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Rosa de Riva actually quite liked Arlathan. It was wonderous, with the dreamlike spires of the capital floating in a bright sky decorated with wispy clouds and sparkles of tissue thin wild magic. The crunch of leaves underfoot. The occasional pale, ghostlike shapes of the halla flitting through the woods.
Viago was fairly certain she was born to a Dalish clan. She’d been too young for complex sentences, and the Tevene mercenaries hadn’t left much evidence, but there was at least two Dalish adults, dead of Blight poisoning, and a small Dalish pendant that made a toddler Rosa babble for her father. There was a world where she hadn’t been stolen and rescued by Viago…
More likely she’d be dead of… well. A few things.
She rubbed the pair of letters in her pouch, one with a tea ring on the corner and cramped green writing, the other with crisp black ink in a hand used to writing for an audience with varying levels of education.
They’d arrived this morning, and Rosa hadn’t read either in full just yet. She had so much on her plate, everyone needed something from her. She didn’t have time to chase fantasies, not when Neve still carried frost in her words, or when Davrin was trying to help inform the families of those who died at Weisshaupt. When Harding had another slip last night, the stone of her entryway rearranging itself as Rosa walked out of the conservatory, Neve and Emmrich had joined them to calm the poor scout. Bellara had nearly fallen asleep in her oatmeal this morning, having worked endlessly to try to get the Nadas Dirthalen to give up useful secrets.
She was scared, too. Of what it meant, in those letters. What paper and ink lines meant for her.
But she was a Crow. She had a job to do.
So when Neve asked to Harding to come to Minrathous, looking more alive and herself than she had since the coup, Rosa had encouraged Harding to go, joking that she should tell them if she managed to turn any Venatori to stone and catching the apple Harding threw at her. Minrathous was full of people asking Neve for help, getting one of them sorted might help her in turn. One of those little wins.
And the Veil Jumpers were dealing with more artifacts that had been tampered with, so Rosa had encouraged Emmrich to go with Bells. Emmrich had a lot better work life balance, and Yanarel would poke at Bellara to sleep and they could angry flirt. She thought that might be what they were doing, at least. Emmrich had also been discussing something about some tombs they’d found with Strife, and Taash said they thought Emmrich was flirting with the man.
Taash and Davrin were checking out a patch of Blight in Arlathan as well. Taash was good at burning through the stuff, and Davrin needed to feel like he had purpose? Good, he could be the one to help Dalish and villagers who felt abandoned by the outside world. The late First Warden had sent a single Warden after D’meta’s Crossing, an elven mage named Peri Thorne who said this was the best punishment the First Warden could have given her.
She’d also been looking at Davrin like she was planning on tackling him if he seemed agreeable as she said it. And Davrin seemed very agreeable to being chased by the blunt but friendly Warden who was apparently enthralled by halla and Assan both.
Assan would like the truffles, anyway.
So she and Lucanis were checking out what might be a slaver patrol in Arlathan. The senior Crow was still agitated after Weisshaupt, but maybe this would help.
“How are your ribs?” Not asking about Weisshaupt directly- that would make him shut down, or think this was so she could yell at him in private, as the man forgot she was the junior Crow who couldn’t get the job done herself.
“Mmm, those are fine now. One of the advantages of my condition is improved healing,” Lucanis admitted, one of the first times he’d properly spoken positively on his possession. Given that Emmrich didn’t think they could be separated… that was progress.
“That makes sense, some magical healing is done by communing with spirits,” Rosa mused. “I can probably ask for books on the subject if you want. Just let me know.”
The turn of Lucanis’ head and sour expression meant that Spite was making his own commentary.
“Spite, could you focus on seeing if you hear or smell the mercenaries?” Rosie asked the rough spot she suspected the prickly spirit was standing.
“Thank you,” Lucanis shook his head. “Apologies, he’s just… very difficult today.” He made a low growl that she refused to admit she found attractive. “Right. I’m…on edge.”
“Makes sense,” Rosa had to admit that. Between Zara, Treviso’s occupation, Illario being a flighty ass lately, his possession and that possession leading him to getting tossed in that magic pool of Ghilan’nain’s in the Ossuary explained the bit where he turned into a giant Fade creature sometimes now. Oh. And the Evanuris. “I can’t wave a magic wand and fix that, but we can go kill slavers and work off some frustration?”
He laughed, the sound making her relax. “That- is much better than many of the things I’ve had suggested to me so far.”
“I try,” she grinned up and a little over her shoulder. She vaguely remembered that from the few seduction lessons before the tutor had said she was too strange to teach.
His smile grew a little wider before his head turned to look at Spite.
-
Lucanis was not lying to Rosa. Per se. Spite was being difficult. Lucanis was on edge.
The logical conclusion was that Lucanis was on edge because Spite was being difficult.
(Also perhaps because he did not sleep more than three hours in as many days, but Rosa would look miserable and something she’d received this morning looked like it stabbed her in the gut. Spite, that was a metaphor.)
In truth, Lucanis was on edge and Spite was merely reacting to that.
His body was no longer entirely his own. This had been the case for nearly a year and a half. First with Spite forced into his body, the demon twining in every nerve, vein, and muscle. The rotten… meat, it had technically been meat, he did not analyze that further. That had been disgusting and odd but he’d assumed poison. Red lyrium or Blight.
Not the bloom of the demon rising, fitting himself into every dark corner of Lucanis, an unsettling mirror.
When the pair of them refused to break, Zara had ordered the second violation. The thick grey water, as briny as the sea, the atonal humming of the strange lyrium crystal.
The feeling of drowning, of something burrowing, searching for gaps in the shield of his skin, cold and twisting, Spite’s screams mingling with his own, smoke and violet light, waking to the world too small and his body too heavy, thick fangs and feathers bristling a mane along scaled flesh.
