Chapter 13 Emmie
Emmie
“Gluten Morgan, Emmie. The sun wakes, and we must break bread before we visit the potion master.”
His body is still wrapped around mine, the sheer size of him covering me like a cocoon. For one blissful second, there was no imminent death, no monsters, no Hell. I’m just a girl who is wrapped in the arms of the eight foot guy she's crushing on.
“Did you say Gluten Morgan? Like, German?” I ask, opening my eyes a fraction to see the room shrouded in the soft glow of the red sun.
“Yes. Deutsch or German in your language. I practice all of the languages from your world. You can teach me what changes have occurred.”
He drags his hand over my breasts, gently caressing them as he moves from where he had it cuddled against me all night. The loss of his warmth leaving me cold for the first time in this realm.
“I'm fairly confident you mean Guten Morgan. Gu - Guten.” I say, trying to nudge him in the right direction. “I'm not an expert, but I spent one summer working with an exchange student from Germany, Lina, and she definitely said Guten.”
“Lina?” He scoffs. “Who is this person? What are her credentials? I was taught by the head linguist of the modern world. I assure you that it is Gluten Morgan.”
He pulls back the blanket that covers us.
I'm still naked, but after having him knuckle deep yesterday, suddenly I don't care. Portarius can see my body. He can touch it, bring it pleasure, hell, even pain if he chooses. At some point while I slept, I accepted my fate. I’m not entirely convinced I'm meant to be alive anyway.
It can't have been this easy to have a second chance at an existence.
Everything until now has been surreal, so why shouldn't this?
Why shouldn't my death be announced at the same time I finally start to relax into my new surroundings?
His thumb drags over the mark left from the Ananea.
I can't feel it, but I know that's what he’s doing.
Timidly, he leans forward, his ice blue eyes never wavering from mine as he blows a soft breath across my breasts.
My nipples instantly harden into stiff peaks.
Our proximity means I can see his pupils dilating and I feel the blush begin to form on my chest, the feeling of butterflies in my stomach.
He presents as this rough, rugged man, monster, but he's been so incredibly tender.
“Gluten is in bread,” I pant, trying to refocus on our conversation.
A smirk as he nuzzles against the side of my breast, inhaling and lingering a second longer before backing away off the bed, smouldering eyes locked on mine.
Collecting some bread and jam from the only cupboard in the room, his large, heavy cock bouncing against his thigh as he saunters back to me.
The glowing purple barb must be retracted into his shaft somewhere, and I squirm in anticipation of getting another look at it tonight.
I'm manifesting.
“Perhaps we will try another language tomorrow. Parles-tu francais? French?” he asks casually.
“Portarius, I barely speak English. Let's just stick to what I know for my last few days.”
I would have missed the flicker of devastation flash across his face if I hadn't been looking at him.
I guess this thing I'm feeling toward him is more than just me.
Is it selfish for me to want as much as I can from him until the poison consumes me?
I never had true love back on Earth, so why can't I have a taste of it now?
His hand reaches out, his finger gently tilting my chin, binding my eyes to his troubled gaze. “We will speak with the potion master. There will be a way,” he says softly.
??????
Walking down the main street of Inferloch is both scary and exhilarating.
We spied Steve coming back from the morning markets and stopped to talk with him.
He feels so much larger than Portarius; even though he's the same height, he's twice as wide.
His shoulders and arms are the size of tree trunks.
In fact, his legs are even bigger. He grunted out what I think was …
potion master … same place … apothecary.
I dared to look up at him twice, and I swear the second time his lip twitched in a wonky grin.
The streets are cobbled, more of a Victorian era vibe than anything I'm familiar with, we even passed a blacksmith with a slim furred tail.
I'm not sure what it was, though. It kind of looked like a half-bull, half-man type creature, but I averted my gaze when he stopped to watch us pass.
A minotaur, maybe? Several damned have also passed by, all of them stopping to stare at me with their empty eyes.
They sniff the air as if they can scent me.
