Valon sharply rapped on her door the next morning. Patience was dressed and waiting. The anticipation of the day had kept her sleep short. Aside from perfunctory greetings, no words passed between her and Valon. Last night stood solely as a memory.
Patience’s nerves hummed with the heartbeat of the city. All around her, people carried about their business, each enrapt in their own stories. She wondered how many like her were about to embark on a series of events on which their future hung. She peered at Valon from under Anax’s crown. His future depended on the next several hours even more.
There was some time before the museum opened, so they stopped at a kiosk selling coffee and pastries by a park. It was just what Patience needed to calm her nerves. Valon seemed to enjoy his coffee and scone. She could not guess if he was as anxious as herself. He hid his emotions so well, as always. For now Patience focused on the hot almond croissant in her hand.
Across the park, a clock tower struck ten. Valon lifted his head and nudged Patience’s arm, indicating that it was time. They strode over the dew-laden grass, making a beeline toward museum row. Few words were uttered as they neared their destination. Patience gnawed her lip. She could not help but worry that their scheme might be too simple.
They had no discussion of any contingency plans. Patience would not know what to do if any step of their operation fell out from under her. She would have to improvise. In the back of her mind, she understood exactly what would happen should they fail to get the new skull. Valon would surely seize Anax. At this point, she knew not whether that would deeply hurt her at all anymore.
Museum row was home to all of the city’s largest institutions and their collections. This was the epicenter of culture for the entire state; many of the nation’s proudest pieces had homes here as well. They passed by the colossal museums of art and history, and the fortress that was the library. They stood as monuments to the achievements of mankind, both in glory and, to a lesser extent, in darkness.
“Humans really are something else,” Anax awed.
“It’s time to put you in my bag,” said Patience as she turned off the walkway. Valon stood by her side, glowering at people passing by who gave a second look.
Anax quietly surrendered. Placing the skull over the clay block and sawdust, the girl made sure her bag did not appear too bulky and suspicious. She also rearranged the sketchbook inside for good measure before buckling the bag shut. Ready, Patience and Valon continued on their way.
An iron fence led them to the stone staircase of the lofty Manford Museum of Natural History. The top of the stairs boasted a sweeping view of the street. Huge columns rose above, holding the substantial roof over a collection born from millions of years of evolution.
Before they passed through the brassy front doors, Patience glanced upward. She discovered a lush mural of exotic flowers and birds painted on the soffit, the artwork a preview of the vast amount of treasures the building held.
“The cheating sod said it was in a drawer of unclassified bones in one of the collection rooms.”
“Which room?”
“He didn’t remember.”
Patience’s heart jumped up her throat. He just had to tell her this at the very last minute. Her brain began whirring, a machine forced into overdrive.
The echoes of boot heels clicking on the smooth stone tiles announced the pair’s arrival in the museum. Patience swiveled her head to take in the stately building. At the center was an enormous skeleton of an ancient reptile, its giant head looming over the awed girl.
Ivory walls rose around them, brandishing fossils and mounted game heads like medals on a general’s breast. For a brief moment, she was transfixed, forgetting her purpose for being here, until Valon clapped her shoulder.
There were few visitors at this hour during the middle of the week. Each cavernous hall branching from the main salon currently only accommodated the exhibits and a smattering of staff. Patience swallowed. There would be no chance of melting into the anonymity of a crowd. She had to rely solely on her efficient packing skills to avoid detection. The pair stepped toward the reception desk where Valon got the attention of one of the clerks.
“How may I help you?”
“Good morning. My name is Patience Firmin. I believe Leland Unger, one of Manford’s long-time patrons, sent a letter of introduction.”
The clerk sifted through a stack of memos on her desk before pulling out a single sheet. Her eyes lit up behind the spectacles perched on her nose. “Ah yes! That is correct. We received a telegram from him yesterday. Oh, you’re the daughter of Mr. Antander Firmin? He mounted a few of our specimens here!” She then extended a slim hand. “On behalf of the museum, it’s a pleasure to meet you.”
