Monsters and Maidens (192 to 196)

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[192] [Rick]

Rick found himself standing before he was awake.

His heart hammered against his chest, the echoes of Monica’s roar a distant ringing in his ears.

It took a split second for his brain to process what had just happened. He was awake, out of bed, and every part of his body shook with the adrenaline of a man that was ready to run away from a monster. Except the feeling within his chest was not one to run, it was one to fight.

He wanted to fight, something… he was angry.

Angry?

Rick’s eyes whirled around the room. Dia was waking up. The bed was empty.

Monica.

The emotions weren’t his.

The second roar shook the room, the very castle. It was like nothing he’d heard Monica do before. It was like a bomb had gone off outside and the whole place had shuddered from the impact. How far off was that? No, something was wrong.

Deep inside his chest, anger, determination, fight. Fight. FIGHT. Eyes wild, he knew it was Monica. Something was wrong, deeply wrong. He’d not felt her determination swell up like this since the fight with the Baron.

Someone was going to die.

“Sir, what’s-.”

Dia met his gaze and recoiled. It took him a moment to realize he was snarling.

“GO!” He roared, hands shaking as he ran to get his clothes on. “Whatever’s happening, help!”

To Dia’s merit, she snapped instantly. The maiden moved faster than he’d ever seen her, out the door before he’d managed to finish getting his shoes on. His own mind was reeling as he strapped the short-sword to his hip. Things had been going so well, what had put Monica into this state? Was Monica being attacked? The Earl couldn’t have ordered such a thing, or could he? It wouldn’t make sense, if he wanted to attack Monica they’d all be captured. What was going on!? Rick stepped outside through the balcony and couldn’t see anything of importance. The situation was happening somewhere on the other side of the castle.

Ducking back inside his room, he rushed into the castle. It was pandemonium, maidens were moving left and right, breaking world record human sprint speeds as if it was nothing. Some doing so while wearing a full plate of armor. Rick should have bounced back into the room, the maidens left to continue their maddening rush at blinding speeds.

He didn’t, the fire inside him burned. There was no time to waste or hesitate.

“MOVE!”

And they did. As if he’d grown a forcefield that repelled them. The maidens moved, keeping clear of his way and sometimes looking warily as he began to walk towards the center of the castle, certain that from there he could find a way to the other end.

Rick’s steps faltered, head swimming, a burst of pain exploded across his shoulder.

“Sir!”

A small woman reached out to him before he could stumble. It took him a second to recognize her. “Mouse?” He muttered, turning his focus inward. He had to push Monica’s emotions away. The fight had begun and his eyes were having a hard time keeping track on anything that was still, like everything was moving too slowly, every single detail being sought out and scrutinized. Danger behind every corner, prey was rushing right within reach, the air stank of fear, he-

“Sir!”

A door opened, and he was hurried into a room. Darkness all around, and for a split second, he was blind. Panic swirled with anger. He kept pushing the emotions away, blocking them off, but something was wrong. Monica was pushing back, trying to shove everything at him at the same time. She was fighting against someone that made her blood pump and boil like a nuclear reactor that was reaching a critical point.

“My, you look like you need to take a breather.”

The voice spoke from the shadows. A figure stepped forward into the beam of light, a figure of plump and generous proportions. Her face was obscured in the darkness. What little illumination entered the room hinted at her large breasts and generous hips, of a flawless body built for one thing and one thing only.

“Why don’t you come and relax?”

His skin tingled like he’d been thrown into a thunderstorm. The fire in his chest swelled and spread across his body. The words struck chords inside him that were all the wrong things, not when he was teetering at the edge of just punching someone. Worse still was that Monica had not relented in her insistence; she wanted him to feel her emotions.

Consciously or otherwise, she was fighting against him. Rick grunted, the tingling had very nearly made him slip.

“Wrong guy.”

Rick’s gaze locked on the window, marching straight towards it. If going through the castle the normal way wasn’t viable, he’d have to move around it from outside. The figure seemed to hesitate as he blew past her, opening the unlocked window.

Ground level, good. He hopped out, head on a swivel and trying to orient himself to find how close he’d gotten to Monica. From behind him there was a startled gasp, probably the lady realizing he wasn’t who she’d thought he was. He’d apologize if he saw her again.

The area he’d come out on was near some sort of stables. It looked unprotected and right next to the wall that led to the town. There were large cages with pigs and boars that were going absolutely wild with their squealing. It was likely the things were quite aware there was a monster in the loose, one with a taste for…

Rick stopped mid-stride, turning to stare at the pigs.

The beasts had abruptly gone quiet, staring at Rick as he stared back.

Had Monica started this? Someone else? Regardless of either, did he need to stop Monica or help her? Why was she pushing her emotions toward him? It was all coming into a blur of aggression and anger. His hand grasped the hilt of the short-sword. If he had to stop her, then some juicy bait could…

Rick realized the pigs had scurried away from the doors and into the very corners of their cages. Another roar, right as pain blossomed against Rick’s arm.