Of rage and pain that threatened to consume them both, but he could not let that happen. He refused to let the Venatori beat him. Them. Spite hadn’t asked for any of this. The demon hadn’t set out to kill Calivan, even.
Clawing back his own shape. Learning to endure the tortures meant to draw his monstrous side out. The true face of the Demon of Vyrantium, they had said, as if making a proclamation. As if it was a revelation.
He had spent the past few months learning this form outside the Ossuary. The strength. What resulted in Spite’s wings and what gave his eyebrows feathers. Rosa frowning and asking if he could just grow the claws to open a hidden catch in a wall, and her delight when he managed it. Her carefully helping get some magical muck off his feathers, so different and gentle compared to the…studies done in the Ossuary.
The surprise the first time Assan had leapt over to join her after a lead on the Gloom Howler resulted in finding a pair of dead Wardens, his beak expertly searching for twisted pinfeathers or loose ends. Davrin, face unreadable, had said the flock of griffins used to do it to each other for comfort.
He shook his head again, needing to focus. Rosa needed him to be focused. She forgave his disastrous miss at Weisshaupt, but simple mercenaries? He’d sooner drown himself.
It would be easier if his skin wasn’t so warm, and prickling like he needed to transform. His senses, too, were on the sharper end, picking up the burrowing of nugs, the rosemary and hyssop soap that Rosa favored. He'd woken this morning from one of his rare sleeps in his bed, having dreamed of the woman in his bed in his home, stretched out lazily, the curve of her abdomen speaking of a future that couldn't be his. Of Rosa on her hands and knees as he bit into her shoulder as he fucked into her like the monster he was. He'd managed to make them all breakfast to serve themselves when they trickled in, but he'd made Rosa a plate and been sure to make her that mint tea she loved, pulling the tin from the highest shelf in the pantry. And there had been a cup of fresh blackberries- her favorite. She'd been delighted, and actually managed to sit and eat it all.
Smells good enough to EAT, Spite’s thought coiled in the back of his mind, and he bit the inside of his cheek at how it made his mouth water.
Not consume her, but to see if that patch of skin on the side of her neck would bear the bruises from his mouth as vividly as he suspected they would. To see the wings of her cloak spread on the leaves of Arlathan, the forest light setting her aglow.
No. Focus. This was Rosa. She rescued him from the Ossuary. She was in charge of this contract.
She was on the smaller side for an elf, and even in his normal shape she was a head shorter than him. Though stronger than she appeared- she climbed and did archery and tumbled and bent herself into twists, and the muscles of her back and shoulders were more developed than most mages. She took a joy in it that bordered on lunatic, risks that made even his breath catch.
Her legs could rest easily on his shoulders while he just tasted a stripe up her…
Lucanis apparently froze, his mind offering up a temptation that sang to him the way the promise of an open sky and the sounds of Treviso once had, in his prison. The pretty elf, those enormous eyes the color of greenstone, staring up at him as she unlaced her blouse. How nice it would be to rest with her curled up, full and happy and safe in his arms, a hand over...
No.
“-Spite, are you two okay? Lucanis isn’t answering but you usually speak up if you can,” Rosa’s words came out tripping over each other, and he breathed.
Mistake. The smell of rosemary and Rosa was stronger now.
He had to focus. Had to prove that Rosa wouldn’t regret the chance she took when she agreed to keep a possessed man on the team.
Yes, a voice that wasn’t quite his own thoughts, wasn’t the voice of Spite, impress her. Show her how good we are, how well we fit together.
That… wasn’t the tone he meant to take on the subject.
Still, they had work to do.
The band of mercenaries wasn’t very large- judging by the supplies on hand he suspected the forest had dealt with some. The Dalish were a practical people, and would have finished them off or sent a message informing the Veil Jumpers of that fact. Seven remained, one nursing a broken arm, another’s eyes darting around at every rustle of the wind. All human, with two mages. The armor was cheap but serviceable, mended tidily but much mended. All matching, so this wasn’t just a group of recruited swords for hire. Former Military, perhaps, but not working for a long time patron or all that steadily.
Rosie stood on a ledge, pressed against the wall to keep out of sight, bow at the ready, and he found a good position to…
Glide to that corner, keep them from getting to their heavier weaponry, kick one so he fell onto the fire. Rosa’s arrows, crackling with lightning, landed in the eye of one, and a gut hit for the burning one.
“Demon! Monster!” One of the slavers cried, and that was not a sword, it was a poorly kept bit of rust and dull steel not worthy for teaching a child. Burst capillaries and a missing ear. Alcohol dulling him, then.
Spite’s cackle was punctuated by an arrow in the man’s throat, green magic making it splinter inside him.
“Dalish witch!” someone called, and Rosa must have come into the open, with three dead, keeping them dodging so Lucanis could tear through them. Her stance was steady, and she fired easily.
One of the mages blasted her- blood mage, damn it, and Rosa wobbled and the other hit her.
She yelped a curse, she must be fine, but Lucanis’ vision went purple as his bones reformed.
-
Rosa cursed blood mages as she fade-stepped to the center, blasting a crater with force magic, buying time for Lucanis to finish shifting.
Lucanis grabbed the mage who hit her, snapping his neck and impaling the thigh of the one who tried to sneak up on him.
“Not Dalish, my fucking face is bare,” Rosa muttered as she sent a bolt of lightning into another. Not to mention her black leathers with a Crow’s cape, not the bright patchwork medley of Dalish styles. Mythal or whoever give her patience.
He made short work of the rest, and Rosa knew enough to just get some bruises in before letting him work and focusing on patching up the damage to her arm- a few crushed veins, a deep bruise that would look ugly if she let it take shape.
She’d had far worse- and the mercenaries were messily dead.