Patience returned a smile and took the hand in hers, giving it a hearty shake.
“What can I do for you, Ms. Firmin?”
The girl shifted the bag in her hand, the weight of the clay pulling on her shoulder. She cleared her throat. “I’ve taken an interest in drawing. I was hoping to sketch some of your specimens held in storage. Particularly any of your osteological artifacts.” Teeth flashed through a forced grin.
The clerk tapped her chin with a delicate finger. “Normally we don’t allow civilians into our back rooms …”
Patience’s face dipped.
“But Mr. Unger spoke so highly of you,” continued the clerk. “I suppose we can ignore our policy just this once. Let me ask our collections curator.” The clerk turned to a telephone mounted to the wall behind her.
“Thank you,” said Patience. Twisting away from the clerk, she darted her gaze over to Valon and saw that he had gone ahead to enter one of the exhibit halls. A wave of panic broke over her face. She did not want to be left alone at the desk.
“All right, Ms. Firmin,” chirped the clerk, “you have the curator’s permission!”
Patience’s lips stretched into a relieved smile. One step accomplished.
“I’ll escort you to Room B,” said the clerk as she rose from her chair.
“Is that where all of your skeletal remains are held?”
“Most of them.” She strolled to the other side of the desk, meeting Patience at eye level.
“Even the unclassified ones?”
“I thought you’d prefer identified specimens.”
Patience’ body froze. All the energy shot up to her brain to kick it into high gear. “Oh … I wanted to focus on the shapes of the bones. If I knew what animal they belonged to, that might influence the way I draw them.”
The clerk paused a moment, one of her eyebrows raised.
Patience swore all the sweat released from her body at once.
“Very well, I’ll take you to Room C,” she said. The clerk pivoted and led the girl toward one of the halls directly behind the centerpiece skeleton. She muttered ahead of Patience, “I’ll never understand the way artists think.”
A single disinterested security guard lingered in front of the hall Patience and the clerk entered. Past him were small reading nooks carved between tall shelves filled with books. Several mounted animals stood around the hall: a polar bear, a tiger, a kudu, just a few of the impressive sentinels overlooking the girl in stoic silence. Patience admired each of the specimens they passed, wondering if any were her father’s work.
At the end of the hall was a staircase leading to the basement level. The clerk moved a rope stanchion aside for Patience. Down the steps they went. The basement was much more sterile with only framed illustrations lining the hall and was meant solely for working staff members. They passed a few avian lithographs before the clerk stopped at a nondescript door. She took a key from her jacket pocket and granted entry to the girl.
Patience’s eyes sparkled as she stepped inside. Cabinets and drawers covered the walls from floor to ceiling. On the near wall was a glass case displaying rows of various bird skulls. A large worktable occupied the center of the room, a stack of books on one side, a mounted skeleton of some bird of prey on the other.
The girl sighed. She missed her hobby. But she simply did not have the motivation or inspiration ever since her father passed. They had always completed their projects side by side. He would take the hides. She would take the bones within them.
“I’ll return in an hour to fetch you. Just put things back where you found them.” The clerk adjusted her glasses and flashed Patience a small smile before shutting the door behind her.
Once certain the clerk was far from the room, Patience enacted the next stage in her plan. Taking care not to let any of the sawdust sprinkle on the floor, Patience pulled Anax out of her stuffed bag. He roused once placed on her head. The girl scattered her pencils and sketchbook on the worktable, tearing out a few pages to lay on the surface so as to keep it clean. The wrapped clay landed with a thump atop the paper.
Adequately situated, Patience and Anax then began searching for the new skull. They found the cabinets holding the ossiferous remains. The girl pulled out drawers one by one, the skull scanning over them with his tendrils. Scattered inside were skeletal parts of all sorts: partial craniums, digits, femurs, fractured pelvises. Some of the smaller, more delicate forms had their own open carton boxes bedded with cotton.
