Undying Ch. 16-21

Notes: 1) My thanks to Arec for reading over this and giving me a few things to look at and adjust! 2) If you see this version of the story anywhere other than Literotica it isn't supposed to be there. 3) Because of shorter chapters, this is being posted in chunks.

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*Sixteen*

Vezar dozed fitfully, Syreilla should be here curled against his side. Instead, she was with the dwarf. His overeagerness had attached her to this Kaduil and it burned him.

But she would come to him. He resigned himself to staring at the ceiling. Olthon was nothing if not determined. He would try to use sweet Syreilla against him, to make her seek him out. Once she was out of the mine and away from Kaduil, she would have no reason to resist his pulling.

A timid knocking on the door made him lift his head. "Enter."

The girl from the afternoon had returned with his clothes. "Miss Jenet said I had to dry them by the fire, you need them early."

They smelled of smoke. He frowned and stood to fetch her two coppers. "I do need them, the smell will fade." He noticed the way she looked at his form. "How early is it?"

"Very early." She bit her lip and smiled.

"You wanted to have some time with me, child?" He smiled at her annoyance.

"I'm no child." Her chin tilted up proudly and she rolled her shoulders back making certain her ample bosom was well displayed.

"What is your name?" He smiled wider and gestured to the bed.

The girl nearly strutted, "Millesant."

"Mm. Is that all of your name, Millesant?" A substitute for his Syreilla while he waited would not be amiss.

"Millesant Hadwise," she offered as he pushed her down on the bed pulling at her dress.

"Millesant Hadwise, I am Vezar Edra, the Undying. Speak it." He commanded quietly.

The girl shivered and obeyed. "Vezar Edra, the Undying."

He pulled at the hungry threads of her desire, unlike Syreilla's they were already primed and they attached to him easily. It was a simple matter to bind her. "A traveling companion would please me. When we have finished you will gather your things, collect whatever coin you have and you will follow me."

Vezar poured his desire for Syreilla into the willing woman under him. The creature was already wet and it smelled as if she'd come from at least one other man's bed before she'd come to his. Foreplay was unnecessary. With each powerful thrust, the size he'd chosen and the subtle draconic ridges he'd intended for Syreilla's enjoyment made Millesant whimper his name in pleasure as his mistresses always had.

Closing his eyes he imagined it was the delicate half-elf beneath him instead. Her golden hair across his pillow and her athletic elven legs wrapped around him. Syreilla's hands roaming his arms and chest, her sweet sounds... The woman beneath him squeezed his cock inside her as he thrust and he groaned, clutching her to him and releasing inside her. Vezar pressed kisses to her neck to reward her along with a few small nips to punish the woman for not being who he wanted her to be. The relief of desire sated was as delicious as it had always been, however.

As he pulled back, Millesant stared up at him lustfully, wanting more.

"Go, wash, and fetch your things, my pet. We will be enjoying each other often." He stroked her flushed face. She was too easy. As an afterthought, he added, "Bring a fresh basin and cloth for me first, Millesant."

He lay back on the bed as he waited. Syreilla would be pleased he was no longer alone, even if the girl barely qualified as company.

Washed and dressed, with the eager Millesant trailing behind, he let Miss Jenet's boy take him to the caravaners. They offered only a pittance to have him escort them but he didn't care about payment. He doubted all of the men here would reach their destination, and there would be money for the taking if he needed it.

Vezar let Millesant ride his horse and he walked in front of it as they got underway. It made the girl beam with pride and affection.

One of the caravaners called out the name he'd given, "Irek!" The man next to him snickered. "I heard you stole that whore from Miss Jenet, is her snatch made of gold that you're letting her ride while you walk?"

There was laughter from some of the other wagons. Vezar smiled at the man in answer, making him pale and look away.

"I can walk if you want me to."

He glanced up at the embarrassed Millesant. "No, my pet. I would prefer you to be well-rested."

She flushed and smiled down at him. "I don't think anyone has ever been so sweet to me."

He grinned up at her, "Try to remember that when you see me being cruel to others."

Her chin tilted up and she smirked. "I'm sure they'll have deserved it."

"Such a sweet pet, my Millesant." He reached back and stroked her leg under her skirt. Her eyes immediately darkened with desire. The girl did have her charms.