“I didn’t know you could actually rip out someone’s spine,” Rosa commented after a long moment, making Lucanis turn his head up and look at her.
Brown eyes, so it was him looking at her. She knew there had been whispers about his gaze, part of the Demon’s legend. That he could pin it and steal your life with a glare and all that rot.
Rosa thought they were quite nice, actually. He had annoyingly unfairly effective puppy dog eyes when troubled, and when he was focused, they dissembled the world until he could understand it.
The metaphor was maybe a bit much. Bellara would scratch it out of her manuscript.
“You hurt?” she asked, which is when he tackled her.
She squeaked. Actually squeaked. She’d argue that was because, transformed, Lucanis was a him and a half tall.
But her head didn’t hit the dirt, because Lucanis’ hand kept her aloft enough, claws delicately buried in her hair. And he was… sniffing her.
“I’m fine, you two,” she said, giggling a little because his huffs of breath tickled. As did the feathers dusting his chest. Hopefully Spite tucked their armor in a bit of the Fade again. “I’ve had worse, promise. My pride’s more bruised than that- should have gone for the mages first, not the easy targets.”
He snorted, making her almost curl up on herself. “My specialty, Rosa.”
The voice was recognizably Lucanis’, and she raised an eyebrow. She’d assumed that was Spite- Lucanis always seemed cautious with touch in general.
“True,” Rosa said, wondering why he hadn’t sprung away from her like she was on fire yet. Not that she minded- Lucanis was… was…
Nuzzling her? What in…
Letting out an entirely undignified noise she refused to admit was a whimper, she wiggled a hand free and tapped his shoulder. “Lucanis? Are you alright?”
“I’m fine now,” he said, not letting go of her at all. “I’ve been… itchy, all day. This is better.”
His voice sounded dreamy, and he clearly wasn’t in his right mind. Lucanis seemed to prefer his distance when he thought about it. It being the fact that she was, well, her.
Except he was holding her like something precious, and not leaving, and she was getting very confused on what he wanted. She wished she could talk to her friends in House de Riva about this, they were all much better with people and actions and words not matching.
“Itchy?” she asked, wishing he’d look up at her. Would his eyes be brown or violet, could she see his pupils? “Can you be more specific? Like an allergy?”
She made up that concoction with the cinnamon oil for him, to help with any aches from the wings and transformations. Did she accidentally add something that caused a reaction?
“No,” he said, slowly. “More… impatient, almost. Waiting to strike. It’s harder… Keeping impulses leashed- not Spite, this time.”
The last was said after a groan, and Rosa imagined the demon had been insistant she knew that.
Without thinking, she ran her fingers through the feathers on his head, the man sighing and almost head butting her for more. She obliged, because who knew when she'd get another chance? And something was wrong.
“It’s the transformations, then?” Rosa frowned, trying to run through the options. This seemed new. He transformed when emotional, but that was getting better, and he'd not snapped and lashed out on many, many provoking targets. Nor had he decided to go for cuddles. “I’m not as familiar with wyvern habits, or even how much of them could be extrapolated…”
“Rosa,” his voice was a ragged laugh against her breast. “As much as I love hearing you talk, I dislike being spoken of as a thesis.”
“Less a thesis, more a treatment plan, but alright,” she said, deciding to stroke him more. The purring was louder, and he began moving. The noise was comforting, something that made her feel warm and…
And oh. Wyverns kept their… reproductive organs in a sort of pouch, to come out in mating seasons, and she’d always assumed the transformations… that was to say…
Big. To be fair, in this form he was somewhere around eight feet tall, but he seemed to be generally proportional, and that in ratio…
“Lucanis?” she asked, and that was too needy, wasn’t it. Something here- the purring, the feel of him curled around her, the very present expression of him wanting her…
…she liked it. More than like, it took her stupid fancy and made it worse. Made it seem like something she could reach for.
“Rosa, I…” Lucanis’ hips stuttered, a move that made her mind go gloriously blank for a moment, and if he did anything further she couldn’t want anything more than to urge him on. He was more elegantly formed than any other abomination she'd heard of, still recognizably Lucanis, a fencer’s build elongated and given innate armor, shadow-dripped fingers ending in careful, dexterous talons. The wings, more solid in this form. A long, thin whip of a tail that wrapped around her waist. Sharper teeth that could be dangerous for others.
He was so careful with her, though.
“Ours.” The voice was Lucanis and Spite twined together, and when his head tilted up, there was a ring of magenta along his blown pupils.
“Yours,” tumbled out of her mouth, and that felt like a spell clicking together, like falling into her bed after a long slog, the world finally making sense. She was theirs, and they’d be an unwavering support and safe place to land, and she’d shield them in turn.
-
Lucanis was aware that he should be upset. He could feel the noose slipping around Rosa’s neck, some trick of the demon’s that burrowed in and claimed her. Could hear the moment when her voice went off kilter and breathy.
But the rest of his emotions- the demon’s triumph and delight, his own traitorous body’s relief and satisfaction that their mate had accepted she was theirs, that someone, that Rosalia de Riva, brilliant and blazing and impossible, had seen him at his most feral and monstrous and still chosen him…
His mouth was nipping open mouthed kisses along her racing pulse points before his rational mind could process and urge caution, enjoying her pleased hum as his teeth scraped and he soothed any redness.
“Lucanis?” Rosa asked, concern threading her words. “You really want this?”
Even half out of his mind with lust and the need to make her forget everything but the fact she was his, he could tell that when she said ‘this’ she meant ‘me’. Leave out the fact that the woman was delicately pretty, with a long spill of hair the color of coffee and a lovely, expressive face that was as given to wicked smiles as furrowed concentration, he was aware that she was occasionally uncertain when dealing with people. Strange even for a de Riva, she’d said with a self deprecating shrug. Unsettling enough she’d not been trained properly in seduction techniques, despite her looks, Illario had said with rolled eyes and fondness.
