Chapter 18 Kragna
KRAGNA
The woods behind us are quiet. Too quiet.
Every step toward Rizzo’s camp is a gamble, and not just because we’re bringing a fucking monster parade with us.
No—this is about trust. About what humans see when they look at me, and the ones I’ve brought.
They’re going to think it’s an attack. They might shoot first. And honestly, I wouldn’t blame ’em.
“Stay close,” I growl low to River as the old stone path thins out. “Let me do the talking.”
She nods, jaw tight, lips pale. She knows what we’re walking into.
Veeto’s to my left, chewing on a hunk of dried fish with his usual slouched swagger.
Harriet slinks behind us, five heads sniffing the air, nostrils flaring with each uncertain breeze.
Bruce—sweet, behemoth Bruce—keeps swaying like he thinks he’s being subtle, even though every tree he brushes drops half its needles in surrender.
Charen buzzes above, wings glittering, drunk off pine sap and bad decisions.
It ain’t exactly subtle.
We reach the tree line.
Beyond it, the clearing that houses Rizzo’s stronghold—half scavenged military base, half fortified ruin—comes into view. Makeshift watchtowers, rusted gun nests, ragged flags snapping in the wind. Figures on the battlements spot us, and in seconds, the alarms start howling.
“Well,” River mutters, “they noticed.”
Guns rise. Dozens. Laser-sighted rifles, cobbled-together muskets, rail slingers. We’re walking into a porcupine with its back up.
“Easy now,” I call out, raising both hands. “No sudden moves.”
“Sudden moves?” Charen slurs, spiraling downward. “You brought me to a firing squad, you bastard!”
“Shut it,” I hiss through my teeth.
A woman with a shorn scalp and a sniper’s eye squints down at me from a perch. “That Kragna?”
“Yeah,” I bark. “Now tell Rizzo to get his ass out here before someone gets twitchy.”
Tension crackles like static. Even Bruce stops moving.
Then, the gates creak open.
Rizzo walks out slow, flanked by guards, wearing that same battered flak vest and scowl that made him a legend. He stops when he sees me—then sees River—and something shifts behind his eyes.
“You went rogue,” he says to her, voice like gravel and gunpowder.
River straightens. “I got results.”
He glances at me, at the monsters flanking us, then back at her. “You brought a circus.”
“I brought backup,” she fires back. “And intel. Skeela’s alive. Barely. Her coup failed.”
That gets his attention.
He steps closer. “You sure?”
“She’s being held in the central tower. They’ve started purging sympathizers. The city’s locked down, Rizzo. If we don’t act fast, we lose any chance of getting her out.”
He doesn’t look convinced.
That’s when I step forward, past River, past the range where any decent sniper could take my head clean off. I make sure they all see me—unarmed, standing tall, every bone and instinct screaming at me to shift, to fight.
“I come not as a beast,” I shout, voice carrying across the courtyard, “but as your fucking best chance.”
The silence is thick enough to chew.
I see their eyes. Fear. Distrust. One guy actually spits. But no one shoots.
Yet.
Rizzo watches me. Measuring. Then he waves his hand. The guns lower, slow and hesitant.
“Talk.”
We go inside. River lays it out clean—Skeela’s capture, the failed rebellion, the chaos sweeping the city. She paints it in sharp, brutal lines, her voice hard with guilt she won’t name. Rizzo listens. Says nothing. When she’s done, he leans back.
“That city’s burning,” he mutters.
“Which means now’s the time to hit it,” River says.
“You got a plan?”
I step in again. “Two-pronged assault. Your team—humans—hit the outer districts. Make it loud. Make it messy. Force the guard to spread thin.”
“And you?”
“Me, River, a few of mine. We go in quiet. We hit the tower. We get Skeela out.”
Rizzo frowns. “That tower’s a fortress.”
“I’ve torn through fortresses before.”
He looks at River. “You trust him to do it?”
She meets my eyes before answering. “With my life.”
That stops him. He sighs, rubs the bridge of his nose like he’s already regretting this.
“This is a bad idea,” he mutters. “But it might be our only one.”
“Then say yes,” River presses.
He grunts. “Fine. You get your team ready. We move in three days.”
The meeting breaks.
