Chapter 9 | Garroway
Garroway
I take my little honey badger to the nearest tavern to see if I can get her mind off her worries.
I take my job seriously, making sure she is all right and not lost in the throes of misery.
Would that I could, I’d prefer to see her lost in the throes of lust. It’s been such a long time since she’s commanded me to do her bidding in the bedroom.
The night is getting late once we climb the ladder out of the Firehold. I’m happy to be out of that dreary place, and Sephania looks to be as well.
I feel a slight tug on my psyche, blinking away the intrusion before taking Seph’s hand and dragging her down the road.
“Where are you taking us?” she asks, surprised at my urgency.
I hum to myself, lost in my head. My mind has been fractured ever since tasting Sephania for the first time, and it’s only gotten worse with every bloodletting we partake in. Two commanding presences vie for attention in my mind: my original master Skartovius, and my newer mistress Sephania.
Right now, it’s Skar probing my thoughts with our weakened bond, intruding to see if he can tell what we’re doing. “This evening is not for you, Master. It’s for me and my mistress,” I say in my head.
The problem is—as it has been for ages now—I get no response. The tug pulses brighter for a moment and then it’s gone, dissipating behind my mental barriers. I may be a half-blood, but I’m no stranger to putting up walls to protect myself. Even from a powerful nobleblood like Lord Ashfen.
My eyes search the sides of the empty roads, fervently seeking out a den where I’ll feel welcome. I need to make sure Sephania is comfortable too.
Passing by a busy tavern, we watch as a duo of lads stumbles out of the murkily lit doorway and laugh with each other. Once they’re out of sight of the tavern, the young man on the left pushes his friend up against a wall and promptly goes to his knees, yanking his friend’s pants down.
I pull Sephania along as we pass them, deciding we’ll go elsewhere. “It’s too busy in that place anyway,” I murmur under my breath, as much to myself as her.
Beside me, Sephania’s head twists on her neck as she watches the event between the young men play out in the darkness. “Don’t call me a prude, but is that man about to . . .”
“Suck the other’s cock? Sure looked like it, lass. Why, wish to partake?” I smile mischievously at her.
Her cheeks flame and she waves me off. “I thought we were looking for a drink, not a cock.”
My shoulders rise. “Could be both.”
She laughs and we continue down the wretched road.
At this hour, in this part of the city, all the ne’er-do-wells make their mark on the world.
This is the time for vagrants and brigands to come alive, and the militant Bronzes let it slide because there’s too much debauchery going on to shut it all down. So they don’t even try.
Sometimes I come to Nuhav to get away from the stuffy haughtiness of Olhav. Other times, I come here to decompress, imbibing in my addictions to set me right.
Seph doesn’t know anything about that. I can feel the itch now. It’s a throbbing in my blood that sets me off, much the same way as the throbbing in my pants has begun after seeing those two lads fervently face-fucking each other.
One addiction I have is not like the other. My need for Sephania’s flesh is only half the battle. The other, well . . . it started long ago, before I even knew the girl. It has nothing to do with pleasures of the flesh or the “urges” Vallan had before meeting Sephania.
We come to a quiet offshoot of the road. I beeline for a squat two-story building with its windows open. Orange light from the apertures invite us toward the door.
“What’s this place?” she asks as we approach.
I shrug. “Seems quieter.”
A bouncing pair of large pale breasts passes by the window inside, just as we’re walking up to the door. I can’t see the girl’s face, and Sephania notices the lack of modesty.
“Wait,” she says as I reach for the handle. When I perk my eyebrows at her, she adds, “This is a brothel, isn’t it?”
I shoot her a tempting smile. “Is that a problem if it is? Scared of some bare skin, lass?”
She scoffs, aggrieved. “Me? No! It’s just . . . it seems even raunchier than the busy tavern down the road, doesn’t it?”
I start to turn away from the door, saying, “We can go back—”
“No,” she says firmly, eyes watching me. “This will be fine.”
My beautiful girl raises her chin defiantly, stepping inside once I open the door. Before we’re three feet in, she leans over and asks, “Do you frequent this kind of establishment when I’m not around, Garro?”
“Not for the thing you’re thinking of,” I mutter.
Her brow furrows and I walk past her toward the bar at the end of the room. She quickly follows, staying no further than six inches from my side. I can feel her wide, lovely hips bumping against mine every other step.
The light here is dim and tinged red, covering up most of the lewd nastiness of the establishment. There are some murmuring voices to our left, around a circular table, and a unique stench wafts through the place.