(His cousin had seen through Lucanis asking about Illario’s favorite poison supplier and given him a broad, slightly evil grin, and said he hoped this time his target realized he was trying to court them. He’d certainly had no luck with her.)
Leave out all of that, and she was the woman who’d refused a goddess to her face. Twice. Who leapt into a fight in explosive magic and a ringing, defiant laugh, who let Taash ask the most ridiculous questions and gave them serious answers. Who taught Bellara how to make explosive flasks so the Veil Jumpers could more safely defend themselves. Who had given a small prayer over Lorelei’s corpse, and supported Jacobus as he wrestled with his cousin’s death. The woman who teased the Demon of Vyrantium and…
Too! Many! Words! Spite snarled, stealing the first proper kiss, too-sharp teeth nicking her lips and drawing a bead of blood. Scare! Ros!
She made a gratifying noise as he licked the blood from inside her lip, rushing back into control of his body like the tide. His thigh slotted neatly between her knees, and she ground down on him, hands skimming over skin, scale, and feathers like it was perfectly normal.
“I want this, far too much to be safe for you,” he said, pulling away and hating himself for it, the warmth and urge to do something roaring back. “I have… aside from my… affliction, there is Zara, the matter of First Talon…”
She placed a gentle kiss like a benediction on his head. “Lucanis. Dear, darling idiot man. I have you hunting gods. And Zara seems sworn to one of them. And I am a Crow as well. I’m not going anywhere. And you have never caused me harm.”
She paused, then added, with casual honesty, “Well, never caused me harm past what I’d get sparring. And less than I’ve gotten from a bad climb.”
Spite purred at that. Our Rosa. Pretty mate. Sees us and wants. Wants us. Company and joining together to make more.
She tilted her head. “What do you need from me, Lucanis?”
“Too. Many. Clothes!” Spite forced the whine from his lips, and her eyes went wide before she obediently went for the clasps of her armor, gloved hands going for the fastenings of her cape.
They kissed down along her collarbone, smiling at her slight grumble as her hands tangled and laid a soothing touch over his shoulders.
He unclasped the buckle of her belt, allowing her to maneuver herself into exposing most of her torso, and he pulled up the linen shirt underneath, revealing soft skin and a scar along the curve of her ribs.
“Stronzo, I’m stuck,” she had a laugh, her arms trying to struggle free. “Let me up for a moment.”
“I could have fun with that, though,” he teased her, enjoying her face screwing up in frustration. “My pretty little bird, caught in my net…”
“I will bite you,” she muttered, and he had to laugh, helping free her shoulders.
“You say that like it’s a threat, Rosa,” he teased. Her tiny ‘oh’ made him shake his head in amusement as she finally got her wrists and hands free, nearly forgetting she still wore her gloves.
Touch? Spite asked, hopefully.
Yes, he thought, twirling a lock of her long, soft hair through his claws. There was the pang of disquiet at the black and purple stain of his skin, the glimmer of iridescent scales, the black curve of claws.
But it was softened by how the light of Arlathan complemented Rosa, turning her dark hair warm and reddish, making her skin seem to glow, the deep green of her enormous eyes luminous.
She looked like something out of a tale of ancient Elvhenan like this, if you ignored the Crow leathers, her cape spread in wings on the ground.
Though to him, that might make it better.
-
Rosa had a few logistical issues.
She was not, truthfully speaking, a virgin. Seduction training had been a resounding disaster, but her housemates had made sure she had a working knowledge of toys and the act. She quite enjoyed kissing, she’d discovered. Both with mouths and using her mouth on other parts of anatomy.
That being said, she was small even for an elf, at five feet. She was closer to Lace than Lucanis in height, and not overly gifted in the curve department, especially in the hips.
With the human Lucanis, she was fairly certain that wouldn’t be an issue. He was a thoughtful and considerate teammate, who took pride in ensuring he did everything he could to make them all as comfortable as possible. She had no reason to doubt he wouldn’t take that consideration and his considerable focus into the bedroom. She was flexible even for a Crow, to the point someone had joked she could make a career as a contortionist.
In his scaled and feathered form, he was half again as large as he had been. All over, as she had realized.
Even with enough foreplay to render her boneless and incoherent, she was going to need a lot of healing magic and to be carried back to the Lighthouse.
That voice saying that it would be fine? That was her libido speaking, and one thing she’d learned from her housemates, it was that voice was a liar that lured otherwise sensible people to their doom.
But Lucanis was playing with her hair, looking at her like she hung the moon and the stars, and she wanted him. And Spite. The pair of them. Screaming in pleasure until her voice went, curled up over correspondence as he teased her for her inability to have more than one cup of coffee without vibrating. Explaining to Spite how her plants could be used, which of her inks were safe to use and how.
Then his cock pressed against her, and she arched her spine to shimmy her trousers down, thumbs catching her undergarments as well.
She had felt that spell take hold, that would do… something. If she actually started feeling pain, they would stop. Or she could shock him.
This would be fine. She would be fine. They would be fine. She couldn't not do this.
Especially as Lucanis tipped her chin with his tail so she could stare at his dark, fathomless eyes as he moved back, bracing himself as he rested his head on her thighs.
Oh, she was dripping already. Was she too eager? No, he’d actually been the one who tackled her… but was that just the transformation? Was she just the nearest warm body? He and Neve seemed more… Neve was confident and understood social rules and wasn’t built like a stick insect…
“Rosalia,” Lucanis’ rumbling cut through her fears. “You want this? Truly?”
“S-si,” she stammered, because he was practically breathing on her clit and… “You want this as well, right? This isn’t just the t-transformation?”
