Total pages in book: 161
Estimated words: 162269 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 811(@200wpm)___ 649(@250wpm)___ 541(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 162269 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 811(@200wpm)___ 649(@250wpm)___ 541(@300wpm)
And moments before they both came, he watched in distracted surprise, but surprise nevertheless, as she gasped, “And you own mine, Cass.”
And her eyes became a starry-night sky.
Jellan
Cyrus, Town at the Northeast of the Argyll Forest, Forty-Five Miles from Silbury Henge
AIREN
It was done for him.
He would take no more.
This he thought as he lay on his back in the bed in that little, squalid inn, his knees commanded to be bent, up and spread (and as commanded by Daemon, obviously, they were thus) as Marian brutally fingered his arse in a way he knew she intended him not to enjoy it (not that he would, it coming from her) and Daemon tugged on Jellan’s cock while he was in the midst of fucking Jellan’s mouth.
Through this, Daemon alternately watched Marian’s ministrations, or by the sounds of it, kissed her.
It was revolting.
The lot of it.
Unfortunately, his body’s chemistry was such his workings at his cock could not be ignored.
Though he did not get to finish, not that he’d wish to do that anyway with their hands upon him.
Daemon pulled out of his mouth, yanked Marian up Jellan’s body, positioned her above Jellan’s head, and Jellan received the most enjoyment he’d had that evening when Daemon shoved his spectacular member up her unsuspecting arsehole, and he heard her cry of pain.
She swallowed that cry, the bitch. The whore. The liar. The cunt.
And then she moaned falsely, as if she was enjoying it.
He closed his eyes against the sight.
Yes, he was done.
Finished.
No more.
He would never win Daemon.
He suspected even Marian didn’t have her clutches in Daemon.
Thus, Jellan would get away. Escape. Find some way to get to Sky Bay. Then make his way straight to the Citadel.
They knew him. They trusted him. They would receive him.
And this civil war they’d learned of was most convenient for Jellan, for all the rulers were there.
At that moment.
In Airen.
And he’d have all their ears.
He’d tell them of the Beast. He’d share about Marian. He’d put the blame entirely on her shoulders that the creature most feared in Triton was on the surface. He’d advise on how they could fulfill the prophecy.
And they would be grateful.
They might shower him with treasure. And when he shared he had no stomach for the ways of the Go’Doan, not after the mess of The Rising, and he renounced his priesthood, they might even give him a manor (he’d pick southern Airen, it was rather temperate down there, perhaps a lovely vineyard all his own, he quite fancied making wine).
Daemon’s grunts grew louder. The bed shook more powerfully. And Marian couldn’t quite conceal the lilt of pain in her moans.
And Jellan closed his eyes tighter.
But even attempting to drown them out, he would have felt the shimmering.
It was not only in the veil; it was of the earth.
Of the earth.
The very bed he lay upon hummed with it.
Like a coo.
Even a cuddle.
Enfolding him in warmth.
He opened his eyes and by the true gods…
He could even see it glimmer in the air.
Marian’s moans became high-pitched before Daemon shouted his release and Jellan turned his head to the side, not seeing their calves there.
Holding his breath.
Waiting.
Daemon shoved her off and she fell to the bed above Jellan’s head.
“Now, you,” Daemon decreed, and Jellan found his body also pushed up as Daemon positioned between his legs.
He held them high behind Jellan’s knees as he used him, but Jellan didn’t think on it.
He stroked his own cock, as Daemon liked, and brought forth a mediocre orgasm, something Daemon didn’t know was mediocre, and even if he did, he probably would not care, but either way, he liked that too.
But this was all a distraction.
Because they had not felt it.
Going about their vile business, they had not felt it.
The prophesied lovers’ power was growing, even beyond what Jellan could have imagined.
Yes, he had to get to the them.
He’d made his choice.
It was time.
And he would.
He would escape.
For he had power too.
138
The Interrogation
King Noctorno
Interrogation Cell, Crittich Keep, Notting Thicket
WODELL
“Alfie should be here,” Apollo murmured. “I feel he is about to break.”
“Allow Bronagh time to do her work and Alfie time to get stronger. He will venture out,” Tor replied.
Or Tor hoped so.
Eventually.
“He’s getting around well in that chair that Maddie and Cora helped Bronagh design for him that he can wheel himself,” Apollo said.
“He can hardly wheel his way across the city, my friend,” Tor pointed out.
Apollo drummed the leather-covered fingers of his right hand on the table at which he sat.
Tor fought a smile.
Apollo hadn’t even taken off his gloves.
He grew impatient with this G’Seph-Seph-Joseph (as Cora would say, whatever) cretin.
As did Tor.
They should be away to Sky Bay. They needed to join the others, not dither about denying aught to a prisoner with no leverage trying to convince them he had leverage.
The door opened and two Keep guards dragged Joseph to the seat opposite Apollo and forced him in it.