He didn’t have the time to waste here. He practically ran out of the area, following the castle wall in the general direction of Monica’s presence. The closer he got, the more knights he started to see moving around, nervous, preparing or organizing for something.

Each and every single one of them moved out of his way as Rick continued his approach. The sound of fighting became apparent soon after, screeching shivers and powerful thuds. It was like someone was setting off grenades inside an industrial sawmill.

The air trembled and shuddered, and Rick continued moving closer.

One knight moved to block his path, her armor betraying her rank being higher than that of the normal knights, perhaps a captain, perhaps a royal knight. He didn’t care. Rick’s gaze moved from his destination towards her, locking on the visor.

She flinched. But she did not move out of his way.

“Sir, your weapon.”

Rick followed her gesture. At some point he’d unsheathed the blade and was currently holding it as if he were just about ready to jump into a fight. His brows furrowed. He knew he didn’t stand a chance against any maiden, let alone whatever might be making Monica feel like this. But he’d be damned thrice over if he was going to passively sit back and watch.

The grip tightened.

“No.”

That, apparently, was not what she’d expected out of him.

Rick stepped past her. The maiden rushed to catch up. “We cannot let you approach the earl while armed.”

“Good, I don’t have plans to talk to him right now.”

Rick marched onward, not bothering to head in the direction of where the knights were tightly clustered together and instead moving straight ahead, to the volcano of emotion that was Monica. The blaze in his chest was turning into a pyroclastic flow searing its way through him, the hand grasping the sword was shaking. The knight that had stuck to his side was eying him every other second.

And as he pushed forward, he finally caught sight of the battle.

It was a one on one.

Monica stood, wreathed in shadows that flickered as if she were exuding wisps of smoke. Her naked figure was littered with dozens of tiny cuts and several deep ones, dried blood covered her skin. With her claws fully out, she snarled, muscles tense. Opposite her was Deneva, wearing her full armor regalia. Her body glowed with a faint reddish glow. On each hand, she wielded a weapon, a sword on her right, a spear on her left. The armor was chipped and dented in a couple of places, but otherwise untouched.

They jumped at one another, moving faster than Rick could follow. Monica weaved around the weapons as if she were no more than an illusion. Her blows landed on the armor, but each one gave an opportunity for Deneva to slash, poke, and prod. The ground cracked under their feet, each blow a concussive blast that Rick could feel against his bones.

Monica moved with fierce, unrelenting determination, anger.

And Deneva was moving defensively, countering and blocking, restricting Monica’s movements but never chasing after her.

Never taking the offensive.

“Who started this?”

He spoke with a low whisper.

The knight hesitated. “You should step away, sir. It’s dangerous to be this close.”

“If Monica stops, would your captain do the same?”

The knight didn’t speak, and that was all the answer he needed.

Rick moved forward and past the knights.

[193] [Captain Deneva]

Royal Knight Deneva had been resting peacefully until her senses had caught the presence of White Claw. There was no in-between, she was awake, alert, and away from the Earl’s embrace within a single heartbeat. The second placed her out of the bed, assessing her surroundings. No threats. There was only one, outside. She moved to strap on her armor without a moment to lose.

The aura the maiden was projecting was not passive, it was aggressive. Someone was going to die if they hadn’t already. The fact that White Claw had gotten this far out of her room without an alarm raising could very well mean she’d been intentionally targeting something or someone.

“Den?”

“White Claw is loose, and looking for a fight.”

Her guards had begun sounding the alarm within half a second of the roar, a chime and a blinking red light within the Earl’s room. They were getting sloppy.

The doors opened and four knights stepped inside with their swords drawn.

Deneva had her own sword in her hand as she threw her aura at them, testing their intent. They didn’t flinch or deviate, they confirmed the Earl was alive, and that there were no threats in the room before sheathing their blades and kneeling in front of their captain. “Our orders?”

“Lock down the fort. Total state of emergency. Check every nook and cranny for dead or injured. Protect the Earl.”

“And you, ma’am?”

Deneva had not slowed in arming herself, putting on her helmet and, with a gesture of her hands, drawing her weapons from the corner. “I’ll handle White Claw.”

“Do not kill her.” The Earl commanded. “Keep her movements contained.”

She nodded. “May I use the pokeball?”

“According to Rick, it will likely push her aggression. And it might fail anyway if Rick used his own. Avoid it unless you see no alternatives.”

“Yes, my lord.”

She stepped outside through the balcony. The knights locked the meter-thick safety shutters behind her, turning the Earl’s chambers into the safest place in the city. Deneva hoped her lord would stay there, but she knew he’d inevitably want to confirm what was happening with his own eyes. She had to contain the target by then, at least partially.

