The well-maintained door barely creaks, but still the guard inside turns quickly at the sound. I can feel the enchantment in the blade at his waist, his hand falling on the hilt with an impressive speed. The human is taller than my summoner, just over six feet, his shoulders are a long axe haft across and he’s delightfully proportion on the large side in other places. His dark brown hair he keeps too short to let me get a proper grip—the few chances I’ve had to play with it. Moody-grey eyes, like storm clouds, regard me suspiciously as I glance between his firm, kissable lips and fine nose. Its solid line rubs me in delightful ways, depending on how I ride his face, making it my favourite feature. Well, the favourite part of his face.

“Hello, Ireneus. Aren’t you happy to see me?”

Ireneus swallows as he releases the sword hilt, his usual sure motions quite absent. “Klipyl, how are you down here? The master said you would remain in his chambers from now on.”

I keep my smile playful and give my upper lip a tiny lick before I purr a response. “He’s allowed me a chance to reward your recent success. Do you desire a reward from me?”

I fold my arms behind me to change my posture, causing my breasts to strain the sheer gossamer tunic that is all that covers me. The tiny garment’s hem lifts as the fabric shifts, and lust takes all awkward questions from his mind. His flushed look speaks of blood shifting about even if his dick wasn’t causing a bulge under the chain mail he wears. Bringing a hand demurely to my chest—I give him a winsome smile—mimicking the innocent girls I’ve seen flirting with boys about the market square.

“But you’re-“

The tunic’s hem brushes against the line between thigh and torso. I shift my weight, and the flash of my lower lips shut his mouth. “What would you like me to do you?”

I barely finish the question when he pounces. His armour presses hard through the cloth as his fierce kiss claims my lips. My lips part coyly to let his tongue roam, and my own enters his in return. I’m flooded with wetness as he chokes and coughs. The softness I felt of his tongue replaced by my tail’s tip that he’d never seen. Pulling its spike from his throat makes me wetter still as another gush of blood joins the first in adhering scrapped linen to me.

I shift my tail away and rip the blood-soaked linen apart. The light is fading from his gaze as I part other lips and find I’m wet in a more interesting way. My middle finger slips easily up to the second knuckle as I work to keep the anticipated orgasm from evaporating. The deep hole in his throat reached to the brain, and the mushy mess I see within helps tip me over the edge. The orgasm hits, and my cunt clenches hard about my finger.

Screams from the females in the cages try to overshadow my cries of delight, but I continue until I finish my first, second, and third.

I’m glowing with pleasure by the time I’ve finished. A woman in her twenties shepherds the teenage girls away from the cell door, while the sole male is glaring at me with pointless defiance.

“Demoness, are you going to kill us now as well?”

I lick my fingers clean as I take him in and consider the fun I could have. Eyes the colour of the harbour’s deep waters regard me with unsurprising suspicion. Like the other prisoners, the man is tall, with solid features and chestnut hair. His hands are bigger than Ireneus’, though his nose has been flattened across his cheek at some point. Braids falling past his shoulder promise plenty to grip. Even the broad chin looks promising to rub my clit against while his tongue probes inside. I’d need to ride his face in the other direction—that’s such a shame. “Why? Was he your lover?”

“He was not. I’d see all slavers dead. I want to know what your intention are towards us.”

His fierce gaze is so endearing, and I idly wonder if it would hold such heat while fucking me. “Let’s make a deal. Do you have a name?”

“Why should I deal with a Demon?”

“Tell me your name, or I’ll walk out of here and leave you all to starve. The Wizard’s dead, and so are his guards. When I leave, I have until the next dawn before I’m back in the Abyss. Care to bet anyone left alive knows where these hidden chambers are? Or can get in? Remembering you’re betting their lives as well.” I say, motioning to the men and women behind him.

The glare only makes me smile, and his gaze burns hotter still. “Ståle.”

“Your name is steel?”

“That’s not what I said; it’s Ståle.”

“Tell me, is this yours, Ståle?”

