Chapter 14: The Shadow Beneath

Author’s Note: I’d like to extend my sincerest thanks to all people who helped me finish this chapter. As always, thanks to my lady love for inspiration and the kick up the ass I needed to actually get the sex scene done; bikoukumori for his magnificent editing help and of course my fearless beta readers – so willing to wade through my swamp of bad ideas.

Be warned – this chapter contains futanari on male and the usual dark, adult themes some seem to find objectionable on an adult website. If you’re not a fan of bad guys doing bad stuff, leave now.

All participants in sexual acts are adults and no unicorns were harmed in the making of this chapter.

After his remote conversation with Thurguz and Idunn, Rhys joined his friends in the Entrance Hall.

“Are we set?” he asked.

“I didn’t exactly upend the bag to make sure I didn’t forget anything,” Borna said, handing Rhys the scuffed and beat-up leather sack he had bought back at the ‘Dancing Dryad.’ It was able to contain much more than its modest size hinted at. “I just tossed in a few extra clothes in case your traveling gear gets torn to shreds again.”

Rhys dug through the bag and shook his head. “I didn’t even manage to sell the trinkets we got off the Raighbaern,” he muttered, pulling a cloak from the bag and throwing it over his traveling clothes. “Looks like everything we got at the ‘Dryad’ is still in here too.”

He checked his gear, tapping the sheaths for his daggers, the loops holding his folding staff and the Rod of Suppression. Finally, he inspected the bracer on his left wrist, loaded with two wands, a healing potion and a third dagger. “I think I have everything for now. How about you all?”

Borna shrugged, adjusting the fit of the coat Rhys had bought for her. “Loincloth, coat and the desire to punch things. Do I need more?”

“How about food?” Chassari said. “We will be out for perhaps two days but I wouldn’t want to fight on an empty ssstomach.”

“Elara has you covered, provided you like magically created sustenance which tastes like old shoes,” Borna said mildly.

“I think I’ll ssssee if the cook can ssspare some breakfassst leftovers then. Excuse me,” the purple-skinned serpent-woman hissed. Before anyone could answer, she sashayed into the narrow corridor leading from the Entrance Hall to the kitchen, pantry and laundry. Rhys couldn’t help but notice the scabbard she wore across her back, a simple black wooden enclosure for a curved sword. A colorful tassel dangled from the weapon’s pommel.

“Did you say your goodbyes?” Elara asked Rhys. She had properly dressed, adding pants, boots and a vest to a set of leaf-green robes. A small satchel emitting a faint herbal scent hung from her waist.

“If you mean Lishaka then yes, I tried,” Rhys said. “I didn’t dare to enter her room again though. Being blown across the hallway once a day is plenty and the door didn’t answer.” He sighed. “It’s all a huge misunderstanding.”

“And I thought dwarves were the stubborn ones,” Borna grumbled. “For a goblin claiming to be an adult, she behaves worse than many princesses I’ve read about in my romance novels. It’s not like I’m trying to steal you from her. Also, didn’t you say you saw her merrily fucking around, Rhys?”

“Love and courtship aren’t exactly goblin specialties,” Elara said. “Once this Celeste business is dealt with, we’ll help you straighten things out. If you want.”

“If I were Rhys, I’d spank her until she comes back around,” Borna growled.

“And that’s why you are so incredibly popular with strangers,” Sen chirped, passing them by. The half-elven maid had two laundry baskets with her.

“One more bloody word from you-” Borna snarled, her stinger tearing free from the back of her coat.

“Now, now, please no bloodshed before we’ve even left the Tower,” Chassari cautioned, positioning herself between the bristling demon princess and Sen. She carried a tightly wound package under an arm and two corked decanters in her free hand. Despite her load, she seemed willing and able to deal with an enraged Borna.

Sen chuckled and dashed towards the kitchen.

“Just run, you,” Borna snarled. Sniffing, she switched her attention to Chassari. “What do you have there?”

“A few rationsss. Do you have sssome space in your bag for them, Rhys?”

“Sure, toss them right in.” The sorcerer opened his bag again and Chassari dumped the items into it. “Are we set?”

He looked around. Chassari favored him with a playful smile. If the idea of storming Faedal’s castle worried her, the serpent-headed woman didn’t show it. Elara seemed more alive and awake than usual, which Rhys found surprising. He reached out and squeezed her hand. “Are you all right?”

