What is a forked tale?
Well, it’s a tale we write together. I write and give you two options….We all vote. Majority rules and the story takes root…
Welcome to the next installment of Ellie Masters’ Whiskey Wednesday. Haven’t read part one of Cursed to Walk in the Light? Well click here to catch yourself up!
PART Nine BEGINS NOW….
The horse reared again, and would’ve come down on the man, trampling him too, but Irynia kicked it in the flank and guided the beast to the side. Its sharp hooves barely missed the man, and she released the reins, allowing herself to fall back, where she tumbled to the ground in a heap.
She even added a dramatic shriek, something sure to snag the man’s attention. He released his father’s broken body and sprang to her rescue, grabbing the reins of the horse and pulling it away, lest she be trampled too.
Didn’t he know that beast wouldn’t dare harm her? Of course not. Men were creatures with simple minds. She reached out with her thoughts, soothing the animal. It snorted and stomped the hard-packed earth, but calmed. The man seemed surprised, but said nothing. His gaze had latched firmly onto her, forgetting his father in the process. Already, she could taste the richness of his essence, and desired more than this painful tease.
From her place on the ground, she had full view of him. The crumpled remains of the man’s father lay broken and bleeding not ten feet from her, but the man had eyes only for her, or rather the curves of her body. It might have something to do with how she’d allowed her top to gape open, revealing the honeyed expanse of her breasts. She would’ve smirked except that didn’t fit with the damsel in distress theme she was working.
“Oh,” she exclaimed, “please, forgive me, kind Sir.” She allowed tears to leak from her eyes and spill down her cheeks. “The horse, it’s a brutal beast. I’m so sorry…”
She made a play for being sorry about his father, but layered that heavily with female helplessness. As expected, once he had the horse standing placidly by the side of the road, he came to her, all thought for her and not for his father.
“Are you injured?” he asked.
Her hands made a pass down her body, one his lustful eyes followed with growing interest. “I don’t think so,” she said, adding an appropriate tremor to her voice.
“Here,” he said, extending his hand, “let me help you to your feet.”
He lifted with more force than necessary, which allowed her to tumble against his chest. She placed a palm over the hard expanse of muscle beneath his shirt, and glanced up, looking coy, beneath the curtain of her lashes. Slowly, she spread her hand out flat, pressing against him, to let him feel her more than casual interest. Beneath her soft touch, his body twitched.
“Oh my,” she cooed. “You’re so strong.” She placed weight on her foot, and cried out, clutching at his shirt, as she nearly fell. The fool steadied her. He was too enraptured to realize there was nothing wrong with her foot.
His lust billowed in the air, intoxicating her senses and driving her insatiable hunger to a frenzy.
“What’s wrong?” He asked, looking genuinely concerned.
“It’s my ankle,” she lied. “I’m afraid I must have twisted it during that fall.”
Without asking for her consent, he swept her into his arms. “Let me take you back to my house, and we can tend to that.”
Well, they’d be tending to much more than a simple ankle. She wrapped an arm over his shoulder, and allowed her fingers to rest ever so lightly against his nape. “You’re so kind.” Lightly, she teased her fingers through his hair, stroking him with slow purpose. Her touch would incite other, more intimate, desires in the man.
Without another look to his father, he headed down the road. Her horse glanced up, its dark eyes shifting with a growing intelligence, and it followed behind them. The man didn’t even notice the odd look the horse gave him.
A deep inhale of the warm air brought the delicious scent of his musk, but then she was distracted by the thundering of hooves. The noise came from the south bringing with it a contingent of soldiers approaching at a fast clip. A vanguard, they escorted an ornate carriage. The man holding her hopped to the side of the road, and didn’t even spare a glance for his father whose body would be trampled by the oncoming men.
Irynia arched a brow. She had one question. Should she stay with the man, or have a little fun with the soldiers?
PART Ten BEGINS NOW….
The answer to the question of whether to stay with the man who held her, or go with the soldiers was a little bit of both yes and no.
The soldiers drew near, and as their mounts pawed at the earth, flinging clods of mud, the men’s eyes strayed unerringly to Irynia and the man who carried her in his arms. The horses stared too, but their’s was one of a more inquisitive gaze, cautionary and interested.
