Dark Passions: Dark Romance Boxed Set, page 77
Grasping the back of her neck roughly, he twisted her around, forcing her to her knees before sliding the dagger up in under her heavy robe. “Get it off,” he snarled with a bite, ignoring the grunts and cries from the other pair as he dared to take his hand off Elin to loosen his own pants.
It was a swift motion, and the thick robe was cast aside, her pants down, stuck around her boots as her body chilled to the cold, her nipples bone hard as she faced the wall, her breathing heavy. She’d always been most terrified of him and his anger, and her entire body rocked with fear. She thought she’d be safe from him, that he’d gone on ahead to get the ransom, and she trembled in fright.
Was this her punishment for what she’d done to the human woman?
He needed only one of his nimble elven hands to undo his trousers and grasp his own manhood. There was no delay, no hesitation, he just cruelly shoved himself against her cunt, trying to force it past those dry petals as he struck a hand at her ass roughly.
There was a brief whimper, the sound overwhelmed by a larger, muffled groan from the other woman, and there were no heroics from her. Sullen acceptance met him as her olive skin warmed to his slap, the imprint visible against her curved behind.
Glis’n forced himself into her, even more cruelly than Odir took his victim, he grabbed and shoved himself inside. The dagger moved from her neck, but then the butt of his fist struck the back of her neck, “Down,” he muttered, forcing her face to the furred mat as he began to rut at her roughly to the sound of the other suffering woman.
She immediately obeyed, her head swimming with the knock, her nude body pressed fully into the mat, her breasts pressed against her ribs as she faced towards the other woman, watching her in stunned silence. Except for small grunts of pain as he tore into her sensitive flesh, she remained as quiet as possible.
The elf’s climax came early, frustrating him, and he rained blows upon her in retaliation for the premature end to his intended torture. Her demonic heritage was much more prominent in the nude, her little horns clearly on display, that subtle strangeness about her body obvious to the man that struck at her.
Hitting her back, he snarled to the other man, “Odir! Get over here,” he barked, and the younger human looked confused. “Take over on her.” Before he could object, the elf grabbed the man’s bare shoulder and tugged him to her. The brutal act forcibly continued, as the fair skinned man took his place. Sigrid squirmed pitifully, though Glis’n struck her roughly several times across the face, “Shut up!”
The blur of savage assaults were peppered with the foul Glis’n muttering threats as he held down the hostage merchant in place.
The haze was finally lifted when Odir found himself pulled back. In a silent rage, Ara’bor stood over the fair skinned younger man, seething. Balled, iron-shod fists landed upon the cringing local as he pathetically tried to ward off the blows.
The crunch of bone and sinew was a sickening sound in the leather-crafted tent as the towering southerner took out his rage upon the increasingly bloody pulp that was his companion. In the furious assault upon Odir, however, he was oblivious to the motions of Glis’n.
There was but a second, a brief interlude as the pain and fog in her mind cleared and Elin realized what was happening. Ara’bor assaulting the other man broke the binds of her own self-control and quickly she was turning and casting a spell, her eyes a wild fury of rage.
The shocked and surprised elf slipped out a dagger from his pants and thrust at the armoured man. Seeing the movement out of the corner of his eye, Ara’bor twisted to deflect the blow, but the blade sunk past his defenses, between plates of iron and through the leather and fur beneath. A crack of bloodied metal fist knocked the elf back, but the damage was done. Ara’bor sunk in silent pain, gritting his teeth at the stab to his side, leaving him at least momentarily detained on his haunches.
It was Glis’n that bore Elin’s assault, but a moment too late to spare Ara’bor.
The elf was suddenly encased in frost, the coldness surrounding his still erect body. She didn’t stop. The ice constricted around the exposed elf, her chanting loud. She glanced at Odir but seeing him bloodied, she focused on the more deadly of her traveling companions. The rage burned in her as her casting changed, a hovering dagger of ice splintering away from the encasement, and then another, and another, until there was a half dozen circling him.
