“My name is Lindiwe. Thank you for helping us.” Then Lindiwe turned to Ingram. “I’m glad to see you are okay.”
It was only then that Emerie realised the woman’s clothing was covered in splatters of blood, and yet the Duskwalker wasn’t reacting to it. Then again, the weird smell cascading off her was undeniably strong – and inhuman.
Lindiwe’s brows drew together as she frowned deeply, and when Emerie followed her gaze, her own brows crinkled.
Ingram’s orbs were a bright reddish pink, and he was obviously staring at Emerie with the way his raven skull was pointed. Crouching, with one of his hands upon the ground for balance, the other was clutching at his lower stomach.
An absurd amount of heat flared in her face to the point she thought her hair might spontaneously combust. Averting her gaze, she winced when she realised Lindiwe had been barely an inch from stepping, bare-footed, into his dirt-soaked puddle of freaking jizz.
Hopefully that meant she hadn’t seen Emerie give him a quick handshake with his dick. Greetings, Duskwalker. It’s a pleasure to release you.
She snorted a laugh at herself, needing to use humour as a coping mechanism right now or she’d flip back into hyperventilating.
They both gave her their attention, heads tilted.
Her back stiffened. Oops.
With his sight still a reddish pink, unsure if it was embarrassment at not understanding what she’d just done to him, or shame due to her reaction afterwards, Ingram couldn’t pull away from staring at her.
Did I do something wrong?
He’d never experienced anything like what she’d done with her hands. He’d never been gifted with something so... astoundingly pleasurable that his entire body tingled from the crown of his skull all the way to the very tip of his long tail.
He, at the time, thought his entire being was about to jet out of the purple jutting part of him she’d been stroking. It had felt so good right before he released that it bordered on pain, and he thought he was about to pass out. He had mindlessly ground into her hands to achieve whatever crescendo he was climbing.
He’d spilled – and his spirit had soared.
Then, as she’d promised, she’d freed him.
He’d been a lump laying in the dirt and sticks of the forest, huffing wildly to release his strained lungs. That was until she’d gotten up, faced away from him, and began... breathing erratically.
She hadn’t smelled of fear, but even he, who wasn’t used to being around humans, could tell something was wrong.
Was I not supposed to release that white liquid? His sight flickered to the puddle on the ground. What came from me? She avoided it like it was a dangerous fire. But she was the one who brought it forth.
Ingram clutched his stomach tighter, just above where the jutting rod had come from.
She wouldn’t look upon his skull now, although she’d had no issue doing so within the dungeon. He didn’t like that she was averting her gaze. It only deepened his worries that he’d truly done something wrong.
He was so distracted with his thoughts he hadn’t noticed the Witch Owl come up to him. So, when she gently cupped the top and bottom of his beak to force his skull to her, he flinched.
Then she pressed her hand near his neck and he flinched again, this time from the pain.
“Do you want me to take the arrows out, or leave them?” she asked, and he couldn’t help noticing the warmth and care in her dark eyes.
“Leave them,” he grated. “I will heal them away later.”
She nodded as she stepped back, but not before giving the top of his beak a caring stroke. She’d never touched him so openly and affectionately before.
No one other than Aleron had.
“I’m sorry you had to endure so much.” Her voice held such genuine remorse that his sight inadvertently shifted to a dark, gloomy blue. “I wish I could have come sooner.”
“I should not have come here.”
“It’s okay,” she cooed. “We all make mistakes.”
Her reassurance soothed the worst of his self-loathing. Has she made mistakes? She often appeared infallible.
Emerie, with her fist over her mouth, cleared her throat. His skull lifted, as the Witch Owl’s head turned.
“Sorry, I don’t mean to interrupt,” she said, lifting her arms, “but what now?”
“For you, nothing,” the Witch Owl answered sternly. “For now, I will return to the Veil, and Ingram will find his home somewhere here on the surface.”
Dark yellow filled his vision as he stepped away from her. “No. I must find a way to destroy the Demon King.”
He hadn’t given up on his vengeance for his kindred. No matter what happened to him, he would bear it if he could bring Aleron back into a world that was safe and peaceful for them.
A world where he wouldn’t... lose him again.
“I told you, Ingram. Unless we have an army, which we don’t, there’s nothing we can do right now but try to find a way to be safe.”
“You want to kill the Demon King?” Emerie asked, her orange brows furrowing tightly. “So you truly came here for aid?”
He didn’t know why she was asking him again when he’d already answered this back at the stronghold.
Her icy-blue eyes darted to the ground and flicked side to side in obvious thought. Then, her twisted and tight expression fell away, and she lifted her head up while rolling her shoulders back. “What if I help?”
“He needs an army,” the Witch Owl bit out. “What can a single human do? You’re likely to abandon him the moment your fear becomes too much, or he’ll eat you because of it.”
Emerie’s features stiffened, and her gaze shadowed, became... unfeeling, even. He had the urge to growl when it reminded him of the Wren creature.
“I just threw my life away for this Duskwalker, and you’re saying my help is not good enough?”
The Witch Owl gave a mocking snort. “You chose that. Were you expecting some kind of reward?”
“That’s not what I’m saying,” she stated with a sigh, brushing some of her dishevelled hair out of her face with the back of her hand. “I joined the guild for a reason. What I did today... I just signed my own death warrant. If I’m going to die, I’d rather it be doing something I originally set out to do, instead of being killed for deserting my own people.”
Ingram tilted his head in curiosity, the dark yellow of it flaring in his sight. She seeks revenge too?
“You understand death awaits you if you follow him?” The Witch Owl had a high tone to her voice, like unmasked surprise.
“Death awaited me the moment I signed up with the guild.” She lifted her chin defiantly. “The only fear regarding it is the failure of not achieving what I set out to do.”
Ingram’s head tilted the other way, his orbs deepening in their hue. In this, our hearts are the same.
“I... would like her help,” Ingram stated as he stepped forward while crouching, using both hands to steady himself. “She trapped me so I could not harm her. She gave me freedom.”
She also smelt nice, and he liked the colour of her hair and eyes. She’d also touched him until bliss shot from him, and he was very, very curious about that.