White Claw’s aura thickened, snapping in reaction to Deneva’s presence, focusing on her. The roar that followed shook the air around her. Instinct made her move, raising her arms protectively.

In the split second between realizing the fight had already begun and hearing the roar, the stone masonry exploded around her. The blow against her forearms had been heavy, powerful enough to throw her through the balcony floor. Her body bounced against the slanted fortress wall, instinct and training kicked in, her sword lashed out to cut into the stone to give herself some control, to slow down.

White Claw did not give her the room to regain her footing. The feline had used what remained of the balcony to launch herself downwards. Her claws slammed against Deneva’s raised sword. She’d reinforced the weapon with her own aura, but inertia still won out, her body thrown downwards, her other blade remaining embedded on the fortress wall. A curse escaped Deneva’s lips. She twisted, preparing to unleash a burst of energy to correct her position. The aura from White Claw slammed against her like a tidal-wave, strong enough even the armor’s protective enchantments had not been able to avoid the temporary disruption.

The energy faltered and Deneva realized she would not be allowed the opportunity to wield her elemental energy outside of her body properly. Was this how White Claw hunted? By surrounding her target with her aura to disrupt their abilities?

White Claw bounded between the balconies as if the verticality of the castle was nothing to concern herself with. Each leap turned rock to dust, followed by a powerful blow that would knock Deneva away from any opportunity to regain her footing.

She was being juggled, kept midair by a foe that was aiming each blow with extreme killing intent.

Deneva had been dutiful and read about the Sabertooth and how they fought, what little there was available anyway. Yet White Claw did not match any of the descriptions. This was more like fighting a flying maiden, and her armor wasn’t going to protect her indefinitely. With her left, she blocked the next attack, and with her right, she summoned another sword. The instant she confirmed where White Claw would land next, she threw the blade. An explosion of elemental energy turned the balcony to rubble before White Claw could reach it.

A split second of delay from her next attack, and exactly the amount of time Deneva needed for her feet to meet the castle wall. Rock crumbled under her as she launched herself away from the fortress, a cloud of dust trailing behind her. She did not need to glance over her shoulder to confirm White Claw was following in her wake. Instead, she focused her elemental energy into the soles of her feet, condensing it, and then letting it out in an explosion to give herself more impulse. She’d need to get to the ground before her opponent did or-.

A series of bursts startled her. This time she did turn to look. Her eyes widened from within her helmet. White Claw was mimicking her technique, and she was using her absurd aura to apply it repeatedly. She was gaining on Deneva. It couldn’t be, shouldn’t be. If White Claw had known this technique earlier, she wouldn’t have stumbled when she’d blown the balcony up.

Had she been keeping it hidden? Or… it couldn’t be. Had she learnt it just from watching her use it once?

Deneva grit her teeth, preparing for the ground that was rushing up to meet her. Dismissing her swords, she summoned two shields in their stead. One aimed at the incoming White Claw, the other at the ground. She rushed her elemental energy to her arms and braced.

But the blow never came. White Claw’s aura had vanished, and with it, her presence.

Deneva hit the ground, pushing against it and leaping in search of the feline. Darkness, that was the Sabertooth’s greatest tool according to the books. It was clear White Claw had lunged into the shadows. The question was from where she’d emerge. Was she stalling to recover her breath from the extreme expenditure of energy she must have been pushing through? Deneva replaced the shields with a sword and a spear, careful as she ran towards the training fields. She could attempt to root White Claw out of her hiding spot, but if the fight continued, that would be the closest space to move the fight to. Anywhere else had the potential to harm-.

Deneva spun. The attack had come from her own shadow. Her sword met flesh, but the cut was superficial. The feline’s limbs were thick with elemental energy, protecting her from most of the bite from Deneva’s swords. And she recognized the technique, the exact one she’d used to prepare for when White Claw attacked her mid-fall.

This was no coincidence.

Again, the feline disengaged, diving into the shadows and emerging at a relative distance, watching Deneva.

White hair glowed under the moonlight, her claws glimmering, sharp as swords, her blue eyes piercing and angry. Wrathful.

The feline’s aura surged back, and this time the knight knew exactly what to expect as White Claw jumped back into the fray, the aura lashed towards her left, and the claws came from the right, the aura came down on her like a hammer and the blow would as an uppercut. This Deneva knew how to handle far better, weaving her way through the blows and trusting her armor to absorb the damage to give herself an edge over the feline.

Deneva was faster and with longer reach. Her blade would land two shallow cuts for every single strike White Claw made. The feline was pushing aggressively, however, her aura pushed harder, stronger, and thicker. Every blow was just as fast but came with ever greater force. The creak of metal betrayed the power as the shadow wreathed maiden was pressing through the counters and defensive cuts through sheer grit.

