Page 52 of The Princesses of Ruin
What day is it?
We camp once more before we reach a whistling fjord. Ice shelves block the brunt of the wind, and the foliage here is sparse but present—unlike the rest of the wasteland. It’s a prime location for a creature of darkness to lie in wait for others.
Alastair sheds his clothes and transforms into the monstrous demon that covets and protects me. I’m involuntarily aroused at the sight of his scaled skin and sharp horns. This isn’t the time for arousal, especially when Alastair needs all his senses.
Steam rises off his shoulders and disappears into the night. He lifts his head to the wind, taking several shallow breaths before one deep inhale. His nostrils flare and he trains his demonic eyes on me.
“Soon, my queen.”
I squat down in the snow, holding his clothes close to smother my scent. He returns to sniffing the air, searching for our prey. He takes several steps in one direction, then another. After walking back and forth several times, he returns, scooping me and his clothes up into his massive arms. My skin pebbles from the possessive contact.
“There’s one here.”
My mind whirls with emotion. We’re nearly done. This is almost over. Home, warmth, and normalcy are so close at hand. Even if that normalcy is battling a dark goddess, it’s better than this frigid isolation. This emotionless, hollow journey.
He takes me along the edge of the fjord, and I use my magic to burrow into the cliffside until the darkness is complete. Here, we make a fire and design our traps.
Tonight, the monster will come.
Tonight, the duskwalker’s head will be ours.
Chapter nineteen
Alastair
“And then the sailor pulled up his pants and said, ‘Madam, I was asking for chum, but thank you very much for the blowjob!’”
The joke is crude, as usual. I want to groan and bite her thighs, bury myself in her body to ward off the looming anxiety, but I laugh overly loud instead. We’re trying to attract a monster, and distracted prey is quite the lure.
Perhaps I should make her come. The wails of her pleasure are their own lure.
But I would not ever want to share those sounds with a creature of evil like the duskwalker, nor would I want to use my wife like…chum in the water.
“Tell me another,” I say, turning the speared rabbits over the fire.
Lily’s smile is not as bright as it used to be. There’s sorrow in her marrow, poisoning her entire body. I want this to be over already. I want my wife back.
“I hear duskwalkers rut in the fall,” she says.
I look at her curiously. Would the beast understand if she calls it by name?
“If he shows up with a half chub and a limp, I’m not volunteering—but I’ll watch.”
I bark a laugh, real and genuine.
“Another?”
“Please.”
She clears her throat. “Why did the dryad break up with the duskwalker?”
I want to groan in advance. “Why?”
“She said he was too emotionallydeer-tached.” She leers and I cover my face in embarrassment.
At least it wasn’t too salacious.
“But you want to know the real reason?”
