Chapter 4 - The Merchant's Caravan

Nothing good ever happened this close to the forest edge. Even the trees looked nervous here, holding their silver bark rigid against the deepening dusk, branches still as if listening for the next bad decision. Tonight, bad decisions camped down in the bowl below me, swaddled in overpriced cloaks, trading rumors and cheap liquor, trusting that six hired swords counted for more than the hungry dark.

Six guards. Two at the wagons, two by the tent, two walking lazy loops around the campfire and calling it a patrol. They all looked like the sort that pissed themselves the last time a real monster poked its nose out of the tree line, except there hadn’t been a real monster here for weeks. Not unless you counted the rumors, or me.

I shifted my weight and the ridge crumbled a little under my heels. No sound. Not even a startled beetle. I liked that. I liked the way the dirt moved for me, remembered me. The old man said the Expanse had its favorites, and tonight it was feeling charitable.

The wind was a fickle bitch, but it played nice for once, blowing from the camp to my perch. Every scent in that valley crawled up my nose and danced behind my eyes: blood, sweat, roasted onions, burning hair from someone’s botched fire-starter, pipe tobacco laced with something bitter and resinous. Under all of it, the metallic tang of fresh coin and the low, earthy musk of fear. Fear always tasted best when it was still trying to hide.

I unstoppered the pouch at my neck and pinched out a fistful of the good stuff. Crushed wintermint, dried ironroot, slivers of aged pine sap, herbs strong enough to ghost my scent for hours if I worked them into the fur good and deep. I wasn’t even sure it made a difference, but tradition was tradition, and it helped that the taste of ironroot kicked like a mule.

While I was at it, I checked the knife. Most people called it a blade, but that implied metal and craftsmanship, not a hunk of enchanted bone knapped into a shape that wanted to stab something. I worked my thumb along the edge and got a line of red for my trouble. Perfect.

I licked my thumb and scanned the camp again. The guards were playing at bravado, but their eyes kept drifting to the shadows beyond the firelight, as if expecting something to leap out and rearrange their priorities. They weren’t wrong. I mapped their routes, the spots where their attention flagged, the narrow V between the fire and the second wagon where I’d have ten heartbeats to cross in darkness. If I was feeling showy, I could make it six.

I’d have just called it a night and raided the food wagon, but the real prize wasn’t salted meat or copper coins. It was the scent from the central tent, sweet, nervous, unfamiliar. Female. Young, unbroken, wearing perfume like a dare. Either a merchant’s daughter or a client’s mistress. Either way, soft. I could already picture her: blue veins glowing under pale wrists, hair that cost more than my father’s house, voice trembling from trying to sound confident. Maybe she’d scream, maybe she’d faint, maybe she’d do something interesting.

The pulse at my throat thumped faster, and I let myself imagine how she’d taste on my tongue. I let myself imagine a lot of things, and my tail flicked hard enough to leave a welt on my thigh.

I sniffed, and there it was: the faintest trace of apple blossom, carried up from the tent flap like a question. I grinned, tongue rough against my teeth, and thought about answers.

Movement above, so high up it was more suggestion than reality. A shadow slipped between two branches, too fast for a squirrel, too heavy for an owl. I felt the prickle at the base of my neck before I heard anything. The harpy was watching. Always did, especially when I was working. I didn’t bother looking up, he liked it better when I pretended he wasn’t there, but I felt his gaze, smug and smugger still.

“Don’t blow your load before you get there, Hrodgar,” came the voice, not a whisper but a smirking ripple of sound. The harpy didn’t need to be quiet; nobody in the camp spoke bird.

“Keep your feathers on, Tilliron,” I muttered, mostly for my own amusement. He’d hear it anyway.

Another prickle of movement, then nothing. I was alone with my thoughts again, just the way I liked it.

I rolled my shoulders, inhaled a lungful of twilight, and started my descent. Each step shaved off a meter of elevation and a layer of caution. At the bottom, I’d either get lucky, or I’d get a story worth telling. Maybe both.

