Page 6 of By the Horns
He shrugs.
Interesting. “So then you won’t mind if I do this…?”
I bite his knot. Just a tiny bite, more of a love nip with a scrape of teeth and a suggestion that I can be fiercer.
His response is stunning. A low, feral sound drags from his throat. His back bows off the bed and a geyser of seed pours forth from his cock, splattering all over his body and our surroundings.
This is the release he needed.
I wipe his spend from my face and hair. Then I glance up at the ceiling, but to my relief, there’s only one small spot. Well, perhaps no one will notice that. I grab a towel and tidy myself as he catches his breath in huge, gulping bellows, then towel him down.
When I’m done, he shudders and reaches for my hand. “You were muckingincredible, Sarya.”
“Just doing my job,” I tell him cheerfully. Or, erm, not.
“Leave your contact information with the healer. I’ll want you again.”
Eesh. “Sure thing.” I wriggle out of his grasp.
“My name’s Raptor.”
“Don’t care,” I joke, but when he chuckles, I realize he has no idea I’m telling the truth. There isn’t going to be a next time, but that’s fine. I feel excellent. The buzzing under my skin has dulled, and I feel like myself again. A nice, relaxed version of myself. I grab my clothing and begin to dress quickly.
If dead bodies start to bother me again, well, I now know the solution.
Three
Gwenna
The uncomfortable skin-crawlingsensation returns just as I finish the last of the windows. I all but race out of the building once Umala releases me for the day. Instead of crossing to the nestmaid quarters where I’ve lived for the last several months, I head deeper into the heart of the city. The center of Vastwarren belongs to the Royal Artifactual Guild, a three-hundred-year-old guild that specializes in the retrieval of magical artifacts from the ruins of Old Prell far beneath the city. The guild is rich beyond imagining and controls the very heart of the city, but there are some buildings that even they don’t visit much. The guild’s archives are practically deserted at this hour, with the young archivist at the front desk brightening as I rush in.
Flycatcher yawns, his face propped up by his fists. “Did you bring me cake today?”
“Not today,” I say apologetically, shutting the door to the library behind me. Immediately the place feels oppressive despite the magical lighting that illuminates the interior. It’s the hundreds of tall shelves crammed full of heavy books that go almost up to the ceiling that make the library feel claustrophobic. This is one of the older buildings in Vastwarren, so the ceiling beams sag and the floors groan with every step, which doesn’t make me feel at ease. “Is Aspeth around?”
“Do you mean Sparrow?” he asks me with a chiding look.
“Right, right. Sparrow.” I grimace. To me, she’ll always be Aspeth, but I know I’m supposed to call her by her guild name now that she’s one of the archivists. “IsSparrowaround?”
“Yes. She’s downstairs.” He straightens, drumming his fingers on the desk. “Bring me some cake next time. I’ll pay you for it.”
The little cakes I’ve been making in my downtime are the only reason I’ve had enough money to send letters home. “When I come back, I promise. I haven’t had a chance to bake today.”
“Next time, then.” He gives me a sulky look and goes back to petting the cat sprawled across the desk. “I’ll log you in as a visitor.”
“Great. Thanks.” I move forward, my skirts swishing against the narrow shelves.
“Need help—”
“I know the way! Thank you!” I head farther in before he can ask me to bake anything else. Bad enough that I spend all my time cleaning. If I get a reputation as a baker, I’m going to find myself back in a kitchen for the rest of my days. Never again. I want bigger things for myself.
Thinking of kitchens makes me walk a little faster through the narrow, packed shelves. A cat darts out from behind another shelf, nearly tripping me, and I manage to catch myself before I fall flat on my face. Then I find the circular iron stair that leads down to the lower floors of the archives and head there.
Aspeth’s workstation is easy to find amidst the clutter of books, shelving carts, and boxes of artifacts. Hers is the desk covered with all the cats. The archives keep cats around as mousers, but Aspeth is a softhearted sort and started feeding them bits of her lunches, she told me. Now they all hang about her desk, waiting for handouts or petting. Today she’s seated at her desk, which is piled high with books and has a lamp on the corner. Two cats are curled around each other to her right, and another peeks down from a stack of books on her left. A gray beast with a huge fluffy tail saunters past me as I stand and wait for Aspeth to notice I’m here.
She doesn’t, of course. Aspeth is lost in her research. Her face is bent over something, a magnifying glass held in one hand. I clear my throat and she startles, thunking her head with the glass. One of the cats scrambles away with a yowl, sending papers flying in his wake. I get a chanceto see what she’s studying so intently. It’s a long, pointy pin the size of a finger, made of gold and with a jewel at the end. There is a strange glyph on the prominent head of the pin.
“New find?” I ask.
