Takes place immediately following "Eternity (Part 1)".
"There ya go!"
The goblin held out a bulging cloth bag to the Maw Walker who accepted it with a gracious nod. It had taken the smaller being both hands to lift, but the Nightborne held it in her palm, as if assessing the weight. The goblin sniffed in disdain.
"You wanna count it, be my guest."
"Oh, no need," replied the Maw Walker. She dropped the bag onto the chaise beside her and gave the goblin an amused smile. "I know where to find you if you've shortchanged me."
The goblin's toothy grin slipped.
"Hey, hey, you know me! Honest as the day is long, right?"
"Well, that means very little here," pointed out Renathal from his position by the door. "As day and night are really more of a social construct in Revendreth."
The Maw Walker flashed a smile at Renathal over the creature's head. Renathal winked.
"Eh, it's a figure of speech," the goblin said, waving a dismissive hand. "Anyway!" He stuck the same hand out to the Maw Walker. "Pleasure doin' business with ya, as usual. Lemme know before ya move on the big blond in the castle. I got good odds on that one."
The Maw Walker shook the goblin's hand with a solemn nod.
"Naturally."
The goblin hefted its rucksack over its arm, turned and doffed a large, flapping ear like a cap respectfully at the Dark Prince, and trundled out of his room.
"Strange bedfellows you keep," Renathal said darkly once the door was shut behind the being he now knew actually was some sort of healer, as well as the Maw Walker's self-appointed manager.
"I can assure you we have never kept the same bed," the Maw Walker replied. She got to her feet carefully, bringing the small jingling purse with her.
Renathal relaxed his formal stance and crossed the room to assist. He took the Maw Walker's elbow, in spite of her half-hearted protests, and helped support her short sojourn through Renathal's all-purpose Sinfall study and drawing room to his sleeping chamber. Although she'd been conscious for several days now, the Maw Walker was still using Renathal's room for rest as she recovered, a fact neither of them had commented on. She was improving exponentially - his hand on her arm more safeguard than necessity - but her powers had not fully returned, and she continued to spend most of her time asleep.
"That is not entirely true," said Renathal wryly as they passed into his bed chamber. "Your friend preferred the bed where you slept to any chair Draven offered. I believe there is still a stain from its shoes on the sheets.
This made the Maw Walker laugh. She set the bag of coins on the bedside table with a clink.
"I stand corrected," she said.
The Maw Walker shrugged out of the dressing gown she wore over the loosely tied white robe she still slept in, and laid it carelessly on top of the bag. Renathal stepped back to admire the view the thin material allowed.
"Speaking of beds," the Maw Walker said idly, turning around. "Where have you been sleeping while I've stolen yours?"
Renathal cleared his throat, trying not to be distracted by the Maw Walker's obvious lack of underclothing.
"Well, I have been exceptionally busy. And, fortunately, Venthyr need a great deal less rest than mortals."
"Hm. That is not entirely true," said the Maw Walker in gentle mockery. "Both Nadjia and Theotar have informed me that without a steady source of anima, Venthyr need a great deal of rest. Which is why Sinfall observes a more structured night and day than the rest of Revendreth."
She smiled with the triumph of a fencer scoring a hit, and Renathal sniffed.
"Regardless, I have managed quite well and will continue to do so."
"Or..." The Maw Walker tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, and took a slow step toward him. Renathal thought at first she was on the verge of another collapse, then realised the movement was meant to be sultry. "You could join me?"
Renathal hid his mouth behind his hand, trying to appear thoughtful rather than fighting back laughter. The Maw Walker had many talents, but seduction was apparently not one of them. Not that she had ever needed it before, at least not with him; Renathal had always met her desire with equal or greater vigour. But, he reminded his rousing body forcibly, she was not yet entirely recovered.
"As tempting as that sounds, you are supposed to be resting."
The Maw Walker said nothing, but the arms she slid over his shoulders and the way her lips brushed the exposed skin of his neck served as her argument. An effective one. She traced the ragged shell of his ear with her tongue, and Renathal suppressed a small, pleasant shiver.
"We must have different definitions of the word 'rest'", said Renathal, his voice husky in spite of himself. The Maw Walker's warm breath ignited a flame in his core as she whispered in his ear, "Mine's better, trust me."