The grass at the ridge line was slick with dew, and the slope was steeper than it looked, but I barely made a sound as I went. Three breaths and I was within spitting distance of the first wagon. I dropped flat, belly scraping the dirt, and let my ears do the work. Nothing but snoring from the nearest guard. Good. The rest were clustered around the fire, already distracted by someone’s attempt at a dirty joke.

I made the next ten meters with my heart thumping so loud it should’ve given me away. Instead, the Expanse wrapped me up, made me invisible. Or maybe they were just that stupid.

Closer to the fire, the world got sharper, harsher. The flicker painted everything in jumpy shadows, and the guards’ voices cut through the night like dull knives. Most of it was bullshit, but one of them, the youngest, with a weepy chin and a scarf that belonged to his girlfriend, looked over his shoulder every few seconds, like he could sense the future bearing down on him.

I marked him as the first to run.

I skirted the fire’s edge, using the bulk of the merchant’s chest to block their sightlines. From here, I could smell the coins locked up inside. Silver. Gold. Maybe even a stone or two. But the thing that got my hackles up wasn’t the money. It was the sound of laughter, thin and desperate, spilling from the tent.

She was inside, and she wasn’t alone.

I crept up to the tent’s rear, staying just downwind, and pressed my ear to the fabric. I heard voices, two of them. One was her, young and nervous, words clotted with unfamiliar language. The other was older, male, reeking of pipe smoke and greasy confidence. I caught snippets:

“…not safe, I told you…”

“…waste of coin, father, nothing ever happens…”

“…just a story to scare the workers…”

I almost laughed. If only they knew.

High above, a wing shifted, catching the moonlight for a heartbeat. Tilliron. He was as bored as I was. I could almost feel his eyes rolling. He’d show up when it mattered, probably to gloat or claim a finder’s fee on whatever I managed to drag out of here.

I scraped a claw against the knife, flexed my shoulders, and took a deep breath.

Time to make my entrance.

A whisper of wind, a flicker of cloud across the moon, and I was inside the camp proper, moving through tents and shadows like a bad memory.

The fire crackled, the guards yawned, and nobody saw a damn thing.

Except maybe her.

If she was as smart as she smelled, she was already holding her breath.

It was going to be a hell of a night.

---

Most people’s night vision is worth shit. Even the best guards couldn’t spot their own dicks in a moonless dark, especially after a few drinks and a bellyful of beans. I could’ve waltzed through their camp with a torch and a polite cough, but where’s the fun in that?

The first guard died pretty. He’d picked the spot behind the woodpile, out of sight, probably to work a splinter out of his boot. He never heard me, never even registered the shadow in front of him until my hand clamped his jaw shut. The look in his eyes said it all: shock, then terror, then nothing as my knife found the seam in his neck. I lowered him slow, whispering in his ear just to see if his soul was still listening. He didn’t even bleed much; it was a clean job. Better than he deserved.

I wiped the blade on his cloak, crept around the fire, and targeted the next two, pair of yappers with too much to say and not enough sense to check their blind spots. One leaned in, laughing at a joke about a prostitute and a bear. He got the rock. Quick and simple, right to the base of the skull. He slumped into his stew and the other one just blinked, not believing what he was seeing until I wrapped my arm around his windpipe and pulled. He kicked for a few seconds, then flopped around like a landed fish before going still.

Three down. Not a sound.

The fourth guard made it almost entertaining. He was one of the old-timers, nose for trouble, half an ear missing from a knife fight. He saw the bodies. He saw me, crouched low and grinning in the firelight. I respected that he didn’t scream like a child; he went straight for his blade and got a solid swing in, nicked my arm just above the fur line. Hurt like a bastard. I grabbed him by the throat and lifted, felt his feet leave the ground, watched his eyes bulge. I should’ve just squeezed until something gave, but I got cocky. He kicked over a lantern, sparks everywhere, and that’s when he finally found his lungs and bellowed.

The world flipped.

Screams, then running, then a whole forest worth of noise. Every tent exploded open; merchant men in half-buttoned nightshirts, girls with tangled hair and no shoes, even the old guy from before, clutching a jeweled cane like it would do any good. The wagons rocked as panicked horses tried to bolt. Someone started beating a gong, which sounded ridiculous and desperate.

