Page 18 of Plaything of the Dark Elf

Etheron

Asimple tilt of my head dodges the private’s wild haymaker. I lean into the motion with a grin and drill my palm into his ribs. Four snaps and the young man sprawls on the ground, whining.

“That is what being stupid will get you.” I turn from him and motion three of the more seasoned fighters to step forward.

Ducking and weaving between their attacks, my blood pumps with renewed vigor. I haven’t been this clear minded while sparring in a long time. Perhaps ever. Is this because of her?

Last night was pure magic. Every moan, scream, plead, everything out of her mouth was perfect. When I released into her, it was as if that dark cloud that fogs my brain was blown away. It’s returned, creeping back in like a wounded beast, more dangerous now that it knows it’s in for a fight, but for a moment, for a night, I was free.

I pivot forward, trapping Dethan’s arm with one of mine. If it wasn’t for Dalia’s ministrations, I’d snap the arm in three places. Instead, I pull him into my arcing elbow, slamming down on his cheek, cracking the bone and driving the man into the ground. My heel lashes out to catch the other veteran’s chin as he rushes me.

Yesterday, I never thought I’d have this level of clarity. I’d gone to that speakeasy to drink myself blind, but the Arbiter pulled me out and down to that slave house. The Mother touched Dalia at birth, and the Hedonist touched both of us when I was in her.

I dodge a punch and grip the veteran’s wrist, pulling him forward. I drive my knee into his lower abdomen. The last of the three charges in, but a sharp elbow knocks a few teeth out and buys me plenty of time to finish the one bent over in front of me. I slam my head into the back of his. A resounding crack rings out.

But was it a fluke? Was that the best sex of my life, or the best sex I’ve had in a long while?A certain, uneasy fear creeps up and empowers the fog in my mind. If she can only do what she did once, she won’t be worth the food I put in her. We’ll see. Next time I fuck her brains out, we’ll see just how much she helps me with this thing in my mind.

Images of her body in my hands flash through my mind. The fog creeps in.

I close the gap with the last man in a flash, drilling my shoulder into his solar plexus. The air rushes from him and I grip the back of his knee, pulling his leg out from under him. With my forehead pressed against his chin, I drive him to the ground, a large cloud of dust spreading out from the impact. I mount him, sitting on his chest, pinning one arm under my knee, before raining blows. With only one arm to block, his minimal guard crumbles after the first two blows.

The fog slides over my mind and I can’t keep the snarl from twisting my lips. A bruised face and bloody nose aren’t enough. I need more…and I take it.

My fists rearrange his face, moving bones to places they should never reach, ripping skin open to expose hot red blood. Elbow strikes finish the job, splitting the skull twice before it caves in.

“No man can stand against me!” I rise to my feet, eyes wide and challenging any of my men to prove me wrong, but none do.

They know I’m right.

I lunge at the nearest man, throwing a spinning backfist.

The man puts his guard up, but my attack blows through it and he crumples backwards.

I jump forward and equus kick the next man into the one behind him. With the private holding up the veteran, I lunge forward again and drive a knee into the vet that sends both men to the ground.

Lavat, one of my more experienced veterans, attacks with a spinning kick.

Finally! At least one man stands among them.

I block the head kick with my arm, absorbing the heavy attack. With my adrenaline soaring into the clouds, I kick his leg and it snaps.

He falls to the ground but he doesn’t cry out. He adopts a defensive position as best he can.

“This is why Lavat is my right hand,” I shout at the others. I search their faces, looking for the next Lavat, someone who knows they can’t win but still jumps into the fray.

My eyes drift further back. Standing on the breezeway surrounding the sparring square, Dalia bites her lip as her hands squeeze one of the dresses I left for her.

The fog retreats at the sight of her. The memory of last night pushes it back even further. Adrenaline continues flooding my veins, but it’s redirected. Violence is one of my appetites, fucking is the other, and Dalia satisfies both. I want that freedom again.

“Keep sparring, you rodan! If your opponent isn’t bleeding by the time I return, you’ll be my next sparring partner.” I head straight for her as the men pair up and trade blows behind me. Their muffled grunts and skin smacking skin flashes memories of my skin slapping Dalia’s and her stifled grunts from taking my cock.

With only a few paces left between us, she turns her body slightly, putting her shoulder forward and one foot back. Better form than half my men.

I lean forward on the wooden guardrail separating us. The servant I assigned her bows, but my little fuck-toy doesn’t. I grin at her defiance. It’s not only in her burning eyes, it’s in everything she does, everything she is. From skin to core.

“Do you fear me?”

Her eyes falter, dipping down to the blood on my hands and elbows. They raise back up to meet my eyes with all that fire. “I’m not stupid.”

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