For Advance/Early chapters :p
atreon.com/ScoldeyJod
Xaro's shriek, "Thieves! Savages! Guards!", was the sound of a desperate, cornered rat. The man who had moved through his palace like a living perfume, all soft silks and oily whispers, was gone. In his place was a trembling, purple-faced creature of pure, frantic panic.
He held Daenerys, his arm locked around her throat, the dagger pressed so hard against her skin that a single, perfect bead of crimson welled and slid down her neck.
"Stop!" he shrieked, his voice cracking. "Stop, or the dragon-whore dies!"
I froze. Jorah, his sword slick with blood, froze. The world narrowed to the point of that blade.
"You... you bitch," Xaro spat, his spittle hitting her cheek. "You ruined me! I will kill you!"
I took a single, slow step. The dagger pressed deeper. "Don't," I said, my voice a low, lethal calm that belied the pounding, chemical fury in my veins. My Seidr was a hollow ache, drained from the vault, but my Asgardian body was thrumming, a coiled spring of rage. "Let her go, Xaro. And I will give you a quick death."
"You... you will give me back my gold!" he sobbed, his eyes darting to the cart, then back to me, his entire body shaking.
I looked at Daenerys. Her eyes met mine over his arm. She was terrified, her body rigid, her breath coming in short, sharp gasps. But beneath the terror, her lilac eyes were burning. It was not the fear of a victim. It was the pure, unadulterated, insulted fury of a queen.
"Loki," she choked out.
"I am here, my Queen," I said, tensing, calculating the distance, the speed, the angle. I could move, but even my divine speed might not be faster than a mortal's panicked reflex.
"He... he is... touching me," she hissed, as if this, above all else, was the true, unforgivable crime.
And then she moved.
It was not a trained attack. It was a primal, draconic snap. She threw her head back, smashing the crown of her skull directly into his face. I heard the sickening, wet crunch of his bejeweled nose breaking.
Xaro screamed, a high-pitched, inhuman sound, his grip loosening in a spasm of agony.
He had hesitated for less than a second. It was more than I needed.
I was not a mortal. I did not run. I moved.
I crossed the twenty feet between us in a blur, a green-gold shadow. Xaro's eyes, wide and streaming with tears of pain, barely had time to register my presence before my hand, my Asgardian-strong hand, clamped around his throat.
I ripped him away from her, lifting him bodily from the floor. He dropped the knife; it clattered uselessly on the marble. He dropped her.
Daenerys fell to her knees, gasping, her hands flying to her bleeding neck.
I held Xaro pinned against the wall, my arm a steel bar, his legs kicking frantically, uselessly. I stared into his terrified, broken face.
"You... you... monster..." he choked, his hands clawing at my gauntlet.
"Worse," I whispered, my voice a cold, dead flatline. "I am the man she chose."
I applied pressure. It was not a struggle. It was a simple exertion of will. There was a single, dry snap, like a branch breaking in winter.
His eyes went wide, the frantic terror replaced by a sudden, stupid surprise. His body went limp. I held him for a moment longer, watching the last, faint spark of his pathetic life extinguish, and then I let him drop. He collapsed to the floor, a rumpled, wet heap of silks and broken jewels, his head at an unnatural angle.
The silence that fell was absolute, broken only by the sound of our ragged breathing.
Jorah and Rakharo stood over the last of the dead guards. The treasury, a room of pristine, decadent wealth, was now a slaughterhouse, the white marble slick with blood.
Daenerys pushed herself to her feet, her hand still pressed to her neck, her eyes fixed on Xaro's body. She was trembling, but her face was a mask of cold, hard triumph.
Then the alarm bells began. A frantic, pounding clangor from the palace above.
"Jorah, the gold!" I roared, the spell broken. "Rakharo, Irri! Get to the tunnel, now!"
"Khaleesi, you are bleeding!" Jorah protested, rushing to her.
"It's a scratch," she snapped, shoving his hand away. "The gold! We go!"
"We can't," I said, grabbing her arm. "The main tunnels will be blocked. They will expect it." I looked at Jorah. "Take the cart. Take Irri and Rakharo. Go to the docks. Use the side tunnel, the one that empties into the spice market. Barricade the way behind you."
"And you?" Jorah demanded, his eyes narrowed. "You will not flee?"
"We are the distraction," I said, a cold, feral smile touching my lips. "They saw us. They want us. We will lead them on a hunt. Now go! Get her gold to the docks. We will meet you there."
"I will not leave you!" Daenerys snarled, grabbing my arm.
"Yes, you will," I said, my voice low and absolute. I pulled her into the shadows of the vault, out of Jorah's sight. "He will listen to you. Tell him to go."
"I will not be separated from you!"
"It is the only way," I hissed, my hands gripping her shoulders. "They are your army. He is your knight. They must protect your future. I am your monster. I will protect you. We will lead the guards on a chase through the palace, then double back and meet them. They will never catch us. Now, command him."
She stared at me, her lilac eyes burning in the dim light. She hated it. But she saw the cold, brutal logic. She nodded.
She walked back to Jorah. "Ser. You have your orders. Take the gold. Guard it with your life. I will meet you at the docks, or I will die. Now obey me."
Jorah looked like his heart was being torn from his chest, but he was a soldier. He bowed. "As my Queen commands."
