Sorrel Darkfire problems vs the Real Estate Problem
Nov 17, 2021 22:50:53 GMT
Jaezred Vandree, Anthony, and 2 more like this
Post by stephena on Nov 17, 2021 22:50:53 GMT
Sorrel took a deep breath and opened the door of the Three Dragons. Shaleena was, of course, the first and only thing she could see. She stopped, the slight nausea of adrenaline rising, making her feel slightly sick. And then Shaleena caught her eye.
There was a long silence.
Or at least, it felt like it. No doubt the inn was as busy as it had been just a few seconds ago. No doubt the party of drunken militia were still boasting in the corner. No doubt the half orc hen party were still chanting drinking songs. No doubt the massed trumpets of the Junior Gabriel Assimar Big Band were still blaring out Tum Ek Gorakh Dhandha Ho.
But there was Shaleena.
Sorrel saw her whisper into a colleague’s ear then turn and walk off into the back of the inn.
Her heart in her mouth, Sorrel stepped out into reception, ducked under the stairs and headed towards the stables before stopping at the last door on the right. She paused, uncertain, scared that if she knocked Shaleena wouldn’t answer, and scared that if she knocked, she would.
Then the door swung open, a fist caught her on the chin, and she staggered back a step or two before Shaleena grabbed her by the straps of her armour and hauled her into the bare grooms sleeping quarters and onto the first low bunk.
“You had better have a fucking good reason for showing up here after three solid weeks,” Shaleena towered over her, hands on hips. As Sorrel started to apologise, Shaleena slapped her, lightly, and then grabbed her chin in one hand and covered her mouth with the other. “But you’d better have an even better reason for the fact that you’ve still got your clothes on. I will give you a count of ten and then…” she smirked, stood back and dragged a kitchen knife from beneath her delicate smock. “I’ll cut your fucking armour off myself Sorrel Darkfire.”
Afterwards they huddled underneath the thin blankets, Sorrel searching Shaleena’s eyes for something she couldn’t even begin to explain.
“What’s troubling your already immensely troubled mind, my strange, exquisitely muscled child?” Shaleena cocked her head to one side and stroked her hand softly down Sorrel’s neck, shoulder, waist, hip and thigh in one slow elegant sweep. Sorrel shivered and felt goose bumps follow Shaleena’s delicate fingertips.
“If you keep doing that, I won’t be able to tell you…”
“I know. I love how easy your body is to read…” Shaleena gave a soft laugh, then rested her hand lightly on Sorrel’s waist. “Go on then. I can see you’ve got a few more troubles on your excessively troubled mind than usual.”
Sorrel tried to bend her body out of the bed and over her rucksack without disturbing Shaleena’s hand. She fished the note out of the delicately trapped pocket and almost forgot to disarm it. She wasn’t focussing.
The Note
The notice had elegant handwriting… it read…
Eric Paces the room, irritably before leaning over the desk
“Are you writing already? OH! Can I get some help please?”
Eric continues to ramble in his incoherent way
“I think she said I’m supposed to put this up in the bar mayb- Hey I'm not rambling!”
You were definitely rambling
Eric lets out a high pitched squeal of defeat - “Fine! Can someone help me please! Um, the master is missing and I need someone to find him. Please? He was working on something in his lab but now he’s gone and I haven't seen him for days -
He said not to mention the lab!
“Oh damn, uh... Can you cross that bit out?”
No. - Eric wails again
“Why not!? Oh Gods... Erm, If you can, or want to help I guess, uh, please do. Um…. Lady Imryll said she'll arrange travel…. Somehow?"
Eric flounders, clearly out of his depth
"I haven't done this before, ok!? Ummm, does this need anything else?”
Tell them you can pay them
“I can pay you!!!”
There was a second smaller note attached below:
"Someone help this idiot, please.
The Little Fort - Library - Row 3, 8th book on the left, top shelf
- Imryll"
Shaleena read them both, a little confused. “So…?”
