Apoch flung the sweat threatening to trickle into his eyes free with a snap of his head, the cold air steaming off flesh heated by his morning routine training. The first rays of sun still had not branded the sky, but there was enough light for him to see by as he approached camp and rummaged in a saddlebag for the threadbare blanket used as a towel.

Unable to help himself he used his periphery to try to catch sight of Iscah’s sleeping figure. It had become a common torment; denying he had any interest in her only to find himself seeking her out when he wasn’t paying attention. Giving up all pretense when he didn’t see her bedding he looked over to Bu’u who was resting on his side, balking at the thin arm thrown over the denimal’s neck.

She was spooning him!

Bu’u twisted his neck to lay his jaw flat against the earth, offering a muted preet.

“Pushover,” Apoch growled, quietly enough not to wake the girl. Bu’u’s lower eyelids rose sleepily, giving a rather smug trill though his nasal cavity in response as the cambion stalked off for the creek with a sound of disgust.

Things had become tense between them. Without the company of Ram and Toad, there were no distractions, no one else to interact with other than each other. So he avoided her as much as possible, guarding from afar with his own toxic thoughts as company.

At least with the help of the map they were easily provisioned, but he denied her rest in their safe holds. Setting a brutal pace that began at sunrise and did not end until sunset to cover as much ground as possible, they easily doubled the amount of distance per day covered on less than half the food she had been getting.

All of it a test to see how spoiled and entitled the little noble’s daughter was.

By the end of the first day she had blisters, and those had rubbed open by the second. Bu’u had managed to win her trust enough that she began riding on his back, which in turn had worn the skin on her legs raw.

Yet not once had she whined or begged for respite. Grimacing in pain and limping when she thought he was not watching, she did her best to hide it when she knew he was. She was not physically strong nor had any experience traveling in the wilds, but mentally she could endure, and he couldn’t help but respect that.

She was nauseatingly innocent, incredibly naive, and so maddeningly congenial.

Without bothering to remove his pants he walked out into the shallow water, squatting in the ankle-deep current to wash off briskly as he kept his hearing focused for any threat. Blessedly they had not crossed paths with any other slave parties, but that didn’t mean it still wasn’t a possibility.

The less souls that saw her, the wider their lead became. But as they neared the wall, that advantage was about to all but vanish. The slavers would have sentinels crawling on both sides of the underground entrance, which spelled disaster. It might be one thing if she had typical human features, but the pristine white hair would be a dead giveaway to her sire. The frilly bonnet Bu’u had stolen to track her by would only get them so far, but it wouldn’t be enough close-up.

If he could find a walnut tree he could collect enough of the exterior shells from the previous season to use as dye. Claim he was escorting a girl specially requested by a client, but that was a weak cover that would disintegrate under scrutiny all too easily as well. He had never accepted any mercenary work, plus Dek would demand to know who had dismissed protocol and tried to bypass the slave masters profits.

He splashed the last bit of sweat off his face wearily, at a loss to solve their predicament. They needed anonymity long enough to remove this mysterious curse, and then she could return to her world, and he to his. Unscathed. He had old debts, ones he did not want her to fall victim to, and time was not on their side.

But for the first time in ages, the Warlord felt doubt tainting every decision made thus far. Being adaptive to situations afforded a level of control he was familiar with, but ever since he had made contact with her, every thought, every action had been reactive. He felt completely out of control, and completely out of his comfort zone.

He buried his face in his palms, exhaling slowly before combing damp fingers into his hair to push it back from his eyes.

Warlord, indeed.

Drying off he headed back, freezing when a gravelly voice echoed through the woods. His breathing deepened evenly in preparation for combat as his heart rate spiked, sprinting the last dozen yards to burst into camp, only to slide to a halt in surprise.

The beggar had found them.

He sat crouched before Iscah, cupping her heel as he gently dabbed a salve on the sores still bloody on the pads of her feet. The girl inhaled sharply at Apoch’s sudden arrival, eyes and lips widening as she took in his exposed upper body. A blush suffused her face instantly and she jerked her gaze away, her grip on the log she sat upon turning white-knuckled.