Every time their blows met, the ground would rumble underneath their feet.

The royal knight did not hesitate, but she felt something was off. White Claw was trying to bring the fight to a quick end. Blue eyes glinted with desperation, flinching but not from Deneva’s own sword. Something else was happening within the maiden. But it was not something she could focus on. If White Claw kept pressuring her like this, then it wouldn’t take long before Deneva would start losing too much ground and she’d be forced to bring out all her blades.

But her lords’ orders had been to contain, not to kill.

Maybe if-.

“Monica!”

The shout startled White Claw, and determination turned into desperation. She reached out in an attempt to grasp Deneva, looking just about ready to let herself get stabbed if it meant she could throw the royal knight somewhere else. Deneva weaved around the grasp, punishing the ill-timed attempt with her blade, slicing the palms, but her blade didn’t dig deep enough to sever the tendons.

“Monica!”

A figure was moving closer, and White Claw had switched from claws to fists. Shoving Deneva back even as the cuts on her forearms were multiplying with every strike. The knight’s own armor cracked with the concussive force.

Deneva had a chance to spot who had been calling out to Monica.

Under her visor, her eyes widened in shock.

Rick Cross, the human, bare chested and holding a sword. His body was littered with a dozen bloody scratches, places where the debris of their battle had struck him.

“Monica!”

His eyes blazed.

And Monica hesitated, her gaze filled with dozens of different emotions.

To Deneva, it was the perfect chance to bring the fight to an end. Her spear spun as she lunged to attack with its blunt end, intent on striking a debilitating blow.

Yet her instincts warned her of danger, and her eyes looked back at Rick Cross. His eyes glowed with a dim blue light, his aura a ghostly reflection of White Claw’s.

Deneva felt as if fangs were sinking into her throat.

She froze, eyes wide, obscured under her visor.

Rick held her gaze as he continued his approach, each footfall made White Claw flinch, her shoulders trembling and head lowering. The blade in his hand swung amateurishly, he had no discipline or control, he was human, weak.

And yet Deneva felt her focus on him as if he posed as much a threat as White Claw had moments prior.

Rick grasped Monica’s hand, her claws were sheathed, the contact drained any fight left within her.

“Come.”

White Claw nodded slowly. Her shoulders slumped, head lowering, her tail drooped and her ears flat. The aura was gone, the fighting was over. It was as if she was an entirely different being than the blood-thirsty entity from just thirty seconds ago.

Deneva could only observe in shocked silence.

Rick took White Claw by the hand and marched out, followed by the white haired maiden.

Silence reigned over the courtyard. The knights quietly made way for them.

Deneva felt more than one set of eyes upon her, dimly, she realized she’d frozen mid-strike and not relaxed her pose until the two had been entirely out of sight.

[194] [Rick]

Rick had not spoken a word, not looked at Monica, he only kept his gaze on the path ahead. He couldn’t bring himself to stop moving until his thoughts were clearer on what he had to do, and that was currently impossible with the anger burning through his veins, pumping a thousand miles a minute. He wanted to drag her directly to the room and use the pokeball on her and keep her in there and scream until he stopped, feeling like his head was about to explode.

Which was exactly why he was walking in exactly the opposite direction of his room.

The knights at the gate to the gardens tried to stop them as he marched. One look and they practically jumped out of the way. Monica tried to say something, or do something, and Rick turned his gaze back to her and she flinched, lowering her head again, trailing behind him morosely.

With his hand grasping her paw, he stepped into the long tunnel of vegetation that hung in an illusion of privacy. Monica padded after him without making a sound. She didn’t say anything, but he could barely feel her emotions through the bond right now. Anger gone, she was now sullen and frustrated. He wanted to scream, to shout, to shake his finger and consider how to punish her.

Which was exactly why he continued walking.

In the dusk, it was hard to really appreciate whatever beauty the garden had. Not that he would have tried to pay attention. His focus remained on the pathway, visible enough for him to just barely keep his footing stable while dragging Monica along. The minutes ticked by, the fire began to die out. He kept walking. They’d made their way through the same spot at least four times. Monica’s attention was starting to wander away from him, but a singular look put her right back to her lowered ears.

Another three loops, Rick could properly think words and control his breathing.

Four more, he could actually slow down and unclench his grip.

Two more, his hands weren’t shaking from the crash of adrenaline.

In the next one, he slowed enough he could finally bring himself to stop, moving to one of the fountains.

“Sit.”

He sheathed the short-sword he’d been carrying in his free hand the whole way.

Monica plopped down to the ground without much fanfare, looking slightly upward at him. Their eyes met, and she lowered them, ears flattening. A frustrated grunt followed, full of indignity and many other things. Leaning forward, Rick took her paw and raised it so he could take a closer look. Blood stained the white fur, but none of her wounds were already closing. Even the deeper ones were scabbing over.