For me, it was the best part. There’s nothing like that moment when prey realizes the story is real, and they’re in it.

I dashed through the chaos, swiping every purse and pouch that didn’t run fast enough. Most weren’t even aware they’d been robbed, too busy screaming or tripping over corpses. I found a sack full of silver rings, some with the merchant stamp still on them, and a velvet pouch that smelled like diamonds and old money.

Half the camp was on fire now, thanks to the overturned lanterns and all that hay. Sparks danced up to the treetops, and in the glow, I saw Tilliron making his entrance. He dropped out of the black, all wings and attitude, landing on the roof of the first wagon with a thump that rattled the axles.

“Subtle as ever, mutt!” he cawed, flashing me a double-rowed smile.

“Get bent, featherbrain!” I yelled back, which only made him cackle louder.

He kicked at a lantern perched on the wagon’s side, and it went tumbling into a hay bale with perfect, dickish accuracy. Whoosh, another fireball, more screaming, the horses finally breaking loose and tearing through the camp. I swear, he timed it just to upstage me.

I didn’t have time to chase him, because right then, the real problem hit.

The panther came out of the woods like a nightmare. All muscle and murder, the kind of cat that could eat two men before breakfast and still beg for seconds. It didn’t waste time with the easy targets; it went straight for the merchant’s tent, ignoring everyone else.

Two guards tried to intercept. One got a paw the size of a frying pan to the chest, he flew six feet and didn’t get back up. The other went for the cat’s flank, stabbing with a short sword. The panther didn’t even slow down; it twisted, caught his arm in its jaws, and pulled. There was a crack and a shriek, then just a bloody stump and a limp body.

I felt a little proud. The Expanse only produced monsters like that when it was in a good mood.

But I had a job to do, and I wasn’t about to get showed up by a cat.

I sprinted after the panther, leaping the fire and dodging through a hail of crossbow bolts. Someone was still trying to be a hero, good for them, they made for decent cover. The cat was already halfway into the tent, ripping through the canvas like tissue. I dove, landed on its back, and wrapped both arms around its throat.

For a second, I thought I had it. My weight knocked it sideways and we crashed into the pile of silk cushions inside, the two of us snarling and rolling in a tangle of claws and fur and flashing teeth. The smell of blood, fur oil, and expensive perfume nearly made me black out from joy.

The cat bucked, flung me across the tent, then came at me with fangs bared. I caught its jaw just under the chin and shoved upward, hard. It yowled, tried to claw my face off, but I twisted and used the momentum to slam its head into the ground. The impact dazed it for half a heartbeat. That’s all I needed. I jammed my knee into its windpipe and locked it down.

It could’ve gone either way, but I had leverage and a hell of a mean streak. The panther hissed, raked my arm open, then finally realized I was the bigger asshole and went limp. It glared, all hate and promise, then slunk out through the tent flap, tail twitching in defeat.

That left me panting, bleeding, and hornier than ever, kneeling in a puddle of silks and something else. I took a second to savor the moment: the taste of victory, the lingering echo of screams outside, and the scent of the girl hiding behind a trunk three feet away.

She was next.

Behind me, Tilliron clapped, slow and sarcastic. “Ten out of ten. You wanna autograph her before you eat her, or after?”

“Fuck off, bird,” I said, but I was smiling. My night.

I wiped the blood from my hands, tore a strip off a fancy curtain to tie around my arm, and stalked toward the trunk. She was still holding her breath, knuckles white on the lid, but her eyes said it all: not fear, not exactly. Something darker, a little bit curious, and very much awake.

I’d earned her. I was going to enjoy every bite.

---

I ripped the tent flap so hard the decorative tassels came off with it, snapping a pole and sending a rain of gold-plated buttons skittering over the carpet. The inside was everything I’d hoped: velvet, silk, and the heavy stink of too many people packed in too tight. The merchant’s girl stood dead center, the fire’s glow bouncing off her bare collarbones and the thin gold chain around her neck. She looked breakable, skin so pale you could map every vein on her chest, hair long and blue-black, lips stained dark from biting them.

