Xenomene slipped soundlessly into the tent like an assassin closing on a target. She stood still for a moment, letting her eyes adjust to the darkness, waiting to distinguish his form. The Mind slept deeply on his makeshift bed. She stood in his presence, and the itch came over her again. Many a night she dreamed of him, each fantasy different from the last. Some dreams he was dying, others she fell in battle. In some delusions, he abandoned them; alternative fantasies portrayed a more favorable picture as he rode her into delirium. Still, some turned to nightmares, losing everyone in the squad, or he shunned her in favor of the Heart, or Mauler slit his throat, robbing her of her quest.

  Just as the Krey took kills on the field, so too, they took quests—a body count—to their beds. The Krey, far from prudish like their neighbors of Ralloc, were extremely open, more to the liking of those who resided south of the Melodic Mountains. By the Black Tide’s standard, Xenomene was one of the most prudish within the Hive.

  But tonight, she was on a quest. She would mount the Mind, ride him through a foray of flesh, and then discard him like a corpse on the battlefield.

  Xenomene dropped her outer robe, revealing her stark skin beneath, not bothering with undergarments. Her hand found his leg beneath the blanket, lightly running up to his groin. The Mind stirred but didn’t awaken. Xenomene pulled the covers aside and took him into her mouth until he grew firm. He awoke with a start, finding Xenomene’s red hair rising and falling in the darkness.

  “What—?” he blurted, but she clamped a hand over his mouth, shifting her body to straddle him. Her warm flesh rubbed against his, her smooth torso against his coarse hair. Small breasts pressed against his chest; she kissed him quietly, hungrily, but without a mote of love.

  “A quest,” she breathed. “Shut the fuck up.”

  She slid backward, maneuvering herself over his member, and slowly sank. An exhale escaped her as she sheathed him. Warm hands clutched her buttocks, and she felt his mind reach out to meld with hers.

  “No,” she said sharply. “Stay out of my head.”

  His mental caress died away but not before she could feel his disappointment. He sat up, hugging her petite frame to his. She hitched once, up and back down, and his skin glistened. The Mind’s eyes went wide, moans of ecstasy escaped him. He kissed her neck, holding her tight. Xenomene let out a groan, not of love, but an animalistic craving. She breathed steadily through her mouth.

  A clear, loud call rang out in the night. “STAND TO!”

  Xenomene stopped abruptly, pushing him back down, looking in the direction of the voice. She knew what that meant: war finally found them. She rose off the A’uri, forgetting him like he never existed, and crept towards the opening of canvas, her eyes directed to the origin of the loud voice, but unable to see it through the canvas.

  “What? Why stop? We can still finish! We haven’t even started!” the Mind spoke hurriedly.

  Xeno squared her shoulders, her spine straight, her flesh still bare. The quivering in her body quickened as she wandered closer to the opening of the tent, a strange trance coming over her. When it became obvious that she was not going to finish what she started, the Mind used the visual aid of her naked body and the memory of her warmth to bring himself to culmination. Rising, he cleaned himself as Xeno shifted, picking up her robe.

  “What is wrong with you?” the Mind asked, whirling her around by the arm.

  “War,” she purred.

  “Yeah? So? We expected it.”

  “You are about to watch an artist work,” she declared as she shouldered her robe back on. She didn’t bother to close it. “There will be blood!” she promised with a smile. Her eyes shined like glass, glazed, like she was drunk, or chasing Oblivion, or both. And then she was gone, bolting from his tent.

  A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  Exiting, she rushed to her makeshift home of cloth and rope to don her armor, racing past the few tents of their squad, her robe opening wide as she ran. She dropped her clothing as she entered.

  By fate, or fortune, or a little of both, Bitcher glanced up and saw her, his eyes going to her firm, heart-shaped buttocks, a brief glimpse before she disappeared into the darkness inside. She hurried, shrugging into her cloth tunic and breeches before the boiled leather. With the dragon plate armor quickly strapped into place, she emerged with her helmet tucked under her left arm, and her sword slung over her right shoulder.

