swimming with the visions and the beauty of it all.

She grabbed one of the napkins and wiped the sweat from his brow.

"Poor baby," she said and kissed his nose. "But you'll be fine. Have a drink."

Mitchell did as she suggested, and she was right. In a few minutes his heart beat had returned to normal and he could finally take in what he'd just been through. It was, he decided, one of the most moving experiences of his life. He found the memories were already fading from his mind, but the feelings it left behind were significant.

"Did you recognize the couple in the song?" Lethelin asked him with a grin.

"No. Was I supposed to?"

The thief gave him a little grin.

"Think about it."

"Okaaay," he said, not sure what he was supposed to understand. How would he know who they were?

They sat for a little bit more, and had one more cup of ale, which had started to give him a pleasant buzz, when he felt it was time to call it a night.

"If you think we've had enough, how about heading back up to the room?" Mitchell offered. "It's been a long day."

"Yeah, I think we've gotten enough. There's been nothing here that makes me want to go creeping around in the night. And we have that nice big bed to play in."

Mitchell matched her grin with one of his own.

"That we do."

***

The room was equipped with its own bathroom, which Mitchell greatly appreciated. He really hated outhouses. Running water was still not common everywhere given the expense of retrofitting older buildings, but Mitchell had been told that nicer places and newer homes were having water piped in when it could be afforded. While this inn was older than such technology, they had opted to retrofit at least their nicer rooms which was why the price had been so high, Lethelin had explained.

The biggest perk was the bathtub, though. He hadn't had a proper bath since their few days in Luvari's home while Allora was healing up. The tub wasn't the grand affair like the bathhouse in Iletish. Nor was it even as big as the bathing pool at Gilriel's house, but it was big enough for both of them to slip into, which Mitchell fully intended to do.

"Help me out?" Lethelin said coyly as she turned her back to him so that he could access the leather laces that tied up the corset around her waist.

"How do you even get this on without help?" he said as his fingers began to work the leather through the holes to loosen it.

"It takes a lot of practice," she said with a chuckle. "But I appreciate the extra protection around my ribs and stomach and it's not very bulky like actual armor. It will stop a slice with a knife and blunt an actual stab. It's--oh, that's better!" she expelled a breath as Mitchell finally got it lose enough that it started to slip down. She inhaled deeply then continued. "It's not much good against a sword thrust but I try not to go toe-to-toe with people using swords, anyway. I'll get something enchanted one of these days to make it even better."

The corset, or chest piece--Mitchell wasn't sure what it was actually called--was loose enough now that it rotated freely around her torso. She lifted her arms up over her head and Mitchell got the hint.

"So big!" he said in English as he started to work it up past her shoulders.

"What?"

"Something my mom used to stay to me when she would help me get dressed as a kid. She would say 'so big!'" Mitchell translated the phrase to Common this time but it didn't sound the same at all. The intonation was all wrong, "and then I would raise my arms over my head. She would slip my shirt on or off."

"That's cute," Lethelin said as she brought her arms down and wrapped them around his neck and stared up into his eyes. Her pale cheeks still carried a bit of a flush from their ale. Her green eyes were wide and shining and her full red lips parted.

Mitchell tossed the corset to one of the chairs and brought his arms around her slender waist. They held each other for a moment. No words spoken, just being truly alone together.

Mitchell marveled at how he could actually love both women. Everything he'd been raised with told him that loving one woman while being in love with another was tantamount to cheating. It was a betrayal of the highest order. Being here with Lethelin did not feel like a betrayal of his feelings for Allora, though. It probably helped that both women were comfortable with the situation as well. Lethelin had exhibited no jealousy when he and Allora had emerged from the woods two nights prior, nor had jealousy been evident on Allora's face when she'd kissed him good bye the previous morning. Jealousy didn't really seem to be a thing most people dwelled on here. He'd seen multiple polyamorous groups whenever he'd been around people. There had been several with children walking around Besari. Could it really just cultural conditioning for the people on Earth? Mitchell always assumed that it was some sort of evolutionary trait.

Mitchell decided that he didn't know and, staring at this gorgeous woman in front of him, he didn't care. He vowed not to spend another moment worrying about it. They were happy and so was he.

Lethelin shifted her arms to his waist and closed the small gap between them and rested her cheek on his chest. Her head came to just below his chin and he rested against her as well. Outside, the sounds of the tavern were growing, but all was still muted by the thick walls and heavy oaken door. He breathed in the smell of her. A cinnamon-y citrus smell combined with the leather of her corset and the bracers she usually had around her wrists.