He, Rakharo, and a terrified Irri pushed the heavy cart into the dark, mildew-scented tunnel. The last I saw of them was the glint of Jorah's sword as he vanished into the black.
"Now what?" Daenerys asked, her voice a low vibration. She was high on adrenaline, her body a taut wire.
"Now," I said, pulling her into a dark alcove as the sound of running, armored feet echoed from the hall above, "we become the phantoms they believe we are."
We ran. Not down, but up. We burst from the treasury, a blur of leather and steel, and plunged into the heart of the palace. It was chaos. Guards were running in every direction, bells were ringing, and the pale, silk-clad Qartheen were screaming.
I was weak, my Seidr a hollow ache, but I had enough for tricks.
"This way!" a guard captain yelled, spotting us.
I snapped my fingers. A perfect, shimmering illusion of Daenerys and me appeared, running in the opposite direction. The guards roared and followed it. I pulled the real Daenerys into a side passage.
We ran, our feet silent on the thick carpets. We were two predators in a house of fools. The chase was intoxicating. We were alive, we were free, and we were together.
We finally burst out of a side door into the pre-dawn light, the salt-scent of the docks heavy in the air. The city was in chaos. Horns were blowing from the city watch.
"This way," I panted, pulling her into a dark, forgotten alley between two towering spice warehouses. We dove into the shadows, finding the broken-down door of a derelict building. It was pitch black inside, the air thick with the smell of mildew, salt, and ancient, dusty saffron.
I slammed the door, barring it with a rotting piece of wood. We were safe. For a moment.
We leaned against the wall, our bodies heaving, gasping for air. The silence, after the chaos, was a pounding, physical weight.
I looked at her. She was a mess. She was covered in grime, soot, her own blood, and spatters of Xaro's. Her leathers were torn. Her eyes were dark, wild, and utterly, incandescently beautiful.
"You were..." I breathed, "incredible."
She didn't smile. She looked at her hands, which were shaking, her nails caked with drying blood. "He's dead."
"I killed him," I stated, my voice flat.
"No," she whispered, her lilac eyes, dark and wild, finding mine. "We did. He touched me. He... he..."
She didn't finish the thought. She surged forward, her body crashing into mine, and kissed me.
It was not a kiss. It was a collision. It was frantic, desperate, and tasted of blood, sweat, and adrenaline. It was a "we are alive" kiss, a "we have won" kiss. It was the most honest, primal, real thing I had ever felt.
My hands found her waist, hauling her against me, my own control, shredded by the fight and the chase, evaporating. This was not a plan. This was a chemical reaction. A necessary, violent release.
"Loki," she gasped against my mouth, her hands frantic, tearing at the buckles of my armor. "I... I've never felt... I'm burning."
"You are fire," I growled, my voice a rough rasp as I ripped her torn leathers aside. The sound of tearing fabric, the scrape of her arakh on the stone floor. We didn't care.
This was not a bed. This was the floor. It was filthy, covered in dust and grit. We didn't care. It was an abrasive scrape of skin on the dusty floorboards, a grounding, real sensation.
I was on top of her, pinning her, my weight a comfort, not a threat. My mouth found her neck, her collarbone, my teeth scraping the skin where Xaro had held his knife. I was marking her. Erasing him. Reclaiming her.
"He... he defiled me," she hissed, her voice a sob of pure, unadulterated rage.
"No," I growled, my mouth finding her breast. I suckled hard, a possessive, healing, owning act. "He died. You are mine."
She cried out, her back arching, her hips rising from the floor in a shameless, desperate craving. "Then take me," she begged, her voice raw. "Fill me. Wash him away. Now."
Her urgency was a drug. I didn't wait. I ripped my breeches open, my own need a pounding, physical ache. I positioned myself. I entered her in one, hard, deep, possessive thrust.
We both roared. It was not a sound of pleasure. It was a sound of victory.
She was so tight, so wet, her inner muscles pulsing around me. The sensation was a climax of its own, a blinding, perfect life in the midst of death.
I moved. There was no slow build. It was a frantic, pounding, brutal rhythm. It was a war. It was a claim. I was pounding my ownership into her, and she was clawing it from me, her nails leaving deep, bleeding scratches on my back. The pain was exquisite.
"Mine," I grunted, my rhythm a crazy, frantic movement.
"Yours!" she screamed, her head thrashing on the dirty floor, her body a taut bowstring. "Only yours!"
I felt her climax build, a wave of pure, hot energy. She shuddered, her body convulsing around me, a soundless scream tearing from her throat as she found her release.
The sight of her, the feel of her, shattered my last restraint. I roared, my own release a burning, pounding flood, my seed a final, defiant stamp of life and magic.
We collapsed. Two bodies, slick with sweat, grime, and blood, on a dirty floor. The silence of the warehouse was broken only by our gasping, sobbing breaths.
A horn blew from the docks. A long, low sound.
"Jorah," I breathed, pulling myself out of her, my body aching with a profound, sated exhaustion.
Daenerys just nodded, her eyes dark, ruthless, and utterly calm. She got to her feet, a naked, bloody warrior in the dim light. She pulled her torn leathers back on, not even bothering to wipe the filth from her face.
"Let's go buy our army," she said.