Maybe they smell the poison slowly infecting my body.
A man strolls down the street toward us, his black suit crisp and perfectly pressed.
I feel like I could smell the starch if he were any closer.
I’m about to yank on Portarius' arm, shocked to see another human so casually walking down the street when the man's eyes flicker a glowing red, blinking his eyes like an alligator.
I want to be confident, I really do, but that's not fucking normal.
Portarius tugs gently on my hand, signalling further down the street.
Yes please, take me away from this alligator hybrid thing.
I mean, I'm sure he's nice and all, but not today, Satan.
We head toward a pristine looking store, the polished wooden door swinging open on oiled hinges, and I hastily shuffle inside, well aware that I'm wearing nothing under this gigantic shirt when a bead of sweat glides between my shoulder blades.
I've used the curtain tie from our room to wrap around my waist as a kind of belt.
It's not much, but it at least makes me feel like I’m wearing an extra item of clothing.
Portarius steps in behind me, his large hand resting on my clavicle, his thumb pressing lightly against the base of my skull.
Looking up, I expect to see tinctures and potions, but am pleasantly surprised to see several tailor's dummies, all with clothes half constructed.
I can feel my face transform into a wide smile as I look up at Portarius.
“You brought me to a seamstress?”
Grinning down at me as his chest puffs. “I thought we could get some clothing made for you. As much as I enjoy seeing you in my shirts, they are not practical for life back home.”
Back home. Back home. I don't want to get ahead of myself, but this really could be something …
for a few days at least. I step into his body, wrapping my arms as best I can around his waist, whispering, “Thank you,” into his firm chest. Silently I say a prayer to whatever god exists, that the potion master will have something to save me.
An eloquent, lean woman wisps around the corner and stops before us. Her long limbs, wrapped in what looks like the softest silk. It's a far cry from my dishevelled state, and I look to the floor while I feel her appraising everything I am.
“Her blood is tainted. You know this?”
I'm not sure if her question is rhetorical or not, but she asks in such a way that is both stern and soft. Like I've let her down for becoming poisoned in the first place.
“Ahh, always so kind with your greetings, Selene. May I introduce my human, Emmie.”
I tilt my head back, his smile proud, clearly showing me off to this woman, whom I hope is just a friend. I don't think I could make the mental leap of his past lovers being like her, all elegance and class, and then him somehow wanting me after the fact.
“Of course you will bon—”
“We are here for several more practical items of clothing. If you could be so kind as to make something immediately while we visit the potion master,” he says, cutting her off.
She narrows her eyes at him, pursing her lips at his rudeness before giving me another long stare.
Raking her eyes over every inch of my body.
“Very well. I will have something ready for when you return and will send the others in a day or two. I assume you at least have a cart?”
They talk around me while I continue to take everything in. There's a suit almost identical to the one that the red eyed gator man was wearing. He must have been coming from here when we passed him. It would be nice to have something pretty to wear in my final days. Something to feel beautiful in.
“Could you make me a dress?” I blurt out, suddenly embarrassed by my outburst when I'm met with two sets of amused eyes.
“Of course,” she replies with one eyebrow arched.
“I’d like something pretty to wear for my death,” I murmur, searching the room for anything to avoid their attention.
“Portarius,” she hisses. “You must tell the girl.” Her features flicker to something dark and haunting, all pale skin and sharp teeth. Holy hell, not a woman then.
Stepping in front of me, blocking her from my gaze, he leans over her. Towering and imposing. “I will not force her. Eternity is a long time, Selene,” he growls.
Eternity?
I can't tell if I'm more annoyed that she knows something about Portarius that I don’t. I mean, I don't know him at all, but it doesn't stop the uncertainty from creeping in. Clearly, there's something he's not telling me.
“Come, Emmie, the potion master awaits,” he says stiffly, as he shuffles us back through the door. “Send the clothes to the Inn. Steve will have a cart.”
There's no room for argument. She's been dismissed, and the conversation is closed, his stony demeanour stopping even me from demanding answers.