"Tell me you love me," she said quietly without looking up. There was a timid quality to in her tone that he didn't think he'd ever heard from her before.

"I love you."

"Tell me that..." he heard her swallow. "Tell me that you will never leave me. Because my father left me, my mother left me, Alvi left me... I couldn't bare it if you and Allora left me too. If you say that you won't leave me, I will believe you."

"I will never leave you. Not as long as I have breath in my lungs and strength to stand. And if I die, I will break down the gates of whatever underworld exists here until I can get back to you."

Lethelin chuckled and looked up at him at last, her emerald eyes searching, hoping.

"I believe you would really try."

"There is no try," he told her solemnly.

"Would you bond with me? Would the future monarch of Awenor and defender of the last elemental Awen bond with a Varset dock rat? A thief and assassin? Would you have me at your side at the palace, there next to Allora, knowing what I was and where I came from?"

Mitchell studied her.

"I, Mitchell Allen, the future monarch of Awenor and defender of the last elemental Awen, would bond with you, Lethelin Na Forlia, thief and parttime assassin. I would have you at my side, next to Allora, knowing--and loving--what you are and where you came from."

There was a pregnant pause as Lethelin took in his words. Then she smiled at him and it was like she had never smiled at him before. Something changed about her in that moment. He knew then that she'd made her decision.

"Hi, there," he said softly and touched his nose to hers.

She cocked her head at the strange greeting but before she could speak, he kissed her, long and deep.

Interlude 2

Author's Note: This scene with Lethelin contains some light BDSM. If that's not your thing, skip ahead a little and there is another chapter following this one.

She came to his lips eagerly and the intensity of it made her whimper and he felt her legs start to bend as her body collapsed into his. Their tongues danced around each other and his arms pulled her so tight that she grunted against the force but didn't pull away. If anything, she kissed him harder.

Mitchell moved a hand up her back and into her curly red hair and laced his fingers through as much as he could and then squeezed his hand slowly into a fist. Lethelin's mouth broke away from his and she gasped. Mitchell watched her eyes roll back in her head as her fingernails began to push into his shirt and spear his back. He welcomed the sensation.

Mitchell flexed his hand, squeezing the hair tighter and she hissed. Whether in pain or pleasure, Mitchell couldn't quite be sure, but he suspected it was a little of both. Her eyes came open then and there was something untamed there. Lethelin was a bit of a wild girl to begin with but this was almost manic. Her eyes were shiny with the effects of the ale they'd consumed but there was also something hungry and--he thought--even a little fearful. As if she was both excited about what was going to happen or what it would mean for her if it did.

"Is this what you need?" Mitchell asked her, his voice pitched low and sinister.

Thoughts of his time with Allora came back to him as he watched Lethelin's face while she processed his words. He thought about how Allora had responded to him being more dominant than he had ever been with his partners back on Earth. This was similar, but more so.

Allora had seemed to just want him to be the one in control. She was responding to his strength more than anything. Mitchell had reasoned later that her being as strong as she was, perhaps she needed to be with someone even stronger. But watching Lethelin, who was just as deadly as Allora in her own right, albeit not as physically strong, he knew that while there were some similarities, Lethelin was responding to something else.

Lethelin's green eyes were alight with desire. Her body pressing into his, almost writhing at his rough treatment.

He jerked his hand and pulled her head back a few inches.

"Answer me," he commanded. "Is this what you need?"

"Ye--" she choked and he watched her struggle to swallow with her neck extended. "Yes, Mitchell."

"Yes, sir," he corrected. "And tell me clearly. I want to hear you say it."

"Yes, sir," she repeated and he felt her shudder under his grasp once more. "Please. This is what I need."

My lord had felt right with Allora but didn't feel right with Lethelin. Mitchell couldn't explain the difference or why he suddenly had the thought but he knew it was right the moment it happened.

Mitchell leaned forward and licked her neck from the hemline of her shirt to the bottom of her chin.

"Ohh!" Lethelin moaned and her weight fell almost fully into his arms as her legs buckled.

Slowly, he released the tension in her neck and she stood up, their eyes locking once more. Her pupils were so dilated that he almost couldn't see the green of her irises. She was nearly panting and Mitchell's sight was sharp enough to see the pulse throbbing in her pale slender neck.

Mitchell pulled her away from himself by the back of her head and spun her around so fast she almost toppled over. Then he pushed her over to the bed and bent her over it. It was high enough that she had to raise herself just slightly on the balls of her feet to flex over at a ninety-degree angle. She grunted at being thrown down but didn't protest. Mitchell grabbed her arms and, with one of his hands, pinned both of hers behind her back, holding her down. She was panting now.