Outside, the Menagerie is sprawled in various states of rest and curiosity. Bruce is licking one of the watchtowers. Harriet’s leftmost head is engaged in a staring contest with a human scout. Charen’s passed out in a barrel of what smells like jet fuel.
River’s pacing. Thinking.
I walk up behind her.
“You sure about this?”
She glances over her shoulder. “No.”
“Good. Means you’re not stupid.”
She laughs. Just once. But it’s real.
“I’m gonna prep the strike routes,” she says. “Can’t afford mistakes.”
“I’ll get the others ready.”
We part without touch, without another word. But something passes between us all the same—like a vow made in silence.
Three days.
War’s coming.
And I’ve never been more ready to tear the world apart.
Moonlight slithers through the cracked window, casting ghost-bright shards across the maps splayed on the ground.
Every map—a shrine to rebellion, blood, and possibility—tells a story of exits and ambush points, secret doors, and pressure points in the city’s defenses.
River hunches over them, re-drawing lines with charcoal until her fingers bleed, until the world’s chaos narrows into something she can control.
I watch her from the doorway, arms crossed, the forest’s breath heavy on my skin. The flicker of torchlight softens her silhouette, turns her hair into flame, her gaze into steel. She’s focused, feral. Fierce.
I clear my throat. She doesn’t look up.
“Late night, huh?”
“Shh.” Not a rebuke. A warning. The firelight dances in her eyes—holy.
“Risking everything.”
She hisses out a laugh. “What else is new?”
I step closer. “I don’t want to lose you.”
She lifts her head. “Because you’re scared to live without me.”
I flinch. The map trembles in her hand.
“Is that it?” I demand. “You want death? A martyr's glory?”
“Don’t preach at me.”
I drop to my knees beside her, nose inches from hers. “I’d rather watch you hate me from bed than die on some martyr’s pyre.”
Her chest heaves. She’s breathing too fast. Eyes slick.
“You act like I don’t care,” she breathes. “Like I’m just a blade on your hip.”
I laugh, hollow. “You are a blade. But you’re also the heart I signed up to protect.”
She rolls her eyes. “I’m not your project.”
I grip the map. “I’m not trying to fix you. I—”
Her hand clamps my jaw and pushes me into the map. Charcoal smears across my cheek.
“You’re scared,” she spits. “You let me believe in hope while you kept the edge sharp.”
“There are edges for a reason.”
She stands, ripping the map free underneath me. I taste chalk and blood on my tongue.
“Maybe I’m not yours to save,” she says, voice cracking. “Maybe I’m just yours to bury.”
She turns away.
Something in me snaps hard—a blade folding, then springing open again. I stand, wipe the chalk from my face. I follow her.
She’s pacing, hands clenched, eyes wild. Her chest rises and falls in ragged bursts, like each breath is caught on the edge of a blade. She’s shaking and I feel it—feel her fury, her grief, her need like it’s threaded into my own marrow.
I take both her hands. She doesn’t pull away.
“I am terrified,” I admit. My voice is low, raw. “Of losing you. Of how much this—us—means.”
She stares at me, breathing hard. Her chocolate-dark eyes burn like coals, like they’re trying to sear their truth into me. Her lips part. Then close. Then—
She’s in my arms.
The fight dissolves between us like salt in flame. Her fingers fist into my shirt, tugging me down, trembling against the heat of me. My hands find her waist, grip tight, anchoring us both.
“Then come here,” she whispers. “Come all the way in.”
We fall together.
It’s not graceful. It’s not gentle. We crash—two storms colliding in flesh and breath and need. The stone beneath us is cold, but our bodies are fire, scraping, burning, clawing toward something neither of us knows how to name.
She tastes like blood and wind and desperation. Her mouth opens under mine with a hunger I feel deep in my bones. Her tongue tangles with mine, her breath catching when I suck her bottom lip between my teeth.
This isn’t love. It’s something wilder. Older. It’s survival carved into sinew. It’s the howl in my chest when she moans my name.
I shove her cloak off her shoulders and it falls in a heap behind her. My fingers fumble the ties of her shirt, too rough, too eager. She gasps when the laces snap. Her breasts spill into my palms and I groan, burying my face in her throat.
“Gods, River…” My voice breaks on her skin.
She arches into me, her nails clawing at my belt. “Off,” she hisses. “Take it off—now.”