“I see you’ve been so kind to your little lamb, Apoch.” The elder opened with sarcastically, releasing her foot and motioning to the other one. She complied awkwardly, too flustered at seeing Apoch half-naked to deny the assistance. If it was any other situation he might have been amused, but instead the old male’s derisive tone and the way he was touching Iscah made Apoch’s hackles rise, baring his canines instinctively.

“How did you find us? Who are you?” Apoch snarled, body language menacing as he stormed towards them.

“Triki,” the vagrant offered, offering a yellow-stained grin.

“I don’t give a shit about your name,” he retaliated, voice guttural in alarm as he grabbed Iscah by the arm and hauled her behind him defensively, ignoring her hiss of pain. Triki’s expression turned appreciative at his need to protect the girl, oblivious to the peril his life was now in.

“Who are you!?”

“Smart and dangerous,” Triki mused, scratching at his jaw. His smile turned cunning, eyes sharpening as they shifted to focus on the agitated male. “I’m the answer to your problems, the key to your release. I am the harbinger of forgotten memor—”

Apoch lunged for him, and Triki scrambled back out of reach as he quickly added, “—and I know a secret way past the wall!”

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In the end, Apoch had trusted him. It had come at the cost of a lock of Triki’s hair dipped in his blood that he and Bu’u could track him by, but he had capitulated. There had been no other safe options.

With directions memorized and no backward glances they had parted; Triki and Iscah to take the undiscovered passage, Apoch and Bu’u via the known tunnel to return to the slave master. If he had followed them, Dek would have questions how he had passed his sentinels unnoticed. Apoch had to play the game and take a leap of faith that Triki harbored no ill intentions towards either of them.

But he had not gone directly to Dek as intended.

Instead he had fucked his way through a brothel for two days, taking advantage of the owners good graces. Not that they didn’t deserve it. The prices had been reduced to ‘honor him,' when really it was to keep him from visiting any other competing houses. All for the boasting rights at having hosted The Warlord, and so he had no compunction using them in turn.

The latest whore had every attribute he had found appealing not that long ago, and yet it maddeningly hadn’t been enough. Handfuls of caramel rump to keep her from escaping as he drove his hips mercilessly against the backs of her thighs, hadn’t been enough. Watching her bare, heavy breasts bounce as he had pounded into her, hadn’t been enough.

No, it had been the memory of a pretentious, frilly grey dress pooling onto the floor, exposing a slender, pale backside. The hint of pink nipples visible through a gossamer-thin night gown, and silky skin beneath his callouses that had been his undoing.

He had roared in fury, and the female currently splayed across his sweaty chest was ignorantly smug, as if she had been enticing enough to give him release. Release yes, yet he was still not satisfied.

Fucking hell.

“Is the Warlord pleased?” She purred breathlessly, tracing playfully over the ridges of his abs as he worked to gain his breath back. The question was too eager, revealing the brothel was not the only entity competing for his attention.

He gave a snort, rubbing at the perspiration along his brow. “Does it matter?”

Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.

The explorative fingertip slowed before lifting away, the whore moving to afford him space so that he could cool off.

“She must be something very special,” she murmured after a moment, perching her head on a folded elbow. Apoch blew out a heavy breath at the bated statement, glancing at her beneath the veil of lashes. “Tell me about her.”

Someone knocked on the thin door, too loudly to be anything but driven by frustration. Saving him from lying, or worse, telling the female who was too observant for her own good the demon’s cursed truth at the cost of her life. He jerked upright, swinging off the bed that reeked of lust and pain to cross the room and throw the door open without bothering to dress.

The gigantic male whose left eye was still swollen shut took a nervous step back, and Apoch looked pointedly down the hall in both directions.

“I told you to come with backup next time, Anal.”

“It’s Ainayl, sir,” the stupid brute responded back, shoulders scrunching as he put both palms out submissively and ignored the intentional barb. “Dek isn’t looking for a fight, he just wants—“

“I know what he wants,” Apoch retorted, not caring his irritation was in control. “He will wait until I’m ready.”

Without waiting for a reply he shut the door, turning to retrieve his clothing strewn across the room.