Mitchell ran his hand up the inside of one leather-clad thigh, over the firm curve of her ass, and down the other. Then, without warning, he brought his hand down with a sharp crack against her cheek.

Lethelin yelped, the sound almost as short and clipped as the slap had been, and her whole body jerked, but she didn't protest.

"Do you know why I'm spanking you?"

"No," she said, her voice slightly muffled.

Crack!

He brought his hand down again, more forcefully this time. Lethelin moaned and she started to twist slightly in his grasp.

"No, sir," he corrected her.

"No, sir," she repeated, the tremble audible in her voice.

"For making me look weak in front of Elgrin."

"But it was necessary to make him beli--Ow!" her explanation turned into a squeal as Mitchell's hand descended again.

Crack! Crack!

Mitchell struck her right cheek and then the left in quick succession. Her legs were shaking now and she sniffled.

"I didn't give you permission to speak, pet. You embarrassed me and this is your punishment. Now, will you accept your punishment like a good girl?"

"Yes, sir."

"Do you need to be punished?"

"Yeesss," Lethelin mewled again. "I need to be punished, sir."

Mitchell rubbed both cheeks gently, soothing away what was almost surely an intense sting. She whimpered in relief and sagged into the bed as her muscles unclenched.

He released her hands but she didn't move her arms or attempt to rise. Then, sliding his fingers into the waist of her leather britches, he started to tug them down over the slight swell of her slender hips and over the more generous curve of her ass. He made sure to include the simple linen panties she wore so her rear came into view all at once. Lethelin lay completely still, allowing him to do everything.

Mitchell got down on one knee and continued to slide the travel-worn clothing down her well-toned thighs and muscled calves, taking time to admire the beautiful lines of her athletic body. He could see evidence of old battles she fought that had left their mark in the form of scars that looked like blade wounds but they didn't detract from her beauty. If anything, Mitchell thought they made her sexier. This is a woman who had earned what she had through combat. She'd been tested on the streets of her city, held her own against hardened murderers, thieves, and thugs, and had come out on top. And now she fought by his side and had pledged herself to him. As he counted the ones he could see--at least seven--Mitchell decided that the scars made him love her even more.

Mitchell reached her feet, and slipped the leather britches and panties off and tossed them to the side. With Lethelin naked from the waist down now, he stood up to admire her. His handprints were evident on her pale skin, each finger clearly outlined. He saw her pussy now, clearly for the first time. No more covert glances as they changed, no more trying to look while not trying to stare as they had hungered for each other over the many long weeks on the road.

The hair on her flower was slightly lighter, almost orange in color, and it wasn't as thick as Allora's had been. The sight of a woman with pubic hair was still a novelty to him as every woman he'd ever been with since college had waxed or shaved religiously. But he saw nothing wrong with either Allora nor Lethelin being completely natural. There was something a little more primal about it that Mitchell found sexier in a way.

Her pale skin glowed in the golden mage lights spaced around the room but Mitchell could still see the dampness on her lips as her body manifested her excitement at what was to come. She was so wet that little dew drops had started to form as he watched.

Mitchell dragged his nails from the back of her knees up to her ass, letting her feel the new sensation.

"Is this what you need, pet?"

"Yes, sir," she whimpered.

"How many more times do you need to be punished?"

"Sir?" she asked, the confusion plain in her voice.

"How many spanks do you deserve for embarrassing me in front of Elgin? You've had three already."

"I... umm... I..."

Mitchell could see her bite her lip as she tried to figure out what he wanted to hear.

For Mitchell's part, at no point did he think she actually needed to be punished, but in his mind, this had taken on the quality of a game. They were role-playing this. Mitchell had never really done any sort of real BDSM play before but done some reading in the past.

The closest he'd ever gotten to it was with a woman he dated briefly after starting at his job a couple of years ago. She'd been a temp working the reception desk and they'd hit it off. She'd had a thing for being choked but after reading about it he found out there was no really safe way to actually choke someone. The topic of BDSM play had intrigued him enough at the time that he'd gone down a rabbit hole, reading blogs, watching YouTube videos, and visiting forums on Reddit.

When he'd brought the choking problem to the girl, she'd said that she'd done it before and it would be fine, but Mitchell had never really warmed to the idea. He was curious about BDSM but knowing how dangerous her desire was, he couldn't get into it and she grew frustrated by what she saw as his overly-cautious nature. They'd broken up after a short time and she ended up taking a job at some other office across the valley in Chandler and he'd never heard from her again. Thankfully, a lot of what he'd spent those nights reading about was coming back to him.