“So, I went to the library and found the book and….” Sorrel shivered. “And I was in the Feywild.”
“The place you’re obsessed with for such complicated reasons I can’t even begin to understand?”
“Don’t you think obsessed is a strong word?”
“Ah, recurring dreams of pain and loss? Constantly referencing then avoiding the topic? Making endless dark hints about your father, about magic, about visions of yourself trapped there like a puppet with no brain, no blood, no anima, just banging on cymbals, and going and going and going around and… Yeah, maybe it's... a bit obsessive.”
“Anyway, I was in a waiting room.”
“Any cymbals?”
“Wait, did you say cymbals or symbols? Like, metal crashing things or carved runes?”
“Both. Neither. I don’t really care. I’m listening, aren’t I? Hurry up and finish and then we can fuck again.”
So there was Varga, who Sorrel hadn’t seen for a while and had clearly been working out. The half-orc seemed slightly distracted and barely put any weight behind her swinging cuff, so Sorrel rocked backwards absorbing it easily. There was this guy Ivan eating some kind of food, and a druid, Carnan, and a paladin.
Oziah. That was the paladin.
Striking looking woman. Interesting.
Shaleena snorted. “Oziah Daybreaker? Dream on. You’re not even playing the same game let alone in the same league. Anyway, she’s fallen for some Delilah bird. Always asking her to cut her hair I'll be bound.”
Sorrel bristled. Anyway. She’d bowed the formal House greeting, ‘at your service and your family’s’ and Oziah…
Sorrel noticed a glint in Shaleena’s eye and moved on.
Eric the Witching
A drow showed up, well dressed, precise, mentioned the Witching Court or something. Oziah recognised him. Asked if they were the party for Eric. Sorrel watched the others assent and fell into step behind them. She sensed these were old hands. They crackled with power and magic and coiled rage. Sorrel felt a little uneasy. There was something emotional here. Had she stumbled into a personal thing? She didn’t like personal. She liked to keep things professional.
“Of course you do, you weirdo,” Shaleena reached under the bed and pulled out a half bottle of a fiery amber spirit with two shot glasses. “Who wants friends? They just borrow money and fart in your bedroom.”
Sorrel shrugged. The point being, the next few minutes were like a rolling maul as the other four delivered a running verbal battle that made Sorrel slightly nervous they’d be less than unhappy if one of them fell foul of whatever it was they were all doing here. Still, they seemed happier fighting than not, so she checked the tension in her bow string and stayed in the shadows as they wandered through winding tunnels lit by torches and glowing mushrooms until they reached a door with a sign – it said floating melon. Above it, another door was labelled Xanathar’s mushy apple.
“You see this is why I hate the Feywild,” Sorrel broke off then shook her head. Shaleena’s hand reminded her to finish quickly.
Behind the apple door was a teenager with a cat in the messiest shop Sorrel had ever seen. For some reason, this seemed to spark the party to fresh feuding with Oziah and Varga practically drawing weapons.
Carnan sat the kid – Eric – down and quizzed him. There was a professor with a lab who’d been inside for three days and had left strict instructions to call for help once the third day had passed. Plus, the lab wasn’t there anymore. Plus, something had tried to come out of the lab door that wasn’t supposed to be there.
Sorrel examined the key. Fairly standard five lever deadlock. She thought an adjustable snib pick with t-bar ought to work. She checked her tools. Pick stem, sliding tension handle, pick wires, decoding arm – all there. From the cut of the key, there might be a couple of low levers in there that she’d have to corkscrew but five minute job at worst. She gave Varga the key. At least one of them ought to make it out alive.
“Yada yada yada, skip to the end,” Shaleena’s hand moved softly across Sorrel’s skin
So. Very dark inside. Wooden floor and ceiling angles up and away. 10ft on either side the floor stops and drops into darkness. Blood on the door. Long insect legs – probably spider. Oziah drops a peanut over the edge, falls for a long time, light at the bottom, steps going down, Oziah ropes them together, off they go, big gap, Oziah jumps, Sorrel climbs…
“You were roped to Oziah?”