“You’re toying with a dangerous male, Warlord,” the whore murmured, puffy lips tilting down in concern as she wrapped the damp sheet around her luscious curves while he dressed. “This isn’t the warfront; you don’t have an army backing you up here.”

Apoch’s fingers stilled on the front laces of his pants, half turning towards her. Her breath caught at the thrill of intimidation he inspired from such a simple movement. Their frenzied activities had left his muscles pumped with blood, forcing veins to visibility all along the dips and swells covering his body, mapped like rivers and tributaries by a cartographer beneath his skin. And the candlelight did nothing to diminish his allure, sweat highlighting his build and making it even more savage, more provocative.

She knew his restless aggression was born of a torment no skill or stamina would assuage, at least not by any here. For whatever reason he was in complete denial that whoever she was would be the only one able to satiate him.

A knowing smile edged the whore’s lips at the thought of how that encounter would play out when he finally caved in. If he would feed the fire with a slow burn, or just consume her entirely. Either way, that mystery female would be in for a very good, very thorough time if her own recent experiences with the male were anything to go off of.

Misreading the desire in her eyes he stalked back over to her, and she reached for his spent cock still covered in their fluids to suck down her throat willingly.

She might as well enjoy herself at his expense, since he was too stubborn to put two and two together.

Honestly, love-sick males were so silly.

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It was fully dark when Apoch stormed out of the brothel, sick of the mediocre fare and craving something other than overly ripe fruit and raw strips of fat-marbled meat.

He paused in the moonlight, taking in the sparkling mica powder covering his arms and hands, knowing it was probably ground into every pore on his body at this point. The reek of alcohol, sex and jasmine perfume assuaged his nostrils and he grimaced, knowing he was their source.

Right— clean up first, then food.

Changing directions he made his way towards the bathhouses that ringed the thriving sex district of the city. Despite the hour the streets were still full of cambion and their purchased companions, many of the customers members of the trade caravans eager to spend their freshly received pay.

He slid through the crowd without paying much attention to the detail of the faces surrounding him, aware only enough to avoid hawkers and thieves.

Days of fucking, and yet still the itch rode him. A constant companion as if something had awoken in him he could not get rid of. Sex was a normal part of their existence, a pleasure in lives that had too few of such things. He had entertained many partners over the years, some fleeting, others longer term. Nedivah he had assumed would be his last. She was easy to be with, she was comfortable.

He blinked, ashamed to find this had been the first time he had really given her thought in weeks. It was almost embarrassing what that said about him, if she truly was his mate. Their intimacy had never lacked, she had been attentive and he in kind, and yet…

Surprised to find he had stopped walking he took in his surroundings, focus shifting onto a building whose structure was made of elegantly hewn stone and fashioned to resemble a human mansion. Small abnormalities marked it for what it was though; all the windows were barred in heavy iron, and a matching gate blocking the entry into a beautiful courtyard where conversation, and the scent of flowers in bloom wafted.

One of the very few brothels in the city who offered human whores. It was where the women who were barren were sent. Even infertile, they were treated as prized possessions. Wrapped in garments of the finest cloth and detailed with jewels, for the price to have a night with any one of them was heavy. Despite their expensive decorations, fastidious care and elegant housing, the one thing none of them had was freedom.

In the end, it was nothing but a beautiful prison.

Human women were no mystery to him, in fact his first experiences had been with the breeding harem of The House. They had enjoyed it, he had enjoyed it, until he had realized one day their shackles were really no different than his own. It had been the beginning of his hatred for humankind. He hated that his race relied on them to continue to be, hated their misplaced egos, their weak bodies and even weaker minds.

The Warchief had seemed to have benevolent empathy, borderline affection for humans, but for him? He left them as corpses. Zidaii had leashed his bloodlust, but Zidaii was no longer here.

Canting his head his lips parted, sucking a pheromone-laden breath across the roof of his mouth as he eyed the building with dark intent. The price to bed one of the women was heavy, the price to kill one, even heavier. Maybe that was what he needed, a visit back to an old vice where he had satiated both his lust for flesh and death all within the same body.