His tendrils traced over them all, wondering about the animals they once gave shape. But he had no liberty to wonder for long, they had a task to accomplish. In the fourth drawer down of a cabinet on the far wall, his tendrils halted over a familiar form. The tip of a splayed tooth peeked out. Patience pulled the drawer open as far as it could, letting the dark shape fully emerge.
“This is it!” breathed Patience, feeling fortune smile down upon them.
Anax’s tendrils froze in place. His orb held steady over her eye. Wasting no time, Patience lifted the specimen out of the drawer with her own hands into the light. There was the skull: slim in profile, a smooth, continuous curve from the forehead to the snout, sans mandible, smaller than Anax. Still, it was large enough to fit Patience like a mask. A paper identification tag, mostly unfilled, had been tied to the skull, the twine lashed through the eye socket. The two marveled at the skull before bringing it to the worktable.
“It feels like it’s been forever since I’ve seen another …” breathed Anax.
“Hopefully we’ll meet them soon,” Patience said, unwrapping the block of clay. Given the size and incompleteness of the specimen, there was more than enough to create a replica. Immediately Anax began to work. He extended multiple tendrils to carve and shape the new form while checking it against the original. Patience measured her breaths. She watched, fixated.
“Remember to make the replica slightly larger than the original. It will shrink a bit in the kiln.”
“Right,” said Anax.
Patience did not mean to nag him, but her heart was drumming from the moment they stepped foot in the museum. There was little room for mistakes. Her eyes kept flashing to the door, expecting the clerk or some other staff member to open it any minute. To distract her mind and maintain some semblance of truth, Patience gripped a pencil in her hand and began to sketch.
She outlined the curves of a generic femur from memory. The graphite gently scratched against the pale paper. Above her sketchbook, Anax continued his work. It surprised her to see how far along the replica was. In front of them was the crude form of a skull, merely needing a bit of refinement and finishing details to capture a true resemblance.
Patience then turned her attention to the skeleton on the table. It looked to be a species of hawk. Her fingers guided her pencil to form the lines of its ribs. While her eyes and hands were occupied, the girl’s mind wandered to the yaszaha skull.
She pondered how a taxonomist would even go about its classification. It would be an entirely new order or class, she imagined. But with only a partial skull, they could very well write it off as a mutation or hoax. They would need additional, complete specimens. As it was now, it was essentially useless. It could not possibly be used as a syntype specimen. Patience hoped that this singular artifact was inconsequential enough that even if its replica was discovered to be clay, it would not raise any suspicion over her time here.
“I think I’m done,” said Anax. The girl startled in her seat. Before them were two forms, nearly identical in shape.
“Hm …” Patience pondered. She hefted the skull and clay replica in either hand. “I know the replica will fire lighter, but I’m unsure if it will be light enough. Do you think you can make it hollow? Without compromising its structural integrity?”
Wordlessly Anax began to comply. Thin tendrils spiraled into miniature augers and drilled into the form, extracting the inner clay. The entire task took all of thirty minutes.
“Leave a couple of holes for the air to escape while firing,” Patience instructed. She remembered hearing a story of her father once sculpting a clay bird for her mother, but he had forgotten to poke an air hole and it had exploded in his friend’s kiln. On the underside, Anax left two nail-sized holes, irregularly shaped to seem more of a natural occurrence.
Stolen novel; please report.
The girl breathed a sigh of relief. Had the skull retained its bottom jaws, the project would have been more complex. She thanked divine forces the first stage in the plan was complete. They returned the real skull to its cabinet of origin, tucking it far in the back of the drawer.
“Please stay right here. We’ll be back for you!” Patience whispered. She stood up. “Thank you, Anax.” With that she lifted him away from her scalp.
Placing the remaining clay in first, the girl then packed Anax’s skull upside down. Half of the sawdust and wood shavings went into the cavern of his skull. She then placed the replica into this nest, generously cushioning its sides with shavings in the hopes the fragile form would not lose shape or get damaged as they traveled to the kiln.
Its integrity ensured, she closed her bag shut and lifted it off the table. Patience silently thanked Anax’s light weight. Without any space left in the bag, she decided to carry her sketchbook. For the final task, Patience rolled two of her pencils under a cabinet next to the table.