The incident with Elgrin was a pretense. Mitchell hadn't been upset about it then nor was he now. He'd understood exactly what she was doing and she'd done it masterfully. But it was the first thing that came to his mind when this had begun and Lethelin was playing along. He was curious what experiences she'd had with this sort of thing but decided not to ask later. Whatever she'd done before she met him was none of his business, anyway.

"You're taking too long," Mitchell warned her. He drummed his fingers on one bare asscheek.

"Umm... six more spanks, sir?"

"Hmm... A nice round number. One for each cheek. This is acceptable."

"Thank you, sir."

"Are you ready for your punishment?"

"Yes, sir."

Mitchell positioned himself to the left of her bent form and began to caress her bare cheeks. He felt her shudder at the gentle touch. He moved his hand towards the center and, middle finger leading, let it slide down between her cheeks until he found the wetness between her legs. Lethelin's back arched as he moved his finger up and down her slit, but he didn't enter her.

Slowly, over the next several seconds, her muscles began to unclench and her breathing deepened. Still, he waited. Lethelin's hips began to gently move up and down against his fingers, and her breath started to catch every time he came into gentle contact with her clit. Almost there...

"Please, sir!" Lethelin finally whimpered.

Mitchell immediately took his hand away, which caused her to gasp and delivered his hardest slap yet to her bare ass this time. The crack echoed through the room, sharp and angry.

"Stollar's cock!" Lethelin screeched as her body jerking at the force of the blow.

"That's one," Mitchell said as he rubbed the angry red flesh, soothing away the sting. "You did tell me harder, remember?"

"What? When?" she demanded.

Mitchell stopped his gentle caresses and he felt her tense.

"When what?" he asked, his voice carrying a threat.

"When, sir?" she corrected, her voice meek.

"That's better," he cooed, and resumed his soft rubbing. He then slid his finger down to her pussy, which was significantly wetter than just a moment before. She moaned audibly at the touch and tried to push her hips back to get more pressure on her clit but he moved with her, denying her what she wanted. Seeing her like this, half naked and moaning at his mere touch, was turning him on more than he thought possible. His cock was like a steel rod in his pants and it was actually quite uncomfortable, but it wasn't time yet.

"The other morning, when I swatted your sexy little ass as we were getting up."

He could see her brows furrow as she tried to remember.

"That doesn't count! I wasn't serious!" Then she quickly added, "Sir!"

"Oh, so you want me to stop? You don't want your punishment?"

The silence stretched for several seconds as Lethelin did battle with what she was feeling. He could see her hands, still behind her back despite him no longer holding them there, start to fidget. Mitchell didn't say a word of encouragement, one way or another. He let the silence stretch.

"No, sir," she said softly. "I want my punishment."

"As you wish," Mitchell said. "How many spanks left?"

"Five, sir."

"And is that what you need? Five more?"

"Yes, sir," the deadly assassin said, her voice small and quavering.

"Then let's continue."

Mitchell resumed stroking her ass for a few seconds, then brought his hand back and delivered another sharp smack to the opposite cheek.

"Mmmm!" Lethelin groaned through clenched teeth.

"How many left?

"Four, sir," her voice was tight.

Deciding to switch it up now, he delivered two more strikes, back-to-back, alternating cheeks with each blow.

Lethelin's legs began to quiver and her gasps sounded as if they were done more in pleasure than pain now.

"Are you going to cum?" Mitchell asked her, using the Common word he'd learned with Allora.

"I think so, sir."

She was panting and a flush was visible on her pale back.

"You don't cum until I tell you too. Do you understand?"

"Mmm, yes sir," she whimpered. "But I don't know if I can help it."

"You'd better," Mitchell warned her. "How many left?

"Two, sir," she almost groaned.

Mitchell's need was almost as strong as hers and he was having real trouble not ripping his pants off and fucking her right there, but he knew that would spoil the mood. He was greatly enjoying the dynamic and Lethelin was, too. So he shifted his erection around in his britches to try and ease some of the pressure, and prepared to give Lethelin her final two swats.

"You've been very good for me, my pet."

"Thank you, sir."

Mitchell brought his hand down harder this time and the crack echoed throughout the room, followed immediately by Lethelin's whimper and gasp. He could see her whole backside start to clench up as she moaned.

"Don't cum," Mitchell warned her.

"Yeeesss, sir," Lethelin said as her body started to shudder and she fought to control herself.

"How many left?"

"Wuh... One, sir. One. One. One," she was saying, almost to herself at this point as her mind entered something Mitchell knew to be called subspace.

It was that mental state where the sub, male or female, fully embraced the situation.