“Don’t worry about me, Rhys. I won’t do anything foolish to avenge my loved ones,” Elara said, smiling gently. “My ultimate goal is to keep all of you safe.”

“Nice to see you have your priorities straight,” Borna said, clicking her tongue. “Let’s go already. We’re burning daylight.” She pushed open the heavy wooden front doors and strode outside.

“I hardly recognize her,” Chassari mused as she passed Rhys, slinging a small pouch over her shoulder. “Your time together has changed our fierce demon princesss.”

Rhys shook his head. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he said, following Borna outside. “We kept each other company, that’s all.”

“And I would have loved to sssee where that led,” Chassari hissed, sneakily grabbing Rhys’ behind.

“Definitely not there,” the sorcerer chuckled, slapping her hand away. “Give me a moment. I want to make sure I will teleport us to the right place. Did you bring the book?”

“Sssure,” Chassari said. She pulled a copy of “The Wind-Charmer’s Tale” from her pack and handed it to Rhys.

He flicked through the pages and memorized the charcoal drawing of the elven shrine depicted in the story. Finding a sheet of solid ice near the Tower’s base was easy enough. He invoked a Scry spell. The ring on his finger flared with the light of four miniature stars, adding a tremendous burst of energy to his spell. Even without the ring, using magic is becoming easier and easier, he thought. Effortlessly, his senses flew across the Western Continent, homing in on the Seaclaw Mountains. And within a matter of moments, he found the shrine. Time hadn’t been kind to the once beautiful elven structure. It perched precariously at the edge of a sheer cliff, overlooking the foothills below. Two of the five columns surrounding the altar had toppled and the remaining three leaned precariously against each other. The floor, shown in the book as a mosaic depicting the Lifegiver’s green, three-pronged leaf with a golden aura surrounding it, had been taken over by grass and roots, with barely a stone showing. But it was undoubtedly the place he had seen in the book – the mountains towering on the horizon were the same shape.

Rhys ended the scrying spell and began the next one, reaching out for the hands of his companions as he did. The last Teleport he had attempted had been a panic-fueled instinct reaction. He simply didn’t have time to doubt himself. Somehow, even without the specter of Faedal breathing down his neck, he found the calm necessary to focus his thoughts. There was a moment of disorientation then a trio of gasps. He opened his eyes.

“Did I ... do it?” he asked, breathless. The ground wobbled under his feet. Borna’s hands were there, steadying him. The lack of searing negative energy told him that she had again used her Disjunction Stone to dampen that particular power of hers.

“Congratulations seem to be in order,” Haloryth said, clapping silently. “That was a splendid bit of spellcasting. And no one seems to have lost any limbs.”

“Or their breakfasts,” Rhys muttered. “Are you all right?”

“We are definitely somewhere else,” Borna said, looking around. She whistled through her teeth. “The shrine has seen better days though.”

“I have almost forgotten how nice the sun feels,” Elara said, tugging at her vest’s collar.

“Let’sss have a look around,” Chassari said, hand on her blade.

“I can see from here that there’s not even an altar left,” Borna said. “We are probably a few centuries too late.”

Rhys wasn’t so sure. His whole body seemed to hum with a subconscious current. The feeling was familiar, even though the last two times he had noticed it, the sensation was much fainter.

“Do all elven ruins emit magical currents?” Rhys asked, no one in particular. He unconsciously flexed his hands, as if trying to grasp the wisps of energy tugging at his magical senses.

“Depends,” Elara said. “I’m certainly no expert but my grandfather told me that many sacred places were built using magic.”

At the edge of his vision, Haloryth nodded appreciatively. “Less need for hard manual labor. Our stonemasons could fully concentrate on lavishing their creative impulses on the structures.” She inspected one of the toppled pillars critically. “This site in particular could have benefited from a few more craftsmen though. What a shame.”

“Ssstill no obvious sign of the Hand of Life,” Chassari muttered.

Borna circled the site, casting wary gazes this way and that.

“I’m aware my kind has a certain reputation for hubris,” Elara said, inspecting the base of one upright pillar. “Even so, no sane practitioner would leave an artifact like the Hand out in the open. It has to be here somewhere.”

Rhys cursed as his foot crashed through some roots. He barely managed to break his tumble.

“What did you find?” Borna asked, landing next to him.

