With a sound too close to rage, Er’it shoved the healer away and turned back to the woman. Girl. Muttering under his breath as he went to a knee beside the lofty bed, his hand dared to traverse the small space between them to feel the rough edge of her lips.
“Get what you need and get back here immediately. If she suffers even a moment more than is necessary…”
“Of course, Majesty. At once.” Maruk fumbled his way to the door, cautious not to run and incite the Alpha’s anger further as he rushed to comply.
“May I enter?” Ath'asho lingered by the outer door though he subdued his voice and tone in a way Er’it had never heard before.
The strangeness of it alone enough to shock him out of the trance the unconscious woman-child kept him in, Er’it turned and faced the bedroom door. Saw the weak glimmer of diseased scarlet coating the doors in oozing tendrils. More still creating a foul veneer over the mirrors. He was on his feet again, stalking towards the nearest foiled glass. The side of his fist smashed through the thin pane with a vicious twist of his lips that mocked him from the shards.
Another larger version in a crude bathing chamber was next. The eerie brightness of the view into a room filled with Er’it’s mages and soldiers enough to send him into a destructive frenzy. Intent on demolishing any trace of the Black Mage and his evils from where her scent pervaded every inch of breathable air. Carved door splintering under his hands, he felt a sick satisfaction. Er’it might not know all the symbols of power there, but he knew some. Many carved into the virgin temples, put there to keep idle thoughts and hands at bay.
That would change the moment those incredible eyes opened once more.
Panting over the remains of a table and chair that he’d torn apart with his own two hands, Er’it faced Ath'asho. Willing the haze of red away, hoping he didn’t attack his friend due to some sorcery Er’it perhaps didn’t understand as yet, he fought for calm.
“Tor’en sends word,” Ath'asho said, rough baritone quiet as he kept his gaze centered on Er’it’s chest. With the heavy layers of armor and being twice as tall and broad as Er’it, he strained to appear unthreatening. “They’ve found his study and a secret room. Tor’en thinks you should come and see what they’ve uncovered.”
“I’m not leaving her,” Er’it said through a growl. Gripping the hilt of his sword, he wasn’t sure when he’d pulled the blade.
“Told him that. He’s insisting.”
“Have one of the others see to what he needs. It'ash, Awyn, Endi, they can deal with him.”
“Tor says it needs to be you.”
“Whatever it is can wait.”
“It’s about the girl, Er’it.” Now Ath’asho shifted his bulk, not towards Er’it but away. Turning his face aside, baring the vulnerable line of his throat in a show of obedience.
“It can wait,” Eris said, not even recognizing the coarse shout as his own voice anymore.
Dismissing the general, Er’it went to the woman, opting to sit beside her this time. Careful of the dusty, ruined clothes he wore, he tried not to get her filthier than she already was. He’d bathe her if he weren’t uncertain about the welts and if it would cause her yet more pain. Deep lines furrowed her brow and the delicate skin around her eyes even in the dark shadows of sleep.
“What are you to do this to me,” he whispered, working one of the knotted plaits free to feel the texture of the strands. Nose wrinkling, he set it aside, the lock slick and greasy under his fingers. Easy to see the paints that once adorned her features though smudged and tracked with tears. The shredded length of her gown showed flesh with a sandy hue, imbued with a warmth all its own despite the trials she’d endured.
Tongue slipping over his bottom lip, he watched the dark line of her lashes as he traced the ragged edge of a corset. It would only make sense to disrobe her, make her comfortable as they waited for Maruk to return with his herbs and salves.
Decision made, Er’it stood to hunch over her. Hands steady despite the adrenaline racing through him that made his heart slam about the cage of his ribs, he peeled away one layer at a time. Low sounds pulled from between his lips as he unveiled the length of her legs. A guttural moan escaping as he cut away the remains of the thrice damned corset. Breasts high and full, topped with bronzed buds of flesh that tightened under his warm breath.
Adjusting the length of his cock where it strained against his trousers, Er’it leaned closer still. Breathed against her lips before sliding his tongue across all that lushness. Her breathy sound brought forth a growl from him, his kiss going from hesitant to demanding in the space of a single trembling heartbeat. Yet she remained slack in his embrace, her arms refusing to come around him as he wished them to. Her skin was icy, no matter the dream of sunlight that colored it.
Choking out a curse he laid her back into the pillows, yanking a heavy duvet from the foot of the bed to cover her with. Tucking the puffy thing tight to her chin, he made sure it hid away her body before he turned to the ruined garments.
The fireplace opposite would lend her more warmth, and he had just the thing for kindling.
“You’re certain she won’t scar?” Er’it stood well away from the bed, brooding by the fireplace he continued to add fuel to despite the sweat beading his forehead and slipping in icy rivulets down the back of his neck.
“Yes, Majesty. As I said, they’ve used it before,” Maruk said as he stoppered the bottle of viscous green liquid.
Er’it grunted and gripped his
