Chapter 18 #3
Strain rippled across him, taut and electrified.
Then: “And you, mysterious woman…” His voice was controlled, but something darker laced the edges now, rich and warm. “Are you still tense?”
Her hands traced upward, fingers exploring the ridges of muscle beneath his tunic.
Heat radiated off him in waves, each contour sharper than the last, sculpted and solid beneath her touch.
When she reached the edge of his mask, she hesitated, letting her nails drag just lightly enough to draw a shiver.
Her mouth hovered near his. “What if I said yes?”
Rynna’s pulse thundered.
In answer, his hands moved, settling firmly around the swell of her ass as his fingers sank into her flesh, dragging her against him.
Then came the sound—a low, guttural growl, deep in his throat, vibrating through her as much as it echoed in the space between them.
His hips lifted, grinding into her with the hard shape of his cock, dragging against the aching seam between her thighs.
Heat licked up her spine, spreading outward in pulses, and a broken sound escaped her lips before she could swallow it down.
Gods, she was already close. Too close.
What am I doing? Rynna wondered, watching herself from the edge of bliss as she boldly slid her fingers beneath the mask.
He didn’t stop her, but his posture shifted, just enough to feel it. A subtle pause in the steady rhythm of breath between them.
Her fingers froze.
She knew better. He wouldn’t wear a mask without reason. Peeling it away now to reveal his face felt like stepping across a line she had no right to cross.
So she shut her eyes. And kept going, tugging the thin material down.
And when his hand closed around her wrist, there was no force in it. Then his fingers slid between hers, and in that quiet answer, she leaned in, bridging the space between them.
He hovered unmoving against her lips. One heartbeat. Then another. Then his mouth brushed hers, barely there, but enough for her to feel the shape of it.
She met it slowly, lips parting to catch his lower lip between her teeth, teasing before letting go.
That did it.
His hand fisted in her hair, pulling her in as his mouth crashed over hers this time, deep and hungry. Her hips rolled in response, and he answered—cock rocking slow and thick along her soaked center.
She gasped, and he swallowed it whole, hand curling tighter at her neck.
Stars above, why were there still clothes between them? She ground harder, chasing the pressure, but it wasn’t enough. Not even close.
One of her hands snaked down between them, fingers searching for the opening to his pants, desperate to release him. Her other hand braced against the ground, steadying her body, her lips locked with his, unwilling to release his lips or open her eyes.
“Damn it,” she snarled, fumbling with the ties before growling and tearing at the seams.
Finally. She yanked his pants open and wrapped her hand around him—heavy, pulsing, and already wet at the tip. Her other hand shoved at her waistband, forcing the fabric down over her hips. Almost there—
Until his hands caught her waist, pushing her just far enough to break the kiss.
“Wait.” His voice was rough. “I can’t believe I’m about to ask this, because…Great Phoenix, woman…I think I’d do anything for you right now. Anything to feel you…” His words trailed off as his hand traced her cheek. “Shite, just…look at me.”
“But the mask.” The words slipped out jagged. What is he doing? Why is he stopping?
“Screw the mask. You’ve got my cock in your hand.”
A slow smile spread across her face as she realized she did, in fact, still have that beautiful manhood throbbing within her grasp.
She opened her eyes.
The mask hung from his neck, and when he drew a breath, his lips parted just enough for moonlight to catch on his canines—metallic, sharp, unmistakably not natural.
She blinked, surprised, and his gaze flicked away as if he’d felt her notice, a faint tightening in his jaw betraying something like embarrassment.
But before she could wrap her head around it, he lifted his chin, and the rest of him stole her focus.
Strong jaw, high cheekbones, and a full mouth that highlighted the wildness in him—intense, almost amused.
If anything, his face made him unfairly, dangerously attractive, the kind of handsome that pulled her attention forward and refused to let go.
“Okay.” The muscles in his jaw flexed beneath his skin, though his posture remained rigid, controlled. “Are you sure you want to do this? Here? Now?” He paused, looking away. “With me?”