The clerk came promptly once the hour was over, a few minutes after the pencils disappeared. The two exchanged smiles as she held the door open for Patience to exit. As they neared the staircase, the clerk abruptly reversed to the girl.
“How did your session go? May I see, please? I love when artists appreciate our collection,” the clerk simpered.
Patience bristled. “Oh! You know I was not feeling inspired. Well, the collection was certainly magnificent, but I just could not get the fine details of anything right,” she lied. “It’s so frustrating … I only kept a couple of my drawings and scrapped all the rest.” The girl opened her sketchbook to the page featuring the femur.
“Well, that’s a very nice femur for what it’s worth,” said the clerk, adjusting her glasses. That seemed to have placated the clerk as she swerved back on course. Patience thought her heart finally beat again once the skeleton of the ancient reptile came into sight.
“Thank you for accommodating me,” said Patience.
The clerk settled back in behind the reception desk. “It’s our pleasure. Please let us know if we can do anything else for you, Ms. Firmin.”
Patience waved her farewell and broke away from the desk. Freed from the clerk’s grasp, Patience exhaled through her nose. By the entrance, resting on a leather bench, Valon sat with his arms crossed. A ghost of a tremor haunted his hand. He must have had another episode. Patience barely flicked her head at him. He stood and exited the building. The two reconvened outside at the bottom of the steps.
“Did it go as planned?” asked the man.
Patience nodded, patting the bag under her arm. She gestured for them to walk down the street. Her whole body seemed to uncoil in relief when they finally left the shadow of the museum. She took a few deep breaths, celebrating the completion of the first item on their agenda. Feeling somewhat normal again for now, the girl smiled.
She leaned up toward Valon’s ear. “I’ve also planted my pencils to give me an excuse to return to the room.”
“Good job. Let’s be on our way.”
Valon grabbed the bag from Patience. He most likely trusted only his own hands to see the delicate replica to the potter. Patience took no offense. She was relieved to let her arms recover. As he led her across the street, she rubbed her shoulders.
“So who is this potter we’re going to?” Patience asked.
“I did a bit of research as we prepared for the trip. Breheny and Sons. Small scale stoneware producer. Works on finer artisan lines. They ought to be able to accomplish the job.” They waited for a carriage to pass before crossing to another block. “I even got you their recommended mix.”
Patience stared at her bag in Valon’s grip, thinking of the clay skull nestled in layers of sawdust. She had not questioned Valon when he presented the clay to her upon arrival at the hotel. Come to think of it, Anax did feel like a well-crafted stoneware sculpture.
Turning a few more corners, brick warehouses began to rise around them. Perched atop many of the pitched roofs were black chimney pipes. Smokestacks ascended several blocks further away.
Valon was clearly on edge. He continued to flex his fists, waiting for the skull to finally be in his grasp. Soon the quarry would be his. But not soon enough.
They fell under a large wooden plaque bearing the master potter’s name. A worn wooden door gave egress to a reception area. Samples of Breheny and Sons’ work lined the display cases around the room, everything from fine porcelain to sturdy stoneware. Slabs of tile rested against the main counter, showcasing various glazing techniques. Patience sat down on a bench opposite the counter. Valon stood, ringing the service bell.
A ruddy man with soot on his cheeks entered from a side door to greet them. Before the side door shut, Patience caught a glimpse of the cavernous warehouse on the other side.
“Good day, name’s Bogart. How may I help you?” huffed the man, clearly annoyed by the disruption to his usual work.
“I called some days ago about your recommended clays. Well, we now have something for you to fire.” Valon brought out the replica, a snowfall of wood shavings drifted from the bag. He brushed away bits of sawdust clinging to the clay surface. The ruddy man grimaced at the small mess accumulating on the floor.
“All right,” grunted Bogart as he eyed the copy. “I’m assuming you want us to glaze it too?”
“Do you have a sample of your glazes?” asked Patience.