“We were all roped together.”
“But you were roped directly to her. Next to her.”
“I guess, I don’t remember. That’s not the point.”
Oh, she’d forgotten to mention the door had disappeared after they closed it. Hadn’t she?
“You’d have thought that would have been the important point rather than the Oziah stuff.”
“Oziah hardly features in this story. Shut up and stop doing that for a minute, please. Let me… no, really stop… OK, but do it slowly.”
Anyway, Oziah and Ivan bickering over alcohol, light appeared, doorway, sheer cliff, crack in the wall formed a cave entrance, heared someone inside, magic spell, moved silently, furniture made out of stone, some bloke - Professor Kilian Gallagher, to be precise, and he was speaking.
“I need my bag,” the prof said. “I’m performing an experiment.” He’s expanding, he explained, and set up a field lab down on the table. Something ate everything. He wanted them to get the bag back.
Not your usual hire, to be fair.
Long story short, the lab at the bottom of the stairs is huge. Like, really, really big.
“Those creative writing classes are really paying off,” Shaleena’s fingers performed delicate circles.
The lab was wrecked. Much larger than real life, but wrecked. Oziah said either they’ve enlarged everything including a roach or we have shrunk.
“Always got something to say, Oziah,” Shaleena snorted.
“Honestly, hardly said a word. It’s you that keeps bringing her into the conversation.”
Desk Job
They were standing on old alchemical work desk with a mountain of tools on the far end, a large alchemical flask or two, stacks of books, magnifying glass, plate, matches, candle, broken cup, test tubes, plus the remains of a field camp.
Ivan found the tracks of beast to the camp and signs of a struggle. Carnan found claw marks and something shiny. Varga found rat hair, but huge.
“So I figured it out – a rat in scale with the huge room climbs onto the table, something like a dragon attacks or... at least encounters the rat, the camp is wrecked and it seems to fly away. We climb down and follow tracks through the room. I swear to the goddess I threw my all into that. I was tracking, throwing out spells of silence, highly trained in spotting movement in darkness, there are at least four trainers and eight squad commanders at the House who would have me commended for that performance. But that lot were bickering the whole way. It was like… it’s reall really hard to concentrate if you do that.”
Sorrel tracked whatever it was into another huge room covered in moss with a table, notes on the wall, a bed, a dresser and in a gap behind the dresser a hole in the wall which opened into a kind of cave, like a giant rat hole, recently filled with shiny bits and pieces. And a dragon that seemed to be made of emeralds.
Sorrel had an arrow already fitted so fired rapidly three shots, all hitting home. Waves of psychic damage erupted from the beast, and half the party cluthed their heads in pain. Then the tanks went to work, Oziah smiting, Varga bringing down the Battleaxe of the Dominator…
“Wait, what?” Shaleena stopped stroking, which simultaneously annoyed and relieved Sorrel.
“The Battleaxe of the Dominator. It’s her battleaxe.”
“And it dominates?”
“No, it’s of the dominator. So I guess… who would be the dominator? Varga or the person who made the Battleaxe of the Dominator?”
“Are you just trying to find ways not to fuck me?”
The dragon changed into a weird necrotic beast.
“Now you are just making this stuff up.”
“Dude, I swear. It’s the Feywild. Shit’s weird.”
As Varga attacked the foetid beast she dodged poison spores flowing from its jaws. Sorrel was firing wildly for some reason.
“I know the reason. Hot babe near the enemy.”
“I’m a professional and I’m in bed with you.”
“I’m just saying.”
Was firing wildly. For whatever reason. But Oziah…
“Here we go.”
“Look, this is what happened.”
Ozaih’s smites trashed the dragon, it stumbled, fell… and turned into a golden dragon pouring spells down on Varga. As Oziah waded in, Sorrel held her breath as she notched an arrow, drew back the bow and breathed out as she loosed the string, the noise of battle receding and only the arrow there flying through the air until it plunged into the dragons eye.