Rick turned to the fountain, removing his shirt and dipping it into the chilly water. With the drenched shirt, he began to slowly scrub away the fresh blood from Monica’s arms. Her own blood.

She looked at him, surprised and confused in equal measure. The maiden tried to shift and pull her arm from his grasp.

A quick glare made her stop.

The work was slow but methodical. First one arm, then the other, then he began doing the same with the blood on her torso. Monica didn’t look away from his face, not flinching even as the chilly water touched on the wounds that were still open.

Neither spoke, both trying to figure the other out, emotions swirling within them. She tested the bond, he could feel her focus through it, and he blocked her with what was left of his anger. It was enough to make her flinch and back down.

Her focus shifted to his own wounds, barely scratches but that were still bleeding. Monica leaned forward, placing her lips upon the larger one, slowly lapping at it. The gesture stung, and Rick slowed with his cleaning of her body. He waited, however, until she was satisfied, and returned to the work he’d been focused on, keeping her from focusing on his other scratches.

Finally done, Rick dropped the bloodied shirt to the ground.

“Stand.”

Monica nodded, slowly going up to her feet. Her eyes lingered on his other wounds, but their gazes met again.

Rick let out a sigh, patting the back of her fluffy, drenched paw.

“I know you’re scared.”

Her face narrowed with a frown, shoulders tense and her tail swishing in annoyance. “Monica no scared.”

She barely moved, however, her paw in his hand as he gripped her fingers. She looked down at him as he held her there, his hand pulling her to press against his chest.

“Rick protect Monica.”

Her ears flattened. Monica growled, scoffed, shook her head. But she’d have to fight if she wanted to pull her hand away. She huffed, cheeks puffing and her head shaking wildly. But he waited, watching her as she clearly wanted to say something about that, complain in some way.

“Rick protect Monica.” He repeated, watching her growl again.

Slowly, she huffed, and deflated, lowering her head. “Rick… protect Monica.” She conceded.

“Rick protect Monica, here.” He said, making sure to stare into her eyes. “Monica protect Rick… out there.”

The last two words had not been ones that were part of her vocabulary just yet, but he hoped the message was clear as he gestured at the horizon. Monica looked slightly less sullen at that, nodding.

“Monica protect Rick.” She nodded enthusiastically.

“Rick protect Monica, here.”

The maiden faltered, far less energetic. “Rick protect Monica.” She muttered, almost a mumble, looking away, petulant.

“I’ll protect you.”

Reaching up with his free hand, he took her cheek in his palm and turned her face so their eyes would meet. She mumbled, nodding slightly. “Rick protect.”

Rick let out a sigh he hadn’t been aware he’d been holding onto. He nodded, a mountain of exhaustion suddenly dropping on him like a hammer. He tugged her, bringing her face closer. Monica hesitated for only a moment before leaning into the kiss. She lowered her body slowly, kneeling so she could look up at him when their lips parted.

The maiden wrapped her cold drenched arms around his chest and she pressed her head against his chest. He hugged her back, patting gently and sighing a second time. He’d have to talk with the earl about this, apologize, and probably look for how to repay the damages. It didn’t look like they’d be able to stick around for much longer either, not when Monica could get another moment like this one.

He just hoped the extent of the problems would only go that far.

Rick wasn’t sure what had brought about the whole thing. He’d have to pry it out of her later, but he suspected she’d not be very collaborative about it. This whole thing had worn him thin, drained him, and left him half-way to figure out how-.

Another kiss interrupted his thoughts. Monica pulled him into her lips with hunger. Her gaze was chastising, a reproach he had lost any energy to deny. He rolled his eyes at her. “You did bad, Monica.”

She pouted.

“Small bad.”

“No, Monica, big bad.”

“No hurt, no kill. Little bad. Little little.” She tried to argue, the look in her eyes was hopeful.

Rick just shook his head, pulling her head against his chest and just trying his best to recover the strength he’d lost. He’d have to think about what to do later once he could better understand the extent of the consequences.

She petulantly hugged him.

They embraced one another for several more minutes. Monica’s head slowly turned, releasing him and leaning into the biggest scratch that he’d received from approaching her fight. She licked his shoulder, making him wince.

“Monica sorry.”

“Yeah, well, Monica has to apologize to the others.”

“No.” There was a hint of fire there.

He stared at her intently. “Yes.”

A low grumble and a growl, but she didn’t try to refute him. Her lips moved to the next wound. She was tender, only doing small probing licks to each of the wounds that were still bleeding. “Dia heal Rick.” She spoke with annoyance, almost begrudgingly so. She sniffed at another one of the light cuts and her nose was scrunching up. “Dia heal.”

“Yeah, later. I don’t think we should stay here any longer.”

