Page 94 of The Tenth Muse

“You are the gift,” she said simply as Fawn pulled away.

Maybe her brother could see the depths of deception lurking beneath the surface through my pleasant facade. Because, this time, he reared back and I had the distinct feeling he wanted to kick me in my head. Oh well. As long as I had her under my control and her absolute trust, and did what I came here to do, we could make a deal. If not, I’d do what had to be done to protect myself like I’d always done.

The conditions of our union meant little to me. I’d breed her, then steal her horns if I had to, and rebuild my spice empire—a legitimate business, freeing myself from my den of thieves. It was an exchange of equal opportunity for both of us.

All I had to do was guard my heart.

two

. . .

Brielle

However,I quickly learned that guarding my heart was easier said than done.

“Fawn?” My voice came out as a harsh whisper; my throat was dry, and my body ached as I rolled and cracked my stiff neck.

Despite living in a literal enchanted forest with babbling brooks filled with sweet water, my pesky skin condition and an underlying ailment that no healer seemed able to fix made it so that I stayed as dry as a desert, both inside and out. Maybe that was why I was such a frosty bitch since birth.

I rose from our bed, suffocated by the quaintness of Fawn’s cottage once again. Our initial days together were more awkward than I had hoped, and we rarely crossed paths other than our morning and evening meals. I would hunt and train and brood, and she would frolic, I guessed. I never asked, though she always came home smelling of wildflowers.

For a week, we had settled into an uneasy rhythm, both of us wondering who would make the first move. It was my duty to mate. It was my job to pin my omega down. But every time I tried, I shut down. And my impending rut was making it hardernot to lift my goddess off the ground and worship before the altar of Fawn’s spread thighs as she rode my face, right where she belonged.

“Shit, let’s get this over with,” I murmured to myself as I chewed on sweetroot to hasten the departure of my foul morning breath. “I can’t wait until she’s home. I have to go to her.”

I frowned, washing quickly and storming out to find her. There was that pesky word again, attempting to grab hold of my mind and weasel its way into my heart.

Home.

This washerhome. I had no home; I was born to be a vagabond. It was time I remembered that fact.

It was a short and peaceful walk to the furthest edge of the forest, across the meadow to where I’d often hear her lovely voice carry on the wind, singing songs of creation while I stewed in despair.

I’d never been one to hesitate when I wanted something, and yet I’d stalled for a week—so much wasted time! I had to act.

Fawn was often mellow, but never melancholy like me, patient, and willing to please me. Her naivety and eagerness to become true mates was all too apparent in each and every one of her actions towards me, which made my heart ache.

By the time I reached the edge of the forest, unease settled over me like a chain tugging me back to the false sunshine paradise of Fawana’s property. I knew this was the magic that kept me rooted there, to carry out my mission. Magic, I’d brought all types of charms, wards, and talismans to aid me in running away after I seeded her womb. I couldn’t be bound there and rule the trade route, after all.

But I had no intention of doing that, running that is, instead, following Fawn’s scent to a grand cerulean blue lake tucked away in the woods. And there, my jaw dropped at the sight of her. A large waterfall flowed from a jagged cliff. The stingingin the soles of my feet reminded me how rocky the terrain was outside of the meadow. But the pain was dull and distant as lust drummed through my veins.

“Hmmmmm~,” Fawana hummed as she twirled in the water, and I caught a glimpse of her speckled tail perched ontop of her bare ass. She smelled of honey, herbs, and spices, the scent of a forest after a fresh rainstorm, and the blossoming of a million wildflowers.

Entranced, I slowly unbuttoned my white linen top, which my bride had patched up for me, along with all of my clothing, at a magical pace. Then, I unwound my bindings, the white cloth pressing against my breasts, losing tension. The cloth spiraled to the ground as I crept closer, nipples pebbling, once dry throat so wet I choked on my spit.

Disgusting.I was salivating like a she-wolf after her prey. And yet, I felt more wetness pooling between my legs that, moments ago, was bone dry as well.

“Fawn …” I whispered her name, part plea, part prayer.

The stretch marks on her body were just a testament to her bounty, thick thighs, ample ass, and a bosom that must’ve been made to pillow the face of a god. I wanted to grip her doughy middle as I plunged a smooth wooden toy into her wet pussy, until I felt her twitch and tense and scream for me. Then, and only then, in my fantasies, would my hard knot make her cream.

I found myself lurking just out of sight and watched as she bathed, feeling like the townsquare’s flasher. I needed to leave, but my feet carried me closer instead, only in my brown breeches and riding boots now.

Suddenly, Fawn went rigid and whipped around, eyes dilated, panting.

“Bri, y-your scent,” she stuttered, raising her loose wrist to her lips like some lady on the verge of fainting. “You smell … Delicious!”

I went absolutely still. My scent? If she could smell me, my rut wasn’t near; it was here!

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