I pull the medallion from my storage amulet and hold it up by the leather thong. Polished wood shines in the smokey rushlights, and golden lines show along its surface: a blue-flamed candle surrounded by broken chains.

“Funny thing is, my former master had a prisoner in here a while ago that had a similar one, except she was praying to Eakcï. Not this Amdirlain, you and others were praying to yesterday, so tell me more.”

Ståle grinds his teeth before he growls out a response. “Why should I tell you anything, Demon?”

“I’ve already told you why. Are you simple?”

He straightens at the insult, and I hear in his mind what I wanted to know a moment before he replies. “If I give you all the answers you want, what’s stopping you from leaving?”

“Nothing at all. Though nothing is stopping me now, you’ve thought of the answer; I heard it in your mind.” I say and repeat what I’d heard. “Eakcï changed her name. It’s weird. Eakcï sounds like a name I know if mauled by your human accents.”

“I’ll trade with you to get them free,” Ståle says as I turn to retrieve the weapon from Ireneus’s corpse.

I fixed him with an amused glance, my smirk bringing a wince to his face. “I only had one question I cared about.”

“Do you want to go back to the Abyss so soon?”

I fix him with a flat look and ask my own stupid question. “Do you want to starve to death?”

“I’ll accept a bond with you. Only after you get everyone to a safe place of their choosing.”

“No, you’ll accept a bond first, and then we can discuss getting them free. Since only a short time ago, you wanted nothing to do with a Demon.”

I unleash the words with a playful snap, yet he flinches like I punched him.

“Why would I trust you’d keep your word?” demands Ståle.

“Why should I trust you? I get them free, and my leverage is all gone. I noticed you’re carefully focused on my tits at present. Too afraid to consider how good it would feel to plough me for days?”

Ståle contemptuous snort makes me want to leave him, while his words make me want to strangle him instead. “You’re a Succubus; none of you are trustworthy.”

I can hear the bitterness in my laughter. Rage at letting the emotion slip twists around inside me and fills my words. “Yeah, because we’re just whores for others’ pleasure. There to order around, or fuck, but certainly not respect. So tell me this, if you won’t respect me, why should I respect you? I was told beauty alone meant I’d only ever be a toy. Since then, I’ve found that it doesn’t matter how strong your will or smart you are; they’ll still call you a whore. They think that makes them strong and you weak.”

At an understanding laugh I look past Ståle to regard the laughing woman. “My father and mother grew too ill to work. None of our relatives cared to help. I became a whore, so my family wouldn’t starve. They eventually recovered, and I thought I might get my old life back. Instead, my father kicked me out of the home. My mother wouldn’t even look at me. Everyone else in the town considered my family the honourable ones. So yes, they’re always so much better, but they call us whores.”

I listen to everything she leaves unsaid as she walks towards the bars and pushes past Ståle. Her deep brown gaze holds tempered steel and explains the bruises over her body. Tattered scraps of clothing tied roughly together are all she has left, though all the other younger women look fully clothed. From the perspective of virgins being useful as sacrifices to dark powers and fetching higher prices from buyers it makes sense.

She moves with a flowing, balanced grace for all the bruises she carries, making her ash-blond hair sway across her shoulder. Her long tanned limbs show well-defined muscles through torn clothing, and I wonder how she’d taste.

“What does that matter now? Don’t-“

The woman doesn’t stop but talks right on over him. “It might belong to Ståle, but they took mine as well. My name is Frey.”

“Would you like to make a deal, Frey?”

“I’ve got conditions I’d need you to meet,” Frey declares.

“Frey don’t!” Ståle yell earns glares from us both, but Frey’s gaze stays locked on him, the muscles in her neck straining in their tightness.

“At least when I was a whore, customers gave coins to fuck me. I didn’t hear you offering to bend over for them yesterday, so don’t start now!” Frey’s response is furious, and Ståle takes a long step back. Ice clamps hard on her emotions as she turns to regard me. “Your name is Klipyl?”

“You listened, how sweet!”

“Frey!”

“Shut up, Ståle, she’s right; she can leave us to die. I saw the Portal they used after they grabbed us from the caravan. No one will risk looking for us, and they’ve nowhere to start.”