Bogart stepped behind the counter and produced two cases. He opened them to reveal a library of small tiles glazed in a rainbow of colors. Patience stood from the bench to examine the samples. They were beautiful indeed, but none matched the tones and luster of the yaszaha skull.
“Is there any possibility a texture and color like this could be replicated?” she ventured as she reached into her bag at Valon’s side to produce Anax. More dust littered the floor. She placed the large skull on the counter, next to the sculpture. The counter was quickly losing available space. Bogart had no place left to rest his flexing, irritated hands.
“I can do a custom mix … but that will be an added cost.”
“Do it,” commanded Valon.
“Right,” Bogart mumbled as he ran a finger over Anax’s snout. He took out a ledger from the counter. Propping it against his belly, he penciled in a few notes. The man pressed his ruddy face up close to Anax. “Hmm, E115 and H73 might work … but then there’s that sheen …” he muttered, “perhaps H87 would work better …”
Despite his petulance, his expertise shone through. Bogart knew the glazes by heart and did not once rummage through the cases on the counter. Patience was mildly impressed. After several minutes, he seemed satisfied with his notes and turned away from Anax. Patience exhaled, relieved, for she had feared they would have needed to leave him there to match a glaze.
”The piece will be ready in two weeks,” announced Bogart.
“Tomorrow,” Valon insisted.
“What? This piece needs to dry completely before I even do its first firing let alone apply the glaze that I have to mix and then fire once more!”
“Tomorrow!” Valon repeated. “I did my research. I know you can procure a special blend of powder from witches that can dry clay just as well as the natural passage of time. And I’m willing to bet you would keep something like that in stock in case of emergencies.”
Bogart gulped. “But I have other orders to fulfill! The kilns are all occupied at the moment and won’t be ready to open up for another ten hours anyway!”
“There must be another kiln you could use with an operation as established as yours,” said Patience in an attempt to balance the vinegar of Valon’s words with her own honeyed tones.
“Well, there is the one Old Man Breheny used to use in his youth. Just a junker oven, really.”
“Can you fire this in it?”
“Sure I can, but that and expedited drying will cost you.”
“Here!” Valon slammed a pouch on the table. “Work all night if you have to.”
Bogart pulled the lip down to peek inside. His eyes bulged wide as saucers. “Th-this …” he began. His gaze lifted to meet Valon’s. “I’ll get started.”
“And we’d like it to be glazed all over, the underside as well,” Patience added sweetly.
“We’ll be back by noon tomorrow.”
“The day’s already half over. The best I can promise is Friday morning.
Valon grumbled. “Fine.”
While the most uncertain task had yet to come, Patience’s steps felt lighter. They were halfway through. Today’s success bolstered her confidence. Perhaps they truly would get away with the skull in their hands. A few blocks from the kilns, Patience reapplied Anax to her head.
She wished to explore museum row a bit. But with only a few more hours left of daylight, there would be no time to thoroughly enjoy the collections. For now she stayed on Valon’s heels, curious where he would go next. Anax offered no opinions, and silently observed the city.
Valon led them through increasingly denser streets. The road narrowed and the buildings pressed tighter together. More and more people wove between them, going into stores and businesses. Their pace slowed as the urban soup thickened. Patience fought to keep Valon in sight at this point. She barely paid attention to where they were walking.
At last the man stopped in front of a glowing window. Hanging from hooks in the display were roasted ducks dripping fat into a pan. Anax hummed.
“Wait here,” Valon ordered. He stepped into the shop.
Patience swerved around to survey the street. People bustled by her, paying little heed to any personal space. Most were men. They barked foreign words at each other. A faint scent of incense wafted among stronger odors of waste. Every storefront had plaques bearing the intricate calligraphy of a distant land. Valon had taken them to a Cathasian ghetto.
Her feet shifted restlessly. There were reports of gang fights breaking out in immigrant neighborhoods in the big cities. Well, most big cities saw their share of crime. She would have felt uneasy had Anax and Valon not been there. The girl watched the immigrants going about their lives under the skeletal helm’s protection. She wondered if the witch Bing ever lived in a place like this, how long it took him to acclimate to his new country, and how he met Heledd.