There was a flash of magenta before their tongue, too long and warm, …forked? She knew it was forked, but that hadn’t really factored in her daydreams. And it licked a stripe along her cunt, making her lock her legs between his shimmering, more solid wings and the smooth scales along his back.
“Dreamed. Of. This. Rosa’s. Taste,” Spite looked fascinated, a claw carefully combing through the dark hair there. “Since dragons. Pretty Rosa. Defying. Gods. Dragons. Brave. Loyal. Gentle and fierce. She fits. With us.”
He blinked, and Lucanis had a flush that reminded her that his blood didn’t change colors. “I… Spite wasn’t lying, but I might have tried…”
Magenta again. “Too many words! Scares! Rosa! Thinks! In knots! Ties tongue!”
“I think it was about the same,” Rosa admitted. “Well, I noticed you were attractive about when we met…”
“I was half a monster and covered in blood and sand,” Lucanis sounded incredulous. “I’d been tortured for a year.”
Her mouth couldn’t help the smile that caught on her crooked eyetooth. “And you still worked like that. Poets would weep describing how you fight.”
His laughter tickled, and she squirmed. “But I realized it was more than that in the aftermath of the dragon attack. Not just the fight, but how you dealt with the aftermath. It was… you are an admirable man, Lucanis Dellamorte.”
He seemed frozen for a long moment, before coming back to himself. “I’m a monster.”
“Eh, there’s a bit less pulsating than you’d expect for monsters,” Rosa teased. “And you have a neck. Far too attractive to be a monster, overall.”
Their wings preened, and he seemed to decide that words were beyond him when he could return to wringing pleasure out of her and keeping his mouth occupied.
Usually that was her role- hopefully she didn’t say anything too foolish.
Also, his tongue was decidedly longer and stronger, and went inside of her, swiping a spot that made her see stars. Spite’s energy was also a vibration that seemed to crackle over his body, something that made her shiver. It was teasing and overkill, really, but she didn't want it to end.
“Good spot, good spot,” and she would want to die of embarrassment, except that the tongue came out and a taloned finger went in, with just enough firmness as he touched her walls that pleasure still overwhelmed pain, the scrape adding a weight to it. She was a Crow. Unbridled sweetness without an edge wasn’t something she trusted.
“That’s what I want,” he said, smiling at her. “Honesty. Direct.”
He added a second finger, his thumb rubbing a complimentary rhythm along her clit, and she tried to swallow the scream in the wave of…
“Honesty, Rosalia,” he said, chiding and smug and she wanted to find a way to ruin that damn composure that he kept managing to find when she was falling and pulling herself into a collapsing spell sphere of pleasure that smashed to pieces her capacity for rational thought.
She screamed, because the hand and the way that Spite’s energy buzzed along her skin and she felt…
Did this man just kiss her clit? That was simply unfair.
“Lucanis…” she said, trying to stretch. “That was…”
Keep going?
His breath huffed against her wet cunt, and she relaxed.
“The reality is far better than any dream the Fade can conjure,” he said, and she took it from the sparks in his eyes that was how both of them felt.
“In the dirt, in a warped magical forest, surrounded by corpses?” Rosa couldn’t help herself, could she. But there were corpses just outside his wingspan. A few of them.
“Well,” he shrugged, and she knew that damn fake casual tone and braced herself. “The term is bloodlust, after all.”
She whooped with laughter that made his jaw scrape along her thigh. “And you say my puns are bad? I’ll remember this, Lucanis.”
He grinned wickedly, showing plenty of sharp teeth. “You kept going, the same pun over and over.”
“I still am distracted by how many damn hands they made…” she started, before yelping as he moved his mouth to her still sensitive clit. “I was talking!”
“I know,” he said, with so much mischief it was hard to tell between him and Spite. “I want to see what I need to do to render you speechless. Clearly no ordinary effort will do.”
“And what should I- oh, that, Lucanis- do for-“ she hissed in a gasp but forced the rest of her sentence out. “You?”
He froze, eyes wide and shining, the glistening of her fluids gleaming along his mouth. “What?”
“Lucanis,” she laughed, stretching like a cat and enjoying the way it made his beard- one of the only two patches of hair that didn’t transform- rub against her thigh. “You just made me see stars. You started this because you need something, remember? I want to give you that.”
-
“I want to give you that,” Rosa said, face flushed, hands fluttering like she wanted to play with his hair again.
She had no idea what she was offering, Lucanis knew. Didn’t know the coiling monstrous thoughts that got stronger from her words.
Not an idiot, Spite thought, indignant.
Lucanis was careful as he drug his body over her, the scales and feathers and the swathes of too warm skin. She’d called him a furnace, when clearing the Fade island that lead to the Anderfels, keeping close as they rested.
Rosa sighed as he did so, arching to chase that warmth. He didn’t feel the chill, but it was early spring in Arlathan, and she was naked.
Their wings adjusted, keeping her covered.
“So good for me,” she murmured, and the kiss that followed was as much about stemming the flow of kindness as it was desire. He nipped at her full lip, the edges of his teeth reopening the half healed cut Spite had made.
Her hands were strong, calloused, and gentle when they didn’t need to be, carding through his feathers on his chest, short nails along the seams of scales, a tingle of magic tracing along.
“Rosa,” he said, moving his mouth to one pink-tipped ear, enjoying how it flicked at the ghost of a touch. “I… if you agree…”
“I think I’ve agreed a few times, now,” she said, raising one of her eyebrows, a blush across her cheeks and down her chest that contrasted with finger-marks and bruised spots from his mouth. “Magic was involved.”
Spite rumbled his agreement.
“You are agreeing to…” he trailed off, trying to come up with a rational title for it.
Spite gave him a mental nudge, but Lucanis shoved him back. This needed to come from him, not Spite spilling their secrets.