It fell… and became a rat.
“Which I knew was coming because clever old Sorrel worked it out on the table. What is it with this flexing, baby?”
“This is not flexing, just what happened. And didn’t you hear me say how awful my shots were? Anyway. We gave the professor his stuff- including, it turns out, three bracelets that changed things into dragons which explains the whole rat business, and nicked some other stuff then ended up getting weirdly drunk on… I don’t know… emotions in a bottle. I felt things I hadn’t felt for a while. I… the whole thing was disconcerting. The Feywild, feeling outclassed by the team, the emotions… It felt like something was cracking inside.”
“You claim you don’t feel things.”
“No, of course I do, I feel… oh………………… yes, I can feel that…”
“Darkfire,” Shaleena whispered softly into her ear. “There are some people who might take offence if a casual lover,” and she made Sorrel gasp again. “If a casual lover appeared after weeks of silence, took them to bed, talked about some hot paladin chick and didn’t even deliver a punchline.”
Sorrel bit her lip to stop the moan escaping.
“But I am not some people. And you are a delightful plaything. But I have my limits.” She let her hands drift away from Sorrel’s skin and looked down at the rangers toned body and smooth skin, shaking her head. “The reason you’re still here is that I haven’t yet found them with you. But trust me, you’ll find them soon enough and you wouldn’t want this…” Sorrel gasped again. “To be a distant memory for the rest of your sorry days, would you? Now. Let me show you exactly who the dominator is. And baby, I don’t have anything even close to a battleaxe.”
There was a long silence.
Or at least, it felt like it. No doubt the inn was as busy as it had been just a few seconds ago. No doubt the party of drunken militia were still boasting in the corner. No doubt the half orc hen party were still chanting drinking songs. No doubt the massed trumpets of the Junior Gabriel Assimar Big Band were still blaring out Tum Ek Gorakh Dhandha Ho.
But there was Shaleena.
Sorrel saw her whisper into a colleague’s ear then turn and walk off into the back of the inn.
Her heart in her mouth, Sorrel stepped out into reception, ducked under the stairs and headed towards the stables before stopping at the last door on the right. She paused, uncertain, scared that if she knocked Shaleena wouldn’t answer, and scared that if she knocked, she would.
Then the door swung open, a fist caught her on the chin, and she staggered back a step or two before Shaleena grabbed her by the straps of her armour and hauled her into the bare grooms sleeping quarters and onto the first low bunk.
“You had better have a fucking good reason for showing up here after three solid weeks,” Shaleena towered over her, hands on hips. As Sorrel started to apologise, Shaleena slapped her, lightly, and then grabbed her chin in one hand and covered her mouth with the other. “But you’d better have an even better reason for the fact that you’ve still got your clothes on. I will give you a count of ten and then…” she smirked, stood back and dragged a kitchen knife from beneath her delicate smock. “I’ll cut your fucking armour off myself Sorrel Darkfire.”
Afterwards they huddled underneath the thin blankets, Sorrel searching Shaleena’s eyes for something she couldn’t even begin to explain.
“What’s troubling your already immensely troubled mind, my strange, exquisitely muscled child?” Shaleena cocked her head to one side and stroked her hand softly down Sorrel’s neck, shoulder, waist, hip and thigh in one slow elegant sweep. Sorrel shivered and felt goose bumps follow Shaleena’s delicate fingertips.
“If you keep doing that, I won’t be able to tell you…”
“I know. I love how easy your body is to read…” Shaleena gave a soft laugh, then rested her hand lightly on Sorrel’s waist. “Go on then. I can see you’ve got a few more troubles on your excessively troubled mind than usual.”
Sorrel tried to bend her body out of the bed and over her rucksack without disturbing Shaleena’s hand. She fished the note out of the delicately trapped pocket and almost forgot to disarm it. She wasn’t focussing.
The Note
The notice had elegant handwriting… it read…
Eric Paces the room, irritably before leaning over the desk
“Are you writing already? OH! Can I get some help please?”