Did he not? A flush crept up her neck. Did he think she cared about the teeth? Or the hair, or whatever was going on with that eye?
“Most Hollow-born would want to touch…” he coughed as if the idea was ludicrous. “I’m trying to be a gentleman here.”
“Most Hollow-born are fools, then.” Rynna glanced down at herself—pants halfway off, his dick in her hand—and snorted. “But…a gentleman? Really?”
“I might be a little late in this attempt.”
She leaned in, her hips lifting to hover over where she held him. The man was insane if he thought…
“Should I just go, then?” She asked, lowering just a fraction of an inch so the soft, silky head of him teased her entrance, and began slowly moving him in tight circles between her thighs.
He hissed through his teeth at the contact, bucking beneath her.
Then he sat up, growling as his hands locked on her hips, and in a single twist, flipped them both.
Her back hit the ground with a thud, and he came down over her, now fully in control.
She opened her mouth, some witty comeback on the tip of her tongue—
He drove into her before she could speak, wrecking any semblance of coherent thought clear from her mind.
Holy fuck. Holy fuck. Her mouth opened in a small ‘o’ as he pushed his way forward and back with a delicious side-to-side motion, massaging the most sensitive parts of her.
It didn’t last long at that point. The build-up had been too intense, too perfect. The weight of his body on her, the taste of his mouth on hers…that glorious fucking cock working miracles between her legs…
With each stroke, her insides clenched, and that hazy buzzing in her skull signaled bliss was near. And when it hit, her body clenched hard around him, ripping a groan from his lips as his hips jerked without control and he spilled into her, wet and hot.
Empty Night. Air filled her lungs too fast, too shallow as she blinked up at him, still hovering above her, arms locked, chest heaving.
Trembling with the effort, loose strands of crimson hair clung to the sweat along his face.
And for a moment, he looked just as obliterated as she felt.
Then he let out a raw, broken exhale and dropped beside her, rolling onto his back, chest rising fast.
What the hell just happened? Her mouth opened and closed on empty words.
The world felt distant as a cool night breeze licked across damp skin, her pulse drumming through every inch of her. Her pants remained tangled halfway down her thighs, but she couldn’t bring herself to move just yet.
A quiet sound—half a chuckle, half a sigh—drew her gaze left.
She tugged her pants back up, fingers tight with aftershock, and turned to find him lying on his side, head propped in one hand.
A faint smile played at his lips, and his eyes met hers for a beat—soft, unreadable, maybe even tender.
Then he looked away, leaning in without a word to press a light, almost questioning kiss to her forehead.
But before the smile could form on her lips, his mask was back in place, and the moment vanished with it.
Unsure how to process the whirlwind of shit coursing through her, Rynna pushed herself upright, settling into a cross-legged position. He mirrored her, sitting up with ease as her heartbeat finally steadied.
“So... uhh...” he began, scratching the back of his head.
“I don’t know about you, but my mind is officially cleared,” she said, trying not to grin too hard. “Thanks for that.”
“Agreed. I suddenly feel ready to take on anything.” The sound of his voice sent a pleasant shiver down her spine.
She rolled her eyes. “Well, I hope tomorrow is everything you want it to be.”
“You too, mysterious hilltop woman,” he replied, pressing his palms to his thighs as he rose smoothly to his feet. He glanced toward the horizon, where the first hints of dawn began to color the sky. “Looks like we’ll both find out soon enough what the day has in store.”
Rynna followed his gaze, watching the sky brighten.
Was it just a coincidence? Or a sign of something brightening in her future.
She stood, brushing the dirt from her clothes and hair, and asked, “Why do you wear the mask, anyway? It’s not like your hair doesn’t already make you recognizable.”
He gave her a sideways glance, then shrugged. “People don’t like the teeth.”
And with that, he vanished in a classic hollow-born exit, leaving her standing alone to face the rising sun.