  Raven sidled up beside her, and he started to say something but stopped, his eyes going distant as he focused on a sound. She heard it too, the sound of massive wings before a roar that split the night.

  She turned her gaze up as dragons descended.

  Chapter 74

  Huge talons ripped through the ranks of wizards and shredded the armor of soldiers; all men were defenseless. Each ran for cover, cowering at the nearest refuge. Liquid fire seared flesh in a bright flash; skin boiled and charred in the onslaught. Through the screams and roars, a haughty, sinister laugh echoed as the dragons lay siege to the helpless army of Ralloc.

  “Is this all you can muster, Judas?” boomed Xilor, satisfied with the unfolding battle. “Is there no one who dares to challenge me?”

  Dathyr climbed out from under what cover he could find while the savage beasts dominated the sky and decimated their army. Judas stood alone, untouched. Dathyr passed him, stepping to the edge of the wall. “Someone needs to stand against him.”

  Judas ensnared him by the arm, but the determined youth dragged Judas behind him. “No, you cannot face him,” Judas urged, attempting logic and reason.

  “Someone has to. I do not fear him!”

  “You cannot fear what you do not understand. Listen to me; you cannot defeat him.”

  The younger spun, facing his mentor, eyes ablaze. “You have no faith in my abilities, master. You never have.”

  “It’s not a question of—”

  “You are trying to protect me and hold me back, as you did so long ago. I will not give in and cower. He will fall by my hand,” Dathyr shouted, not toward him but the imminent threat. “I am ready to right all the wrong I have done, to you and our realm.”

  Judas paused, knowing he’d be unable to dissuade the youth. “I am not going to stand in your way.” The warlock couldn’t hide the sorrow in his voice, and he doubted Dathyr heard it. “May my teachings quicken your heart and nimble your mind.” He let go of his arm, and Dathyr plunged over the edge of the wall between battlements, his fall slowed with displacement. Judas watched as the younger man land safely and stalked forward.

  Xilor spotted him in the distance. Giddy, he flung his arms out to his sides in anticipation, ready for the newcomer. “He’s mine!” Xilor bellowed.

  Dathyr drew on the black giant as the battle waged around them. Fiery breath illuminated the night, goblins and trolls stormed the wall with ladder and ropes with grapnel hooks. A battering ram lumbered forward, heaved by a sea of bodies.

  Kayis pulled his wand and broke into a sprint, closing the thirty meters. The Dark Lord braced himself. As Dathyr ran, he flicked his wand out to the side and threw a large rock at the oppressor, his incantation inaudible, drowned from the sounds of battle. The rock hurled towards the shadow. Green luminance spewed out and shattered the rock; the blast sent the fragments back at the oncoming attacker.

  Xilor was quick, but Dathyr knew he was quicker. A blast wave raced in front of the former consul, deflecting peppering fragments. Dathyr closed the last ten meters; the shock wave reached Xilor. With an outstretched hand, the Dark Lord absorbed the blast. The surprise threw Dathyr off stride, enough that Xilor gained unyielding control.

  “Litimus Spiro,” Dathyr screamed. A swirling pillar of fire erupted from the tip of his wand; the vibrant yellow spun with life and heat. He charged, sprinting, a growl simmering in his throat.

  In the last instant, Xilor mirrored the wizard in a flash, a vortex of green acid spewing from the tip of his wand. Kayis lunged, stabbing. The blade impacted, Xilor’s skeletal hand absorbing the energy. With a jerk, Xilor pierced him, the green acid eating away at Kayis’ flesh, puncturing through the gut and upward, burrowing into his throat. Dathyr’s eyes went wide in shock, his mouth fell open, slack. The green light illuminated the insides of his mouth.

  “Pathetic,” Xilor sneered as Kayis’ body slid to the ground. Vanquishing his magic, Xilor stepped on his body as he closed on the wall.