If she was scared, she hid it with the skill of a card sharp. Her eyes widened when she saw the blood in my fur, but not in terror, more like awe. Her pulse beat in her throat, fast and high. Her hands went to her sides, fingers curling into the silk of her own dress, twisting it so hard she nearly tore it herself. Her feet shuffled, a little pigeon-toed, drawing the hem up and giving me a flash of pale thigh.

I took a step forward. She didn’t move back. Instead, her mouth parted and she let out this shaky exhale, not a scream or a gasp, something deeper, like she’d just seen her favorite dessert and couldn’t believe her luck.

I loomed, bare-chested, arms streaked with fresh blood, probably half-wild in the eyes. I waited for the wailing, the fainting, the please-don’t-kill-me routine. Instead she licked her lips and, in a voice so soft I almost missed it, said, “Finally.”

It broke my brain for a second. I blinked, then did what came naturally: bared my teeth and growled, low and slow.

That did it. Her cheeks flushed a perfect red, like someone had painted two thumbprints under her eyes. Her breathing picked up, each inhale a little more desperate than the last. I could smell her arousal now, fresh and honest, drowning out the perfume and the burnt silk. Her body language was a study in contradictions, knees locked but her hips rolling forward, hands trembling but raised in invitation. I’d seen prey give in before, but never so quick, never so eager.

“Take me,” she said, louder this time, and held out her wrists, like she’d practiced this part in the mirror a hundred times.

I grinned, all fangs, and circled her, letting the tension grow. I brushed a claw under her chin, forced her to look up at me. Her eyes were bottomless, hungry. No fear, just that need, hot and quivering.

“Did you get a good look at what I did to your guards?” I asked, voice pitched low, dangerous.

She shivered. “Yes.”

“Six dead men outside this tent, princess. Sliced and stacked. And you’re standing here wet for the thing that did it.” I dragged the flat of my tongue up the side of her neck, tasted salt and apple blossom and the iron tang of someone else’s blood I hadn’t bothered to wipe off my mouth. “Say it.”

“I’m wet for it,” she breathed.

“For what?”

“For the monster.”

“Still want me to use you?” I nudged her neck, left a red line just below her jaw with the curve of a claw.

“Harder,” she whispered, pushing into my hand. “Make it hurt.”

“I’m going to ruin you in your father’s tent,” I said, low against her ear. “On his rugs. Across his ledgers. Every guard he hires after tonight is going to sleep worse for it.”

I barked a laugh. The world’s best invitation.

Behind me, the tent flap shuddered and Tilliron’s head popped in, feathers ruffled, grinning like a theater critic at opening night.

“Well, well, well,” he sang, “didn’t think she’d be the one hunting you, dog.”

I flipped him off and dug my claws into the girl’s waist, hauling her up so her toes barely touched the ground. Her head rolled back, and she moaned, a raw, ragged sound that made my cock twitch painfully inside my leathers.

“You got a name?” I demanded, tearing at the gold clasps holding her dress together.

“Celia,” she gasped. “But call me whatever you want.”

The clasps gave way and the silk puddled at her ankles. She wasn’t wearing anything underneath. Her tits were small, perfect, tipped in pink. Her whole body trembled, but her knees never buckled. I grabbed a fistful of her hair and yanked her head back, forcing her to look me in the eye.

“You’re not scared.”

She shook her head, almost proud.

“You should be.”

“I want to be.” Her voice was soft, pleading. “Please—don’t be gentle.”

That was the last restraint I had. I bent her over the merchant’s writing desk, swept the ledgers and inkpots off in a hail of parchment, and pinned her down with a hand to the middle of her back. She arched, spreading her legs, showing off the pink, wet slit between her thighs.

I didn’t even hesitate. I let the head of my cock out, dark and leaking, and pressed it up against her. She tried to grind back into me, desperate, but I held her firm.

“Patience, princess,” I snarled, lining up.

Behind us, Tilliron started clapping. “She’s wetter than your last three victims combined. If she survives, you’ll have to marry her.”

I almost told him to get lost, but it was better to let him watch. He’d probably get off on it.