"That's right. But if you cum, we start all over again."

Lethelin moaned, half in fear, half in unbearable anticipation.

"I won't, sir. I promise."

Mitchell ran a finger down the crack of her ass again and let it just graze her pussy. She was so wet now that it was literally running in little rivulets down her leg. Once he made contact with her opening she gasped and jerked her pussy away as much as she was able.

"Please no, sir!" she pleaded. "I'll cum if you do that! Please no, please no."

Her whole body was shaking now under the stress of trying to prevent her orgasm and Mitchell found it amazing to watch. And knowing that he had done that to her with just a few words, a few slaps, and his finger gave him a rush of excitement that almost rivaled the actual sex itself. His body burned for her. He felt his skin grow hot as his desire coursed through him. His entire essence seemed focused on his cock as he battled his own desire to take her immediately.

"Good things come to those who wait," Mitchell reminded himself.

He had no idea where this side of his sexuality had been hiding but he found that he liked it. He liked it a lot.

Rather than speak, he brought his hand down one final time on her other cheek, although truth be told he barely remembered and they were both as red as apples on harvest day.

As the echo of the final strike rang in his ears he could hear Lethelin fighting to control her breath. Her hands had flown from her back and were gripping the blankets into tight balls of tortured fabric. Her eyes were squeezed shut, her lips pressed together, and her breath was coming out in powerful blasts from her nose. She was up on her toes, every muscle taut as she fought against her own body.

Mitchell didn't speak and he didn't touch her again. He let the moment settle, knowing instinctively somehow that she was at her limit and he needed to let her process everything that just happened. He took those couple of minutes to slowly undress, starting with his simple shirt and then unlacing his leather pants.

Naked, his cock finally free, he stepped up to Lethelin as her breathing started to slow. He saw her hands unclench. He laid his cock on her ass and he heard her gasp.

"You did very well," Mitchell told her, his voice soothing and gentle. "Are you ready for your reward?"

Lethelin swallowed and then croaked out, 'Thank you, sir. Yes, sir."

Mitchell adjusted his hips and placed the head of his cock at her entrance which brought a long mewling sound from her parched throat.

"And Lethelin?"

"Yes, sir?" she whimpered as the sensations he was giving her were amping up the tension again. She was a live wire beneath him.

"You can cum now."

"Thank you, si--Oh, Stollar's fucking cock!" Lethelin screamed as Mitchell placed his hands on the curve of her hips and pushed himself all the way into her soaking pussy with one smooth stroke.

It was pure bliss. She was hot, wet, and so very tight. Her breathing was ragged now and Mitchell felt his own heartbeat thudding in his chest. He didn't think it was possible to get more turned on than he had been with Allora but the long build up with Lethelin had him just as amped up as she was.

Mitchell didn't move. He held himself inside her velvety embrace as he felt her body tremble around his length.

"Pleasesirpleasesirpleasesir," she was whimpering as her hands grasped at the quilt once more.

Slowly, painstakingly, Mitchell began to back out of her and he reveled in the sensation of feeling her tight around him as he withdrew.

"Ooooooo," Lethelin moaned.

"Jeeesus Christ," Mitchell moaned in reply as his brain slipped back into English.

"Jee-jush kist, Stollar, Denass, the two bloody fucking moons! Fuck me, sir!" Lethelin swore.

Mitchell obliged. He drove back into her and then out again suddenly. Her body rocked forward under the power but she still managed to push herself onto him as he moved forward. He buried himself in her with each stroke and she accepted him fully.

"Oh, Fates! Oh, Fates! Mitchell I'm cumming!" she squealed as he continued his powerful thrusts.

"That's a good pet," Mitchell growled. "Cum for me. Cum for me now!"

Her voice rose to a crescendo and it was so loud Mitchell wondered if someone outside would think he was killing her but he didn't dare stop. He was too close himself.

On the bed in front of him, their two bodies still joined at the hips, Lethelin body seized as an orgasm claimed her. Her throat locked up and her screams of pleasure became nothing more than gurgles and gasps as every muscle in her body went rigid and her pussy clamped down on him like a blood pressure cuff.

Mitchell lifted her lower half off the ground now and began pulling her towards him as her body ragdolled on the bed. She was even lighter than Allora, being several inches shorter and, while in excellent shape, not having nearly the same amount of muscle mass. He was grunting with every thrust, feeling the pressure build in his balls as he claimed her.