That night the two snickering caravaners went to sleep and did not wake. The morning found them in their wagon, pale and cold each with what looked like a small puncture or bite. Vezar was nominated to search the wagon looking for what might have bitten them and killed them. Searching obediently, feigning sullenness at the task as he inventoried their things, he leapt back as he found a small, venomous scorpion. A fortunate find!

The creature took the blame, and Vezar took a sizable purse for his service and secured the wagon for himself and Millesant to sleep in. He now knew that if he wished to consume more of the caravaners the punctures would be the wisest method. Millesant however was terrified to sleep in the wagon, he had to make a show each night of searching it for her and then bedding her well to make her sleep.

It earned him envious looks from the other men. Vezar found he enjoyed it tremendously. Reaching Brosa after two weeks of travel, he had a purse to spend and a horse to sell.

Millesant was confused when they found an inexpensive place to stay and he insisted on going to the temple of Imos. "Are you planning to give the money as an offering?"

"No, my pet." He stroked her rich brown hair. "My sister is to meet me here. Syreilla will have a use for it, I am sure."

She pouted prettily at him and it reminded him of one of his royal mistresses. "I would have a use for it too, Vezar."

He laughed softly and ran a finger over her lips. "I am certain you would, my pet."

"Please, I want to come with you." Millesant clutched at him as he tried to pull away. "I want to meet your sister."

"Come if you wish, Millesant. Do you believe your things will be safe here alone?"

Smiling, he watched her hopefulness turn to sullenness. This place was not one you wished to leave anything unattended. "She may not be here yet, my pet. I will bring her if she is and return if she is not. We will have more time, and privacy, if she is not."

The girl kissed him giddily. "I hope she takes her time."

Vezar left her in the room and made his way to the temple. Beggars knelt and pleaded before the doors, mostly ignored by those passing by. He studied the milling crowd looking for Syreilla's golden hair or her delicate, nearly elvish ears. She was lovely enough to stand out from the crowd and his eyes were sharp.

He waited and watched for hours, even going into the temple and offering a prayer for the chance to look for her inside. His mood was sour as he stalked back to the lodging where he had left Millesant. It brightened somewhat when he realized someone was surreptitiously following him. Someone to consume.

It had been several days and in a city of this size, one person would not be missed, especially not a footpad. Vezar smiled to himself and pretended to be lost, stepping into an alleyway.

*Seventeen*

By dawn, Syreilla had thoroughly exhausted herself but couldn't fall asleep. Kaduil had finally begun to snore next to her. She rubbed her face against his side breathing in the pleasant earthy smell of dwarf. He'd shown a great deal of stamina. The thought of leaving made her heart ache.

Batran called from below and she carefully got out of bed leaving Kaduil to snore on. Throwing on Kaduil's shirt she met Batran on the stairs. Syr whispered to him, "I need my traveling clothes."

The dwarf was studiously looking elsewhere as he offered her a sack of things, keeping his voice low, "Kaduil is asleep?"

"I wanted to give him a reason to welcome me home, and he wanted to give me a reason to come back quickly." She grinned tiredly, "We wore each other out, I think."

He shook his head with a smile at her quiet response, "Wake him before you go. He won't be glad to wake to an empty bed a day before he has to."

Syr nodded wordlessly. The lump in her throat wouldn't let her speak.

Returning to the room she debated dressing first and decided against it. She set the sack on the bed and leaned across Kaduil to kiss him awake. He woke with a start and then a smile. "You're not going to let me sleep at all?"

She tried to return the smile but her face wouldn't cooperate and her eyes filled with tears. "It's time for me to get dressed and go."

Kaduil looked as if he'd been struck, sitting up to pull her close. Cursing the elves under his breath for a multitude of things, beardlessness and tree-fucking foremost among them, in Dwarvish, he squeezed her until she thought he might crush the air out of her. Syr didn't complain. He loosened his grip as if realizing it on his own. "Am I crushing you?"

"If you break my ribs I might get to stay a few more days."

He laughed and crushed her again before pulling back to kiss her. "Come home to me."

"I will. I promise, Kaduil." She kissed him ardently. "As soon as I can."

His sigh was heart-wrenching for her but he put on a determined frown and nodded before sitting up. "Get dressed, Syr. You shouldn't keep those beardless, inbred, kin-fuckers waiting." He grinned viciously, making her laugh.

