Chapter 13 Avoidance and Escalation
AVOIDANCE AND ESCALATION
Ozirax
Spicy was trouble.
Partly because they were both insatiable and much preferred sex over talking through their problems.
Mostly because Ozirax had her thrown over a shoulder as he dragged her away from yet another fight.
“I’m going to shove that ball so far up your ass, you’ll be shitting leather for a month, you bulbous piece of—”
Ozirax slammed the door to cut off her insult, tossing his demonlight into the air as he set her on the ground. Purple flames illuminated the small room, brightening the fury on her face that was now directed at him.
“I was winning that fight!”
“Kalypso, it was a game, and we were definitely not winning, even before you got ejected.”
She threw her hands up, dirt and blood caked on most of her exposed skin.
Streaks of purple from the grass stained her uniform—a baggy, oversized green shirt hanging over leggings that were torn beyond what was worth mending.
He knew his uniform was not much better since he’d spent most of the game preventing the opposing red team from targeting Kalypso.
But he also didn’t quite mind when her eyes had lingered on the exposed skin where his shirt hung above his navel.
Just as she was doing now.
Or perhaps it was his hard cock pressing against his loose pants, visible even in the shadows, that had her licking her lips.
“He had the ball. The rules are to tackle the demon with the ball when they are in the boundary,” she said distractedly.
Ozirax pinched the bridge of his nose. “He’s the enforcer, Kalypso. You tackle the other team, not the demon enforcing the rules.”
She stuttered something nonsensical, then grunted, “Well, obviously the red team paid him off because he wasn’t enforcing shit. So, really, he deserved it—”
He was upon her, swallowing the last word as he crushed his lips to hers because… well, she was trouble, they were insatiable, and he craved it all.
Spicy only hesitated for a moment before her hands found the skin of his stomach, fingers flexing over his muscles as she fought for dominance with her tongue.
This was safer than talking, than admitting he was grateful in the past few days she’d given up her hopes of running. He knew that even after the vitriol and anger he’d overheard, she wouldn’t leave her sister here. That bond was too strong despite the chasm splitting between them.
But he was selfish for it, because Kaly was the perfect distraction, just as he was for her.
A distraction from his father’s overbearing presence, even in his subconscious.
From the application still taunting him inside his desk drawer.
From his desire to spend time with this human who had found every soft spot between his spikes and made herself comfortable there.
Time outside of fucking.
Ozirax’s hands tugged up her shirt, but only enough so he could grab her hips. “Turn over. Flat on the table.”
It was not the first time he’d managed to give an order she followed, but he preened all the same that she obeyed.
Particularly that this position had her more enclosed than they’d been in the past. But he’d been quick to move at her instruction before, and if this was a sign of her growing trust, he’d take it, even if she didn’t realize.
Kalypso bent herself over the edge of the table, chin still lifted as she took in the space while he tugged his cock free. “Did you carry me to a fucking equipment closet?”
“And we don’t have much time before gear is brought back.”
“Not a problem for you, then.”
With a snarl, he yanked her leggings down and swiped two fingers through her slick heat. She bucked against him with a whimper, and then he slapped that hand down on her right ass cheek.
Spicy swore, which quickly turned into a moan and another curse as he buried himself to the hilt.
“So cocky,” he grunted, shifting his feet for better purchase. “As if I didn’t have you coming three times yesterday.”
“Would you—like—an award?” Kaly gasped out on each of his thrusts.
Ozirax chuckled. “Actually, yes.” He pulled out to the tip, admiring the way her wetness glistened on him and her body sucked him right back inside.
There was a soft red handprint forming on her rear next to bruises he’d left the day prior and from the game earlier, and he squeezed the flesh in his palm.
“You can put in another order with the smith. After she forges your blade, I’d like a plaque to hang in the common room.
I’ll hang a little tag every time I make you come. ”
“In gold, I presume?” she grunted as his next thrust shook the table.
“Of course not. Tonomoch would think it’s for him.”
A laugh rumbled through her, nearly squeezing his orgasm from him, but he would absolutely not be losing this battle today. And not over the first true laugh she’d given him.
He bent over her, not so much to trap her, but enough where he could still drag his cock against her walls like he knew she liked. “Maybe I’ll get it in bronze, to match your hair.”
His fingers slid into the hair at the base of her scalp, grabbing a fistful as he pulled her against his chest and truly began rutting into her.
At her cry of pleasure, it became a frantic race.
His punishing thrusts as he curled his free hand around her hips to tease the nub at her entrance.
Her arching back and blunt claws finding the back of his head while she kneaded her breast.
There was no telling who came first, or if her trembling walls were what sent him over. Their moans were jumbled together, hot and hazy, echoing in the small space around them until there was only their breaths. A slow descent from madness into, dare he say, calm?