With a sigh, he picked up the drenched shirt, scrubbing out some of the blood, and squeezing it dry as best he could before draping it over his shoulder. Monica took his hand, and they made their way out of the garden.

Deneva was waiting for them, escorted by four of the other high-ranking knights, but the captain was not wearing her armor. The green-haired maiden stood statuesque and poised, her gaze sharp as she took one long look at Rick in what felt like an attempt to assess his physical condition. But her brows rose ever so slightly as her focus moved from his exposed chest to the shirt.

The knights behind her weren’t as stoic. A few of them blushed severely as they looked from the shirtless Rick to Monica and back. The feline had picked up on it and started to inflate, looking smugly.

“Monica.”

His voice chided her, and she flinched, tail falling limp.

She grumbled, sighed, mumbled, and her shoulders slumped. Stepping towards Deneva, she lowered her head just a little, a mimicry of a bow. “Monica sorry.”

Deneva’s eyes widened further in the first full show of actual emotion Rick had seen from her throughout the weeks he’d been staying here. And rather than wait for Monica to add anything else to her statement, he stepped forward.

He bowed properly, following protocol a bit more strictly. “I will be taking Monica to my room. This was a breach of trust and I would want to apologize to the Earl in person once I’ve had a chance to regain my strength.”

“…”

Deneva was still looking at Monica and then at Rick. She didn’t react until one of her subordinates coughed loudly. With a quick nod, she bowed in acknowledgment. “I will convey your words to the Earl. You will have his response tomorrow.”

“Thank you, captain Deneva.” He smiled wanly. “And I am sorry Monica attacked you, tonight's events should not have happened.”

“I fought her as I should have.” She declared almost reactively.

The royal knight turned to leave, her subordinates followed in quick order.

Rick wondered why they’d all been sent there in the first place rather than just a messenger, shrugged, and just chose to drag himself to bed before he fully collapsed. Whatever was going on could wait until he didn’t feel like he’d run a marathon.

[195] [???]

The Vampire clans and the Tigress tribes had made for uneasy neighbors over the past hundred years. Their presence during the war had been well known to be firmly in support of the rebellion, and the victorious kingdom had paid them in kind, taking whatever warriors they could get their hands on before they could. The intent had been to turn the fangs of the two groups as tools in their subjugation, but too many of the captured maidens chose death over dishonor.

And though the kingdom might have been able to try to subjugate the territories occupied by these two groups, it quickly became evident it was an impossible endeavor. The very war that had guaranteed their victory had poisoned the land with elemental energy so thick it was debilitating to the weaker maidens, and poisonous to humans altogether. It was the perfect place for their respective groups to retreat to and remain outside the reach of the former king’s wrath.

The two very different groups of maidens were forced to share space very close to one another. The Vampires retreated further west and nearer to the shores, constructing high impregnable fortresses in the cliffs, using the ancient world trees the Elves had made during their first war with humanity. Meanwhile, the Tigresses kept a more nomadic lifestyle, moving across the dead-lands and the crooked forests, places where the elemental energies had corrupted everything and where even the average ferals were fierce enough to be compared to the Draconid flocks of Kilmere, or the Orc hordes of Stagfair.

And their alliances had only ever been of convenience and trade.

The tigress tribes would take humans and sell those they weren’t interested in to the Vampires. But it would not be strange for either group to take resources from each other when given the opportunity. A recent commodity they’d been very quick to rob from one another being the new domination bond collars that had begun flooding the kingdom’s underground markets.

Things had appeared to be turning for the better until the collars started to fail.

Soon they were trading all their resources in exchange for the collars, both sides unwilling to return to the submission variants, quite aware these collars gave them too much range of movement they’d been sorely lacking. If only they could stabilize the collars, they could turn their focus towards massing power and properly removing the kingdom’s influence from their lands. Rather than continue hiding within the more toxic regions.

The opportunity presented itself when the queen of Vampires proclaimed she’d planted a spy within the human controlled territories and now they would have the chance to collect on what they needed. Mainly someone with intimate knowledge of the internal workings of the collars that they could use to fix whatever was wrong with the domination collar and made it fail so quickly.

The operation itself had gone smoothly. Everything afterwards had not.

The royal knights had been deployed in force. Hundreds of the most powerful maidens in the kingdom swarm the forest and roads. Ferals were eradicated by the hundreds, and no doubt their presence would trigger south-bound feral rushes, but the king had made clear that capturing them was more important.

And now, heading east to take the long way around. By kidnapping a couple of humans here and there, forcefully bonding them, and then dropping their corpses somewhere visible, they intended to trick the knights into believing their destination was to escape the kingdom and reach Coven. But their goal would be to take a southbound direction before reaching Balet.

In their mad dash across the kingdom, the hope was to give the slip before the royal knights caught up with them. They were confident in their fighting abilities, but not against a handful of fully geared royal knights, let alone dozens of them. The idea had been to only throw clues, clues that would be tied together over time. Clues meant to hint at their presence without outright revealing it.

