Rapture by L.V. Lane
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Jacob
BARELY HAVE I covered Winter and shoved myself into my pants when the camp rouses. Orcs and humans exit tents and splash across the soggy ground.
Finally, someone remembers that we are here. Bald bastard brings us a waterskin—the first drink we have had all day.
“We are staying here for the next few days,” he says. “There will be training as soon as we finish setting up the camp.”
I accept the waterskin with a nod and pass it to Winter. “Drink, mistress,” I say.
She gulps a little down, although she keeps her face averted. I bite back a smirk, thinking about her begging me for my cock. I want to believe that things have changed between us, but the truth is I don’t know if they have. This doesn’t feel like resolution, merely a blip on our shadowy path.
Her cheeks have a rosy blush, and she won’t make eye contact with me.
I sigh as she hands me back the waterskin, chugging a bellyful down as I force my mind toward other things. The bald bastard’s words stand as a grim reminder that we are closing in on our destination. It is getting warmer, and we are heading steadily east to where the Hinterlands meets the territory belonging to the shifter packs.
The day when the orc master will demand I fight for him is almost upon us. The day when the farming folk of an unfortunate village will be sent to their slaughter is also almost upon us. I have trained them well with the little wooden swords until their bodies are battered and bruised and the muscles sore from the new exercise regime. They have some basic fighting skills now. It is not enough, but we have run out of time.
Not all men are fighters, just as not all men have the disposition or natural skills to farm.
We have talked most days as we go about the business of running drills. Snatched words here and there that they pass between each other later when they return to their loved ones. It is a sad and sorry business that we must undertake as we find ourselves between impossible choices. It seems likely that every man will fall when we attack the shifter communities. The orcs intend to use the human slaves as a distraction from their main assault.
If the men do not fight, their women and children will be killed.
And if they do fight, they will be slaughtered by the shifters, leaving their women and children unprotected and forever a slave.
There are no easy options. But they have made a choice, and their choice is freedom for as many as they can save.
Some will die, returning to the Goddess, where they will surely be cherished for their bravery.
But if all goes to plan, many will also survive.
It is one thing to talk of plans, to prepare and say you will do something, but it is far harder to do it in the heat of the moment when you must act against your nature. Some will falter, but I believe most will follow through.
Now we must only decide when we will act—a task made more difficult because the orcs are sure to be watching us during this, the most critical stage.
“You have a look about you,” Winter says, stirring me from my rumination, “of a man at a crossroads.”
I purr. Comforting Winter has become instinctive to me, and my chest swells at seeing her body soften in response. This past day where I rejected her was the hardest of my life.
“Don’t temper this, Jacob,” she says. “This is coming to a head. I can feel it. Everyone in the camp can feel it.”
“The crossroads has been passed,” I say. “There is only one road before us now.”
Her chest rises as she sucks a sharp breath in.
Goddess, she is so beautiful to me in this moment, hair a bedraggled mess from the rain and my fists, cheeks a little pink from the rutting, and eyes bright in the way of all fairies.
Tiny, delicate, and impossibly sad in her damp slave dress and bruise across her jaw, and yet otherworldly in her splendor.
All fairies are beautiful, yet Winter is breathtaking, even here in his cage wagon, throat blistered where the iron collar has touched her flesh.
I am halfway in love with the little broken thing, and this realization rocks me.
It is natural for an Alpha to care for an Omega. I have at times believed myself in love with the sweet Breeders or Feeders that I have shared intimacy with.
This is different,my inner voice taunts. It feels different, therefore it is different.
My thumb brushes over the bruise on her chin. She flinches but does not pull away. If anything, she leans into the touch, and her delicate fairy ears turn rigid.
Imprinting, they call it, the early stages of bonding, when an Alpha and Omega begin to align and crave each other’s touch.
My thumb skims up, brushing over her delicate ear, tracing all the way to the tip of the point. She shudders, lashes lowering, slim thighs squeezing together. My eyes lower to the apex of her thighs hidden from my view, hot, wet, tight flesh forced to yield as I filled her with my cock. I wonder if she is sore, open, gaping after the fierce rutting.
She was so fucking responsive. The sensation of a hot cunt clenching around me, milking me of every drop of cum, was pure heaven.
I wonder why it took us so long to arrive at this point.
I wonder if we’ll have another night together before our world implodes.
As the overseer returns for me and Winter heads the other way, I don’t believe that we will.
We have gone over the drills many times, but today, has an added sense of urgency.
“When a shifter attacks man or orc, you attack as a pack. Weapon arm, other arm, throat or groin. An enemy that is gushing blood is as good as dead. Do not hesitate because hesitation will kill you. Repeat. Weapon arm, other arm, throat or groin.”
I have said those words over and over, getting them to repeat them back in their heads as we practice the sword drills.
I should be telling them how to fight the shifters. The drills are repetitive, such that none of our bored watchers pay us any heed.
“When a man attacks another trained man, you attack in a pair. Disable weapon, throat, underarm, groin. If they are not wearing armor, the belly and back of thighs. Do not hesitate because hesitation will kill you. Repeat. Disable weapon, throat, underarm, groin, belly, or cut the bastard down from behind. We are not noble lords dueling. We are fighting for our lives. Fight dirty, kick, punch, and cleave the bastard who is between you and freedom. If you do not, rest assured, he will not hesitate to kill you.”
As we gather to eat lunch on the slippery ground churned up by rain and subsequent drills, we are quiet and somber.