Unable to hold back any longer, Mitchell released into her with an inarticulate scream and it felt like his soul poured out of his body and into her eager and accepting tunnel. He staggered, setting her down quickly, and coming forward on to the bed on his hands to avoid landing right on top of her. His chest heaved as he worked to catch his breath. Over the sounds of his own labored breathing he could hear Lethelin's low moans that she exhaled with every breath.

Mitchell brushed the hair out of her face to see her skin beet red, beaded with sweat, mouth partially open and eyes closed. Words started to become audible in her breathy exhalations.

"Thank you, sir," she was mumbling to herself as her body settled.

He lowered himself down and kissed her damp cheek.

"You did very good, pet."

A small smile curled her lips.

"I like it when you call me that, sir."

"Do you?" he asked, as he kissed the delicate folds of her ear.

"Yes, sir," she said, her voice dreamy. "It makes me feel warm inside."

"Are you sure that's not my cock?" Mitchell chuckled and Lethelin giggled in reply. He was still inside her, slowly starting to soften but he found himself reluctant to move. She clenched the muscles in her pussy, giving him a squeeze, perhaps just to show she could, and Mitchell shuddered at the sensation.

"Not just that," she answered, "sir."

Mitchell did extract himself then and they both groaned at the loss of sensation. Then he crawled up on the bed and turned her over, hugging her small body into his arms. She came willingly, bending almost into a fetal position as he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her to his chest. She brought her head up and met his eyes and she stared for a long time.

"Mitchell, no one has ever made me feel that way before. Not ever. How did you do that?"

Now that the moment had passed, her normal personality was back. Mitchell also wasn't insisting on any of that 'sir' talk, either. He was perfectly happy to let that sort of language stay in the bedroom, as it were. He certainly wouldn't expect either Allora or Lethelin behave that way when they were walking around.

"It's something I learned about on Earth. Honestly, I had never done much like that before, but as we started playing, a lot of what I read came back to me."

"Stollar's swinging cock," she said with a note of awe in her voice. "Allora didn't explain anything like that."

"I didn't do that with Allora," he said. "There was a little hint of that, but I don't think she would have responded the same way."

"Huh..." Lethelin said, pondering. "Can I tell her about it?"

"As you like," Mitchell said, and then leaned down and kissed her softly. "My pet."

"Mmmm," she moaned as her hands roamed his back. "Say it again."

"My beautiful, sexy, deadly, passionate, amazing pet."

From her place in nestled in his arms, she gazed up at him and her eyes had gone a little misty.

"Mitchell..." she said tentatively. "I... I really love you."

"And I really love you. Now, what's say we give that tub a try?"

She blushed deep scarlet then, but nodded.

The extricated themselves from the bed and he worked out how to get the water running. It operated on a similar system to the way the doors had at the bathhouse in Besari.

There were two small stones set into the faucet mechanism, one for the hot and one for the cold. They user didn't need magic to work, one only needed to touch them. Quickly water began to gush from the tap and Mitchell worked out how to use the lever between the two gemstones to control the amount of each flow to get the desired temperature.

The tub itself was set onto flagstones and were angled inward from all sides where any excess water would be funneled toward a drain sitting directly under the large metal tub. Pretty clever, Mitchell thought.

Lethelin stepped up to the tub, fully naked now, and he marveled once again at her pale beauty. She saw him admiring her.

"Brought the soap," she said, and held up a small light orange bar and a natorki, the little loofah-like sponge that was used for bathing here.

She stepped forward, her hair a tousled mess, and they kissed once more.

"I could get used to that," he said.

"You'd better," she chided.

Mitchell stepped in the deliciously warm water and then held Lethelin's hand as she stepped over the side and joined him. He sank down and she followed, setting herself between his legs and leaned into him. The soap went into the water and the sweet scent of lana fruit began to fill the damp air.

They sat like that for a while, at first saying nothing, and then they began to talk of simple things. Outside the room, the noise on the first floor began to quiet down and a song began to drift to their ears. The music mage was working her magic once again. Even muted by the thick walls, it was beautiful.

Eventually they began to wash each other off. Clean and dry, they returned to the bed.

Mitchell pulled her nude form into his and she came. Even after all they'd just been through, they were still hungry for each other. They made love then. There were no spanks, no words of dominance or submission, just quiet, steady passion. Their bodies moved in a rhythm new to them, but familiar all the same. When the release came, it was much gentler, yet somehow more intense than before.

A short time later, as they lay in each other's arms, Lethelin said quietly, "I miss Allora."

"Me, too."

Chapter 67 - Vras

Despite being well past sundown on a cloudy night, the tar dens were perfectly visible to Vras as he prowled the rooftops without fear. He was gratha. He would only be seen if he wanted to be seen. And the two-legs were so blind in the dark that he often wondered how they moved at all.