“Some kind of pitfall,” the sorcerer grumbled. He groped around the hole his foot had punched into the roots then snatched the dagger off his bracer and began to cut away the plants.

“I hope Elara didn’t see that,” Borna muttered.

“I heard that,” the elven druid said. “I could have made the roots move, you know?”

“Please, by all means,” Borna said, indicating the spot in front of Rhys with a flourish of her hand. “Or we’ll be digging in the dirt for hours.”

Elara knelt down next the both of them and grasped two handfuls of roots. She closed her eyes and hummed something, a hint of a melody. The ground seemed to ripple and shake as the roots animated. A few moments of breathless silence later, Rhys and friends saw a large hollow in front of them, easily ten feet to a side and a foot deep which had been neatly covered by the root carpet.

“Looksss like we’ve found the altar,” Chassari observed unnecessarily. “Or at least where it used to be.”

“Do you think someone stole it?” Rhys asked.

“Yeah, sure. They tucked a huge square block of marble under an arm and went their merry way,” Borna snarled. She looked around.

“Even if the stone was moved a few centuries ago, you’d think there would be signs of it somewhere,” Rhys mused. “The book showed a mosaic but I have yet to find any trace of it.”

“I have found sssomething though,” Chassari said from the edge of the cliff. “Come, have a look.”

Rhys joined her and peered down the sheer drop. An oddly regular piece of rock caught his eye. It rested a few hundred feet below them. He pointed downwards. “You think that’s it?”

“Unlesss someone used the base of the cliff as a quarry,” Chassari said, unsheathing her weapon. “We ssshould be careful around thisss place.”

“You think whoever chucked the altar over the edge might still be around?” Borna asked then stopped as her brain caught up with her mouth. “Huh.”

“There are only a few beings able to deal with such a massive piece of rock like that,” Elara mused. “Maybe the giants found and desecrated the shrine. Maybe we are a few centuries too late after all.”

Rhys turned away from the cliff. Watching the lands below was making him dizzy. Haloryth slowly rose from the ground, a wide grin on her slightly translucent lips.

“I think I have found the Hand,” she chirped. The elven spirit pointed downwards. “There is a large chamber below and it appears to be man- or rather elf-made.” Haloryth pushed her ethereal hair behind a sharply pointed ear. “One thing worries me though. If the Hand of Life is indeed a holy artifact, how come I could almost touch it? Usually anything with a sacred aura pushes me away.”

“How should I know? You are the expert on magical theory,” Rhys said. “Do you think the item is drained or broken?”

“Are you talking to your ghost again?” Borna shook her head. Her stinger mirrored her movement, carving a gash into the earth. “I wish you’d find a way for her to be audible to all of us.”

Rhys quickly explained Haloryth’s findings, causing his friends to exchange glances in bewilderment.

Eventually, Chassari spoke up: “How are we to get down there? Teleport?”

“If all else fails, sure,” Rhys said. “I don’t think we’ll have to. Elves love to disguise their structures. Maybe there’s a secret hatch somewhere?”

Borna peered at the grassy indentation where the altar used to be. “The most obvious spot is out then. Not even a whiff of cold, clammy air.”

“Since there are no obvious sconces to tilt or bookshelves to manipulate, the entrance must be something less literal,” Chassari said, walking briskly to the base of the closest pillar.

“Do you expect to find a convenient loose brick there?” Borna asked mockingly. “The novels I’ve read are full of that stuff, it has to be a cliche.”

“Let me try and help too,” Rhys offered. He closed his eyes and allowed his senses to wander. There have to be magical emanations if the entrance is this well concealed, he thought. To his chagrin, he quickly realized that his friends – or rather their magical items – were a much stronger source of energy than anything else in his vicinity. Chassari’s blade or Borna’s coat caused too much interference for his senses to discern anything. Sighing in frustration, he opened his eyes again.

“It’sss not a loose brick but I think thisss is what we’re looking for,” Chassari proclaimed triumphantly. She knelt next to one of the leaning pillars, her hands on the lavishly decorated base.

“You actually found something.” Borna shook her head as she walked over to inspect Chassari’s findings. Rhys and Elara joined them.