A lustful smile curled past Renathal's fangs at that, and he closed his eyes, momentarily surrendering to the small, enticing kisses she trailed along the hard angle of his jaw. For a seduction so initially awkward, it was working very well.
Before the Maw Walker could reach his lips, Renathal wrapped his arms under her rear, letting his fingers sink carefully into the soft, pliable curve, before lifting and carrying her the few steps to the bed. The Maw Walker tucked her legs underneath her as Renathal set her down, kneeling at the edge of the bed, refusing to relinquish her hold on his neck. Renathal was pleasantly surprised at the strength of her grip, and his resolve wavered momentarily. But he had interrupted her recovery with his own selfish needs enough already.
"I am no healer," he said ruefully. "But I am sure this would count as too much exertion."
"Not if you're on top."
The Maw Walker's words were a low purr that went straight to Renathal's groin.
It had been ten days since Renathal had last taken his lover, and he had felt the weight of it every minute. Such miniscule increments of time, he would once not have deigned to count them, yet long enough to make him ache with need. Perhaps it was some power the Maw Walker commanded over him, or simply his libido making up for lost time. All Renathal knew was, despite thousands of years of perfect control, his body responded to hers with a readiness his better sense was helpless against.
Renathal stifled a groan as the Maw Walker's nimble fingers slipped down to unfasten his belt. He was intimately familiar with this trick of hers, and knew she would render him absolutely helpless if she managed to get her mouth to his cock before he stopped her. He caught her hands fast in one of his own, using the other to tilt her chin so he could study her face.
The Maw Walker was not entirely healed, she admitted as much herself. But her colour was undeniably better, and her eyes were alert and glittering with desire. Renathal knew his must look similar. He brought her hands to his mouth, his tongue tracing the soft tips of her fingers with their blunt, mortal nails, and the Maw Walker licked her lips wantonly. She glanced down at her unfinished work, and the hunger plainly written across her face gave Renathal an idea.
"Lie back," he commanded, his voice a low rumble that made the Maw Walker shiver visibly and hasten to obey.
Her shining eyes followed Renathal across the room as he divested himself of excess clothes, enjoying the way her lips parted and her tongue traced her teeth as he revealed himself to her.
As easily as the Maw Walker manipulated his body, it comforted Renathal unduly to know he had just as much control over hers.
He stalked toward her, crawling up the bed and settling himself between her legs. He pushed the white robe out of his way, and the Maw Walker's hands scrambled to join him, removing the thin layer separating her flesh from his mouth. She tugged at Renathal's shoulders, trying to pull him further up her body, but he caught her hands again and placed them firmly back against the sheets.
"Be a good girl, and rest," he growled.
The Maw Walker whimpered at his command and at the effort it took to hold her hips still while his long, sharp fingers traced her softly glowing tattoos. Renathal pressed a heated kiss to her soft stomach in reward. The bare skin beneath him was not quite as warm as he was used to, a vivid reminder to Renathal in his distracted state that the Maw Walker was still healing.
He would have to be more careful than he was usually, and gentler than she preferred, but Renathal did not mind in the slightest.
It was the Maw Walker who craved everything harder, deeper, faster. And as much as he told himself he was in control, Renathal always found it impossible to deny her frantic requests. Even now, in spite of his explicit command, the Maw Walker's hips bucked insistently, but Renathal refused to be rushed. He finally had the perfect excuse to take his time, and he was looking forward to introducing her to a more thorough, leisurely pleasure.
He spread the Maw Walker's legs and parted her already glistening folds with his tongue before pulling away, enjoying her little squeal. Her hips lurched again, desperate for more, but Renathal held her legs fast. He draped her knees over his shoulders, pinning them with strong fingers before dipping his head again.
The Maw Walker tasted like some tart, exotic fruit, unlike anything Renathal had ever tried, and he could not get enough of the flavour. He lapped up the dripping evidence of her arousal, her high, uncontainable cries sending anima to his already throbbing cock. But his epochs-honed self-control held out.
This had always been his specialty. If Denathrius' trick had been to addict souls to his own taste, convince them servicing him was its own reward, Renathal's counter had been to provide a chosen soul an unparalleled and exquisitely orchestrated pleasure. And he was glad to find the muscle memory had not faded after thousands of years of disuse.