Sephania’s head moves on a swivel and she lets out a gasp when she glances right.
I follow her eyes to see what’s surprised her and notice a man in the corner of the room, seated on a bench with his pants around his ankles.
A rotund woman jiggles on top of him and moans softly, dress hiked up to her large belly and her hanging tits bouncing in front of her as she rides the man’s cock for all to see.
“Truehearts flog me,” Sephania hisses. “Is there no decorum in these places, to be gallivanting in the open like that?”
“Way I hear it,” I say, “you were mating in the open with Vallan just a few hours ago.”
“That’s different!” she scolds in a harsh whisper. “No one was around.”
“That you’re aware of.”
Her eyebrows jump, a horrified expression on her face. “Shit. Do you think someone . . . Ohh, Cordea, maybe?”
I laugh as we reach the bar, gently elbowing her arm. “I’m only jesting, lass. I don’t take Cordea as a voyeur. Though anything’s possible with that one.”
The barkeep is a man I recognize, so I nudge my chin to the right as we approach. “Banooth is at it again in the open, lad.”
The bearded barman frowns, peering into the orange-red light. He can’t see around a corner wall to see what I’m talking about. “With who, this time?”
“Looks to be Tamiryn.”
The barman lets out a snort of annoyance and steps aside to leave his side of the bar. “Thanks for the heads up, Garro. First one is on me. I’ll be right back.” He walks away, past us, yelling, “Banooth, how many times I fucking told you!”
I lean over the bar, pluck a bottle up, and bring two mugs with it. After pouring the ale, I look at Sephania and she appears to be staring at a stranger—me.
“What? He said the first one is on the house,” I say to defend myself.
She throws her arms out. “Banooth? Tamiryn? The barkeep knows your name. How do you know everyone here, Garro?”
“It’s obvious, isn’t it?”
She crosses her arms over her chest, no longer looking so mirthful or genial. “Enlighten me. I want to hear you admit you frequent a brothel on your nights off.”
There’s jealousy in her tone, and I realize why she sounds frustrated. I’m a fool not to notice it sooner—what this must look like to her, with all the frolicking and drinking and nakedness around us.
I put down my mug and sigh, rubbing the back of my neck.
“It’s not what you think, lass. I come here because it’s one of the only places where a grayskin like me is welcome in Nuhav.
And I don’t come here to engage with the nightladies or nightlads.
” The last thing I want with Sephania is miscommunication, so I keep talking into the stern silence, deciding to spill the truth. “Do you smell that lingering scent?”
She tilts her head and lightly sniffs. “Ale and perfume to hide the sweaty stench. What of it?”
“What else is cloying? Try again. You’ve smelled it before . . . perhaps in the alley where we first met?”
She sniffs louder this time. Slowly, her eyes widen. “Redcloud.”
I nod and grab my mug. Once I take a fortifying sip, from behind the rim, I mutter, “I dabble in the stuff. I won’t lie to you.”
Sephania snatches her mug off the table and drinks, if only to hide her astonishment. “Still?”
“What do you mean, still?”
“Well, our alley meeting was nearly ten years ago. I just figured . . . I don’t know . . .”
“That a user would suddenly decide to quit once they reached the decade mark? Addictions don’t work like that, honey badger.”
Her eyes narrow as she drinks more. When she slams her mug down, she’s already finished with the first cup. I’m impressed with her drinking ability, but I think she’s doing it more to drown the chaos that looks to be permeating her mind at this news.
She leans forward. “So you’re an addict, then? By the Damned, Garro, why didn’t you ever tell me?”
“Ashamed, I suppose.” I shrug lightly and finish my drink, reaching for the bottle to pour us another. I figure the barman won’t mind, or notice. “Didn’t think it was pertinent information.”
I’m shocked when her hand falls on my knuckles over the mug. “Did you think I would be angry?”
“Haven’t thought much about it since I’ve had you around. Except these last three months have been trying and I’ve maybe . . . relapsed a bit.”
She hugs me then, shocking me even more. Her chin falls on my shoulder. “I’m so sorry, cub. I didn’t know.”
I pull her back, furrowing my brow. “You needn’t pity me, Seph. It’s not your fault and it’s not your problem. It’s an affliction I must deal with on my own.”
“No, you don’t have to deal with it on your own. I’m here.”
Yes, but how could you possibly help, short of wishing to smoke the damned stuff with me? I glance over to a closed door, past her shoulder, and she notices.
“Is that the den where it’s smoked?” she asks.
I nod slowly. My eyes lower with embarrassment.