Chapter 4
This halfie was not what I had hoped she would be. While undeniably the ideal hostage for my scheme, she also fit Dulanzo’s … well, if not tastes, then victim profile. Knowing she was his brother’s mate would make damaging her before Lobikno and Lhoris got here irresistible. But if I wanted Lobikno to trust me upon their arrival, I needed evidence of being trustworthy to prevent them from rampaging through me as well ... and that would be difficult if Dulanzo broke the fucking wench before they even got here.
There was no denying she was capable of violence with all the scars she carried, hence my decision to keep her mostly unconscious on the journey, I was surprised she had the balls to meet Dulanzo’s eyes let alone spit in them. The fact that she’d found the strength to run after being kept alive on broth and whatever she could eat half-conscious was, quite frankly, astonishing. It wasn’t until she wiggled off the chair to stand on her own two feet and give me a defiant little grin that I realized how much trouble she was in.
Dulanzo relished obliterating defiant personalities and her resilience would only prolong his amusement. The fact that she already had a baby plowed into her meant he didn’t have to fear his own seed taking root. He’d be down here to start toying with her as soon as he could free himself from his duties. Which was why I’d stirred up a rivalry between some of his personally loyal officers, and conveniently disappeared so he’d have to deal with it.
I’d gained information from her, though. Not just the paternity of the child she carried, but that she was smart enough to realize that I was attempting to manipulate her, but willing to play along for lack of option. It was part of why I’d been willing to give her the illusion of advantage by sitting and allowing her to loom over me.
Unfortunately, I hadn’t counted on how compelling the view from that angle would be. I should have stayed longer, to make sure the little parasite had what it needed, but I found myself wanting to lick the old scar that so beautifully marred the perfection of those full, shapely lips. To touch them and test their softness with my fingertips. I hadn’t been with a female in ages …
That wouldn’t do, though. I needed her to vouch for my behavior—to believe I was her ally, or at the very least the lesser of two evils. Dulanzo had anticipated that, though, and told her it was my fault she was here. While true, it worked against my plans. The situation was still salvageable, though. Her mates had left her so ignorant that a meager trail of informational crumbs would lead her directly to my good intentions. I’d been truthful when explaining what needed to be done, and she’d been trusting enough to let me put my hands on her. That, or she was overconfident. Regardless, I had to pretend there was something good left inside this festering old soul of mine and that would fall through if I gave in to the inappropriate impulses I usually didn’t try to resist.
So, I’d simply excused myself and left her in the dark. She needed to learn how to use her light if she did somehow end up trapped in this shit hole. It was like building muscle. The more she practiced, the stronger she would become. She’d be able to replenish her magic more efficiently, which would be essential as her offspring’s needs grew. Coddling her, as her mates obviously had, would only hobble her further. So many good reasons to leave her afraid in the dark. Enjoying the shimmer of fear in her eyes when the light faded somehow felt like payment for a job well done.
But as I stood outside her prison door, painfully aroused, listening to the rustle of fabric and the crunch of straw as she crawled back into bed, all I could think of was the gentle peaks and full curve of her rosy, bow-shaped lips. The way they parted or pursed when she was listening to me. The little unconscious movements that shifted along with her thoughts. I couldn’t concentrate when she spoke.
I would need to seek out Rhemvile if I were to spend any more time with the woman. His were lips I could touch. That I could part with my tongue and taste.
I closed my eyes, turned away from her door, and reached for the delicate thread of magic that was our lifeline to the surface. It had been installed along with the warband many generations ago. Most here couldn’t interact with it due to their lack of power. They only benefit by observing the enchanted devices that worked with the tether. There were many clocks and color-coded crystals that served as a peep hole to the world above us. One could determine the time of day, moon phase, and weather at a glance, but I knew all of that, and the calendar day, just by interacting with it directly.
It was after dark and Rhemvile’s patrol would just be returning. I sprinted out of the prison wing. There were no guards there to witness my haste or question why I’d been there. Posting guards was a waste of resources. Even if she broke the door off its hinges, she’d never get out of the compound unnoticed.
Nobody escaped this place. Not even the people that held power within it.
I jogged up a long flight of stairs and a corridor with a steep incline but didn’t slow my pace until approaching the mid-level that served as living quarters. It wouldn’t do to arrive out of breath. We all had our roles to play and appearances to keep. Deviating from those things was too noticeable and prone to drawing the eyes of those seeking weaknesses to exploit.
The space itself was a long narrow cavern. Down the center were equipment racks loaded with the various tools of war, ready for quick retrieval such as armor, shields, halberds, pikes, the larger things that weren’t easily carried or kept in their barracks. There were tables for gathering on either side of the racks and then large rooms carved out of the cavern wall that served as barracks. They held 20 soldiers each.