He knew exactly how to flick his tongue past the hood of her clit and reach the sensitive center, causing the Maw Walker's thighs to shake uncontrollably as she repeated his name in frantic agreement. With precise control, Renathal let his teeth graze the side of the small bud and groaned as her keening washed over him like an anima bath. He pulled her clit between his lips and simply sucked, and sucked, taking the Maw Walker long past what she could comfortably endure and then further, until she was wailing. Her hands clutched at his hair in a vice grip as she pleaded incoherently.
Renathal smirked against her wet folds, his indecent pride a sin no Harvester should have been permitted to indulge in.
He released a hand from around her trembling thigh and slid two fingers inside the Maw Walker, reveling in her groan of relief as she was finally, delightfully filled. Renathal bent his long fingers expertly, searching for a specific spot and hoping the similarities in anatomy between Venthyr and her kind continued to hold out. He needn't have worried.
"Yes! Yes there there there..."
The Maw Walker's grip on his hair managed to be almost painful, her round nails clawing into his scalp in the throes of her desperation, and Renathal, who had no particular penchant for pain usually, felt his control slip. Anima, as red-hot as open flame, surged down his spine and set fire to his every nerve. He lowered his head once more, laving at her swollen clit, fingers inside her stroking over and over. Amazing how such minute movements could make the dispassionate Maw Walker writhe freely, beg Renathal so shamelessly.
"Don't stop, don't stop, please it's perfect so perfect."
Her pleas and praise were as good as an anima shower the way they spread through Renathal's chest, suffusing him with inexorable, invincible power. The Dark Prince granted the Maw Walker's request magnanimously, increasing the speed of his fingers as he pumped them in and out, matching the pace of her hips as they canted to meet him. He bathed her kiss-swollen clit with attention, focusing his force just off center where she could take more pressure.
And now her hips stuttered, her cries becoming a tight, tense stammer, and Renathal could feel her walls begin to quake around his fingers. He lifted his head to watch her- the way the Maw Walker's normally blank face contorted as she came undone was a favourite of his - letting his thumb graze the side of her clit until the pleasure broke her.
Renathal slowed the pace of his hand. His fingertips stroked gently just at her entrance - half comfort as she came down, half teasing in an effort to work her up again.
"Renathal ... please ..."
The helplessness in the Maw Walker's voice made Renathal's smirk grow into a punishable offense. He lowered his lips again, placing full, wet kisses against her trembling thighs waiting for the Maw Walker to recover herself. He wondered how many times he could make her come around his fingers before she needed to rest again.
"Renathal!"
But the Maw Walker's voice was different now, urgent and focused. Her hands tugged insistently at his hair, yanking his head up toward her, and Renathal's stomach dropped unpleasantly. He let the Maw Walker drag him up her body, his mind racing for what could have gone wrong. His better sense made a belated appearance to remind Renathal he was not supposed to exert the Maw Walker like this yet, that she was still healing, still too fragile.
He was wracking his lust-addled brain for an appropriate apology, until the Maw Walker pulled him against her face and he could make out her words.
"Fuck me fuck me fuck me," she repeated like a mantra. And the language she never used and the wildness behind it made Renathal's jaw drop.
He had never seen the Maw Walker quite this feral. Some calculating part of Renathal that craved total control wondered what he could make her agree to, what promises he could extract while he held this kind of power over her. But the Maw Walker's fervor was infectious, and Renathal abandoned any further thoughts in favour of dragging her leg back over his shoulder and driving inside her at a pace to match her chant.
It took Renathal two thrusts to bottom out into her - she was still so wet and ready - and two more to hit some deep resistance that made the Maw Walker sing. Her long, unbroken wail hit strange notes, interspersed with words Renathal wasn't sure were Shalassian or nonsense, but they worked as well as a spell in spurring him on. Forgetting everything he had told himself about the Maw Walker's fragile condition, forgoing any method or technique or plan, Renathal obeyed the one word he understood and, gripping the headboard for more leverage, fucked her into the bed.
The Maw Walker's cries became erratic as she dragged Renathal's face to hers, licking his lips with a frantic tongue, seeking out her own flavour. The growl Renathal could not contain came from some deep, primal part of him. He could feel release rushing up to meet him, but it was imperative the Maw Walker get there first. He needed to watch her face as she came around his cock, see that it was he who brought her to bliss. Whatever else was true about her unknown past or his uncertain future, in that moment, the Maw Walker was always his.