“I will have you here, in the forest and magic that suits you so well,” he said, enjoying the hitch of her breath, angling himself so that his aching cock rubbed along her soaked folds, ridges catching along her curls and pearl. “But I will have you when we return home, with a garden that will horrify the merchant princes and eat unruly intruders. With a room for you to draw, and your clever eyes over accounts and teaching our children to be fearless.”
Her eyes were very wide, the faint glow from her use of the lyrium dagger more and more obvious.
“And there will be children,” he said, tucking a lock of her hair behind her ear. “If you agree to this. I will speak to Viago, and pay out whatever he requests to release you to House Dellamorte. But if you agree to this, you are agreeing to all of it.”
She swallowed, but he could feel the heavier slickness between her legs, the way she clutched at his shoulders like she was trying to cling to that promised future.
“I won’t be an easy mistress,” Rosa said, softly. “I am stubborn and opinionated and careless of my own safety and…”
He closed his mouth over one of her breasts, swirling his tongue around the nipple, her writhing making his cock rock against her clit, wrenching a sob from her as her mind snapped out of her worries.
Then he rested his chin over her heart. “Wife, not mistress. We’re Crows, you being an elf is irrelevant. You rescued me from the Ossuary, half the balladeers in Treviso already have songs ready to sing about us.”
“Oh.”
She looked so startled at this he kissed her forehead, and prepared to angle himself just so.
Slow and careful, easing it in, however much he wanted to-
-pin her down and claim her, fill her so full it took, sink into the warmth and peace of her sweet-
“Tight, so fucking good,” he growled, spurred on by the desperate whine that drew out, “so good, Rosa, you don’t know.”
She managed to pull his head down enough to kiss him as he bottomed out, swallowing her scream as it was her turn to place demanding little bites on his lip, along his jaw, peppering his face with lips and teeth.
-
It should hurt, Rosa thought, but it didn’t. It helped, she supposed, that he wasn’t as thick as a wine bottle like that one serial she and Bellara giggled over, trying to fit their mouths around the bottom of the bottle they shared. More like... a qunari, almost. Size-wise.
There was a fullness, yes, but it was curls of warmth and pressing out every worry, stray fear, and everything but Lucanis and Spite, wings and watchful eyes and the dizzying realization that they could outmatch her with ease, they could do anything to her, but they were so careful, would back away if she seemed unhappy.
It was… a lot. Heady, roaring delight, and she tried to leave similarly prickly kisses along his face, along his throat, but mostly she was focusing on breathing and the way her body seemed to contract into the feeling of him working through her, every twitch and push making it hard to breathe.
And he seemed unreservedly pleased with her, growling praises as she took him, using her body as a source of relief, her heels digging in to spur him on, tail wrapped around her hair to tilt back her head and expose her throat.
She could taste herself on him, and it was decadent and somehow made this impossible moment with this astonishing man real.
“So wound up you couldn’t think straight,” she praised right back, voice breathier and stuttering but understandable, “and still so careful, making sure I’m happy. Thoughtful, patient with me.”
He snorted, and tugged at her hair. “I could say the same, Rosalia.”
“I was babbling as you ate me out,” she protested, and how was it the most embarrassing statement was the one that came out clearest?
He gave a low chuckle at that, which made ridges and bumps jolt her nerve endings even more, hitting the perfect wicked spot. “I’m aware. It’s endearing. You have a very busy mind.”
There was something pressing up against her entrance- not… or was it from his cock? Somehow?
His eyes fluttered closed, and that pressing got more instant as he tried to drive in deeper, and her mind was dissolving into a vortex of pleasure-warmth-safety, his mouth on her shoulder, a hand on one breast, angling her so she was arcing up to meet each thrust, those shadow and bone wings still blocking out everything but him, this wonderful pocket where everything was bliss.
There was a pop, a push, and she felt full, like her cunt was sealed tightly around him, something wider like a ring or cork that held him inside, keeping her pressed against him.
The air rushed from her lungs as she saw stars. It didn’t hurt- a distant part of her mind still worried, but that was drowned out by him patting her hair, and how wrecked he sounded.
“Taking me so well,” Lucanis was shallowly thrusting, and she felt her walls clench and try to pull him in, to milk every drop from him. “So good, Rosa, never letting you go, mine ours pretty Rosa our mate forever, make you ours so everyone knows…”
Some of that was Spite, she realized, interlocking the network of Rosa-Lucanis-Spite, his power meaning she felt no more pain than made the pleasure real. That she could be so good for them, give him that look of contentment and bliss. That her mind was full of nothing but need and a ravenous need for them, for more.
Her legs were shaking, and she dug in her fingers on whatever of him she could reach, nails too short to cause him pain. He didn’t need pain, he needed something good and happy and…
Bliss.
She sighed as the warmth filled her, something in that pleasure-fullness telling her that was what she needed, that was what Lucanis needed, like feather-touches in her mind.
He was careful not to collapse on her, twisting them a bit so that they were just off kilter enough that his weight was a reassurance and not squashing her, the wings fluttering once, twice, then resuming their spot covering her. The knot that kept him inside her was still there, pressing her oversensitive cunt, but he was stroking her hair and… purring! It was adorable and she’d tease him about it when her head wasn’t so floaty and the rumbling of his chest wasn’t soothing her.
She was sleepy and content, but made certain that she took one of his hands and brought it up to kiss.
“Gentle.”
A kiss along the knuckles, as nimble and careful as they were in human form.
“Kind.”
To the palm, watching his eyes widen and his breath hitch.
“Mine.”
Too much? Perhaps she shouldn’t have…
The tendril of doubt was erased at the way his tail wrapped around her waist, the flat tip like an arrowhead teasing a nipple.