Valon returned shortly, holding a wrapped bundle and a small bag. The oil was quickly seeping through the cheap paper. It bore the aroma of pure rendered fat and smelled wonderful. He gestured, ushering Patience into motion. She began down the sidewalk at a quick clip.
Once they left the lively neighborhood, Patience reduced her pace to fall to Valon’s side. She glanced at the bundle. “You bought one of those ducks?”
“To celebrate. You did well today.”
Astonishment gripped the girl. However, it quickly passed. “Friday has yet to come, though,” she said.
“Well, who knows when we’ll have time to celebrate then. Best we seize the opportunity.”
Brushstrokes of pink clouds painted the fading blue sky when Valon and Patience reached their hotel again. The hunter invited Patience to dine in his room. She paused in hesitation, thinking of Anax who still topped her head. But that moment quickly passed.
Valon set their meal on the table and cut the twine holding the bundle together with his knife. The duck lay chopped into bits in the center of the greasy paper. The crispy skin glistened in the lamplight. As Patience admired the meat, Valon washed his hands at the basin. Patience licked her lips and followed suit.
“Buckging duck, a favorite dish in Cathay. This thing took days to prepare from the moment of slaughter.” Valon seated himself and immediately claimed a piece with his fingers.
“Have you been?” asked Patience, drying her hands.
“Yes. I have,” he said between chews, “A long time ago. Once.” Valon picked up a second bite of meat.
Patience nodded, understanding that she would not get a full story. She sat and plucked a modest chunk to try. She popped it in her mouth, and instantly took another piece.
“It also comes with these buns,” said Valon, knocking the small bag on its side. Little white buns folded into half-moons tumbled out onto the duck paper. The two tucked chunks of meat and skin between the bun folds and ate them as small sandwiches. Anax reserved his tasting to the duck alone.
It was odd having supper with the hunter in such an intimate setting. But Patience focused on the delicious duck, paying little attention to the company across from her. It was a feast for a moment of respite before they faced their true challenge. Friday continued to press at the back of her mind.
---
Patience stared at the door of her room from her bed. Freshly bathed, she combed her fingers through her wet tresses. Outside, the sun had long set, leaving a dull blue view through the window. The warm glow of the lamps inside kept the darkness at bay. She was soon lost in a rhythm, flicking excess water to the sheets below her. The wet ends of her hair slapped against her nightgown with each pass of her hand.
“You aren’t thinking of another visit with Valon, are you?” growled Anax.
Patience’s arms fell to her side. She sighed.
“What has he that I don’t?”
“A warm body, for one,” she said.
A snarl ripped around Patience’s neck. “Overrated.” Tendrils slithered around Patience’s body, their grasp tight and cold. “He’s marked you quite enough.”
Patience’s breath hitched as Anax pulled her forward off the bed. A hint of a chest glanced off her back.
“I want to reclaim my pet.”
The back of Patience’s neck tingled. Sparks flew down her spine. Despite her still tepid annoyance with him, the sweet anticipation sent her heart thumping. Anax slipped her clothes away until only his mist draped over her body.
“Let’s try that solution he mentioned,” rumbled the skull.
At once Anax shifted into his fully formed body, propelling Patience toward the wall. Her forearms banged against the hazel wallpaper as Anax slammed her into the surface. He gripped her waist, claws pricking her skin.
Used to his precipitant urges by now, Patience allowed herself to bend to Anax’s motions. With her head bowed down, the top of Anax’s skull pressed into her arms. There was no doubt Anax enjoyed watching her front flex and her breasts bounce from his thrusts.
They had an unobstructed view of the head of his cock flashing in and out of sight as he slid back and forth along her bottom lips. Anax worked on arousing his pet. He ground against her backside, length throbbing between her cheeks.
Patience grumbled under her breath, but her body betrayed her tenacious will. Her folds became slick and wet. Teased sufficiently, Anax breached her.