Renathal called the Maw Walker's name, and she met his gaze as best she could. Her eyes were so wide and clear, Renathal could see the fire of his own reflected in them.
"Come for me, dear one." And Renathal's voice was a low, unbroachable command. "Come for me. Now!"
The Maw Walker's eyes rolled up as she arched, her mouth dropping open, her voice beyond sound. He could feel that tight, delectable embrace as her walls clenched around his cock, and Renathal dropped his head to her shoulder in euphoric surrender.
When he had released a week's worth of worry and uncertainty into his lover, Renathal eased himself off her panting body. He stretched out beside her, for once completely relaxed and entirely unconcerned with anything.
Beside him, the Maw Walker groaned loudly and cracked her neck from side to side. Renathal winced. He supposed it had been too much exertion - and probably it was worth noting that the two of them were incapable of anything else - but he was too satisfied for any real guilt. After all, if the Maw Walker could survive Devilsaurs and reality-shattering spells hurled by the gods of death, sex was hardly going to set her recovery back much.
The Maw Walker shifted in place restlessly, and Renathal's content brain realised with sudden amusement what was bothering her. This was usually the part where she rolled off the bed, escaping Renathal's hands and his offers of rest, in favour of returning to her never-ending work. Now ... she had nowhere to go.
Renathal's smile was more than a little smug. Finally, after months of being forced to share, he had the Maw Walker all to himself. For a while, at least.
He reached out a hand to trace the tattoos on her hips, enjoying the freedom to study her body as lazily as he liked. The Maw Walker closed her eyes and arched gently into his fingers. Renathal thought the patches of colour in her cheeks might be less to do with arousal and more a result of the awkward silence to which she was unaccustomed.
"Do all Nightborne have these?" Renathal asked conversationally, in an effort to ease her discomfort.
"Not all, but most," answered the Maw Walker without opening her eyes. Apparently, she knew the pattern Renathal's fingers followed so well she knew what he meant without looking. "We choose them. Each design means something different. Strengthens our magic differently."
Renathal propped his head on his other arm, considering the circular patterns more closely.
"Why did you choose these?"
"I didn't."
There were several beats of expectant silence before the Maw Walker opened her eyes. She chanced a glance at Renathal's face, but he merely raised an eyebrow, letting the obvious question hang in the air.
With a sigh, the Maw Walker drew her knees in closer, and stretched out a hand to trace the skin of her outer thighs.
"The ones I chose were different. They looked like this." She took Renathal's hand where it had stilled on her waist and used his index finger to draw a more angular pattern on her skin, very different from the concentric circles she currently wore. "It's called Arcane. Most Arcanists choose that design. For obvious reasons."
She continued to paint her invisible pattern with Renathal's sharp nail. He let her finish, keeping his curiousity carefully in check. There were several minutes of thoughtful silence before the Maw Walker released his hand and continued quietly.
"After ... whatever it was Elisande did... they changed. Into this."
The Maw Walker's eyes closed again. She let her knees drop and rolled to her side, tucking herself into Renathal's waiting body. She nestled her head into the space between his neck and shoulder, and he could feel her lips pressed lightly to his skin. And Renathal's curiousity was temporarily sated by the gentle, comfortable affection that spread through him everywhere the Maw Walker's body lined up with his. This was a moment he had sought after longer than he cared to admit, and the elation of finally having what he wanted occupied him for several minutes.
It was as his hands roamed the curves of the Maw Walker's body again - with a propriety he enjoyed immensely - that the question occurred to Renathal.
"What does this pattern mean, then?"
"Eternity."
The Maw Walker's voice was drowsy, exertion catching up with her. Renathal continued to stroke her soft, bare skin in silent encouragement to rest, but he himself could not have been further from sleep. Anima pumped through his veins again, and this arousal was not merely physical.
Eternity.
The word triggered something in Renathal; a long-dormant desire, a need he had fought for eons to bury. A familiar, stern voice within him warned him not to name it, but it was a voice Renathal no longer trusted. And the rebellious desire crystalised into a new question.
If the Maw Walker was, in essence, as eternal as Renathal himself, was there any reason she couldn't spend her eternity with him?
Renathal turned this tantalising thought over and over in his head. So lost was he in the implications of this new, fantastic possibility, it was a long time before he realised the Maw Walker had fallen asleep in his arms.