“Yes. There isss a prominent part of the decoration on each base,” Chassari explained, indicating a palm-sized marble orb surrounded by clouds. “On the other four pillars, it was carved from the marble. Here, it can be moved. Watch.” She spun the orb around. It turned, revealing a hemisphere made of crystal. As soon as the rays of the sun touched it, the crystal lit up and Rhys noticed a sharp eruption of magical energy behind his back, as if a bonfire had been lit. He spun around, hands raised to cast his defensive magics.

Something like a vertical gash had been carved into the air a few feet from where the altar used to be. From his vantage point, it looked as if a dark, irregular wound had been carved into reality.

“Oh, the old ‘sun-powered portal’ trick,” Haloryth muttered next to him. “I should have seen something like that coming, considering the age of this place. Give Chassari a hug from me, will you?”

Rhys barely listened. He moved closer to the portal, trying to see what was beyond the threshold. Closer and with a better angle, he noticed that the area beyond wasn’t completely devoid of light. A miniature sun seemed to hover above a plain altar. A moldy strip of cloth dangled from the stone and a few rough-hewn pews had been arranged in a loose semicircle. For all it’s eye-hurting brightness, the light over the altar barely illuminated a ten-foot radius

Borna laid a hand on Rhys’ shoulder. “I must be going mad. Didn’t the shadows move just now?”

“It would be a shame to leave empty-handed,” Elara said, shielding her eyes against the brightness above the altar. “We’re so close. This is definitely a Hand of Life.”

“Are you sure?” Rhys asked.

“I can feel it calling to me,” Elara said, clenching her fists. “It is begging to be used.”

Borna shrugged. “The only thing I hear is the grumbling of my stomach. Well, nothing ventured and all that. Are we going, Rhys?”

Rhys turned to face Haloryth: “Do you hear anything coming from the artifact?”

The elven spirit shrugged. “I could feel its energies when I was close. Some aspects of magic only work on the living. Trust your friends.”

Rhys nodded curtly and invoked his Armor spell. For good measure, he added a Nelaeryn’s Crown. “Then let’s return an elven artifact to the world of the livinig.” He unsheathed his staff, extended the magic weapon and walked through the portal.

There was the, by now, familiar instant of disorientation then his new surroundings registered. The first thing Rhys noticed was the cold. His breath appeared as wispy clouds. His clothing seemed to offer little protection against the chill and mere moments after he had stepped through the portal, his teeth were chattering. Then he realized that Borna had been right. The shadows seemed to churn and roil. Rhys took a step to the side and raised his weapon, expecting dire things to fly at him.

Borna cursed softly as she stepped out of the portal. “Drat, it’s cold!“ she hissed.

Rhys opened his mouth to speak but then Elara appeared and all hell broke loose. The elven druid had barely taken a single step away from the portal when the shadows screamed and erupted, cascading in one blinding torrent over them. Rhys lost his vision. He tumbled to the side, as Hagazz had taught him, just in time to dodge something which passed by his head with a sharp whistle. He could feel wisps of his own hair trickle down his neck just as his shoulder impacted the unevenly hewn floor. Claws of ice seemed to rake across his back as he rolled clumsily. The foot of a pew stopped his escape attempt.

A heartbeat later, it was over. The shadows had vanished. The Hand of Light painfully illuminated every inch of the subterranean chapel. Rhys squinted past his fingers. Chassari stood at the back of the room, her sword held in a defensive posture. Borna came to her feet near the altar. Bits of red chitin crumbled out from under her coat and her angelic face sported a vicious, purple bruise.

Elara cowered in the middle of the room, between two pews, head tucked in and her arms raised in a warding gesture. Slowly she looked up and Rhys forgot to breathe. Her eyes were gaping pits of darkness and wisps of blackness seemed to seep from her nose and mouth.

“Elara?” he asked.

The elven druid didn’t answer. She opened her mouth and blackness poured forth, shaping itself into three humanoid forms.

“Now what?” Borna snapped. She fell into a fighting stance. “Our elven princess has gone mad!”

“Possessed more likely,” Haloryth corrected. “This is bad. Why didn’t I see that thing?”

Chassari brandished her blade. The gesture looked impressive but accomplished nothing. One of the shadows flowed in her direction while the other two advanced on Rhys and Borna.

“Just brilliant,” Borna hissed, swiping her stubby claws at her opponent. She might have punched a smoke cloud, the effect was the same. “How am I supposed to fight something insubstantial?”