It was the longest she’d allowed him to hold her after.
But just as the thought crossed his mind, she went stiff and pulled away, enough to let him know he’d overstayed his proximity.
Ozirax stepped back, reaching toward the shelf of clean linens before tossing one at her blindly. There was a mumbling of thanks, but he didn’t press his luck in acknowledging it as he cleaned himself and tugged his pants back into place.
By the time he turned, she’d fixed her clothing and was opening the door. “See you at the afternoon meeting.”
And then she was gone.
At least he did see her at the afternoon meeting, hair wet from her shower and in two long braids instead of the typical one. Bruises peppered her body alongside scrapes—all from the game—and he tried not to snarl when Garion nudged her shoulder in jest and she winced.
Of course, the rest of them were just as roughed up because Ozirax hadn’t been the only one defending her on the field, but as they sat in the strategy room, the Dreadmoor map spread across the table between them, there was pride in the air.
They might have lost, but it was clear they’d barely skipped a beat in the time since Severath’s spot was filled by the human.
“That wasn’t there when we last checked,” Tonomoch said, pointing at the new pin on the map before going back to picking clumps of grass from his tail barbs.
“It wasn’t,” Ozirax confirmed, pulling out the report from the stack he’d collected. “Angroda’s account is from two days ago. She observed that the rundae was disoriented, scraping itself along the trees and… shredding itself.”
Spicy glanced up from where she’d been scribbling in a notebook Tonomoch had gifted her. Her brow pinched, eyes darting over the map, which he knew was difficult to understand with the small fonts and colors. “That’s three since our first encounter. And you said three before that.”
“No rotten eggs, though,” Garion said, leaning over to confirm from the report. “So, not a summoning. And not an attack.”
“Odd enough to raise questions,” Rand muttered. “The veilhounds have been… disturbed. We’re having to rotate them out faster than normal, and the keeper is none too pleased.”
Kalypso set her notes aside, gesturing for Ozirax while keeping her eyes on the map. “The schedule?”
Everyone was patient as she reviewed the script, and while Oz already knew what she was piecing together, he let her voice the observation.
“The reports of strange behavior or attacks all coincide perfectly with our patrols.”
Garion hummed. “If an otsoran snores in the Dreadmoor and no one is there to hear it, it still snores.”
Ozirax shook his head. “But she’s right. These attacks are crossing paths almost exactly in time with our patrol schedules. The majority of the creatures have been behaving at odds with what we know of them, but very few scouts have reported the smell.”
“So if they aren’t summoned, it’s the residual magic fucking with their behaviors?” Garion asked.
“Who the fuck wants to summon these things?” Rand growled, gesturing to the map like it might answer their questions.
“Runes are no child’s play, let alone one that might summon creatures from the levels of hells.
Last that happened, we ended up with the Aldgate Scar and our kind trapped in this realm. ”
“But that was fucked up sorcery. Humans messing with shit they should never touch,” Tonomoch argued. “This is demon magic, and small scale in comparison.”
“For how long?” Eyes flashed to Kalypso as she lifted her gaze to each of them. “Small scale, maybe, but it’s frequent. Probing. The attacks and odd behavioral patterns have never been witnessed by the same squad twice, but it’s following our patrol schedule. What if these are just… tests?”
There was a long moment of silence, and as if uncertain with herself for the first time, Kaly’s eyes shone with vulnerability. But when she looked to Ozirax, he made sure that she knew she was not wrong.
“It would imply a greater evil at work.”
“Fuck.” Garion scrubbed a hand down his face before glancing at Ozirax. “You had a feeling this was bigger, even out in the Dreadmoor.”
“So what are their motivations?” Rand asked. “Ultimately, the demon or demons doing this have a goal. A reason for summoning these things from the hells.”
“It’s made the carved ways unsafe,” Ozirax mused, gesturing to the map. “The deeper paths were always unstable, but recently they’ve been impassable. Scouts have been limited to just a few miles deep.”
“More monsters have been found closer to the Veilwood,” Kalypso noted.
“And it’s happening almost every patrol now, attack or no,” Tonomoch muttered, tail flopping to the ground. “It’s not targeted, or it would only be against one squad.”
Ozirax held up a finger, the thought sparking. “But what if it is targeted? Not a single squad, but the whole guard?”
“Whoever it is knows our schedule.”
“It’s been an increasingly frequent pattern.”
“Which means—”
Ozirax dove for the schedule still in Kalypso’s hands, though he already knew the answer. “Diaran’s scout. They should have—”
The door to their room burst open, Olgazoch’s broad red body filling the exit. His wide eyes landed on Oz. “You’d better come quick.”