While waiting for Rhemvile’s patrol to return, I wandered and spent time intimidating the rabble lounging about the hall, like a subcommander ought to, with a little harassment over improper equipment storage, maintenance, and cleanliness. There wasn’t anything else to really harass them over. Elves were clean and orderly by nature, especially when they had little else to do between patrols and raids.
It wasn’t long before Rhemvile and the rest of his cohort appeared. He stood out for his curly hair, muddy brown eyes, short, blunt ears, and pale blue skin—things the others used to remind him he was inferior because of his half-human heritage. But they were also the things that had drawn me to him in the first place. It took me a while to realize it was his human aspects that made me desire him. It no doubt played a part in my desire to lick the half human hostage I’d just left in the prison wing.
Rhemvile walked with the other soldiers, speaking quietly, as they probably had all day. But when he saw me, his eyes widened and his lips turned up, just a fraction. His happiness upon seeing me made my upper lip draw back in a sneer and anger flare in my chest. Not because my use of Rhemvile was secret—half of the males here were fucking each other. No, it was because he shouldn’t be pleased to see me. I treated him like garbage, and he kept coming back like a beaten dog with its tail wagging. It was contemptable. Disgraceful. I hated it but oh, how I benefited from it.
“Rhemvile,” I barked, not disguising my disgust. “With me.”
His smile disappeared and he gave me a curt nod, a short pale curl falling over his eyebrow. “Yes, sub-commander.” He swallowed, as if worried he were in some kind of trouble and handed his gear to his companions before joining me.
He kept pace as I led him away from the populated living area and back to the quiet of the prison wing, where I always took him to satisfy my needs. I couldn’t do this sorry cur the honor of taking him to my quarters. If I did that, someone might get the idea that he was special to me. He wasn’t. Rhemvile was chattel and, quite frankly, an idiot. Catching my cum was all he was good for, really. He was strong enough to just barely earn his keep as a soldier but lacking in any ability to negotiate the social hierarchy of our culture. The only benefit was that he wasn’t a threat to anybody here and since he was my idiot, the others mostly left him alone. That would change if they perceived him to be my weakness. Rhemvile was beautiful and meek, but he had to be replaceable, expendable.
“Sub-commander?” he asked, apparently still unsure of my purpose. He swallowed and searched my face with his soft brown eyes, no doubt hoping for a glimpse of my intent.
I shoved him against the wall. He gasped when I pinned him there with my body, arms caging him in, though I knew he wouldn’t fight no matter my intentions. “You’re pathetic,” I hissed before crushing my lips against his, parting them with my tongue and explored his mouth. His little moan of pleasure vibrated through me, rekindling my arousal and thoughts of the woman just down the corridor. I licked the place on Rhemvile’s lips where her scar would be before I pulled back to look at him again. The worry in his eyes melted away to relief and gradually gave way to excitement. His whispered “yes” was little more than a breath against my cheek.
“Rhemvile, I’ve been gone for weeks,” I said, the words breathy and quiet. “What else would I have dragged you down here for?” Then my eyes caught on his plump lips, flushed a pleasant shade of lavender. I lifted a hand and brushed my fingertips over the soft skin there, indenting them with the slightest pressure. Oh, gods, they were so, so soft. So pliant, like the man they belonged to. My index finger lingered in place, while I drank in the complex scents overlaying his own light musk. Sunlight, autumn leaves, and earth from his long day outside the walls of this hell.
Rhemvile parted his lips and, with a trembling breath, tentatively licked the finger I held there. He raised a hand, clasped my wrist delicately and guided my finger into his mouth, wrapping it in wet heat. Gentle suction and the light touch of his other hand against the strained fabric of my trousers made me sigh and press into his touch, grinding against his palm. After a decade of being mine, he knew what I liked … and I hated it. He bit down ever so slightly on my finger and smiled around it, teasing me. Because, simple as Rhemvile was, he still understood what he was doing to me. I ground my teeth, grabbed his groping hand, and pressed it even harder against my cock.
I jerked my hand away from his lips with a sneer and pinched the hardened nipple beneath the cotton wrap-around blouse he wore. He hissed and grimaced, though he didn’t stop groping, bringing his other hand to undo the buttons of my trousers. I gave him space to do it while unfastening the clasp that held the shirt belted around his waist, tugging it open and out of his pants. He had few scars on his front from his misadventures on patrol, but it was the patch of hair he had down his midsection that I found fascinating—another human characteristic. I ran my fingers through the hair that trailed down his muscled abdomen and he twitched pleasantly under my touch. He only flinched when I trapped the last little bit above the waistband of his pants between my fingers and gave it a little tug.