I thrust into her in one savage motion, hilting balls-deep, stretching her open around the thick base of my cock. She cried out, but the sound was more ecstasy than pain. Her fingers clawed at the desk, knuckles white, body shuddering with every inch. I pulled out until only the slick, leaking head still notched her, then slammed back in hard enough to skid the desk across the carpet. She sobbed and pushed back to meet me. I gave her another, and another, settling into a brutal rhythm that punched the air out of her on every stroke. Each thrust slapped wet and loud, drove her hips into the desk edge, and left a fresh, shivering aftershock she didn’t have time to recover from before the next one landed. The merchant’s ledger crunched under her fingers. Her tits dragged across spilled ink. I watched a black handprint of mine bloom across the small of her back where I’d pinned her.

“More,” she begged. “Faster. Harder.”

“Greedy little thing,” I rasped, and shifted my angle so the head of me ground across the spot inside her that made her toes curl. She wailed. “That’s it. Let your father’s caravan hear what his princess sounds like when she gets what she’s really worth.”

I wrapped a hand around her throat, just tight enough to make her fight for breath. Her cunt clenched around me, greedy, almost greedy enough to milk me dry. I pounded into her, every thrust slamming her hips against the edge of the desk hard enough to leave bruises. She loved it, whined for it, even as tears streaked her face.

Tilliron hooted. “Look at that, mutt. She’s your soulmate. Or your chew toy.”

I squeezed her neck, felt her pulse race against my palm. “How bad do you want it?” I snarled in her ear.

She choked out, “All of it. All of you. Hurt me.”

I obliged. I bent her arms behind her back, pinning both wrists in my grip, and railed her hard enough to rattle the tent poles. Her body bucked, spasmed, then went rigid as she came, howling my name and soaking my cock and thighs with hot, clear fluid.

The sound, the smell, the taste of victory, it all hit at once. I lost control, fucked her harder, hips pistoning until I saw stars. When I finally pulled out, she collapsed on the desk, ass in the air, breathing ragged.

I knelt down, ran my tongue up her thigh, lapped at the mess I’d made. She whimpered, oversensitive, but didn’t try to get away.

I looked up at Tilliron, who was openly stroking himself now, eyes wild with glee. “You want a turn?”

He cackled. “She might break me.”

I grabbed Celia by the hair, turned her to face me. She was ruined, mascara smeared, mouth slack, eyes glazed with aftershock.

I kissed her, hard, and she kissed back like she’d never tasted anything better.

I’d never wanted anyone more.

The night was still young, and I wasn’t nearly done.

---

Her moans were still echoing off the tent poles when I spun her, one-handed, onto the pile of silk cushions in the corner. She hit the pile with a bounce and a laugh, then bit her lip so hard I thought she’d draw blood. I liked her even more for it. She spread her legs wide, shameless, and clawed at the cushions to brace herself. Her eyes never left mine, hungry, defiant, daring me to take what I wanted.

“Don’t be gentle,” she said, voice thick with need. “I want to feel you—” her words cut off as I shoved her knees to her chest, exposing her dripping cunt, still slick and pink from round one. She was so wet I could see it glisten in the lantern light, smell her raw want over everything else in the room.

I lined up and pushed in, slow at first just to watch her face change. The head of my cock was already huge, fat and leaking, and she gasped as it stretched her open. I could see her lips strain around it, see her body adjust to accommodate something that big. She whimpered, rolled her hips, tried to force me deeper.

I didn’t make her wait. I gripped her hips, hard enough to leave marks, and slammed all the way in, hilting her in a single stroke. She screamed, but it wasn’t pain, not even close. Her cunt spasmed, milking me, like it had never been so full in its life. She thrashed, grabbing at my wrists, eyes rolling back as I pounded her with relentless, brutal strokes.

Every thrust was a hammer blow. The whole pile of cushions shook, silk shifting under our bodies as I drove into her again and again. Her tits bounced, nipples flushed and hard. I bent over her, bit her shoulder, left a crescent of teeth in her pale flesh. She begged for more, “Harder, please, don’t stop, break me, fuck—” all the words slurred together in one long, animal noise.

