It is a miracle that the Siphons have spared this world, yet I bet that it will catch their eyes as soon as they are done devouring my home.
I feel the human’s arms around my waist, pale and shivering, her grasp loosening. It’s too cold for her out here.
The rain picks up when I speed up through the night, but soon we reach one of the many hidden entrances to my hideout. I park the bike, hop off, and help her off the seat. I was right. She is glamoured. Her eyes glow unnaturally under the long, wet strands of hair glued to her face, and I smell her arousal. I clench my jaw, pondering who might have done this to her. Was it the high elf priest with the largest amount of magic at his disposal of all the Hunters? Or was it the spy?
The woman staggers, and I sling an arm around her waist. She is also intoxicated. Unclean.
I curse while I unlock the heavy service door leading down into the forgotten depths of the city, the only place I feel at ease.
I will have to cleanse her before attaching her to the Extractor and draining her magic. A mind blurred by spells or toxic substances is a lighthouse without light; it is still there but useless. She is of no use to me in this condition.
I drag her down the dusty stairs, rats dancing around our feet, spiderwebs, undisturbed for decades, draping over our shoulders.
We are crossing a sewer, and I suddenly feel her weight on my arm. Is it the drinks, the barbaric spell, or the miasma of the place that knocked her out? I sweep her in my arms and splash through the shallow water. The tunnels intertwine into a maze, but I follow the marks I have left, carefully avoiding the traps I have strategically placed.
Soon, I cross a stream of clear water, then a tiny oasis of moss and mushrooms marking the entrance to my hideout. Cerberus stands dutifully on guard. The soothing sounds of his engine when he approaches me, metallic tail wagging, is music to my soul.
He gently sniffs the loose hair of the unconscious human in my arms, and I tense up. Seeing his eight-inch steel teeth that can bite a head clean off so close to her delicate face makes me nervous. He notices my protectiveness and withdraws, and I enter my den.
I make my way between the piles of parts and machinery, through my exercise field, and reach my sleeping quarters, where I gently lay her on the bed and rub my chin thoughtfully.
I must keep her here until she sobers up enough for the Extractor. She is still dozing, her lavish breasts heaving, her simple black dress rolled up, exposing her thighs. Her silky skin, still wet from the rain, glistens in the dim candlelight. She has lost a shoe during our flight, and there is something endearing in her tiny toes and the arch of her foot. My gaze wanders up, and I feel dangerous flames rise below my stomach. Her hips are almost bare, and I devour the transparent black undergarment covering her sex. It’s drenched with her arousal, and my fangs extend in response to the inviting scent. Other parts of me extend, too, yet I have enough self-discipline not to indulge in these tempting but dangerous thoughts. Mating with a dark elf would surely kill her, even if I hold back, as my kind is not known its gentleness.
We are survivors, warriors, the shadows of the Lower Lands, the last line of defense between Faëheim and the abode of the Dreadful One. Our women are sinewy and drained of color, the lack of light has turned them pale, and they emphasize their beauty with sparkling gems and clever makeup. Yet the beauty that lies before me does not need any garnets or emeralds to shine. It glows so brightly in the murky darkness that my heart squirms with longing. Her hair has the color of tree bark, her lips the crimson red of fresh blood, her lashes the ink of the moonless night, her cheeks the flush of fragile spring blossoms.
I debate tasting her, my tongue feeling the pins of my sharp fangs, it would be practical, as I would know precisely how tainted she is and how long it would take to purge the poison from her veins, but it would mark her as mine.
Mine.
Brow furrowed, I lean closer to her, her scent destroying any reason in my thoughts, when her lashes flutter, and our eyes meet.
The human looks around, startled, then she recognizes me and relaxes. I bitterly smirk when I realize that she trusts me. She trusts the one sent to consume her then discard her empty shell.
“Where am I? What happened?”
Those are questions I can work with.
“You are in my hideout,” I answer simply, spreading my arms, and she curiously looks around. Cerberus always has the worst timing. He peeks behind my back, and her breath catches.
“He will not hurt you—he knows you are with me,” I reassure her while the metallic beast with razor teeth, bronze bristles on his back, and various pipes and turning cogs in his torso cautiously approaches her and nuzzles her hand.
The human is scared but doesn’t show it, and I’m impressed by her resolve.
“Go guard the entrance, Cerberus!” I shoo him, and my friend leaves with a hiss from his pipe that sounds like a disappointed sigh.
“What is he?” Celeste asks, and I can barely hide my smile. Instead of inquiring about my intentions, her eyes curiously wander around, studying the treasures I have hoarded like a cave dragon during my years in her world. “What do you want from me?”
“I am afraid that this is a longer story, Celeste.” I gallantly stretch my hand to help her up and lead her to the massive dining table.
She throws herself over the meals I place in front of her, the salads and sauces, the crispy bread, the cakes, and the crunchy appetizers.
“Mmmh,” she moans, eyes closed in appreciation, and this reaction sends a jolt of pleasure down my spine. “Where is this abundance coming from?”
“I believe you call it dumpster-diving.” I grin as she chokes. “Humans tend to discard so many things that are still useful.”
“Humans?” Her tone is flat, her brow furrowed, and she avoids my gaze, as one does when talking to a madman.
Well, it is time for the longer story, then. The woman will be attached to the Extractor in six hours and probably dead in seven, so she deserves the truth.