“Moan for me!” Anax ordered, jerking roughly in and out of Patience’s cavity. “Let Valon hear!” He grappled her middle, forcing a choked moan from her lips.
Patience tried to stay silent, but Anax made it impossible.
“He may be warm, but does he have my reach?” Anax hissed. His length extended into Patience’s depths, hitting the very back of her chamber. Instantly her knees buckled. She cried out.
The entire weight of Patience’s body fell into Anax’s right arm. Her stomach pressed into his forearm as Anax’s hand ventured down to paw her mound. His other arm curled over Patience’s own, joining to brace them both against the wall from his emphatic momentum.
Anax seemed to have doubled his usual fervor. The rasp of friction and contact mixed with a heady warmth of pleasure between her legs. Patience’s head swam. She did not even realize the ululations leaving her mouth.
A thick tendril slid up Patience’s neck, threatening to collar her. It pressed around her throat, throttling the flow of blood to her face. Stings flowered at the corner of her eyes and sinuses. Yet it felt oddly pleasant. She gasped. Anax chuckled.
“You are my pet. You listen to me! Understand?”
Patience nodded. He retracted his coil from her neck. The blood rushed back, like a river breaching a dam. Her entire frame tingled. She did not want to be so easily swayed, yet her body was weak. It melted at the creature’s touch. She knew he relished her noises, her every reaction. And he knew exactly how to get what he wanted.
Having made his point, Anax then reveled with abandon. He flung his body into a standing position, carrying Patience all the way. Multiple tendrils burst from the smoky torso to secure her tightly to his form. He grabbed her wrists, forcing her arms backward. As he yanked her limbs to his side, his pelvis drove deeper.
The force was overwhelming. Patience arched away from his manic thrusts. Her belly bent outward as coils kept her bottom half firmly pressed to his and his skull kept her neck against his throat. Anax pulled her arms to the brink of pain. Her muscles strained and trembled, stretched to their limit with each of the skull’s frenzied pumps. Her breaths came out ragged when they did manage to manifest between her cries.
Bored with that position, Anax then whirled them around to face the bed. He propelled forward, smashing his skull sidelong into the covers. His claws scrambled to grab hold of Patience’s chest.
Free from his grip, Patience brought her tingling arms to brace her neck and sternum as they rubbed uncomfortably on the edge of the mattress. His torso ground into her spine. Her ass rose high in the air, Anax thrusting furiously against it. Still, her insides twisted into a ball of delight.
“Is my pet learning her lesson?” huffed the skull.
Patience whimpered a meek reply.
“I can’t hear you!” A tendril shot up to clasp the bottom of her jaw. It gripped the top of Patience’s throat. An errant spark of pleasure flashed down her front.
“Y-yes,” she gasped.
“Good.” The tendril slithered up and jammed between Patience’s lips. It glided over her teeth and slicked around the inside of her mouth, lathing across her tongue. Anax’s hand squeezed her mound and set her body alight.
Cries burbled from her throat, but the tendril stifled them from reaching the air. Hearing was not enough. He wanted to feel the noise vibrate through the slick fiber of his being. As Patience came, Anax did not slow as he normally would for her to enjoy her climax. Instead he withdrew the tendril from her mouth and continued his frantic pace, considering only his own enjoyment.
The fire within her choked between his thrusts and sputtered its dying breath without any chance to flare out in a glorious blaze. All the delicious accretion led up to nothing, extinguished within seconds. Patience sighed, disgruntled. Her disappointment went ignored.
Firmly planting his crooked feet, Anax jerked forward. He shoved Patience into the bed with his pelvis. The fabric burned against her bare skin. Anax groaned his release, claiming his pet once more. His seed poured into her chamber, filling it even as he pulled out.
He kneaded his cock into Patience’s backside for good measure. The final spurts streaked across her back. Anax intended every last drop to occupy a space inside or on Patience’s skin.
Satisfied, Anax’s body collapsed into vapor with a content rumble. While it was a sultry romp, the skull did not win any favors with that finish. Patience huffed, wordlessly going to bed.