Boots of Booty | ONC 2023

Part 7

18. Flight at Dawn

Inexorably, the steady flame of pain burned through the resistant layers of lethargy, one by one. With a soft moan of protest, Séa forced sticky eyelids open. The light of early morning streamed through the narrow windows and stained glass panes. The glow fell upon a soft belly and trim little navel that rose and fell with regular breathing. The paladin's face rested sideways, comfortable in the hollow just interior to the wide wing of a woman's pelvis. Silky little hairs tickled her chin. A tang redolent of sex hung in the air, smokier and more overt than Tash's nectars.

Séa rose to an elbow and confirmed that Sarophax's lower abdomen had formed her living pillow. Pain throbbed in her breasts and back. A glance down confirmed her impression of physical damage. Little bruises and dots of blood from sharp-toothed bites mottled her breasts. The frantic, lust-crazed hours remained sharp in her memory, even if the question of why remained inexplicably unthinkable. The paladin remembered claws dragging across her back as Ophelle thrashed under her, emitting feral snarls of ecstasy. Sex with the succubus was physical, urgent, exhausting, and often painful.

Tash's warm head lay cupped between Séa's muscled thighs. Spittle had drooled from her parted lips onto the paladin's skin. A gush of adoration surged through the knight.

Sarophax completed the lascivious triangle, her head cushioned on Tash's sleek rump. The shape-changer's half-open eyes returned Séa's gaze. She lay still, but awake. A placid mixture of wonder, puzzlement, and curiosity distorted the crystalline perfection of her features. The succubus searched into the paladin as if struggling to extract philosophical solutions by force of will. Even after the eye contact, no cynicism or cruelty replaced the yearning that widened her pupils and parted her lips.

Placid expression notwithstanding, the paladin recalled what Sarophax was. An instinctive impulse to attack raced up Séa's spine. But as quickly as it came, it dissipated, and Séa's mace arm barely twitched. Sarophax was a friend. The demons meant no harm.

The paladin spotted bloody claw tracks on Tash's back, too. A new surge of outrage convulsed her chest, but that impulse, too, died under the geas laid upon her.

Dryness tightened her throat and lips. Rolling her thigh out from under Tash, the paladin eased out of bed. She stumbled to the little table where the teapot sat, despite stiff, sore legs. She was welcome, she remembered. Welcome here. She splashed cold, too-strong tea into a cup and gulped it down. The bitter tang shrank her tongue, but the tea possessed one admirable property that Séa craved. It was wet.

Keenly conscious of the silent regard of Sarophax, Séa poured a third cup, then carried it to the bed. The paladin slipped beside Tash and cradled her head.

The rogue's brown-violet eyes flickered open. "Oh, hey. Is that—"

"Cold tea," Séa murmured.

"Beggars can't be choosers." Like Séa, Tash downed the tepid brew in one pull.

The door latch jiggled. Sarophax moved instantly, as if wide awake and also somehow not sore from the excesses of the night. Fluidly, she slid from bed and yanked open the wardrobe where various robes and dresses hung.

Séa and Tash shrugged at one another. They had been commanded not to worry. Therefore, worry was impossible.

The lock and surrounding wood exploded inward, and the forked head of a war hammer poked through. A booted foot kicked the door open, and a wild-eyed man stood framed in the door. Armor covered the warrior, but his open helm left much of his face visible. King Pharing's teeth clenched together and his lips pulled back tight.

The abrupt violence startled them. Before conscious thought could kick in, Séa and Tash bounced off the bed and landed in fighting crouches. Sarophax clutched a deep blue robe to her breasts and whirled to face the door.