“Now it’s your turn to owe me,” she snarled, looking over to Ara’bor as she let the icy daggers dart towards the elf’s neck.
Chapter 11
Elin heard the clattering of ice to the ground too late and by the time she spun around, there was little more than a puddle of half melted ice, no elven corpse encased within. By virtue of some elven trick or magic, Glis’n had disappeared.
However, as Ara’bor teetered backwards on his haunches, clutching his arm to his side where he was stabbed, she ran towards him. He was put off center by the wound, and gave Elin an uneven gaze, showing pained worry.
She quickly grabbed her trousers and brought them to his wound, true concern in her expression. She was fully ignoring the bound merchant woman who was sobbing to herself, struggling away from them.
Elin pressed the pants to Ara’bor tightly, her breathing hard, little wheezes of panic escaping as she looked around to try to find something to staunch the bleeding. She saw no trace of the escaped elf, and her shoulders coiled with tension. “You’ll be fine,” she murmured to Ara’bor, though her fear betrayed itself in her voice.
The realities of a serious wound in these mountains were dire and Ara’bor’s defiant nod meant little more than hope. The thick layers of leather and fur did much to contain the bleeding on their own as he placed an arm around Elin. His voice was a low croak, “We have to get out of here,” he said.
Odir laid on the ground behind them, a twitching, bloodied mess. His face was caved in by the brutal blows he’d taken and looked unlikely to survive the ordeal.
Elin looked to the captive and the dying man, pressing herself against Ara’bor before she moved away, tiny little whispers of apologies and promises to Sigrid, her eyes laced with tears.
Elin grabbed her new robe, pulling it over her body and trying to cover as much as possible, running to the bag and grabbing a new pair of pants and pulling on the heavy, fur cloak. She then went to Sigrid, beginning to dress the trembling and screaming woman, the noises still stifled by the gag.
Sigrid looked terrified and disgusted at Elin, but she didn’t protest the woman trying to cover her.
“We’re going to get outta here. We’ll get you home, yea? Safe and sound,” she muttered, finishing with the woman and grabbing any valuables she could find, stuffing it into a bag.
“We’re going to have to move. Now. I can’t take care of both you and Ara’bor, so I need your help. I need to trust you, and you need to trust me so that we can get back to the city. Can you do that for me? Can you trust me for a few days? You won’t last out here on your own, and we might not either,” she looked at the woman with wide, genuine eyes.
Elin hated herself for what she’d just done to the woman, what had come from it, and her stomach rolled with disgust.
Ara’bor was too caught up in his pain to realize just what Elin was doing. Once he noticed she was dressing the merchant again and trying to coax her into helping he spoke in his harsh, pain laced voice, “She can’t come.”
“Set her loose in your old clothes or leave her here,” he remarked, teetering a bit from the sharp pain of the dagger puncture, “but we can’t take her with us. Even if she doesn’t backstab us on the way, she’ll turn us in when we arrive.”
Elin’s eyes grew wide as she rushed to his side once more, her heart thudding in her chest. She knew not to question him, but her guilt was making her less rational. She didn’t want to leave the woman prone.
Elin had the backpack slung over her shoulder, the clothes and jewels still contained within as she licked over her chapped lips. After a moment of consideration, she knew he was right. The woman would never trust her, even before the terrible rape.
Her head dipped against Ara’bor’s shoulder in acquiescence, whispering to him, “I don’t know I can carry you or anything.”
The notion of her being able to carry him, even with the other woman’s help, was enough to make him give a brief laugh. He was several times her weight in muscle even without the armour. His cheek brushed hers momentarily before he spoke, “I can get myself down to the horses,” he responded hoarsely.
He clutched his side beneath his arm, staggering up to his feet to stand, his own strength enough to push through the pain and shakiness. “We have to go,” he cautioned.
“I’m sorry,” she mumbled to the woman, moving out of the tent. She knew she was sentencing the merchant to a long, painful death in the lonely mountains, but she knew Ara’bor was right.