Apparently, the plan had changed.

“We need to make a scene in Balet.”

As the ritual circle of blood died down, Shal glared at it with narrowed eyes. Her ruby red eyes held no small amount of disdain at the prospect.

Opposite to her in the clearing, Throag used her claws to clean dirt from under her other claws. Her feet rested on the back of a man, their latest tool to keep them from going feral, and likely soon to be discarded.

“Problem?” The Sabertooth asked, not amused, but not quite unamused either.

“Orders from the Queen.”

“Good luck, then.” Tossing the fleck of dirt away, her claws stroked her stripped orange fur. “I’ll wait for your return for… two days.” With a smirk, her ears canted in amusement, as she could hear the glower under Shal’s breath.

“It’ll open a chance to head to Aubria. We need this.”

“You need this. I can take this sad lump of meat and trek straight to the dead-lands.”

“The king sent the sky blues.” Shal spoke with poison in her lips. “If we try to move across the wilderness, we’ll be spotted.”

Throag growled. She hated the sky blues. The two maidens that flew from so far up not even she could discern their presence. And despite the altitude, the maidens’ sight was so powerful they could spot figures moving through a forest or down a road. The only way to get rid of the things was to pretend to be just some other weakling sticking to the roads as if afraid some ferals might eat them.

Throag’s paw touched the leather pouch at her hip. The fact that both had been sent their way meant their catch had indeed been worth the risk. Her brow furrowed.

“What is this ‘scene’ that needs to be made?”

“There is a man in Balet.” Shal spoke, ignoring the scoff from the muscular brute.

“Politics.”

“Don’t be so quick to dismiss this.” Shal frowned. “He is bonded to a Sabertooth.”

Throag’s hackles rose. “A traitor.”

“No, a feralborn.”

“Bullshit.”

“This one was a Tigress until recently.” Shal said, her lips curling slightly upwards. “A white Tigress. Feralborn.”

That put a stop to the glare. She snorted. “Some mutated stray that picked up a human.”

“Ah, it is often hard to remember you weren’t even born during the rebellion.”

“Yes, my cunt doesn’t have cobwebs. What’s your point?”

With a glare, Shal crossed her arms. “If you’re ignorant of your own tribe’s history, I’m not going to give you a free lesson.” She said, smugly grinning at the maiden glaring back at her. “What we have to do is have some fun with the human, rattle him around, maybe take an arm as a souvenir. No killing.”

“Politics.” Throag rolled her eyes. “And if this white cat thinks-?”

Both her ears perked. The maiden bolted to her feet and spun around, staring into the darkness of the forest. Her ears canted backwards, fangs clear as she snarled at the dark, every muscle in her body suddenly tensed.

“How far away are we from that Balet place?”

“A couple days.” The Vampire tilted her head in curiosity. “Did you sense anything?”

“Yes.” The voice dropped into a snarl, her grin turning cruel. “Someone that might be fun.”

[196] [Little Mouse]

The room was quiet, eerily quiet, which was a bad sign. Little Mouse knew only of a handful of times when the Mistress had been so quiet. Fury and anger were loud, very loud, they were roaring and crackling flames. Not this quiet, not this silence. It was unnerving to her, unnatural. She would have avoided the door entirely if she didn’t risk disobedience by doing so.

Little Mouse approached the room carefully, opening slowly. There was a lone occupant within. The Mistress sat next to the house’s window, her perfect glorious naked body floated under the moonlight, her wings spread wide behind her and still, the room sweltering with her power. It seeped through Little Mouse’s skin, a sweet poison. The maiden moaned and fell to her knees, flushed and becoming hotter by the second.

“So I had not been imagining it, it did not affect him at all.” The Mistress declared, frowning, her body quietly gliding over Little Mouse as the maiden wriggled and groaned, desperately fighting against the feeling seeping into her. “Or perhaps not quickly enough.”

With a snap of her fingers, the feeling was gone.

Little Mouse laid on the floor, panting. “Th-thank you, Mistress.” She whimpered, breathless, hands clenching the hem of her dress. “This servant begs for forgiveness.”

“You did as you were told flawlessly, Little Mouse, as always. This is a reward.”

The Mistress purred, lowering her heel so it may touch Little Mouse’s stomach. The small maiden squeaked and muttered thanks with breathless gasps. The effects of her Mistress’ powers might have dissipated, but her body was still aflame with blissful sensation.

“What… what should I do, Mistress?” Little Mouse panted, wriggling under the weightless heel of the Succubus.

“Continue observing them, of course. That brute did something drastic, and the situation might change depending on how the Earl responds.” She spoke with an amused hum. “Meeting Rick in person didn’t bear the fruits I’d hoped. But it was worth the risk.”