Syreilla stood and pulled off his shirt letting him watch as she emptied the sack and put on her traveling clothes, extra tools, and picks in her clothes in strategic places, all of her pouches checked carefully. She frowned. "I'm missing my boot knife and I'm low on a few things. Can we swing by the forge stores?"

Grinning broadly, he climbed out of bed. "I have a boot knife for you. Batran told me not to give it to you, you were too proud of the one you'd made."

"I was!" She laughed. "Even if Vezar hadn't broken it I'd still rather have one of yours this morning." Syr smiled at him, "Your knives are better."

In the stores, she refilled her vials and pouches and stuck another shallow ceramic bowl into a pocket. Dragon's fire on hand was always comforting. Syr wrote her acquisitions in the ledger and turned to leave.

Kaduil watched her with a smile. "Mordaeg appreciates you writing what you take, even though you only take such small amounts." He came closer offering her a slim knife. It was razor-sharp, the handle was intricately engraved with Dwarvish runes, and had a smooth milky opal for a pommel that shimmered with shades of blue and gold like dragon's fire when the light caught it.

"This is beautiful, Kaduil." Syreilla looked at him in amazement. "When I get home you have to teach me how to make something like this."

"Syreilla, when you get home I'm going to keep you naked in the house for a year." His tone was only half-teasing.

She grinned at him impishly, "After that, then. After you spend a year in the house with me they may chain you to the forge." The knife fit the sheath built into her boot perfectly, and while she was bent Kaduil swatted her ass.

"I have a wife who can get me out of chains without a problem."

"You certainly do." Taking his hand, she walked reluctantly up and out to the stable entrance.

Batran was arguing with one of the elves when they walked in. Syreilla saw immediately why. The spare horse had delicate chains and elven manacles attached to the saddle. She started laughing and shaking her head.

Olthon looked at her with a frown. "It's for your safety."

"Elf, you could strip me naked and I could still get out of those in less time than it would take you to search my pockets." She gave him a look that said he was an idiot.

"Lord Olthon." One of the elves corrected her sharply. "Be respectful."

"If I'm not calling him, or you for that matter, a beardless kin-fucker you can be glad of it, elf. I know your kind and I loathe every one of you." She gave him a mirthless smile that was all teeth.

The elf looked appalled, straightening himself with an offended look.

"Behave, Syreilla," Batran ordered her with the barest hint of amusement in his voice.

"They're dragging me away from home and my husband when I don't want to go. I can't promise good behavior, Batran."

Her husband pulled her hip against his side, grinning up at her. "She's herself this morning."

"Mm. It only took how many hours of skillful dwarvish hammering?" Her grin threatened to split her face. The dwarves listening, including Batran, began to laugh. Kaduil slapped her rump with red ears and an answering grin.

"Syreilla, your horse," Olthon spoke coldly.

Syr glanced at him and gave a curt nod before dropping to her knees to kiss Kaduil. "I will come home to you," she murmured, before rising and swinging herself up onto the horse.

One of the elves tried to fasten the manacles around her wrists and she pushed him away with her foot, putting the manacles on herself with an annoyed look. Batran went to stand with his hand on Kaduil's shoulder, her husband looked like he wanted to murder someone.

"Let me show you something, husband." She smiled at him and held up her hand without the manacle. "Don't forget who you married." He looked a little calmer as she snorted at the elf who tried to come put it back on her. She made a show of snapping it back into place.

Before they had gone far out of the stable doors she yawned and stretched, raising both of her arms above her head, showing neither hand was chained. The sound of dwarvish laughter followed as they went down the hill.

Olthon sighed as the insistent elf began to sputter. "Leave her. She's made her point." He gave her an annoyed look. "How did they get you to the headsman's block?"

"Vezar asked the same thing." She shook her head with amusement.

The elf looked at her with a hint of a smile. "What was the answer?"

"Dwarven stubbornness."

Nodding, he smiled. "Vezar found that comforting?"

"He did. He's not fond of dwarves though. It baffles me." Syreilla inquired curiously. "You knew him a long time ago?"

His eyes lit up, "I did. You wish to know what he was like?"

She gave an ambivalent shake-nod of her head. "I want to know why he likes elves and dislikes dwarves."