I pulled back until only the tip was inside, then slammed forward, grinding against her deepest spot. She arched off the cushions, back bowed, thighs quivering as she took everything I gave her.

“You like being ruined, don’t you?” I growled in her ear.

“Yes, yes, gods yes!” she screamed, digging her nails into my fur, scoring lines down my back. I barely felt it, but it made me want to go harder, faster, more.

Tilliron poked his head in, perched on the tent frame. He had his cock out, stroking slow and lazy, watching with that smug, wicked grin.

“She’s gonna split in half if you keep that up,” he said, voice full of admiration and mockery both.

“She can take it,” I shot back, never missing a beat.

Celia moaned, “I can, I want it, don’t stop, please—” Her voice cracked, hips bucking so hard she nearly threw me off. Her cunt squeezed me like a vice. I could feel her whole body go rigid as she came again, this time screaming, shaking, tears streaming down her face from the intensity.

I grabbed a fistful of her hair and yanked her head back so she had to look at me. I licked the tears from her cheeks, tasted the salt, and fucked her even harder. The knot at the base of my cock started to swell, and I knew what she needed next.

I yanked out of her, dragged her up by the hair and spun her, and threw her legs over my shoulders before she’d finished the gasp. Folded in half, knees pinned to her own ears, she couldn’t do anything but take it. I fed myself back into her an inch at a time, watching her stretched lips swallow me, watching her belly twitch with the shape of me moving inside her. Then I hammered her into the cushions in short, vicious chops that bottomed out on every stroke. Her eyes rolled. Her fingers scrabbled at my forearms, not pushing me off, pulling me closer.

“Look at you,” I growled. “Folded up like a present for the worst thing in the woods. You gonna remember this every time you sit down for a month?”

“Yes, gods, yes,” she babbled.

I flipped her again, fast enough to make her yelp, and pulled her ass up into the air. Her body folded perfectly, ass and thighs round and trembling, slick with her own juices. I lined up and shoved back in, the angle letting me go even deeper. She clawed at the cushions, panting, drooling a little, desperate for more.

I slammed her, over and over, until the slap of our bodies echoed louder than the burning wagons outside. Each time I bottomed out, she shrieked, “Harder! More! Don’t stop!” I wrapped my hand around her throat and squeezed, cutting off her air until her face flushed dark red. She came again, harder than before, body locking up tight around my cock.

The knot swelled huge now, a hot, throbbing mass at the base of my cock, and every stroke caught it on the tight ring of her and dragged a fresh, broken sound out of her throat. I ground it against her opening, teasing, letting her feel exactly how much more of me there was left to take. Her body bowed. Her cunt fluttered around the shaft like it was trying to suck the rest of me in by itself.

“Beg me for it,” I snarled.

“Knot me, please, knot me, I want it, fuck, please, give it to me, ruin me, please.” The words tumbled out of her in one long, slurred prayer, and her hips slammed back to meet mine like she could fuck the rest of me into her by force.

I gave her one more cruel half-thrust to make her wait, then drove forward with everything I had. The knot lodged at her entrance, held a long, unbearable second while she keened, then forced its way past her tight ring with a brutal, wet pop that locked us together. She howled. Her whole body shook so hard I thought she’d pass out.

I was close, so close, and I let myself go. I pumped her full, ropes of hot cum shooting deep inside, filling her until it leaked out around the knot and dripped down her thighs. She spasmed, locked in place by the knot, and milked every drop out of me.

We stayed like that for a minute, both of us panting, sweat dripping down our bodies. The tent smelled like sex and blood and victory.

I eased us down to the cushions, my knot still inside her, holding us together. She trembled, spent and happy, a little smile curling her lips as she drifted in and out of consciousness.

Tilliron leaned in, still grinning, still stroking himself. “Bet she sleeps through the apocalypse now.”

I kissed her temple, stroked her hair, and nuzzled the curve of her back. “She earned it.”

I closed my eyes, listening to the chaos outside. The world was on fire, and I had my prize, warm and knotted to me, soft and perfect and utterly fucked.

Tomorrow would be a mess, but tonight was mine.

