Rapture by L.V. Lane

CHAPTER FOUR

Jacob

MY BLOOD MISTRESS remains quiet as we journey. Thank fuck because I do not want to engage her in conversation. I have tried to convince myself that I have accepted my lot as a Blood’s slave, but despite Cecil’s frequent coaching on the subject, I fear I do not have the temperament for it.

Dusk is falling as we run out of forest cover, and the temperature swiftly drops. Winter draws her horse to a stop and stares down at the walled city. True to its name, Bleakness is a somber place. Built from a local quarry, all the stone is variations on black and dark grey. Sluggish plumes of smoke rise out of the jumble of slate and tile roofs. With the turn to dusk, lights offer illumination here and there that do little to soften the harsh impression of the place.

Bleakness is a cesspit. Eradicating it would be a Goddess-sent blessing and the world the richer for its demise. I have been here too many times in my short life, and none of them have ended well. This time, it is only a Blood and me, and there are no brothers to deter me from quests to free slaves. This time, the binding will see that I behave, whether I wish to act upon instincts or not.

There are frequent caravan trains to and from Bleakness, so it will be easy to fall in with one of those. Once upon a time, this was a thriving sea town called Port Ardin. Then the orcs came, and the residents who did not flee were killed or enslaved. Over the years, those humans who remained rose to hold positions of influence and power, assimilating into the Blighten culture and ways. It disgusts me most that it is humans who now manage the slave markets that thrive here.

“This is a large city,” I say. “Unless you have a strong lock on the keystone, we should find lodgings for the night.”

“I have no clear signal, just an impression that it is either here or has been. I have never visited this city before,” she says. “Would it not be better to remain outside?”

“No, mistress. There are bandits and raiders of all kinds in these woods, and we are only two. At least in the city, there are known places that are considered safe when our patrols bring us here.”

She nods, but her face is wary.

I understand why we have come as a pair, since it is much easier for us to slip by without notice in the more populous locations, but I can also see that risks remain. “It is better than Krug,” I say.

Her back straightens like she is more afraid of showing weakness than whatever Bleakness holds.

With a click to the horse, we emerge from the trees and join the next caravan train. The gate will close when true darkness falls, which adds a little burst of speed to those seeking entrance. With a rush of arrivals, we pass through the gates without incident or interest.

Like all big cities, there are good parts and bad. The black cobbled streets are crowded with raucous humans and the occasional orc. Winter keeps her hood drawn low over her face as we make our way through the rushing throngs to the better side of town.

The Green Man is about as respectable an establishment as can be found in the city. The weathered sign outside the cherry red door depicts a topiary bush shaped into a man’s head. I’ve never seen much sense in topiary, considering it something fancy lordlings must instruct their gardeners to do. Peacocks, shaped balls, and whatnot seem a more likely topic for the art. I am struggling with the reasons anyone would create a topiary of a man’s head, and further, to name a tavern and guest house as such. But it is a memorable name, so maybe that is something.

“The Green Man,” she says. “I’m sure I’ve seen that before. It is a popular tavern name?”

“I wouldn’t know, mistress,” I say, nudging my horse to enter the arched alley that leads to the stables at the back. “I am not well traveled, other than my occasional pairing with a Blood. Mostly, I am sent to kill orcs.”

I feel her study me. My tone might have been a little sharp. It’s not like I do any of the things I do by choice. Well, Blighten killing, maybe. I would gladly do that from here until eternity for the asking.

Of course, I am only an Alpha, and they do not ask, they order.

A stable lad hastens to collect our horses as we dismount. We are collecting bags when the innkeeper emerges. He is half orc and a great barrel of a man who looks human, other than his inhuman size and pink tufted ears. I have met him before, and he gives me a nod, his gaze shifting briefly to the cloak enswathed Blood beside me.

“I have a room that would suit you,” Tim says gruffly. His very human-looking and pretty daughter was snatched by a slaver ring the last time I was here. I might have helped him in her rescue… and earned myself a beating by my patrol leader for interfering in matters that are none of our business… but that’s another story.

“Thanks,” I say. “How is Betsy?”

“The lass is well,” Tim says, face splitting in a grin. “She will be pleased to see you back on business.”

He gives me with an exaggerated wink.

I fidget with my collar, knowing all too well how Betsy will show her gratitude. The lass was insatiable before I rescued her. Tim throws his head back and emits a booming laugh at my discomfort. He has no issue with his daughter’s mischief if it is by her choice.

I sense Winter’s restlessness as Tim, still chuckling, directs us inside. “Betsy!” he calls across the crowded tavern room. “Show our guests to the green room.”

“I’ll sort out some dinner for you and have it sent up,” Tim says to us.