Her own gait was shaky as she made her way towards the horses, walking away from the screaming merchant.
Each step was agonizing as Ara’bor started to make his way over stones, angling to one side despite his best attempts to walk straight. “Hopefully,” he began, teeth gritted, “she’ll buy us some time. If a party goes looking for her, hopefully they’ll find her and be too busy... getting her to safety to come looking... for us.” He licked his lips, straining to head down the mountainside.
She desperately tried to push her sadness and guilt, her fear and repulsion aside, “I couldn’t kill her,” she remarked stonily, almost as if surprised by the revelation.
“We just need to find someone to take a look at you,” she pulled her hood up over her head, covering her horns and her long black curls, “We’ll be ahead of them all in a few days. She wasn’t planning on getting anywhere for months. No one will be looking for her. An’ Glis’n...” she trailed off, “you think he escaped?”
The rocky uneven way down made the journey harder on him, though despite the pain, and the blood that seeped into his clothes and armour, Ara’bor managed as the wagon and camp came into view. Some relief eased his features at the sight, and he was able to hobble along a bit quicker to close the distance before it dawned on him.
Looking at the cart and the rocky areas leading down, his mood soured further, “We can’t take the wagon.”
She quickly rummaged through the remaining goods, grabbing some gauze, pulling it free and moving to him, stretching it out. “We’ll wrap it?” she asked, more than told him.
Ara’bor had went about strapping his own things to one of the horses, hindered by his one near-useless side. Nodding to her words, he seemed more than willing for the excuse to rest, and fell to his knees. “Okay,” he said, “but keep an eye out.”
She stripped his clothes from him in a caring way, carefully surrounding his wound and binding it tight, her eyes on his. “They intended to bring the wagon,” she said lowly, looking him over, “We could put you in the back so you would be able to rest better,” she offered.
The wound was messy, the dagger had cut deep, and was bleeding badly into his side. Looking to the wagon longingly, it pained him to say, “Taking the wagon will be slower,” he said at last, gesturing to the rocky slope. Only one path led down to the valley below, and it wound away from their goal before joining to the road. “And it’ll be more suspicious,” he added.
She looked sad at his explanation, but as she finished wrapping the wound, she kissed his lips, moving to the wagon and taking a large hiking bag full of supplies, looking at him, “You think you could wear this as we ride?”
He had trouble fitting his armour back into place over his gauze wrapped form. Looking to her he reluctantly stated, “If we can’t strap it to the horses, we have to leave it.” Pushing himself to his feet, he swayed a bit, “It might distract that traitor too.”
She winced, looking at the goods and, with a sigh, moved to the horses to pack in all the food she could. She took an extra outfit for her, and pushed all the small jewels and gems into the pockets and satchels she was able to bring. In the end, they had little more than food and a few precious items, abandoning all the heavier and bulkier valuables behind before she went back to the hulking man, “Ready?”
“We need to make good time,” he stated, underplaying his own concerns. Two bandits was hardly a party, especially with one wounded, and potentially having a stealthy killer pissed off at them, and the rangers looking for them.
But, it was their only opportunity to get away from the valley, if luck was on their side. Climbing up onto his horse, with some effort, and a little help, he nodded to her, ready to make it across the rocky slope downhill.
They set out quickly and, though she was no expert rider, she tried to set a speedy pace. Her eyes never lingered far from their path, only glancing at him sparingly. It would be a long ride, and she had no idea the situation he’d be in when they arrived.
They were days from the nearest town down south, even cutting through the rocky shortcut at a fast pace. Spending the night travelling, as morning dawned, Ara’bor was visibly weakened. Teetering upon his saddle, he looked drained, struggling to keep his eyes opened.
“We’ll get some food and rest,” she offered, concern lacing her words.
Beginning to object, he faltered and finally acquiesced. The journey would have to wait, for he needed respite direly. Settling down for a makeshift campsite, he rested himself against a large stone and found himself drifting off to sleep quite immediately, worry keeping it at bay as he remarked in a haggard tone, “Look. Storm clouds.”
