Apocalyptic Mojo by Cheever Sam

Author:Cheever, Sam [Cheever, Sam]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Electric Prose Publications
Published: 2014-10-21T23:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER SEVEN

Ardith insisted on returning to her hovel before they resumed the hunt. She expressed a wish to change her tattered and stained clothing for a fresh set of whore duds. Draigh had offered her use of his limited supply of female clothing but she did a wrinkly thing with her pert nose and twisted her lips as if she’d tasted a lemon.

“Yeah, I wouldn’t be caught dead in any clothing you’d pick for me,” she’d told him.

Draigh followed Ardith through the noisy streets of Salem, using his body to keep cutpurses and lascivious drunks away from her. He was appalled by her apparent ignorance regarding her own safety. She barely seemed to acknowledge each near miss with a glance.

It was a miracle she’d survived as long as she had without him there to protect her.

Draigh’s sensibilities were assaulted as they turned onto a street running through a decidedly unsavory part of town. The stench coming off the narrow street from the buckets of offal continually being discarded by the street’s inhabitants made his own nose, which was decidedly not pert, wrinkle with disgust.

In addition to the stench coming from the gutters, the sour smell of sweat and unwashed flesh lay thick upon the area. The few people walking the street with them wore dirty clothing, tattered to an almost indecent state, and had the pasty skin and sunken eyes of sickly, half-starved dregs.

“You don’t actually live here do you?”

Ardith turned her head, swaying sideways. “Too low for your tastes, hunter?”

Draigh caught movement above their heads and reached for her, yanking her against his chest as a bucket full of something foul smelling was dumped from a second floor window.

The feel of her against his body was a shock. Her breasts were heavy and soft against his ribs, and her breath tickled against his lips as she looked up at him, mischief dancing in her eyes. “I like it here.” For just a flicker of time, Draigh thought she meant in his arms. But then she continued and he felt foolish. “The people are nicer and they don’t play mind games all the time.”

Draigh’s cock hardened, pushing against the leather of his pants. He wondered if she noticed. Pressed tightly against him as she was, he didn’t know how she could miss it. “Says a wench who plays mind games even in her sleep.”

Her lush body jiggled against his when she laughed. Draigh’s muscles tightened with need, his hands slipped down to frame her narrow hips. “I would speak to the council about your wages, witch. They apparently don’t value your services much.”

She made no move to get away. In fact, her lips parted and Draigh imagined he saw invitation in her pretty gaze.

He lowered his head.

Her lids grew heavy. Her scent enveloped him, drew him in and made his balls tighten.

A wolf whistle nearby, accompanied by several suggestive shouts, brought Draigh out of his lustful stupor and he stepped away, steadying her as she stumbled forward.

Quick color flooded her face and she laughed, making light of her reaction to him.

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