The image in her mind is a Spell knocking her down, where she was trying to protect her charges. “You’re a mercenary?”

“Adventurers, but some people see it as the same thing,” replied Frey, keeping her focus on me.

It only takes a moment to remember what they call it here. “What Path do you follow?”

“We call it a Class now, but that isn’t important, is it?”

“Monk? That’s an odd Class I’ve not heard of it. Is it your only one? Why are you repeating its name in your mind? What are you trying to hide? Do you have others? How many?”

“We’re rare—I was fortunate—but I’ve told enough of my life story. Did you want to deal or not?” Frey asks. Even as she speaks, her mind focuses on memories instead of a word. She stands in a cold courtyard repeatedly punching while a tiny crystal-eyed woman watches her practice alongside others. The repetitive drill filling her whole concentration pushes me out of her mind, a touch too late.

“What conditions did you have in mind?”

“You take the youngest ten women to safety immediately. When you come back, you take me to where you carried them and I confirm they are safe before you bring me back here. I’ll form a bond with you, then you remove my manacles and collar. Each day you hold on to us, you provide us with food and water to keep us in good health. Every ten days you take another two to safety.”

“I can’t Teleport with someone.”

Pointing out my limitation earns a puzzled frown from her. “I saw them using a bag of storage?”

“What of them? My deceased master has a number in his collection.”

“Have someone put their hand into its opening and focus on having it to store them. If you can Teleport with the bag’s weight, you’ll be able to release them in a safe place far from here,” instructs Frey waspishly.

I frown as I consider the details sceptically. “That works? Won’t they die in the bag? Mortals are so frail; they need air.”

“According to a tale I’ve heard, it works as long as you don’t keep them in it too long. Though the bag needs to hold far more than the person’s weight is my understanding.”

“You’d trust their life and yours to a tale?”

“I trust the person that told me the tale.” Frey corrected without even a flicker of doubt.

I tilt my head in consideration as if running possibilities. dragging out the drama for the fun. “There are only seventeen of you. Why should I take ten to safety immediately?”

“That gives you a whole moon out of the Abyss while still having leverage. Even then, I didn’t say you needed to release me immediately, but everyone else I want safe.”

“You’re willing to endure whatever I come up with?” I ask teasingly and roam my gaze over her.

“If you kill me before you corrupt me, I believe my Soul will go to Amdirlain’s realm.”

“Come to the bars where I can touch you.”

Her bedroom eyes are as hard as granite, and she steps forward with steely determination. I reach towards her full bosom, but she doesn’t even flinch, and I place my hand between them. The Chant spills painfully across my lips, but I’ve practiced enough that it doesn’t break my concentration. The Celestial words dissolving as the healing lightens her bruises makes their gazes widen. I sigh in relief as the pain fades; the stolen Divine Focus making the Blessing’s flow so much faster than the one I’d crafted on my own.

“Well, Sister Priestess, I find your conditions agreeable,” I say lightly and can’t resist teasing. “Monk, Priest, and Wizard, you are talented.”

“How did you not know her name?” demands Ståle.

“She didn’t send me a message, so very insulting of her,” I quip. “How did you learn she’d changed her name?”

“In a dream,” Frey answered, her expression showing she’d made the connection that was instantly clear to me.

“You threatened to leave us here!” Ståle roars, and I smile merrily at Frey.

“Demons don’t dream,” I state casually, when Ståle appears to be clueless.

My smile shows too many teeth when I want to strangle him again. “I lied. Can we work something out, Frey?”

“I’ll help you stay free as long as you don’t hurt others, especially innocents,” Frey concedes after a moment of consideration.

“What’s a little pain when you’re fucking someone? How about I promise I won’t permanently injure anyone that doesn’t deserve it?”

The saucy look I give her receives a snort.

“I decide who deserves it, not you. Deal?” Frey asks, extending a hand between the bars.

“Deal.”

When I clasp her forearm, a shiver runs up my spine, as if an icy wind rushed in the open door even though the morning is already warming up.