“We are close,” Dirk says as he hunkers down beside me. “I do not believe they will stop again once we leave this site. Shifter scent is prevalent in this area. They will know we are coming.”
I nod. “Bald bastard said we are here for a few days. I think they are waiting for another army to join. If they join, our escape will be near impossible.”
“We need to act,” Jim says. “Although I am heartsore and terrified.”
“I don’t know if I can kill a man,” another man says.
“You must,” Dirk says. “If you do not, our women and children will remain slaves for the rest of their lives. We must do this together, as one.”
“Tomorrow,” I say. “As soon as they collect us for drills. The women and children must be ready.”
We are given leave of an evening to wash in a nearby brook or river before we return to our designated place of sleep. The other slaves are chained together via their collars and corralled in the center of the camp under orc watch.
I presume they view me as more dangerous, given my killing spree when we first crashed through the portal, and I am always taken to the cage wagon.
When I return tonight, I find Winter is already there. She must have washed during the day, for her hair is shiny and tangle free and she wears a new slave dress.
“Jasmine made it for me,” she says quietly, averting her face.
I don’t know what to do with this shy version of Winter. She is a fairy with many centuries of age and memories that likely stretch back to the fall of the great city of Sendar, and yet we strangely feel equal in this place.
Bald bastard dumps water and food inside the cage before slamming the door shut and locking us in. He is not as miserable as he once was, but he is certainly not my friend.
I wonder if I will need to kill him tomorrow.
I wonder about a lot of things, and only some of them are helpful.
“I know you are planning something,” Winter says as the overseer stalks away.
Sighing, I go to where she sits.
A small squeak accompanies me hauling her onto my lap. “Stop fussing, Winter. I have had my tongue down your throat and my cock and knot deep inside your pussy. You have sat here every night since we found ourselves at the mercy of orcs.”
I probably shouldn’t have spoken thus. Now I can’t stop thinking about rutting. Her clean scent is mingled with a little lust as she naturally responds to me. Her nose presses against my chest, and she sucks a deep breath in, like she has been starved for it.
Imprinting.
Against all probability, I know that this is what is happening. Despite all our antagonism toward one another, and despite the great gulf between a lowly warrior and a higher Blood, my instincts do not lie. I am attuned to her in ways that go beyond even my prior experience with the Meld.
I ignore the food and water. I hunger only for one thing.
“Let me see,” I say. Winter’s eyes are bright in the fading light as I trace my finger along the bruise. “It looks a little better. If only you could heal yourself.”
It seems the most natural thing to bury my hand in her glorious golden red hair and capture her next breath within my mouth.
She groans, small hands gripping my shoulders before she wriggles, rising and straddling me as she kisses me boldly back.
My heart rate soars, even as my cock fills with blood. This right here is the natural way of a fairy. I draw her tightly against me, crushing her softness into the hard wall of my chest. The kiss heats, tongues tangling, mouths angling as we swallow each other’s groans.
My hands slip under the hem of her dress to cup her plump ass. I squeeze, delighting in her needy whimper.
Breaking her lips away, she peppers little kisses over my face and throat, small hands dipping into my pants and liberating my cock.
Pre-cum is soon leaking all over her hands as she pumps them up and down. I am so fucking high on her scent and her wildness that all I can do is submit and let her have her way.
“Fuck!” I mutter as she nimbly scoots back and sucks the tip of my cock into her mouth. Her cheeks hollow, and her small hands work over the parts she cannot fit in her mouth. Gathering her hair up, I fight the urge to come as I’m treated to the vision of her worshipping me.
My cock looks obscene in her dainty little hands. She swirls her tongue all around the tip before sucking it into her mouth. My hips jerk. I try to pull her off before I shoot my fucking load.
“I’m going to come,” I warn as my spine tingles and my balls fight to rise.
She hums around my cock, tongue lashing the sensitive underside and tip, small hands massaging the shaft just right.
I come, fingers ripping into her hair, hips jerking as I spill load after load down her throat. She chokes only a little as she greedily sucks it all down. The knot at the base itches, although it does not swell.
I make a second attempt at extracting her lips from around her prize, but I have a battle on my hands. My cock is still rock-hard, seeming to demand I knot the sweet fairy Omega, who must be peeled away.
She growls at me. I chuckle. It is assuredly the cutest growl I have ever heard. Dragging her up, I plant my lips upon hers. I can taste myself, but I don’t much care. My hand is already under her dress, stroking the slick folds between her thighs before I thrust a finger deep.
She whimpers into my mouth, hips moving in encouragement for me to give her more. I thrust a second finger inside her slick channel and put my thumb over her clit. Swallowing up her needy mewling sounds, I find the little rough patch of her slick gland in her inner wall and, clamping her around the waist to keep her still, strum it with my fingertips.
She goes wild, clenching and gushing over my fingers, twitching as she rides my hand before trying to escape my touch when it gets too much. Dragging my lips from hers, I nip gently on the shell of her ear.
It turns rigid, and she buries her teeth in the crux of my shoulder. Her pussy gushes all over my fingers, and her inner muscles clamp so tightly, they nearly crush my fingers.
I want to toss her onto her back and rut her, but I also want to hold her. She is clinging so tightly that I don’t think I have a choice. Then I hear it—a half smothered choking sound as she tries to stifle her tears. I wrap my arms around her and bury my nose in her hair. Her scent smothers me, and I cannot get enough of it.
“Tomorrow,” she says. “It’s happening tomorrow, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” I say. My cock finally softens as Winter sobs in my arms. “You need to be ready, Winter. I will tell you what has been planned.”