Rhys snapped off the strongest Light spell he knew, aiming a tightly focused beam of radiance at the shadow bearing down on him. For a moment, he could see through a gaping hole in the immaterial thing’s chest. Elara was vomiting

forth more shadowy figures, these ones more clearly defined. His opponent gathered itself, knitting the hole Rhys had blasted. The shadow had no clearly defined appendages, merely tendrils of blackness shrouded in preternatural cold. They were reaching out for him and he could already feel his movements slow, his life trickle away.

“What are these things?” Rhys yelled.

“I don’t know!” Chassari snapped, slashing her blade through her opponent. The sword carved narrow gashes into the darkness. They seemed to flow together slower than the gaping hole Rhys’ Light spell had punched into his assailant. “All I know is they’re not demons. Otherwise my blade would burn blue.”

“If they were undead, I would have known,” Haloryth said. “After all, we share the same-”

Rhys fired off a quintet of Force Missiles. This time, the shadow recoiled. “No time for a lecture. What else looks like shadows, vomits forth shadows and is able to possess people?” he asked, repeating the spell. The ring on his finger flared as five more pinpricks of pure destructive energy ravaged the shadow creature.

“And how am I supposed to fight them?” Borna snarled. She leaped across the chapel and came to her feet unsteadily next to Rhys. He saw patches of frost on her coat and pale face. “You think your staff will work again?”

“I have something better,” Rhys said, tapping his bracer. The dagger he had stashed there, one of Galdor’s gifts, sprang into his hand.

Borna scoffed. “A butter knife? What am I supposed to do with a bloody butter knife?”

Rhys fired off another volley of missiles, pushing both his and Borna’s opponent back a step or two. “It’s an enchanted butter knife, Borna. Magic weapons seem to work,” he said, pointing at Chassari with the pommel of the dagger. The shadow she was fighting was much less substantial, almost translucent by now.

Rhys’ heart sunk. Despite that small victory, he saw almost a dozen more shadowy creatures gathered around Elara. They had much more definition than those first few, appearing like elves garbed in ancient, elaborate armor. Even their faces were visible, hatefully scowling at the living around them.

“If we don’t find a way to deal with Elara, we’re all doomed,” he said, slapping the weapon into Borna’s hand. Growling, the cursed girl charged ahead, slicing wildly with the dagger. The weapon left gashes, just like Chassari’s sword. It’s not nearly enough to even slow them, Rhys thought, wincing every time a new frosty handprint appeared on Borna’s coat.

Elara opened her mouth again. She seemed to struggle with the words, choking forth barely intelligible syllables.

Rhys froze. “Is she speaking Ancient Elven? Haloryth, help me!” He flung another cluster of missiles at the closest shadow. The strain of keeping his defensive enchantments up in combination with his rapid-fire spell-slinging already left him dangerously light-headed and they had yet to defeat a single one.

Haloryth swept into him, nearly taking Rhys off his feet.

“What is she saying?” Rhys asked as he once again was reduced to a passenger in his own head. Haloryth raised both hands and gathered a massive amount of energy, much more than Rhys could ever have hoped to tame by himself.

The words resolved themselves as they filtered through their shared consciousness.

The despoilers shall all perish when I unleash my fury upon them!

“That sounds an awful lot like the Stalkerites,” Rhys thought. Haloryth wasn’t listening. She formed the gathered energy into a highly complex structure, weaving strands in ways Rhys had never seem magic being used. Then she flung the spell forwards until it detonated between Elara’s feet.

Everywhere around him, movements slowed to a crawl, then stopped entirely.

“You have a few moments until the Time Stop dissipates,” Haloryth thought. Before Rhys could answer, the spirit had left him. It was a miracle he didn’t crumple into an undignified heap. His whole body screamed in agony with the onset of Sorcerer’s Burn.

No time to lay down and die! Rhys chastised himself. Every step a monumental effort, he dragged his hurting body through the shadows. Walking around them would take too long, so Rhys stubbornly put one foot before the other and pushed through the immaterial creatures, towards Elara. Claws of ice tore at his flesh, an agonizing counterpoint to the burning pain caused by using way too much magical energy.

Elara’s usually beautiful face was distorted into a mask of fury and hatred, her jaw distended unnaturally in mid-scream. Slowly, much too slowly, Rhys’ hand closed around the hilt of the Rod of Suppression. He yanked the weapon from his belt. His battered knee gave way and he crashed to the floor, barely able to break his fall. His lower back felt raw and wet as his scars broke open again. With the last vestige of strength, he raised the magic-draining implement and touched Elara’s stomach with the exposed lump of Disjunction Stone.

