slid under the troll’s guard to deliver a jaw-shattering
blow.
Bone crunched and some spectators around the practice circle
winced. A few, knowing they might be up next, took the chance to melt into the
undergrowth, obviously deciding that the better part of valor was running the
fuck away.
The troll dropped to his knees, swaying like a reed in the
wind, then sprawled face-down in the dirt, unconscious. The crowd erupted into
roars. That was the thing about elves. Bloodthirsty bastards would cheer for
anything, as long as there was enough blood.
Ignoring the unconscious man, Bane stepped from the ring. He
didn’t care that the elves in front of him scattered as he made his way through
the camp. He didn’t care that he terrified even the hardiest of them, or even that
the camp followers avoided him as if he had the plague. He credited them with
intelligence on that score. The woman who touched him was either brave or
suicidal.
A shudder racked him at the thought. He wanted only one
woman touching him, and as soon as this stupid truce broke, he was going to
storm the fay lines and get her back. Then make her pay for leaving him.
“Lord Bane. My Lord!”
A pixie, tattooed and pierced, slid to a stop a couple of
feet away from him. Sensibly out of reach. One thing was to be said for pixies,
they weren’t slow on the uptake. He’d only had to throttle four before they got
the message not to get too close to him.
“What?”
His glare said that whatever the pixie had to say had better
be important or there would be pain in his future. And Bane could get really inventive when it came to dishing out pain.
“The Claimed are here, my lord. His Majesty insists you
attend.”
Bane glowered until the pixie quailed under his gaze. The
creature’s body started to shift sideways, as though trying to edge out of Bane’s
sight without actually moving. If the it thought he could disappear up his own
ass, Bane was sure it would try to do just that.
“His Majesty can go fuck himself— don’t say it!” he
snapped as the pixie’s lip twitched. He just knew the little fucker was going
to come back with Briac’s own quip about impossibilities. If it did, then the
little shit was getting skewered here and now.
“I’ll be there,” he grumbled, even though he had no interest
in seeing scantily clad faeries being stripped and summarily fucked. In a move
worthy of his “silver-tongued” epithet, Briac had pulled a fast one on the fay,
writing into the treaty that Talitha would hand over twenty young women. Bane
pitied them. Yeah, the faery queen had insisted on the women being treated
right, but right for a faery was hugely different to right for an elf.
The pixie zipped off, all energy and enthusiasm and way too
fucking cheerful for Bane’s liking. He didn’t know why it was so happy, it wasn’t
as if the creature had a chance at any of the women. Twenty women weren’t going
to go far if they weren’t allowed to share, but the Claimed were never shared.
So it meant most of the crowd gathered were only going to get a look and had no
chance of any real action tonight unless they could persuade one of the camp
followers into a little bed sport. Unprincipled barbarians they might be, but
they did have some morals. Just not many. Sighing, he gave in and
followed. If he didn’t show, then Briac would just send more pixies to irritate
him.
“They’re here… Fuck, look at the tits on that one.”
The chattering crowd parted to let him pass, for once
ignoring him in favor of the show about to be put on.
“I want a blonde,” one on his left groaned.
“Yeah? Grunt like you? Like you’ve got a chance. Best you
stick to Pam and her five little friends.” His friend retorted, both of them
sliding out of the way as Bane stomped past.
“Ahh, Bane. Glad you could make it. I have a little surprise
for you.”
Briac looked up from his blackened throne as Bane made his
way over, clearing a space next to the throne with
blow.
Bone crunched and some spectators around the practice circle
winced. A few, knowing they might be up next, took the chance to melt into the
undergrowth, obviously deciding that the better part of valor was running the
fuck away.
The troll dropped to his knees, swaying like a reed in the
wind, then sprawled face-down in the dirt, unconscious. The crowd erupted into
roars. That was the thing about elves. Bloodthirsty bastards would cheer for
anything, as long as there was enough blood.
Ignoring the unconscious man, Bane stepped from the ring. He
didn’t care that the elves in front of him scattered as he made his way through
the camp. He didn’t care that he terrified even the hardiest of them, or even that
the camp followers avoided him as if he had the plague. He credited them with
intelligence on that score. The woman who touched him was either brave or
suicidal.
A shudder racked him at the thought. He wanted only one
woman touching him, and as soon as this stupid truce broke, he was going to
storm the fay lines and get her back. Then make her pay for leaving him.
“Lord Bane. My Lord!”
A pixie, tattooed and pierced, slid to a stop a couple of
feet away from him. Sensibly out of reach. One thing was to be said for pixies,
they weren’t slow on the uptake. He’d only had to throttle four before they got
the message not to get too close to him.
“What?”
His glare said that whatever the pixie had to say had better
be important or there would be pain in his future. And Bane could get really inventive when it came to dishing out pain.
“The Claimed are here, my lord. His Majesty insists you
attend.”
Bane glowered until the pixie quailed under his gaze. The
creature’s body started to shift sideways, as though trying to edge out of Bane’s
sight without actually moving. If the it thought he could disappear up his own
ass, Bane was sure it would try to do just that.
“His Majesty can go fuck himself— don’t say it!” he
snapped as the pixie’s lip twitched. He just knew the little fucker was going
to come back with Briac’s own quip about impossibilities. If it did, then the
little shit was getting skewered here and now.
“I’ll be there,” he grumbled, even though he had no interest
in seeing scantily clad faeries being stripped and summarily fucked. In a move
worthy of his “silver-tongued” epithet, Briac had pulled a fast one on the fay,
writing into the treaty that Talitha would hand over twenty young women. Bane
pitied them. Yeah, the faery queen had insisted on the women being treated
right, but right for a faery was hugely different to right for an elf.
The pixie zipped off, all energy and enthusiasm and way too
fucking cheerful for Bane’s liking. He didn’t know why it was so happy, it wasn’t
as if the creature had a chance at any of the women. Twenty women weren’t going
to go far if they weren’t allowed to share, but the Claimed were never shared.
So it meant most of the crowd gathered were only going to get a look and had no
chance of any real action tonight unless they could persuade one of the camp
followers into a little bed sport. Unprincipled barbarians they might be, but
they did have some morals. Just not many. Sighing, he gave in and
followed. If he didn’t show, then Briac would just send more pixies to irritate
him.
“They’re here… Fuck, look at the tits on that one.”
The chattering crowd parted to let him pass, for once
ignoring him in favor of the show about to be put on.
“I want a blonde,” one on his left groaned.
“Yeah? Grunt like you? Like you’ve got a chance. Best you
stick to Pam and her five little friends.” His friend retorted, both of them
sliding out of the way as Bane stomped past.
“Ahh, Bane. Glad you could make it. I have a little surprise
for you.”
Briac looked up from his blackened throne as Bane made his
way over, clearing a space next to the throne with
Similar Books
