Po thought for a second, a long what-am-I-doing second, then she swallowed.
She found herself unable to take her eyes off him until he ravaged her neck, then bit his way to her nipples and sucked on them.
Mouth open, she gloried in this. He kissed and lightly bit her thighs then reversed his path, returning for second helpings at her breasts. Gasping, she pushed them at his mouth, begging for more in the most primal way. The pleasure he drew from her, the savage beauty of seeing a man tasting her, using her for his mouth toy…
It was too late for shame.
Afterward, still naked but with her hands unbound, she followed him to the horses, stopping as he spoke to Ruth. Apparently, her clothes were either too dirty, cut up, or gone. She found her legs weak, and she swayed a little, and she didn’t exactly care how he found her clothes to wear.
Anything would do.
When they set off riding again, Po found herself resting her head against his chest more than she would’ve ever thought likely. She was sleepy, yet hungry. Exhausted really. If not for his arm about her waist she might have fallen. Ruth had given her some clothes—the woman had a supply of erotically charged clothing. So instead of decent riding gear, she wore an embroidered red bustier with a tinkling fringe of chain beneath the breast-line, revealing far too much cleavage, as well as matching skin-hugging leggings, her boots, and a long fur-lined coat, with a split up the back.
It kept her warm, and that was enough, for now.
“You know I could ride the mare now. This is not my kingdom.”
“Later. Maybe tomorrow.”
She shifted her head on John’s shirt. “How did your eyes turn to fire?”
“Did I not say?” His voice came to her ear, soft and rough. She decided she liked the smell of him, which was crazy considering what he’d done.
“You said you’d been to Hell?
“Yes.”
“Why? How did you get out?” Listening to the tale would pass the time. Also the more she knew the better.
“I killed a lot of demons.”
“How did you do that? What do demons look like?”
“I… you know, I can’t remember. It’s gone. I just know I did.” He was silent for a while and she guessed he was thinking. “I guess that’s to be expected. I can kill anything if I have the right weapons. I’ve regretted it…” He cleared his throat, shifted his body. “The Storyteller put me in Hell, so I couldn’t stop him taking Xander.”
“Oh yes,” she murmured. “You said he took away your heart?” Which was plainly weird and surely impossible?
“Yes.”
“But I can still hear it, here, inside you, beneath my ear.”
She could, though it seemed a muffled lub-dub compared to what she remembered a heart should sound like. Her father’s had been the last heart she had listened to like this, and that was long ago when she was a child. Perhaps she remembered poorly?
“That’s not possible.”
Po shrugged. “It’s the truth.”
“Hmmm.”
He remained silent.
They had come to a rough surface where a small avalanche had recently passed, and the horse needed more guidance, so maybe it was because of that?
She didn’t feel the need to speak again, even when Ruth did later to suggest they stop soon to make camp. Her eyelids drifted lower. It was comforting, warm, even nice, rocking in John’s arms. She should, and she mentally tsked at herself, be absolutely livid at the man.
Her royal vengeance could wait. It was late, and she was so very tired, which might be due to all the orgasms.
Po yawned.
This had definitely been the oddest day ever.
* * * * *
Xander bucked against the hands pressing him down, the many hands of the Storyteller’s soldiers. One of them tilted a cup at his mouth and pinched his nose until, choking and spluttering, he swallowed the vile brown liquid. Then they held him to the mattress inside the coffin, watching as he drifted toward sleep.
“Wait,” he croaked, searching, fingers fumbling, until he found the heart locket she had given him—his Princess Pollianna. His chest felt heavy and foreign, as if it belonged to another man. He wrapped his fist over the precious object that was more than jewelry—it was all he possessed of her.
The metal heart felt cold, but perhaps that was him.
His lips were going numb, and he licked at them.
Though he blinked and struggled to shake off the effects of the drug, he could not succeed. He had tried many other times.
He didn’t know...
Didn’t know where they were going.
When they’d get there. Anything.
The face of the Storyteller loomed above, and still the others’ hands were on him.
“Go to sleep. We have far to go.”
“Where?” Xander mumbled.
“Elsewhere, where they pay me well to take you to.”
“Why?”
“You know this.”
He did not. The Storyteller turned, his long, lined face and straggly blond hair drifting out of focus.
Now his fingers and toes went numb. They let him out to eat and stretch, so he wouldn’t die, he guessed.
“Wait!”
“Yes?”
“Why?”
Anger bloomed on the Storyteller’s face. “You are persistent. The question should be, why are you in here instead of riding with us? The answer is because you don’t hear my truths.”
The world swam. His hand fell from the locket, and a tear of remorse and perhaps ire dribbled down the side of his face.
“Tell me why you lie.” You asshole. Tell me why.
“I tell no lies, I tell stories. I spread great, infectious illusions.” His arms spread wide, raven-like, and shadows multiplied. “Your brother was given one. He believes he has been thrown into Hell.”
The smile lingered above. Teeth and red