“Do you need assistance?” The lead man asked.
Not a single soldier took note of the crumpled body in the middle of the road. Between one breath and the next, Irynia owned each aching stare, smacking lip, and hardening cock of the men.
“Oh, kind Sir,” she said, cooing and batting her lashes. Peeking out from them now, she glanced up at him and allowed her lips to curve into a smile. “We are fine now.”
The man holding her tightened his grip. His right foot shifted back, almost like he was intending to run from these men. Foolish and useless. Not that it mattered. In the last few moments, she decided she would have all of these men.
That first knight she’d drained had been a gluttony of sexual energy. He’d invigorated her and given her the boldness to approach her situation with greater confidence. She was pretty certain she could control how much she took, and she wanted to test out her theory before feasting on an entire contingent of soldiers.
One could be emptied of his vigor easily enough, but all twelve? She didn’t think she could handle that many at once. Definitely two, and maybe even three. Perhaps four? She kind of itched to try that now. But when the bodies piled up there would be questions and confrontations. That was a distraction she didn’t care to deal with.
Stupidity had never been a trait Ahimouth rewarded. Even though he’d been the one to escort her out of Hell, she had sensed a great reluctance within him. He cared for her, and she wasn’t going to throw that away by reckless actions. Death had separated her from her tormentor, but she vowed to walk in the light with honor, no matter how much she hated the harsh glare of the overhead sun. She vowed to return to Hell and resume her rightful place. Until then, she had much to learn. Her first lesson would be one of control.
Resting her hand on the farmer’s chest, it took little effort to modulate her voice. The soft sound was both sweet and enticing, and pitched loud enough to carry to the man hidden inside the carriage. Most likely, he depended on his escort to take care of roadside delays. His impatience was something she intended to use.
“We were just heading home,” she said, patting the farmer’s chest. “My husband and I have duties to perform.” Now every soldier had an image in their mind of what that might entail. Their lust sweetened the air and she breathed in the faint tendrils of their desire.
The farmer’s breathing hitched, and his cock twitched. It raised higher and bumped her ass. He hefted her in his grip, tucking her in close against his chest. Not bold enough to speak up, his silence annoyed her.
The lead soldier glanced at the road, perhaps noticing the crumpled body of the old man for the first time. His brow hitched. “Are you certain you’re all right?”
Her smile was faint, but brutally effective. “Kind Sir, of course I am. Thank you for your concern. It’s just a twist of my ankle.” She said nothing about the dead man in the road, dismissing him from conversation.
The soldier gave a fractional nod. “As you wish, but if you need anything…”
“Oh, if I need anything I won’t hesitate to call upon you. But, if your men are tired or thirsty from your ride, we have plenty to share.”
She had no idea what there was to share, or not share, not that it mattered. The hunger in her belly grew with each passing moment.
The curtains of the carriage drew back. Not far enough to see the man sitting inside, but she felt him. His dark cravings spilled outward, eager tendrils of desire stretching for her, and seeking her essence. In the darkness of his shrouded environment, he felt her nearly as much as she felt him.
She licked her lips and changed her mind. Gripping the farmer’s nape, she forced him to let her down. Maybe, he expected her to limp on the torn ligaments of her ankle, but she stepped straight and sure. Her gaze never once left the deep shadows of that carriage. Her heart pulsed with a growing need. The lead soldier hopped off his horse when her intent became clear, but he took only two steps before a deep voice growled out a command.
“Stay,” it said.
The soldier stopped in his tracks, while she continued on. It wasn’t necessary to reach for the door handle. The latch opened from inside and a thick hand pushed the door outward.
“Now you,” he said. “You come in.”
And she did. Her foot found the lower step. Her leg flexed. Her hand gripped the door. And her breath spilled out as she moved inside.
Two choices greeted her. She could take the empty bench across from him, play coy and demure. Or, she could straddle his lap. What she couldn’t do was drain him dry. When she exited this coach, twelve soldiers would be waiting on their lord to follow her outside. But maybe she could take a little taste.
Their eyes met. Twin pools of the deepest black latched on to her, and she made her choice.
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