Page 20 of Beneath Hoof and Hollow
Now to collect the heads, and then give my nightingale something to sing about.
Emeline
“Horseman?” I creep through the forest, excitement bubbling through me. He held true to his word. All six of the Lamb’sGolden Light members who were hunting for victims this evening have been disposed of. I barely glanced as I passed through the worst of the carnage, but managed to count six headless corpses.
Where are their heads?
I thought I’d be appalled. The guilt that should consume me whole for orchestrating such an event is blissfully absent. The small voice of my past self whispers in the back of my mind. ‘None can pass judgment but God.’ Perhaps that’s true. But all I’ve done is allowed The Horseman to expedite the process in delivering them to him for the judgments. I’ll get my own judgments in due time.
“Horseman? Where hast thou gone?” I arrive back at the summoning circle but find it empty.
My hands fly over my mouth, silencing a shriek when I round a large tree and come face to face with six heads. Pale, bloody faces twisted in terror, with hinged mouths and vacant eyes stare back at me from the wooden posts they’ve been mounted on. The Horseman’s victims. I stumble back, tearing my eyes away.
My heel catches on something damp. At my feet lies a pile of bloody clothing. I passed six bodies in the woods and all of them were still clothed. If thisnow-crimson attire doesn’t belong to a victim…it’s Fierdon’s.Is he walking around with no clothes?
“Are you pleased, nightingale?” At the voice behind me, I spin so fast the forest swims across my vision.
There’s nothing there.
“Over here.”
I whip around.
Still, I can see nothing.
“Where are you?” I turn, slowly spinning. “Fierdon?”
The next time his voice sounds, it’s from directly above my left ear. “Here.”
The invisible weight of Fierdon’s large hands presses against my hips. He pushes, guiding me backward until I’m pinned against a tree.
“The sound of my name on such plush, wicked lips is as sinful as it is maddening. Say it again for me.”
I can’t see him, but I canfeelhim. Feel the firmness of his fingers and the heat radiating off his body. Without any clothing on, he’s completely invisible. A press of something hard against my belly sends his name spilling out of me. “Fierdon.”
I blindly reach for him, feeling for anything to steady myself. My hands land on what I imagine are biceps. The muscles bulge beneath my fingers. Curiosity bests me and my hands go exploring, gliding over more of his translucent form. Strong shoulders, firm, toned pecs, the rippling of carved abs.
“Keep going,” Fierdon rasps against my cheek.
My movements slow as I reach tapered hips. Brushing my fingertips inward, I move closer to the warmest spot on his body. His abs flex and shudder as I reach the firm place jutting up from between his hips.
I’ve never explored Leed like this. We often don’t even remove our clothes fully. I stare down as my finger traces the length of his shaft. He groans.
Now I’m shuddering. I reach a raised area. Is that a vein? It pulses against my touch and I snatch my fingers back.
Fierdon growls, gripping my hand and putting it back on his erection. This time, he encircles my fingers around him. I still can’t see the cock itself, but the circle my fingers make as they’re wrapped around his girth has my eyes popping wide.
“All this from the excitement of murdering and maiming?” I ask, thinking of Leed. How he got off on the suffering of those falsely accused girls.
Fierdon chuckles, and the soundseems to take physical form, molding into a wicked, tangible thing that drags between my thighs.
“No, pet. All this”—he tightens his hand over mine, sliding it up and down his shaft—“is because I knewyouwere watching.”
Being unable to see him means I’m caught off guard once more when his other hand slides between my legs. I’d like to think in this crazed situation I would be strong enough not to give in to the erotic touch of a demon so easily. As my head falls back against the tree, eyes shutting and legs widening, I realize Fierdon must have cast some spell of his own.
“Feel how wet you are?” His fingers slide along the outer seam. I do feel it. I’m self-conscious of the way the liquid pools there, dripping over fingers I can’t see.
“Sorry.”
