Daphne's trail was easy enough to follow. There was more blood on the walls than in the bodies. Stepping over the occasional exsanguinated corpse, Alan paused only to thrust open doors they passed, to ensure there were no survivors hiding within. There was naught to be seen, but for furnishings in disarray and the occasional still twitching body. It was a gruesome scene, but inwardly Alan hoped she saved some for him. The visions of his wife's torment still seethed just under the surface of his thoughts.
"Look at this shit, and you wonder why I don't trust the monstrous bitch."
"The fact that she can do this when we let her off her leash just goes to show how well she's keeping her terms of her surrender," Alan's voice was cold and calculating. He was in a deadly mood, and now they were so close to rescuing his wife, he couldn't allow any mistakes.
Vick merely grunted in response, and their sweep continued in silence until the next crossing. Two halls intersected in a fair sized room, though a trail of blood along the wall to the right hand corridor clearly showed where the elf woman had gone.
"We should wait for Master Steelwright," Farangalia finally spoke, uneasy with the situation. The dwarf, at least, had seemed a kind soul.
"He'll catch up. Daphne's this way, so let's clear other way," Vick pointed to the corridor opposite.
"No, we split up here. Farangalia, you go catch up to Daphne. Vick, take your pick of a passage, I'll sweep the one left over."
Farangalia wasted no time padding off to the passage to the right, while Vick turned and clanked his way to the left. His armor was dented and bloodstained, but so far seemed to have protected the fat Count from the worst of the blows. Alan steeled himself, then wandered down the middle corridor. Once again he drew his dagger with his free hand, and with Farangalia's light no longer present or necessary, there were plenty of shadows to stick to as he advanced.
He was almost disappointed that there weren't more traps, but then once they'd got past the initial defenses, it only made sense not to lay too many amidst the every day living quarters. Back in his day, they'd occasionally rig nonlethal snares just to fuck with the new recruits, but there was none of that in evidence. As Alan made his way down the corridor, he caught a faint scent of incense, and a soft, feminine humming drifted down the hallway.
The hall was relatively short, just three doors lined the wood paneled walls, one on either side and one directly ahead. The one on the left was unlocked, and opened into an opulent bedroom. It was beyond anything that Alan expected, even with the guild's usual resources. The scent of perfume within was almost intoxicating, and mingled with the drifting incense in a manner he found hard to describe. It stirred a certain sense of want within him.
Still, despite the obvious luxury of the bedroom, no one was within. He tried the one on the right next, and it gave readily. The incense seemed to come from within, thick and cloying. This chamber held four crude cots, and upon one of them was a haggard, gray haired man that Alan recognized with a sickening realization.
Tannon, a thief of the old guard. He'd been utterly loyal to Alan during his tenure, the two were of similar age. He'd had little ambition, however, and preferred to stay in the shadows. Over the years, he had provided updates to the guild's progress, but Alan hadn't heard from him in months. There were no chains in evidence, no sign of torture, but something about Tannon's state struck Alan as simply 'wrong'.
The man's leanly muscled frame was nude save for a single scrap of loincloth. His hair had grown out, while his trademark goatee had been lost. He sat on the edge of one cot, staring into the distance. It was those eyes which were the worst part. Those once keen, unfettered brown eyes were clouded and dim, and his half lidded expression seemed just shy of a total stupor.
Alan wasn't prepared for anything that obviously magical, so he shut the door carefully, quietly. He'd have to find out what happened to his old friend later. For the moment, he turned his attention to the last door on the corridor. Once more the perfume and incense seemed to mingle, a calming scent that lulled the senses and set the mind wandering on pleasant thoughts. From beyond the doorway, gentle splashing and running water could just be heard. Shaking his head in a vain attempt to clear his mind, Alan sheathed his dagger and tightened his grip on his sword, then warily opened the door.