I obey. Leather straps fall. My shirt rips. Her hands are everywhere—over the planes of my chest, my arms, my stomach. Her fingers trace the old scars etched across my skin like ancient runes.
“You’re… so fucking huge,” she breathes.
I grin against her neck, licking the line of her jaw. “You’re not even seeing the best part yet.”
“Cocky,” she snaps, but she’s already sliding her hand down between us. Her fingers brush over the bulge in my pants and her breath hitches.
Her hand cups me. Squeezes.
“Oh fuck,” she whispers.
“Now you see.”
I grab the back of her thighs, lift her effortlessly.
She wraps around me instinctively—legs hooked at my waist, arms at my neck.
My cock strains against my pants, pressed right against the heat of her core.
I can feel how wet she is through the thin fabric.
She’s trembling already, grinding against me like she’s starving.
“You’re soaked,” I growl.
“I need you,” she gasps. “Kragna—I need your cock inside me.”
Gods. She’s going to kill me.
I lower us to the furs by the fire. The embers cast a golden glow over her skin. Her dark hair is wild around her face, eyes blown wide with need. I kneel between her legs, slide her pants down inch by inch, revealing everything.
She’s glistening.
Her pussy is bare, wet, flushed dark with blood. I spread her thighs and stare like a starving man.
“Say it again,” I whisper.
“I want your cock,” she says, voice shaking. “Please.”
I bend down and lick her.
She screams.
Her hips jerk off the furs. I grip them, holding her down as my tongue circles her clit, then slides lower. I taste her—sweet, sharp, pure River. She tangles her fingers in my mane, yanks hard.
“Kragna—fuck—don’t stop, don’t—”
I don’t.
I worship her with my mouth, tongue fucking her slowly, then fast, then slow again until she’s sobbing my name. When I suck her clit into my mouth and hum low in my throat, she comes undone.
She shakes. Her thighs lock around my horns. Her pussy pulses with every wave of her climax. And gods, she is beautiful like this—raw, open, hers.
I crawl up her body, wiping my mouth on my wrist. She’s panting, lips swollen, cheeks flushed. Her hands go to my belt again, frantic now.
“Get inside me,” she growls.
I strip fast. My cock springs free—thick, veined, flushed dark at the head. Her eyes widen. She bites her lip.
“That’s not gonna fit,” she breathes.
“It will,” I promise. “I’ll make it fit.”
I line myself up at her entrance, rubbing the head of my cock through her slick folds.
“Look at me,” I command.
She does.
I push.
Her eyes go wide. Her mouth opens. “Holy—fuck, you’re stretching me—”
I still. Just the head inside.
“Too much?” I ask, breath tight.
She pants. Then grins like a demon. “More.”
I slide in.
Inches stretch her, open her. She groans, her legs trembling around my waist. Her pussy grips me like a vice, squeezing tight around every inch. I bury myself to the hilt.
I hold still, forehead pressed to hers, waiting.
“You okay?” I rasp.
“Fuck yes,” she gasps. “Move.”
I do.
Slow at first. Then harder. Deeper.
Each thrust draws a sound from her—half cry, half curse. Her nails bite my back. I kiss her throat, her jaw, her lips. She meets every thrust, hips rolling, body wild.
Our rhythm is savage. Desperate.
“Harder!” she cries.
I give it to her.
My hips slam into her. My cock drives deep, hitting the spot that makes her scream. She’s drenched—slick pouring down her thighs. I grab one of her legs, hook it over my shoulder, and fuck her like I need her to survive.
“I feel everything,” she sobs. “You’re—gods—you’re everywhere.”
I growl her name, thrust faster.
Her pussy clamps down hard. I feel her shatter under me.
She screams—full body trembling, hands fisting the furs. I don’t stop. I keep fucking her through it until her eyes roll back and her mouth falls open in a silent gasp.
Then I let go.
I bury myself deep and come hard—roaring into her throat as my seed spills inside her, hot and thick. We shudder together, locked in sweat and breath and the thunder of heartbeats.
We collapse in a heap. She’s on my chest, trembling. Her fingers trace my horns. My arms wrap tight around her, holding her like I’ll never let her go.
She whispers into the hollow of my throat.
“I think I love you.”
I don’t speak.
But my arms never let her go.