“Yours,” Lucanis agreed, Spite flickering in his eyes.
-
Spite watched contentedly as Lucanis picked up a dazed Rosa, the little elf nuzzling at the body’s chest. It made Lucanis warm and sent the Ossuary further from them, making Arlathan more real than the prison.
He could see the lights that shimmered and hummed under her skin- the steady green the color of growing things that was her magic, the paler, hungry lines from where the Wolf’s Fang had sliced at her self, the sullen red haze of the Liar’s magic hooked into her.
The new violet crackling along where they had touched her, like a stain on her lower lip, her throat and shoulder, spreading like roots and reinforcing the healthy greens. Pooling along her stomach and between her legs. Where Spite had tied Rosa to Spite-and-Lucanis, kept her with them.
The Wolf’s Fang wanted to pull Rosa into the Infinite. If they could follow, Spite wouldn’t mind. He’d show Rosa gardens, find spirits of Knowledge who would mind Spite’s claim on his mortals. She could climb anywhere she wished.
But for now Spite and Lucanis were bound to mortal bones, and so he wouldn’t risk losing her. He’d seen her too bright eyes, how Magic clung to skin and breath. She’d used the Fang to fight the monster of ice and blight, and it had opened a hole in her Self. Where it had given Harding-the-Scout a connection to the Song of Stone, it drew Rosa closer to the tides of the Fade.
But now she was Spite’s more than a pawn of the Wolf, his sweet Rosa.
(Harding had a rosebush, and Spite had liked the soft flowers and the thorns both. Lucanis even said you could make a sweet from the roses. He liked that Rosa’s name fit the flower. It made sense.)
She agreed to be theirs, even when Lucanis let Doubt and Fear make him try to push her away, she stayed steady and told them she wanted. Lucanis had laid out his terms- their terms- and Spite had smelled the emotions Rosa felt. Desire and Wistfulness and a sort of Hope.
Spite frowned at the hands being busy holding Rosa, but the tail was long and nimble, and he could use the spade at the tip to do the reassurance touch to her face, the edge catching her ear and sparking Desire in a purple a little darker than Spite.
“Tired and I need snacks,” Rosa murmured, in response. “Otherwise… content.”
She yawned, the harmless teeth visible. He thought the one pair was a bit longer and sharper- good. She needed to protect herself until they could watch her back during a fight.
“Are you actually admitting you need more than a mouthful of berries and cold oatmeal as a day’s meal?” Lucanis teased, and she lightly nipped at the body, but there was the warm softness Spite thought was fondness and playfulness. Lucanis wasn’t familiar with it, at least.
“I eat when you remind me,” she said, soft hair and the leaves stuck in it brushing over the skin and tickling.
She did, Spite reminded Lucanis, pulling at memories of Rosa obliging, sitting at the table and eating what Lucanis put in front of her, humming and pleased, clever eyes bright and lips wrapped around the eating tools. She is good for us. She obeys when you tell her to eat. She likes you doing that.
Lucanis let out a pained groan that Spite guessed meant he had to admit Spite was right.
“I just want you to rest in the stream for a moment,” Lucanis said, adjusting her weight so her breasts rubbed up against them. It was good, and satisfied the urge to make sure every part of her smelled like them, until no mortal or spirit could ignore that she was their pretty, lethal flower-thorn. “Rinse off and take an elfroot potion, and I brought some of Bellara’s camping mix.”
She nodded. “Good plan.”
The stream was cool but she didn’t jump or make a noise like some of the others did. Just leant back against them and smiled, little uptilt of her mouth and the flash of teeth.
Rosa tried to lazily clean off her legs, yawning every few minutes. Lucanis tried to reach inside the body for the knot of magic that pushed the transformations. It locked like a stupid old gear, and Spite added his own power to push, reminding the body that Rosa was theirs by magic and her own choice. They needed to go back to their sanctuary, and Lucanis insisted on pants around people.
Besides, he argued, did they want anyone else to see Rosa like this?
(Spite ignored Lucanis’ flicker of an idea of someone catching Rosa with them, their mate making those wonderful noises and egging them on, or Rosa making good on her promise on her knees, eyes upturned and full of pleased tears as she took them in between her berry dark lips. It was a hazy want, not yet a plan.)
It allowed for them to take their smaller form, and Spite snickered into Rosa’s ear as Lucanis swore as he realized that the transformation meant his leathers were now wet.
He deserved a little discomfort- Lucanis had taken too long for this. Spite wasn’t just frustrated, he didn’t want to change again to Yearning or Desire or Self Pity.
(Desire’s roots were close to Spite’s, and he didn’t want to trap Rosa in an illusion. Didn’t want to trap Lucanis, even if Lucanis trapped Spite.)
Rosa tilted her head towards him, and Spite combed insubstantial fingers in a snarl of her soft hair, snagging in the knot and leaves.
Good. Rosa would be able to hear. To see. To touch. He could make sure Lucanis didn’t try to back away because he was stupid and liked hurting.
Lucanis slid gloved hands between her legs, and she bucked against them, hissing a noise that meant it was almost too much.
“Did I hurt you?” Lucanis asked, and she shook her head.
“Just sensitive,” she said, rising to unsteady feet. “I’ll dry us off?”
He took her hand, and Spite felt it as Lucanis let her help him get up and stand.
-
Taash and Davrin were of course the ones who found them, Assan leaping to greet them.
(Treating Assan with fish to keep him from the cooking paid off, it seemed.)
It wasn’t as bad as it could be, of course. They were both dressed, and Rosa’s cape hid where his claws had accidentally pricked the back of her leathers at some point. They’d fingercombed their hairs, and Rosa had tied her absurdly long hair with a spare bowstring.
