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The Legend of Vanx Malic - Through the Wildwood



Here is a 5 Chapter Free Preview (unproofed) Copyright 2012 by M.R.Mathias

Chapter 1

Vanx Malic swallowed the last bit of mulled wine from the goblet the Duchess handed him. He was as hard as Wildermont steel, and she was purring loudly, her hands now roaming his tan, shirtless chest with increasing desperation. Her lithe body was barely covered by a sheer gown that was stretched so tightly around her that her huge dark nipples threatened to burst through the fabric. Vanx wiped the grease from the hearty slab of roast boar he’d just eaten on his sleeve, and then he clamped his hand on the curve of her ass. Even with only a trio of lavender scented candles burning in the small, but opulent chamber, the air had grown hot and steamy. The sweet musky smell of her sex permeated the room. He was eager to taste her. Vanx hoped the innkeeper could hold his lips shut as tightly as he held his purse. His fleeting concern over the Duke’s wrath was quickly wiped away as the hot tickling breath of the man’s wife found his ear.

“You filled your belly, Vanx Malic,” the Duchess whispered. The warmth of her words heated his blood. “Now I want you to fill me.” More purring as her hand slid around the bulge in his leather britches. “Now get up and fill me!” her voice grew suddenly harder, the purring sound more of a growl. She squeezed his member so hard it ached.

“Get up, Vanx,” she yelled. “Get up, you filthy dog, and fill me up!”

Vanx blinked open his eyes and saw the menacing maw of a haulkatten in his face. Startled, he scrambled backwards to get away from its toothy feline grin. The chains that bound his legs and wrists quickly pulled taut and the driver’s whip snapped across his shoulder. The searing pain served to wipe away the dream he’d been lost in. He nearly pissed himself. Even from half a hundred miles away the Duchess of Highlake’s enchantments had a healthy hold on his mind. Every time he slept, she was there. He hadn’t seen her in weeks, save for through the shuttered cell door of Duke Martin’s dungeon, and still she haunted his every idle thought. She was the loveliest of bed partners, talented, with a huge round—

“CRACK!” The whip sent her away from his head again.

“I said fill up my skins you fargin’ dog!” Amden Gore, the big, dark-skinned, foul-breathed, slave driver ordered. He was a personal friend of Duke Martin’s and showed Vanx little mercy with his lashes. Only the fact that Amden could get a healthy purse for a well-built young male kept him from driving Vanx to his death.

The haulkatten the slaver was riding twisted its head back down to growl at Vanx. It showed yellow teeth set in jaws that could remove an arm or a leg with a single snap.

Wincing from the sting of the new stripes on his skin, Vanx scowled at the draft horse-sized cat and gathered up the water skins he’d been using for a pillow. He’d been sent ahead of the caravan to fill them and had fallen asleep at the stream’s edge. He was exhausted, as were the rest of the caravan’s members. The long trek out of the mountains had been a week of skirting cliff-sided trails, and then two days and a night of non-stop downhill stumbling. Those riding the backs of the heavily laden haulkattens weren’t so bad off, but the three slaves, and Vanx, along with the half dozen other foot travelers were all at the point of collapse.

There were also eight caravan guards, every one of them a heavily-armored, overweight slob. They were led by a man called Captain Moyle. Vanx had no choice but to respect the captain because he continually used his dullard men in such a way that they actually protected the group.

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