But as he shifted his weight to move in the direction of its gates that unfamiliar disgust blossomed in his stomach, forcing him back to stillness. He focused on that revulsion, that same nausea he had experienced anytime he so much as considered harming that girl. Did that now extend to fucking any of her kind, too?

As if it would have done any good, anyways. The last few days had convinced him all he was doing was drinking saltwater in an attempt to slake his thirst. And he knew, despite his desperation, that this newest attempt would only end in the same frustrating disappointment.

Blanching at that final thought he turned away, continuing on to one of the more reputable places to wash at.

Entering, he tossed the host sitting at the front desk enough to cover a private chamber and attendant. The spindly female snatched up the payment in one hand while two other arms grabbed one of the better towels and rang a small bell.

A younger worker appeared, bowing hurriedly before leading his customer through the communal bathing area. Conversations and laughter echoed off the thick mud-and-stone walls as less than a dozen cambions lounged in the various pools or on their ledges.

They passed the open baths and into a narrow hall lined with doors on both sides. Reaching the last room the youth waited by the door as

Apoch stripped and used a bucket of soapy water to wash the first layer of grime the brothel had left him coated in.

Descending into the thermally heated water he sat on the ledge as the attendant began lathering his hair, deceivingly strong fingers scraping over his scalp and down his neck where tension had seized his muscles tight. Apoch closed his eyes, trying to enjoy the massage. Yet his mind wandered to the feel of her hair twisted around his fingertips, her fragile neck beneath his canines.

Instincts screamed a warning and he whirled, snagging the boy’s hand where a needle-thin blade coated in sedatives was clutched.

“Tell Dek this one is for free,” he purred, not even bothering to remove the weapon from his grasp. The youth stumbled back when he released him, eyes wide in fear. “The next attempt will be with interest.”

He scurried out of the room, and Apoch stood motionless as his thoughts clash turbulently. Here again was proof his instincts were not flawed, that they were not misguiding him. Yet still they gave no warnings when he thought of her. No signals of danger or alarm, and that concerned him greatly.

Either someone was working some deep, dark fucking magic on him, or this desire for her was genuine. So which was it?

He sank back down into the scalding water, stretching his arms out along the pool’s edge and letting his head tip back to stare up at the ceiling.

It was possible for The House of Shadow to have orchestrated this. Fear of Zidaii’s promised retribution should they ever cross him again had kept their righteous vengeance in check.

In the face of annihilation, they had released Apoch from his lifelong servitude when Zidaii had marched the entire army onto their doorstep. It had been in retaliation for the assassination attempt he had been dispatched to complete on the Warchief, and he had demanded Apoch as collateral. They had refused to remove their claim to any children he might sire, though. In his exhilaration of winning his freedom with that perilous gamble, he had eagerly— stupidly— accepted that single term. He had been careful to leave that requirement unfulfilled by any means necessary, so it had never truly bothered him.

Until now.

“You have five seconds before I drown you,” he managed through clenched teeth, not looking away from the ceiling as he tried to process that final, infuriating thought.

A small, grey being slithered partially out of the shadows where his voice had echoed and no door existed. It was child-like in size, but the face was malformed. Silver eyes too large for its skull sat beneath a brow that curved up and tipped into horns at its earless temples. Even with the thick, humid air carrying its scent, he could not identify its gender. It bowed to him with grace that marked it older than its emaciated adolescent body.

A nightmare demon.

“Warlord,” it whispered in an androgynous voice, the latent power in just that one word causing him to flex his core in an attempt to control unbidden terror. “I bring tidings, and answer from my master: the debt will be paid, in full.”

Apoch managed to bark a laugh at the audacity, fisting his hands as more adrenaline flooded his system his close proximity to the demon was causing. As it vanished back into the shadow, he felt his whole body loosen in a way the past few days had not managed. His business in this city was nearly done, and he could return to focusing on unraveling the mess he was embroiled in with the girl.

Now that I think about it, he reflected as he retrieved the soap and rough-spun wash cloth the steward had abandoned. Dek’s kitchens had served pretty delicious food.