The tar s'thyr had asked him to stay in the forest, but Vras knew that to be a stupid request. The tar ara'tiss had asked Vras to protect the tar s'thyr and he couldn't very well do that in the forest.

Once the sun had set Vras left the cover of the forest and crossed the open space, slinking silent as a shadow through the grass. Scaling the walls was no more of a problem than ascending the trees had been. He had gone around the tar den once, sticking to the walls, and keeping his eyes and nose alert for anything that might be a threat. Finding nothing but the scent of the two-legs and their animal companions, he had begun leaping deftly from rooftop to rooftop to inspect them more closely. This had proved somewhat more difficult as many of the smaller dens had slick stone covering them and his claws were unable to find purchase. But once he figured out that the top of each pitched surface was the most stable, he was able to more easily navigate as he continued his patrol.

Vras felt the pull to the tar s'thyr and was able to track him to the larger two-leg den where many tars had gathered. Their voices were almost painfully loud to his sensitive ears after so long in the quiet of the forest. Their speech was a confusing mix of words that he struggled to sort out, and soon he stopped trying. With concentration, he was able to understand the tar s'thyr, Maula, and the tar ara'tiss, but it had taken him many days of work. It was a source of great frustration for Vras that the tar s'thyr could not understand him in turn without using his magic, but the shadow cat could see no solution to that problem. It was just something that must be endured. And Vras was gratha. He could endure it.

Once he had located the den in which the tar s'thyr would be sleeping, he continued to patrol. Some of the tar that entered the walls had strange scents upon them, and he could see the glow of magic about many, and those he watched more carefully. Their ornaments that many wore on their hands or heads glowed like firelight to his sight. Some wore clothing that glowed similarly, albeit less brightly. Others had weapons with the glow, some bright and some faint.

Vras didn't like it that some of those who glowed with magic went into the den where the tar s'thyr and Maula were resting, but he would not enter unless he heard sounds of battle. He would enjoy greatly the fear his presence would create among the two-legs, as is proper, but Vras knew that the tar s'thyr would not be pleased. Even less so if he killed them. So Vras contented himself with nestling in the shadows of a den across from where his charge was resting to watch and hope for the thrill of battle.

After a few hours, the noise inside the large den began to subside. Some who had gone in began to emerge, strange and harsh alchemical fumes coming from their skin that he could smell even from his position high on the roofs. Many, he saw, were having trouble staying on their feet. They stumbled into the darkness, and Vras followed some who glowed more brightly with magic than others to see where they would bed down in case they proved to be a threat later.

Once the streets were clear, Vras returned to the large den and made his way to the roof, where he would stay until he sensed the tar s'thyr wake. There was still some noise from within, but he found he could tolerate it now. Vras kept his body low and his eyes alert. He expected no trouble but was ever vigilant. The tar s'thyr must live to carry out the great hunt, and so Vras would see that he survived.

He did not know how he knew this, but he did. He could sense it. It had confused him when he had first met him on the mountains. His initial instinct was to attack, even though the two-legs was much bigger. But something kept him back. Something had whispered that he must not kill this two-legs.

And Vras knew this was not some oddity of all two-legs now that he had been around them so much. It was only the tar s'thyr that pulled at him and commanded his loyalty and obedience.

Vras glanced briefly beyond the walls to the living forest with its flickering lights that none of the two-legs could see. Really, why did they even have eyes if they did not use them? He felt guilty. Almost. But that was nonsense, he understood. Gratha knew no guilt. The tar s'thyr did not understand what he had asked, and Vras had not bothered to explain it. This is just how it must be.

The wind changed and a gust of air came wafting through the holes in the den below. It carried a fresh scent of all the two-legs in the den and stirred the ancient hunger within him. He once again fought his nature. Always there was the desire to rend their flesh and slake his thirst with their blood. The urge to take down the weaker ones as they stumbled half-blind through the dark was so powerful that his muscles actually started to twitch as he resisted the pull, the ever-present craving to feel that magic pouring over his tongue and to savor the warm meat. To be gratha was to have this desire. To be gratha meant to crave the sound of your prey's death. His mother had explained this to him early as they stalked the mountains together.

His mother. It had been many dawns since he'd thought about her. Vras found he struggled to remember the scent of her now. His memories had grown hazy over time. He tried to remember how many dawns it had been, but it was difficult for him. Vras was gratha. Life between one kill and the next held little meaning for gratha. The hunt was what they yearned for. The blood, the terror. Why remember anything of the in-between?