---

By the time the fires outside died down to embers, the air inside the tent was thick enough to drown in. The cushions stank of sweat and cunt and blood. Celia was boneless in my arms, legs still split wide, cunt still wrapped tight around the root of my cock, as if her body had decided it would never let me go. It was a good look for her.

But she wasn’t done.

The second she caught her breath, she started rolling her hips, desperate to squeeze every last drop out of me. I’d never met a girl so shameless, so eager to be broken again. It was impressive. I almost wanted to slow down, savor her, but the animal in me wouldn’t allow it.

So I fucked her through the aftershocks, holding her in a chokehold that made her eyes glassy and her moans go all slurry. When I finally pulled out, my knot dragged free with a wet, obscene pop, followed by a rush of thick white that leaked down her thighs and puddled on the cushions.

She barely had time to whimper before I flipped her onto her stomach and mounted her from behind. She pushed her ass back, greedy for it, howling when I forced the knot back inside, stretching her open all over again. She clawed at the silk, leaving bloody crescent marks, her whole body quaking as she came again and again.

“Fuck, you’re a filthy little masochist, aren’t you, princess?” I laughed, running my claws down her back, leaving four parallel red lines from her shoulders to her ass. The skin welted up white, then flushed pink. She arched into the sting like she wanted another set on top of it.

“Yes,” she sobbed. “Yes, yes, yes, please, more—”

I gave her more. I worked a thumb into her mouth and pressed down on her tongue so her begging came out garbled, a wet animal sound, and fucked her harder so the slap of my hips against her ass syncopated with the choking. Drool ran down her chin and over my hand. She nodded around my thumb, eyes streaming, every nod meaning yes, more, don’t stop.

I obliged. I pinned her face to the pile, fucked her hard enough to bruise bone, never letting up even when she screamed and went limp. She blacked out twice. Each time, I let her come back before slamming her again, just to see how much she could take.

Tilliron watched, still perched on the tent frame, stroking his cock with one talon and rolling his eyes like he’d seen it all before.

“Never thought you’d find a bitch who could outlast you, Hrodgar,” he said. “Bet you ten coins she’s still begging for it tomorrow.”

I grinned, all teeth, and dragged her up off the cushions by the hair. Her knees gave. I caught her under the thighs and held her there, suspended in my arms, back to my chest, her bare feet dangling above the silk. She was lighter than the loot sack. Her cunt fluttered open around the air, ruined and gaping, leaking a slow ribbon of my last load down the inside of her thigh. She tilted her head back against my shoulder and showed me her throat without being asked.

“One more, princess,” I murmured into her ear. “The one that takes.”

She didn’t have words left. She made a small, wrecked sound that was as close to yes as her mouth could manage and reached back to fist a hand in my fur.

I notched the head of my cock at her entrance, felt the wet heat of her clutch at me, and lowered her onto me an inch at a time. She slid down my length under her own weight, gravity working her open around me, a long unbroken whine spilling out of her the whole way down. When she bottomed out, she shuddered so hard I felt the tremor travel from her cunt up through her spine and into my chest. Her belly visibly swelled around the shape of me. I splayed a clawed hand across the bulge and pressed, just to feel myself moving inside her through her own skin.

“Look at that,” I rasped against her throat. “You can see me in you. That’s where I live now.”

From the tent frame, Tilliron clicked his tongue against the roof of his beak. “Oh, gods, he’s talking real estate now. I’m going to be sick.” He shifted his weight along the pole, talons scraping wood, head cocked at a connoisseur’s angle. “Although. Credit where it’s due. That is a very impressive bulge. Princess, blink twice if you can still feel your toes.”

She didn’t blink. She made a noise that wasn’t a word.

“Cosigning the mortgage, then,” Tilliron sighed.

Then I bounced her on my cock. Slow at first, lifting her almost off and dropping her back down so the length of me dragged through every inch of her on the way in and out. Her tits jumped on each landing. Her head lolled. The wet, sucking noise of her stretched cunt working around my shaft filled the tent louder than the dying fires outside. I picked up the pace until I was using her like a sleeve, hauling her down to meet every thrust, the slap of her ass against my hips a steady drumbeat under her broken little cries.