(He needed to start keeping hair ties in his supplies. His own was about long enough to tie up at this point, and Rosa’s were given to or stolen by wisps, Harding, Wardens, de Riva Crows, Veil Jumpers, a girl in Minrathous, Manfred, Spite…)
Taash was still about to say something before Rosa glared up at her.
“Slavers dead?” Taash asked instead.
Lucanis nodded, not quite trusting himself to speak. Taash could probably smell what they got up to.
His nails pricked at the inside of his gloves at the thought. There was a curl of satisfaction, especially given Taash’s appreciative comments on Rosa’s flexibility and climbing. Rosa was always willing to listen to everyone and Taash had probably given her a full education on dragons and traps.
Not that Taash was interested in Rosa that way, he reminded himself. The Qunari saw her as something like an older sister, and flirted outrageously with Harding. Davrin might have been competition, but Rosa seemed oblivious to any early flirtations, and there was that Warden who seemed to enjoy her banter with Davrin, Thorne…
I have to kill gods, Lucanis reminded himself. I must have focus.
The Evanuris were a threat to all of Thedas. Weisshaupt showed that, he could not fail again.
A threat to the nest, that impatient, restless urge agreed. Destroy them.
“Arlathan started the job, we finished it,” Rosa added, pulling him back to the real world. “No captives we could see, either. How was your job?”
“Those exploding ones are the worst, Ros,” Taash sighed. “The other Warden used magic to get them. Do you think you can get Death Mage to lend me one of his needle things?”
Rosa winced. She was both a mage and an archer and usually handled those ones for the team, clearing them before they got close. At least Thorne had been there to handle that. “I hate the ones that shoot javelins from their bodies. At least the exploding ones go down easy.”
Taash grunted. “Yeah, but those ones can’t do as much when you’re at axe distance.”
Lucanis had to give them that. “Taash, I have some tools that might work better. Let me check- if not, Fletcher can source something.”
“Solvent,” Rosa offered, waggling a hand. “Antoine and I were working on it. I sent my notes to Viago a couple of days ago, to make certain I haven’t created something that turns armor to poison gas again.”
“Again?” Davrin looked amused. He did work with Antoine before, elves playing with dangerous chemicals was familiar to him. “Do I want to know?”
“Some metals react badly to certain chemicals,” Rosa pulled a face. “Especially caustic cleaning supplies and more spell-friendly metals, plus the worries about contamination from the very things you want to clean off… Though I’m not the brilliant soul who wanted to put magnesium… ah, well…”
“Right,” Davrin raised his eyebrows. “Peri- Warden Thorne- is escorting a pair of Veil Jumpers back to camp.”
“Peri, now,” Rosa teased, shaking her head. “Be careful.”
“Is this more Wardens and Crows crap?” Taash asked, looking between them.
“I think it’s more a Bellara will have questions thing,” Lucanis told them. Bellara loved love stories, and had asked Rosa about whatever was going on with Teia and Viago. That had been fun. There had been alchemy metaphors. Explosive alchemy metaphors.
Taash shot him a look. “What were you and Ros doing, anyway? You smell like you transformed, and both of you smell like…”
“I received letters today,” Rosa said, slightly manic as she tried to distract Taash. “From my birth parents.”
The other two didn’t quite understand the importance.
“I thought Viago rescued you during the last Blight?” Lucanis couldn’t help but ask. “There were others from your clan who were killed, some slavers, but you weren’t dead or Blighted.”
Davrin’s eyebrows knitted together at that- not angry, but as if Lucanis had somehow laid a chase at his feet. Or said something that reminded him of something.
Rosa waved a hand. “Others from my clan, not my parents, who did think I was dead. Apparently my… mother? She knows Isabela, Isabela mentioned the fact that apparently I look like her, or sound like her or something, and so they want to meet.”
That sounded like it was missing a few steps, but as far as Lucanis knew- and they had spoken of family, both together and as a team- Rosa had been accepting of being an orphan and considered Viago and House de Riva all the family she wanted. She spoke the title “Fifth Talon” like others said “Father”, though he’d never mention it to either of them unless he wanted to test all his coffee for poisons.
She’s still ours, Spite reassured him.
“Huh,” Taash shrugged. “We should check with Isabela first, I guess, but she gets along pretty good with the Dalish we run into. Old friend of hers was one of their mages. Kinda wanted her to meet Bellara. Either we’d get all the elven stuff working or there’d be a giant explosion.”
Rosa snorted. “I still have a no explosions before breakfast rule, Taash. Solas interferes with my sleep enough, I don’t need to be woken up to an avoidable disaster.”
“Fair,” Taash allowed. “But what does this have to do with you two fucking?”
Rosa blushed like she was stained with raspberry, he noted.
“And he was transf…” Taash trailed off. Or Rosa used magic to silence them. One of the two.
“Bellara’s gonna be asking you two the questions,” Davrin said, after a long silence, the Veil Jumper camp coming into sight. He looked like a man who wanted liquer that was more effective than drinkable.“Rosa, you okay?”
“Fine Davrin, I was enthusiastically consenting all the way.”
Rosa had recovered her composure and sense of humor, apparently, that deadpan was flawless, but for the quick wink she sent Lucanis.
Lucanis was debating if he could fly Rosa through the eluvian room, to the ferry, and to Rosa’s quarters before anyone else could comment.
No, he’d need to grab food and drink…
He’d undoubtedly survived worse. And survived it alone.
This time he was not.
That made a difference. The connection he felt between himself, Spite, and Rosa made a difference, as did the memory of her kissing his hands, wanting to take care of him. The ideas Spite had planted, about how beautifully she listened when given orders, and the thought of getting her to undress, to sink down…
The fact that he could lock himself in Rosa’s quarters with his impossible mate-fiancée-part er and claim her ever more thoroughly…
That made a difference, too.