“Don’t worry about it,” she urged him. “Just rest.” She found a few small branches, barely enough to make a fire, and set to work on the fairly routine task.
He passed quickly out of consciousness. Not even the smell of the food cooking woke him up from his deep rest. The normally dark and powerful looking man’s contorted face was lacking in colour, and she couldn’t help but fret over him.
When the stew was finally ready, she moved to him, the steamy broth smelling so rich and tempting compared to their usual meals, her hand moving to rouse him tenderly.
It took him a while to wake from his rest, eyes slow to open and gaze upon her. Though once they did, some of the pain seemed to melt away into sadness.
He muttered weakly, “I wish I had gotten there sooner.” His words a bit slurred, managing to perk up a bit at the sight of the soup. “Should’ve done them in long ago. For you.”
She lifted the wooden spoon to his lips and forced a smile to hers. He cared, about her. About her wellbeing.
And now he was seriously injured, stuck in the middle of nowhere with only her to protect him.
“C’mon, used the best stuff I could find. It’s really good. Will restore you good as new,” she promised, her throat cracking.
Accepting the soup, he weakly took it in. “We have to get to shelter. Won’t due to get caught out in the open when that storm hits.”
“Yea,” she admitted softly, her eyes downcast as she continued to feed him.
His own hazy, narrow gaze met hers a moment, and he reached an arm to her, touching her side. “If it comes down to it, ride ahead. Even the locals will... will let you pass if you tell them you’re... you’re...” He didn’t finish the statement. He didn’t have to. After a pause, he spoke again, “Once you eat we should go.”
She stroked his arm, “The storm will cover our tracks,” she reassured him. “I’ll tie the horses together. We’ll make it,” she begged him.
“I’m not worrying about that right now. Eat,” he urged again, “and let’s go.”
It was only moments before she was done and cleared away, the fire fading as she smothered the flames and smoke, burying any sign of them having rested there.
It was harder for Ara’bor to saddle back up, and he required much more help. It wasn’t long after they had set out before the storm clouds were near enough to see the sheet of snow that fell over the valley, beginning to hide the greenery beneath a thickening layer of white.
They carried on.
Ara’bor was bent over, nearly passed out atop his horse when Elin spotted, in the distance, a stone and wood cabin. Smoke rose from a barely visible chimney, and the world grew dark as the sun was blotted out in the storm.
The End –
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Ravaged by the Ogre’s Tribe
By Christie Sims and Alara Branwen
1
“Great,” I mumbled under my breath, “ogres.” Apparently, my spoken thoughts about the menacing beasts hadn’t been quiet enough.
“You got a problem with that Captain Wolfe?” The bellow from the front of the formation was menacing enough to cause the eight officers who stood around me to glance irritably in my direction. My best friend, Georgia Garcia, and I had received our commissions on the same day, and we were practically inseparable, but now, Georgia leaned in and hissed. Her words seethed between her teeth.
“Kat, will you just shut up?!”
And I did shut up. I dropped my gaze to the floor of the briefing room, and everyone turned their attention back to their commander, who after a brief hesitation, eased his voice and responded to my question.
“Yes, Captain,” he said directly to me. “We are, once again, dealing with ogres.” The ten or so friends who had chastised me for my comments immediately turned their attention back to the briefing commander, who then continued.
“But, as it happens,” he said as he began passing around our briefs, “we aren’t dealing with just any ogre. We are dealing with Khurga. He is better known as…”
“The Ogre King.” This time it was Georgia’s turn to speak up. I heard the despair in her voice, as did the rest of the occupants in the room. Because, at that moment, one could have heard a pin drop on the red carpet. As I looked over to Georgia, her eyes met mine, and I saw fear there, unlike I ever remember seeing before. She had always been so brave! I looked down at the mug shot that adorned the top page of my brief.