The vision within was wholly beyond anything Alan could prepare himself for. She was barely visible at first, but as the steam from the grand bath dissipated with his opening of the door, more of her haunting visage came into view. Long locks of shimmering silver cascaded like liquid metal about her form, parted by the tapered points of her ears as ivory rocks splitting a river of mercury. Her hair was damp, and clung to her petite frame with a mind of its own. A high widow's peak gave the impression that her smooth forehead were more prominent than it was, but it hardly detracted from her unearthly beauty. Brows of silver rose above eyes the color of the forest. Those vivid greens fixed upon him, holding his gaze transfixed for a moment. Only when her lashes kissed her high cheekbones, breaking the caught gaze, did he feel he had the permission to let his eyes travel once more.
Alan wasn't sure whether it was the warmth of the blush dusting her pale, soft skin, the way the water cascaded down her body in a lover's caress, or the shift of her nude form to face his so invitingly that drew him in. There were others within the chamber, standing to either side of the preternatural elven woman, but his gaze couldn't tear itself from her long enough to acknowledge them. The tip of their buckets to allow more water to course over her form was only noted by the way the liquid flowed over her sleek curves, over breasts more modest than the human women he was used to, along taut belly and flared hips. Her nipples puckered and peaked, jutting forth toward his gaze, and though she raised one arm to drape across her bust, that delicate limb did nothing to hide her, resting just shy of where his gaze caught every luscious detail.
Perhaps it was the clang of his sword as it hit the fine wood floor, or perhaps it was the click of the door closing behind him, but for a moment, just a moment his mind snapped free of the shock of the beauty before him. Alan turned his gaze up, the men flanking her were dressed similarly to his old friend, simple loincloths and nothing more. He shifted his gaze to the door behind him, but just as he wondered when he had entered the room, the warm touch of an elegant hand on his shoulder and the soft, musical sound of the elven woman's voice conspired to drag him back into that entrancement.
"You look so tired, so weary. Let me help you forget your worries, your troubles," Her very voice was as a fine wine to the senses, and when he turned to look back to the woman that seemed much closer than he remembered, his eyes caught those angled, forest green eyes. And with that, he was gone.
The scent of her was enthralling, the taste more so. His lips trailed unbidden over her neck, that soft, damp skin trembled with her laughter. Her hands found his shoulders, his settled at the gentle flare of her bare hips. She was warm, too warm really, but it felt nice under his touch. Alan's tongue darted over that flesh just between his lips, tasting a mix of cinnamon, honey, and need.
"Just rest, relax," Her voice was soothing, like the gentle rustle of wind through tree branches, or the distant crash of ocean waves. "Let your Mistress wash the cares of the world away with her touch." He could listen to those musical tones forever.
Her long nails dragged over the leather covering his form, then began to deftly undo the lacing. His own hands trailed up her sides, resting to either side of her bust. That skin was so soft, so smooth under his hands, under his lips as he trailed his kisses to her shoulder. There was movement, just out of the corner of his eye. The other two servants of the Mistress ducked about to take up his weapons where they had landed, his sword, his dagger. Hadn't it been sheathed? It was so hard to think. Especially when those small, dainty hands began to caress over the bare skin of his chest.
Alan offered a moan of protest when she pushed him back, but it was cut off with a gasp when her hungry lips caught the dip of his throat, then teased expertly down toward his chest. The steam from the baths once more thickened in the air, obscuring the rest of the room. Nothing in the world existed but him and the elven Mistress.
Her long nails dragged down his firm chest, teasing as razors over every contour of his torso, just light enough to avoid cutting, but firm enough to leave welts in their path. Sharp little nips were interspersed with suckling little kisses, surprisingly sharp teeth scraped along his flesh, to the point of drawing a drop of blood near to one nipple. Alan gasped, then groaned as her soft red lips sealed over the bite. They weren't the fangs of a vampire, no, but rather the sharp teeth of some wild beast.
At any other time, that would have worried him, but his mind was occupied with other things. With how good she smelled, how soft and warm her curves were under his hands, how exquisite her touch was against his own skin. He stroked his fingers gently over the moderate swells of those breasts, then brushed his thumbs across the edge of each nipple. His arousal strained against his trousers, but then with quick work of her dextrous fingers, that thick length sprung free. The brush of his cock against her bare thighs brought a sharp intake of breath, on his part at least.