The knot started to swell again. Heavier this time. Hotter. A second pulse under the first, throbbing in time with my heart, dragging the thin skin at the base of my cock so tight it ached. It caught on her ring on the upstroke and made her sob, caught on it on the downstroke and made her sob louder. Each catch left a wet smear of her own slick painted across the swelling bulb. She wasn’t saying words anymore. Her mouth hung open, drooling a long silver thread down her chin and onto her own collarbone, and her cunt clutched at me in helpless fluttering pulses every time the thick bulb dragged across her opening, like her body was trying to suck the rest of me in by inches and giving up halfway through.

Tilliron made a low, theatrical whistle. “Bigger than last time. He’s showing off. Princess, for the record, this is not standard service. You are getting the deluxe package.”

“Last one,” I told her. “This one stays in you all night. You ready?”

She nodded against my jaw. Frantic. A child’s nod.

I dropped her down onto the silk on her back, kept her knees pinned wide with my forearms, and lined up over her so she could watch. I wanted her to see it. I shoved forward in one long, grinding push, and the knot lodged at her entrance and held there, swelling visibly bigger by the second, stretching her tight ring around it until her thighs trembled and her eyes went huge.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” she whispered, the first real words she’d managed in a minute. “It’s too big, it’s too, it’s too, please, please.”

“You can take it,” I said. “You were made to take it.”

I pressed harder. Her hips lifted off the cushions trying to escape and chase it at the same time, hamstrings strung tight, the small muscles in her stomach jumping under the dark line of fur-print I’d left there. Sweat sheeted down the slope of her ribs and pooled in the hollow of her navel. I could hear my own pulse in my ears, hers in the slick clutch around my shaft, the two of them slipping in and out of rhythm. I felt the moment her body gave up resisting, the slick internal click of muscle yielding around the widest point, and then the knot popped through with a wet, final sound and locked behind her ring, sealing me inside her. She screamed, a raw, throat-shredding sound that broke into a sob halfway through, and came so hard her cunt clamped down on my shaft like a fist and squirted hot and clear around the seal in three long pulses, soaking the cushions and the inside of my thighs and the silk between her shoulder blades.

Tilliron, deadpan: “And there goes the deposit.”

The orgasm tore out of me in answer. I ground deep, every short, possessive twitch of my hips translating straight into another pulse, and unloaded. Rope after rope. I felt myself swelling her, felt the pressure build inside her with nowhere to go, the knot holding every drop in. Her belly rounded under my palm. She made a small, drowning sound and came again on the feeling of being filled past capacity, her cunt rippling along the length of me, milking each pulse out in time with my heartbeat. I kept pumping. Kept grinding. Kept pouring into her until I was empty and she was so full that thin runners of white forced their way out around the seal and tracked down the curve of her ass into the silk.

She spasmed, shrieked one last time, then collapsed, utterly spent.

When I finally eased her off my knot, she rolled over, legs twitching, and looked up at me with a broken, adoring smile.

“Take me with you,” she whispered, voice gone hoarse from screaming. “Please. Don’t leave me here.”

I almost laughed, but something about the way she said it hit me right in the chest. Maybe she’d been waiting for this her whole life. Maybe I had, too.

“Get dressed,” I said, tossing her a plain tunic I found in the trunk. “You keep up, or you get eaten. That’s the law.”

She giggled, still breathless, and pulled the tunic over her head. It barely covered her thighs. She fished a silver pendant from the pile of loot, put it on, and looked every bit the feral waif I wanted her to be.

Tilliron hopped down, shaking his wings dry. “You picking up strays now, Hrodgar?”

“Only the ones worth keeping,” I shot back, grabbing the best bits of loot and slinging them over my shoulder.

We left the camp the way I came in, silent, fast, and invisible. The bodies would keep the scavengers busy for days. By the time anyone figured out what happened, we’d be long gone, deep in the Expanse where no sane person would ever dare follow.

Celia trotted after me, limping but smiling, every inch of her marked as mine.

The sun was coming up, but the forest never slept.

Neither did I.

The world belonged to monsters. I just made sure I was the worst one in it.