"That I can only guess at, but I can tell you the type of man he was and the perversions he indulged in. The horrors he perpetrated against his own people."

Syr waved her hand dismissively and watched his brows rise, "He's a thief, but he steals faces and the life right out of people's bodies. He has a good heart though."

"You have been deceived," the elf snapped at her.

With a sigh, she started counting as she had for Syv, "He gets upset when he hears about hopeless helpless people getting fleeced. Whatever he did he wanted to rule well and improve his people's lives. Healing people makes him happy. He thinks poorly of his gifts because they require him to harm." Syr gave him a cynical look, "I'm a worse person than he is and I'm not that bad."

Studying her face, OIthon said quietly, "He healed you. You were injured in the prison."

"No. Well, yes, but I was able to heal myself." She shrugged. "He healed me after we were attacked by elves." Olthon's penetrating gaze demanded more. "He called me his mad sister, I took on two elves with nothing but a carpenter's hammer and hope. I used the bones in my arm to-"

"Catch the blade, I've seen the trick done by dwarves." He frowned. "He used an elf to heal your wounds."

"Yes. It was impressive. I tried to convince him to take up healing as a profession. He does beautiful work." The elves were looking at her menacingly. "All he would need to do is have the patients find a condemned criminal to use, someone no one would miss." She shrugged. "He didn't like the idea. My brother has more of a conscience than I do."

Olthon studied her carefully. "I doubt that. The logistics would have been more concerning to him. You weren't concerned that he would consume you?"

"Ha! He promised that if he did, he'd chew me properly." She leaned back with her hands on the horse's rump, grinning.

"You are mad aren't you." One of the angrier elves muttered.

"She's not mad, simply fearless," Olthon said, straightening. "That is likely what draws him. Why did he choose to have you as his sister and not a lover?" Syreilla winced, and the elf pressed her, "Speak. Your husband," he spoke the word with distaste, "isn't here to hear."

She tilted her head. "That's a perversion he picked up from the elves. He mentioned acquiring a few." Syr looked at the glaring elf and spoke candidly, "He wants me for a sister and a lover. I refused. Being his sister is something I'm content to be, but I won't be more than that. I told him about Kaduil when I told him about home. It's part of why he didn't want me to go into the mine without him."

"Your dalliance with the dwarf is..." Olthon paused. "Not recent."

"No."

"You didn't tell the dwarf about Vezar's intentions." The elf smiled faintly.

"No. Kaduil would have demanded to come along and he would have tried to put his axe in Vezar's face."

"And you want to spare your brother?" an elf spat the question at her.

"I want to spare my husband. Vezar is far from helpless. He would kill Kaduil and I would lose a husband and a brother." She looked at the elf who had accused her until he turned and opened his mouth to speak again. "He didn't attack anyone at the mine despite being hungry, and despite being angry when I was ordered inside. Vezar knows harming my loved ones is one thing I will never forgive."

"An elf harmed your loved ones?" Olthon was probing. If he wanted to know she could educate him.

Her flare of hot anger at the question gave way to the cold feeling spreading through her and she kept her voice even and cool. "There was an elf down in Withia. He was murdered a hundred-hundred and fifty years back. Did you know him? There was an outcry if I recall, elves swore they would have their revenge on whoever killed him." She stared up into the sky keeping her face neutral. "You lot don't care what he did to children, even murdered some. You don't care about the other things he did. Those are just normal elvish perversions as I'm given to understand. You only want to punish the one who stopped him."

"Those are lies." Olthon touched her hand and she turned her head to see him leaning.

"I was eleven. There were elves at the party. Not one stopped him. You know exactly what he did. His home was a brothel." The elf recoiled as if he could feel the ice in her veins. "Don't tell me about lies."

"Those are not normal elvish perversions. Elves are not perverse." One of the other elves spoke angrily.

"Some are, Pelinel." Olthon corrected him. "She has not met decent elves. Repairing the damage would take a century." He ran his hand over his face. "This was what Vezar couldn't bear to hear."

"Yes." Syr looked back up. The mention of Vezar warmed her slightly. "He was sweet about it. I think he understood."

"Was he touching you when you spoke of it?"

"Yes. He's almost constantly doing that. He's so afraid of being alone."

"He could feel your pain at the memory. The threads tighten with touch."

She sighed. "I don't understand about the threads."