Queen Yavara Ch. 37

"The risk is—"

"Shut up." Brianna giggled again.

I harrumphed. "Someone has to run this city while I'm gone."

"It's going to take you days to get through those mines, Adrianna." Soraya said, "And that place is crawling with feral vampires. Are you going to bring a blood-bag with you or something? You need a food source, or you'll go feral too."

"Another day-walker." Alexa said, "One of you changes quickly into your elf form, and the other drinks. You bring food with you so that your elf bodies can regenerate."

"It's at least a two-woman job, Commander." Faltia said.

"And that other woman is going to be me." Furia said resolutely. None of the others objected.

"If you're so dead-set on being a stubborn cunt, you can wait to bite us after your mission," Eva tittered, "but you are going to do it."

"Vampire sex, bro." Brianna grinned, "Leather body-suits, and ritualistic blood sacrifices."

"I can't wait." Eva grinned wolfishly, and pulled on Soraya's dog-leash. The busty masochist purred and crawled into her lover's arms, dramatically draping her head to expose her throat. Eva planted a kiss on her neck, and sucked loudly.

Furia's legs wrapped around my waist, her ample breasts forming against my back, her lips on my neck, her teeth gnawing playfully. "Mmm, you're already so delicious," she whispered, "I can't imagine how good you'll taste when I actually get to eat you."

"No need to imagine." Faltia giggled as she parted my knees, and dipped her face into my crotch. She rolled up my robe, and planted her mouth at the apex of my thighs. It was how every night ended in Alkandra, and often how every morning began. My family of bronze demons descended upon each other, their mouths tasting with avarice, their hands grasping with covetousness. Our legs wrapped, our hot parts joined, and we slithered in a pile of moans and limbs, becoming one entity of depthless depravity and limitless pleasure. I was unconsciously part of it, writhing and wriggling in a dance I knew by heart, improvising depending on the tastes of whichever lover I was pleasing, licking and sucking, invading and being invaded, begging and commanding, submissive, dominant, tender, abusive; all my shades and colors flowing effortlessly as my holes were filled with cock, my mouth was filled with cunt, and my heart was filled with love.

When it was over, we slept together on the large bed in our high tower, our bodies creating all the warmth we needed in the fall cold. Only I was awake, staring at the ceiling. On many occasions, we had allowed friends to join us in our nightly ritual, and foremost among them had been Certiok Terdini, and Prince Matthew Dreus. I was greatly fond of the boy, and delighted in his journey of homosexual self-discovery. He'd been abandoned by his father, but he'd found a new family with us. Alexa was especially close with him, and treated him like a lover and a little brother. It would shatter her when he died, and the thought of her anguished visage was enough to rob me of the night's sleep.

"What's wrong?" Furia grumbled beside me, nestling her face in my bosom.

"Nothing." I whispered, and planted a kiss atop her head.

"Liar." She moaned, and drifted back to sleep.

GORLOK

We crossed the river at night. The map said we were in the Feltianas province; Zander wanted us there. I didn't give a shit which elven lord it was. I didn't care about the politics, and I didn't care about the war. I didn't even care about Alkandra anymore, for I knew I would never see it. After what I did here, Yavara would never let me live. I knew Zander had given me a suicide mission. In truth, I didn't even care about that. All my life, I had wanted to ride Ginger into the Highlands, and here I was. I would be the devil they whispered of in the night. I would be the nightmare that lurked in the shadows of their dreams. I would be the grinning face smiling behind them in the reflection of their mirror. I sniffed the air, filling my nostrils with the sweet tang of the maple's sap. Then I kicked my heels into Ginger's side, and I charged ahead of my company.

Within the high pastures of Feltianas, was a village. Scores of quaint huts littered the hillside, and atop it was a steeple that created an arrow to the starlit heavens above. Warm orange fires burned from cozy hearths, smoke rose from chimneys to paint the cold fall air in its haze. Silently, Ginger approached the village. We came upon a house. She sniffed through the window, and snorted. No one there. The other wargs spread out through the village, dipping their heads into the windows, finding no one. Each house was empty. I pulled on her scruff, and she stopped. I held up a hand, and all the others stopped as well. I closed my eyes, and listened. There was a sound on the wind. A chorus of exalting voices whispering from the hilltop. My eyes opened, and fell upon the church. I grinned wolfishly.

We surrounded the chapel. The religious melody was uninterrupted as the wargs positioned themselves below the windows, and I moved Ginger before the double doors. I waited for a moment, enjoying the anticipation, allowing what would happen next to play out in my mind. When the song reached its crescendo, I would smash through the doors. There would be a scream of shock, then the scream would rise to one of terror, then one of horror when the realization came to them. The other wargs would burst through the windows, and the fun would begin.

We would herd the people to the center of the chapel. Those too old to move quickly would be pounced upon. Their entrails would be gutted from their bellies by great jaws and razor teeth, and they would shriek like they'd never shrieked before, blood gurgling from their mouths. The people in the center would look on in horror as their elderly writhed, not too old to die fast. "Dad!" Someone might scream, "Mom!" someone might cry, "Grandpa! Grandma!" the children might wail. Oh, the children. They had thought the world made sense. Their parents were gods to them, and they would always be safe, and the things they loved would always be there. It was the visceral shattering of that fiction that would make their horror so pure, and their screams so high. Their mothers would guard them bravely as the wargs feasted upon their grandparents, and the horrible sounds coming from the dying would fill the hall until breath finally left their wretched lungs. There were no men to fight us, and so the mothers would offer themselves to us to save their children. We would accept their offer. We would have our fun with them, then we would feed their pups to our beasts anyway. Wargs always went for the bellies first. The chapel would be filled with a new kind of music, and we would dance with the mothers to the melodies of their children. Then we would reunite mothers, grandparents and young in the bellies of our beasts, but we would leave one survivor. One who was too old to be a child, but too young to be a mother. She would be untouched. When her house of the holy became a mausoleum, she would find a new god in me. She would be my disciple, and she would spread my name and gospel across the land. No escape. No mercy.

I stroked Ginger's mane, and smiled to myself. The heavenly choir belted out the last verses, and the amen was sounded.