The Mistress was not angry? Little Mouse felt elation within her heart. She smiled brightly and nodded in affirmation, wriggling further until the Mistress lifted her foot. The Succubus landed back on the floor, languidly returning towards the window, her steps light. Her gaze was distraught, a perfectly manicured finger caressing her lips seductively.

“But something is missing.”

Little Mouse had managed to recover herself enough to stand back up, keeping herself bowed as she flattened her dress.

“Tell me, Little Mouse, are you sure he barely had an aura?”

She quickly checked her memories as best she could. “At first I’d thought he had none at all. But that was because White Claw’s aura was overwhelming.”

“I felt it too, quite the… beast. Continue.”

“I spied on him while he was outside of that overbearing aura’s range, and his aura was almost invisible to my senses.”

“And last night?”

That gave Little Mouse pause, and she quickly grimaced. “I am sorry, Mistress, I’d been too focused on the wrong things. This servant begs for forgiveness.”

The Mistress scoffed, and a simple gesture of her hand indicated the dismissal of the matter. “If you did not pay attention to it, then you must not have been able to sense it.”

Little Mouse hesitated. “… ‘it’, Mistress?”

“Something most… tasty.” She spoke with an amused grin, reaching out for the window and opening it with a push. “I am feeling peckish, make sure to inform little Nico I might be late.”

“Yes Mistress.” A bow. “And if Nicolas has to depart to work in the castle?”

“Don’t rouse suspicion, stick to your roles.”

With a flick of her wings, the Mistress flew out of the window and into the darkness. Little Mouse waited for her to depart before closing the window, but making sure not to lock it. THAT had definitely made Mistress mad when it had happened and it was something she would not want to repeat.

Carefully, she inspected the room for errant trash or stains. A couple deep sniffs and she confirmed that Mistress had certainly been in a good mood. With nothing to clean or tidy up, she hurried downstairs. After the work in the castle and before Nicolas came, she had to check up on the owners to make sure they were healthy.

The human male and the Ingenue were currently laying naked in each other’s arms. They were both asleep, exhausted. The smell of sex permeated all around the room, Little Mouse started working. First check that the restraints are well placed, then check on the Mistress’ bracelet to confirm it’s been charged up. Once those were secure, she knocked both of them off of the bed, changed the sheets, and pulled them back on top. A check of their pulse, and a little healing spell for the bruises on the man’s hips. She hurried out with the dirty sheets and returned with water and food for when they woke up.

The two would undoubtedly consume the food before getting back to focusing on each other’s pleasure and nothing else. The Mistress’ curse was still strong, it would last perhaps another week before it had to be renewed. Little Mouse sighed, remiss of the days when it was her who was cursed, wriggling and gasping and moaning.

Maybe Mistress would find what she’d been looking for, and she’d reward Little Mouse in celebration. She sighed wistfully at the prospect, shivering at the echoes of pleasure.

The knock at the door drew her to the front of the house. She quickly rinsed herself with the scent remover and closed the guest room. Her fingers brushed against the doorknob as she cast a spell of silence, one of the few the Mistress had deigned she’d need to learn for her work.

At the door was Nicolas, the young man pale and drenched.

“Sir Nicolas!” With a squeak, Little Mouse helped him inside, hastily pulling him to the fire. “Dry up, I will bring something warm and towels.”

“Th-The mistress.” He stammered.

“Is not here.” Little Mouse proclaimed from the kitchen, grabbing everything she could carry and taking it to the man she was bonded to but did not serve. “What happened?”

“Just a mishap, a kit learning her abilities. It-It’s not important.” His declaration came with shivers, stripping naked in front of the fireplace and drying up as best he could. “I have news! Important news!”

Little Mouse hesitated, frowning ever so slightly. Nicolas might have been a human, but his presence in the Earl’s castle had remained away from many of the important places where maidens with hearing like her own could pick up on secrets. She glanced at him while nodding.

“Must the Mistress be called? Is it an emergency?”

Nicolas grimaced at the question. “It’s… important, but not urgent, maybe, I’m not sure if it’s urgent or not. But the Mistress will most definitely want to know about it. And promptly.”

He smelled excited, happy, doubtful, afraid, and his heart was beating so fast he might as well be running. “Tell me.”

“He scared Deneva.”

Three words, and they gave Little Mouse pause. “He scares me too, most of the time. He smells of Sabertooth all over; she never lets him go out without her scent all over him. Ever. Her fur gets on everything too.”

“No, you don’t understand. The knights won’t stop whispering about it.” He grasped her shoulders, looking into her eyes intently. “Right in the middle of a deadly fight with White Claw, and with just one look, a human made Royal Knight Captain Deneva hesitate.”

Little Mouse’s eyes widened.

“Then the mistress…”

“She might have found the one she’d been looking for.”

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