But he remembered the hated farisk. How it had swooped in on silent wings and tried to pull his mother into the sky. He remembered the pitched battle and the triumph when his mother had ripped the cursed wing from the farisk's body. How it had screamed! How the blood had poured out of its mortal wound. It had glowed so brightly that it had hurt Vras's eyes to see it. Pain and fear made the blood glow brighter, made it taste better. Made the meat sweeter. And his mother had made it suffer.

"Hello, little one," a voice suddenly said from behind.

He reacted instantly, all six powerful legs thrusting him up and spinning him around, fangs bared and ready to--

Vras was halted instantly as his eyes fell upon the creature that had somehow come upon him unawares. He fell back on his rear four paws, stunned, and gazed in wonder at the sight before him. The creature seemed to be made of light. Vras's rage and battle lust evaporated immediately as the warm radiance of an alien yet familiar sun washed over him. He blinked and tried to focus and slowly the shape became clearer. His eyes adjusted to the light of the powerful magic the creature possessed. It was a female two-legs, but not like the others. Her hair, skin, and eyes were as pale as the snow in the peaks.

"I must confess, I did not expect to find a gratha this far from the mountains. What brings you to a two-leg den?"

"I am protecting the tar s'thyr," Vras said simply.

The woman let out a tinkling laugh.

"Are you, now?" the creature said and she cast a rueful glance at where one of the moons was peeking through the clouds. "Oh, Vish, your father will not be pleased."

She laughed again and clapped her hands.

Vras suddenly realized the female creature was speaking to him in his own language.

She was not using the magical words that the tar s'thyr used that made his whiskers tingle.

"What are you?"

One of her white eyebrows raised.

"You don't know? Did your mother not tell you of the people of your homeland?"

"My mother died in a fight with a farisk."

Vras sent the flashes of his memory of the battle to the creature.

"Oh," the creature smiled. "Your mother was magnificent. All of the blood! You must have been dazzled.

Vras flicked his ears in agreement.

"I am Luvari, little one."

This creature, Luvari, crossed over to him, bold and unafraid, and stroked his ears. A shiver ran through his whole body at her touch. Vras leaned into it and began to purr. The pads at the end of his tentacles opened up, and he plucked gently at the skin of her hand.

As her fingers worked into his fur, around his ears, and then down to his neck, visions began to enter his mind. Visions of a land so cold and frozen yet so full of light and power that Vras was stunned by it. He saw more creatures like her, and he saw other gratha prowling both the blackness of winter and summer lands. He saw some of them walking alongside creatures like the one beside him, and others doing battle with them. Glorious fights with blood glowing so brightly that it looked metallic. Then he saw gratha under other suns and other stars, hunting beasts he had no name for. He saw all that and more besides.

"My kind made you, little one. We made you to be the perfect hunters. The perfect killers. Tell me, what was your mother's name?"

Vras sent her the image of midnight-black claws slashing a throat.

"Yes, I remember her. She came prowling around my cabin once, many years ago, before you were born."

Suddenly, an image appeared in Vras's mind of his mother. Her scent once again flooded his nostrils, and he felt a longing for her that he had almost forgotten.

"What I remember of her," she said. "To keep you company as you guard the tar s'thyr."

Vras was overcome with a feeling he didn't know how to describe. So instead, he licked her hand and purred.

"Do you guard him also?" Vras asked her.

"No, little one. I just check in on him from time to time. I have plans for him."

"A great hunt," Vras said. It wasn't a question.

"Indeed," she said with another laugh. "That is one way to think about it. I am pleased to know a gratha will be by his side."

The woman closed her eyes and the surrounding magic began to swirl and flare, the intensity making him squint, but he did not look away. Then the light dimmed, and she opened her eyes once again and looked to where the moon would be if it were not obscured by the clouds.

"Yes," she said, her voice low and sinister. "Vish, you are a crafty bitch." Then Luvari turned her attention back to Vras. "You will taste the blood of many foes, little one. But you will not be little for long. All will fear you and despair."

Vras felt his chest swell with pride.

"I am gratha. This is how it must be."

The woman knelt then and brought her silvery-white eyes level with his, and he saw something he recognized there. She knew the lust for battle and blood as well. She knew the hunger.

"Yes," she said, her voice echoing some dark need that resonated in Vras's chest. "That is how it must be."

Her ice-pale eyes grew large in his vision, and Vras felt himself swallowed by them, falling into a wintery world where warmth was not even a memory. Where this creature and her kind were all-powerful, and where gratha prowled almost uncontested.

"Your mother died before she taught you all that you needed to know," Luvari said. "I can teach you some. Watch, and learn."

And Vras did.