The shadows vanished as the Rod activated. Both the possession and the Time Stop were suppressed and Elara crumpled to the floor next to Rhys. Her eyes snapped open. They were wide and filled with nameless dread as she sought Rhys’ gaze. Her lips fluttered helplessly as she fought for words.

“What?” Rhys wheezed, wracked by the Sorcerer’s Burn. This time it felt much, much worse than back at the village.

Elara frowned then pointed towards the altar. Rhys understood. She wanted the Hand Of Life. He wasn’t strong enough to walk there, not with his body drained from the Burn and the shadows’ unnatural cold. The only way he could fetch it was by using even more magic.

This might kill you, you know? a little voice in his head taunted him.

Rhys decided not to argue with himself. The sorcerer gathered a handful of energy around his hand and flung it towards the altar then yanked it back towards himself. The Hand Of Life tumbled from its resting place, tumbled onto the uneven floor and sailed in a glittering arc towards him, coming to a stop just within arm’s reach. Groaning with the effort, Rhys snatched the artifact and rolled around, pressing it between Elara’s heaving breasts. A blinding pillar of light erupted just as his vision failed him.

Everything went black.

Carver sat up slowly. It was pitch black around him. He didn’t need his eyes to figure out where he was. His other senses managed just fine. First, there was the smell. Sweat and bodily secretions hung thick in the air, as did the remains of some forbidden dark elven narcotics. He even noticed the tell-tale coppery stench of spilled blood. Warm, naked bodies were everywhere around him, pressed against his body and entwined with his legs. One long-fingered hand sleepily groped for his nethers and stroked him. His body reacted with surprising eagerness, considering they had been at it for the better part of a whole day before exhaustion finally claimed him, Marissa and their dark elven hosts. His whole body was deliciously sore, some parts more than others.

He slowly shook his head. A mere few days ago, he had prided himself on his virtue, now he sat here, sore, with an aching rear and his face, hair and chest caked with the secretions of his partners. Still, it was fun, he mused. The dark elven sisters Lilith and Tanith were even more debauched and inventive than his recently promoted second-in-command and being the center of a moaning, writhing tangle of mostly female bodies was an experience unlike anything he had allowed himself for many years.

Granted, there had been an especially lurid celebration after a hard-fought victory during his time with Thurguz, Idunn and Zephrya but the blushing young man he had been then was way too scared to do something wrong to enjoy the ministrations the drunk elven rogue had lavished upon him while next to them the towering half-orc fighter had ferociously plowed the equally drunk and obscenely moaning dwarven sorceress. He had always wondered what it would feel like, being claimed like that. Now that he knew, thanks to what Lilith, her sister and Marissa had done to him, he decided to explore the realm of carnal excess even further without inhibition. If nothing else, it would allow him to understand the desires of others more clearly.

For the moment though, his appetite was sated. He gently removed the eager hand from his throbbing crotch. Nice as the sensation was, it would distract from his spellcasting. He muttered a healing spell which dealt with the aching muscles and other minor injuries the frenetic orgy had left him with. The next spell restored his night vision. To his surprise, the one so eagerly fondling his rod had been none other than Lilith, who had been so very insistent on showing him how a male would normally be treated Below. It seemed she was more than happy to offer him some pleasure of her own instead of trying to break him. Not that there was any chance of that ever happening, Carver thought, a hint of amusement sparking in his abdomen.

Marissa and Tanith were entangled behind him, the head of his court mage resting on a shapely thigh while her tongue already was busy lapping at the hairless gash between the tall dark elf’s thighs.

“You truly are insatiable, aren’t you?” Carver muttered, carefully shifting a busty half-orc woman’s leg. At the height of the orgy, there had been at least two dozen people, some dark elves and a lot of slaves, tangled up in the lavish “mating chamber.” Many of them had left by now, leaving Tanith, Lilith, Carver and a few sex slaves as a many-limbed tangle in the center of the room.

“With that much choice, wouldn’t you be?” Marissa whispered back before latching her lips onto Tanith’s sex again. The dark elf yawned and writhed languidly under the sorceress’ ministrations.