“Right.” She shook her head. “People suck.”
Apparently, this world wasn’t all that different from any other.
“Well, I like the teeth.” She smiled to herself and began the long walk back to the village, wondering if she had time for a quick shower before heading to the longhouse for unit assignments.
She should have been annoyed—after all, they’d clearly spent so much time carefully selecting the members of each four-man team, only to throw her onto this one at the last minute.
We weren’t sure where to put you, Rynna, and the Ember Warden couldn’t make a decision before this morning. Guide Brian’s explanation echoed hollowly in her mind.
“This is the best unit ever!” Bran’s excited voice snapped her from her thoughts. She turned to see him practically tripping over himself, eyes wide with enthusiasm as he looked at the other girl assigned to their team. “Right, Elara?”
Rynna’s mouth tugged into a grin as Elara gave a half-hearted nod, barely paying attention, her gaze fixed on the final member of their team.
Taren, a small and moody boy, was another orphan like Bran.
But that was the only similarity between them.
Where Bran was loud and chaotic, Taren was serious and quiet—kept on only because his talent was undeniable, even after his parents’ betrayal of the Reach.
She frowned, trying to remember what exactly his parents were supposed to have done.
“Right, Rynna?!” Bran’s voice cut through again, clearly needing someone, anyone, to acknowledge him.
“Yeah, dude. Best unit ever.” She smiled, reaching over to give him a fist bump.
“Well, except for Taren, anyway,” Bran added in a loud whisper, leaning closer as if sharing a great secret. “He’s definitely going to drag us all down. I’ll probably have to save him on every assignment.”
Taren, having overheard, simply turned to stare out the window, ignoring Bran’s dramatic commentary.
“Definitely the weakest link,” Bran muttered under, glaring at the boy.
“Bran.” Rynna rolled her eyes.
They both knew Taren was one of the most talented students in their class. Truthfully, though, she was having a hard time focusing on the present. Her mind kept drifting back to the night before, images flashing uninvited through her thoughts, sending waves of heat rising to her cheeks.
“Anyway,” Bran pressed on, undeterred. “I just hope this Fenn guy is as good as they say. The last thing we need is a flop for a Unit Leader.”
“Bran!” Elara huffed, finally tearing her gaze away from Taren to cross her arms. “Guide Fenn is supposed to be amazing. We’re his first unit. I can’t believe they let him off rotation to take us.”
“Amazing, huh?” Bran glanced down at the 'trap' he’d set in the hall’s entryway. “We’ll see about that.”
“He better not dismiss us for that,” Elara grumbled before turning her eyes back to Taren, effectively dismissing Bran’s antics.
Rynna was about to speak when the soft rattle of the latch turning caught their attention. Bran practically vibrated where he sat, barely containing himself, while Elara and Taren straightened in their seats.
The door eased open, and a Hollow-bound in dark, close-fitted layers stepped through, his shoulder brushing the doorway as he entered. Pausing, he scanned the room—calm, controlled—until his gaze found Rynna.
He froze.
Then, a beat later, his boot pressed onto the thin reed mat Bran had oh-so-innocently laid by the threshold.
Pop.
A pouch of fermented fruit mash and crushed desert herbs burst beneath his heel, releasing a sharp, tangy reek that rushed up around him in a pungent cloud.
“Gotcha!” Bran shot out of his chair, laughing as if he had just won a war.
“Fuck,” Rynna breathed, pulse tripping as her handsome stranger, her anonymous mistake, stood there in the drifting haze, wiping a smear of sticky herb pulp off his sleeve with murderous dignity.
“Fang Unit, I presume?” He stepped fully inside as the scent bomb settled around his ankles like smoke. “I am Guide Fenn, your Vessel Hollow-born.” He looked to each of them in turn. “Taren. Elara. And Bran. I presume?” Then his gaze caught hers and held. “Plus, our unexpected addition… Rynna.”