His hand hesitated at the waistband of my undershorts. “Zel …” he started to say my name, but I gave him a warning glance. There were very few circumstances that I’d allow him to do that, and this wasn’t one of them. “I’m sorry. I … don’t like it when you pull that hair. It hurts.” Which I knew. There were many, many things I could do to hurt him that would only provoke his lust. But his body hair was a sensitive subject. The hurt he spoke of wasn’t of a physical nature, but he was making me feel things I didn’t want to feel either.
“I don’t like it when you taunt me,” I snorted and undid the first button on his trousers. “I don’t like it when you presume to know what I want you to do,” I bit out in a low, quiet warning. “I don’t like it when,” I cut my words short, realizing my temper was about to reveal more than it ought to. There was nowhere safe here to utter such thoughts without being heard. “I don’t like it when you think, Rhemvile. Don’t think. Don’t try to please me. Just let me do.”
He dropped his eyes and nodded. “Yes, sir.”
I undid the rest of his buttons and rifled through his pockets for the oily salve he kept on hand only to find his cock deflating beneath my fingers.
“I’m sorry,” he apologized. “Maybe if you give me a few minutes?”
Damn it. This wasn’t the first time that chastising him had left me in a lurch. And unlike my older cousin, I preferred willingness … and enthusiasm, though I discouraged it. My own arousal waned.
I slid my fingers through the messy curls on the back of his head and pulled him close, resting my forehead against his and felt the heat of embarrassment radiating from his cheeks. With the flick of a hand, I summoned silence, thought I knew it would draw attention. Anyone that knew him would assume a meeting with Rhemvile would not be one of intrigue. Dulanzo would likely write it off if he noticed. “My words were too sharp,” I muttered. “This is not your fault, Rhem.”
He nodded slightly but said nothing.
I kissed his forehead then fixed his blouse, securing the wrap, tucking it into his pants and buttoning them back up. He glanced up at me occasionally, but I kept my face neutral. There would be nothing there for him to glean. Which was safest.
Of all the days he needed reminding of his place …
“Go back to what you’re supposed to be doing,” I grumbled, excusing him from our impromptu encounter. “I’ll find you another day.”
Rhemvile hesitated a moment, and appeared to lean toward me, but took a step back instead. “Y-yes sir,” he said before turning to walk away.
I sighed, aggravated with myself for not reacting differently. Though my cock was no longer begging for attention, I still couldn’t keep my twisted, traitorous mind off the woman and her fucking amazing lips. Then it betrayed me further by picturing Rhemvile drawing her in to a heated kiss. Gods, he’d never had a female before. Would he even want to? There was a very depraved part of me that wanted to find out just so I could watch them. My breath caught as I imagined it, overwhelmed by the delicious beauty of the two halfies coming together. How he would suckle her tits and clit, his chin glistening with the evidence of her lust. The way her lips would wrap around the broad head of his cock and slide down the shaft, her heated eyes locked on mine, challenging me to join …
And I found myself back where I’d started, painfully hard in the empty corridor of the prison wing. I swore under my breath while unlocking the nearest empty cell and sat on the edge of the cot within. I finished freeing my cock and slathered it with the salve that I’d forgotten to give back to Rhemvile, stroking the shaft with no intention of prolonging the experience. But I was sweating before long, panting, imagining her riding his tongue, facing me while I fucked his tight little ass. I could easily picture the ecstasy on her upturned face shifting in intensity when I pinched her nipples. How would she taste when I leaned in to explore her mouth, my fingers twisted in her hair to keep her from pulling away? Then I’d guide her mouth to Rhemvile’s cock. “Take him in,” I’d order, and she’d give me that defiant little grin on her way down. With my grasp still firm in her hair, I’d drive the pace, making her gag on him before yanking her back up to sample her now swollen lips—to taste and smell his musk on them. When I pushed her down again, it would be to make him cum. I’d drive her head rough and relentless until his hips rocked and sang out his pleasure against her cunt. Then I’d pull her back up to me, gentler this time, and that mischievously defiant little grin would be there. “Rhemvile,” I’d say, while giving her a sly smile in return, “pull her hips against you and suck on that clit until she screams.” She’d inhale through her nose when his arms lock over her thighs and tremble while I plowed into him, his spent cock rolling across his belly with every thrust. And I’d hold her there in front of me to watch her mouth until she relented to pleasure and opened it to release a loud, shuddering moan … and drizzle her mouthful Rhemvile’s seed onto his stomach. I’d known she’d try to spit it into my mouth and I wouldn’t give her the satisfaction of thinking she could outsmart me. Only then did I slam my lips against hers.
I came in a series animalistic grunts that rolled up from my center. Thick ropes of seed splattered to the stone at my feet. Spurt after spurt after spurt. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d cum quite that much.
When I flopped back on the cot to catch my breath, I accepted something I’d been denying for a very long time. My interest in half-elves with their sinful lips and body hair had become a full-blown obsession. And if I wasn’t careful, it would ruin everything.