Eric continues to ramble in his incoherent way
“I think she said I’m supposed to put this up in the bar mayb- Hey I'm not rambling!”
You were definitely rambling
Eric lets out a high pitched squeal of defeat - “Fine! Can someone help me please! Um, the master is missing and I need someone to find him. Please? He was working on something in his lab but now he’s gone and I haven't seen him for days -
He said not to mention the lab!
“Oh damn, uh... Can you cross that bit out?”
No. - Eric wails again
“Why not!? Oh Gods... Erm, If you can, or want to help I guess, uh, please do. Um…. Lady Imryll said she'll arrange travel…. Somehow?"
Eric flounders, clearly out of his depth
"I haven't done this before, ok!? Ummm, does this need anything else?”
Tell them you can pay them
“I can pay you!!!”
There was a second smaller note attached below:
"Someone help this idiot, please.
The Little Fort - Library - Row 3, 8th book on the left, top shelf
- Imryll"
Shaleena read them both, a little confused. “So…?”
“So, I went to the library and found the book and….” Sorrel shivered. “And I was in the Feywild.”
“The place you’re obsessed with for such complicated reasons I can’t even begin to understand?”
“Don’t you think obsessed is a strong word?”
“Ah, recurring dreams of pain and loss? Constantly referencing then avoiding the topic? Making endless dark hints about your father, about magic, about visions of yourself trapped there like a puppet with no brain, no blood, no anima, just banging on cymbals, and going and going and going around and… Yeah, maybe it's... a bit obsessive.”
“Anyway, I was in a waiting room.”
“Any cymbals?”
“Wait, did you say cymbals or symbols? Like, metal crashing things or carved runes?”
“Both. Neither. I don’t really care. I’m listening, aren’t I? Hurry up and finish and then we can fuck again.”
So there was Varga, who Sorrel hadn’t seen for a while and had clearly been working out. The half-orc seemed slightly distracted and barely put any weight behind her swinging cuff, so Sorrel rocked backwards absorbing it easily. There was this guy Ivan eating some kind of food, and a druid, Carnan, and a paladin.
Oziah. That was the paladin.
Striking looking woman. Interesting.
Shaleena snorted. “Oziah Daybreaker? Dream on. You’re not even playing the same game let alone in the same league. Anyway, she’s fallen for some Delilah bird. Always asking her to cut her hair I'll be bound.”
Sorrel bristled. Anyway. She’d bowed the formal House greeting, ‘at your service and your family’s’ and Oziah…
Sorrel noticed a glint in Shaleena’s eye and moved on.
Eric the Witching
A drow showed up, well dressed, precise, mentioned the Witching Court or something. Oziah recognised him. Asked if they were the party for Eric. Sorrel watched the others assent and fell into step behind them. She sensed these were old hands. They crackled with power and magic and coiled rage. Sorrel felt a little uneasy. There was something emotional here. Had she stumbled into a personal thing? She didn’t like personal. She liked to keep things professional.
“Of course you do, you weirdo,” Shaleena reached under the bed and pulled out a half bottle of a fiery amber spirit with two shot glasses. “Who wants friends? They just borrow money and fart in your bedroom.”
Sorrel shrugged. The point being, the next few minutes were like a rolling maul as the other four delivered a running verbal battle that made Sorrel slightly nervous they’d be less than unhappy if one of them fell foul of whatever it was they were all doing here. Still, they seemed happier fighting than not, so she checked the tension in her bow string and stayed in the shadows as they wandered through winding tunnels lit by torches and glowing mushrooms until they reached a door with a sign – it said floating melon. Above it, another door was labelled Xanathar’s mushy apple.
“You see this is why I hate the Feywild,” Sorrel broke off then shook her head. Shaleena’s hand reminded her to finish quickly.
Behind the apple door was a teenager with a cat in the messiest shop Sorrel had ever seen. For some reason, this seemed to spark the party to fresh feuding with Oziah and Varga practically drawing weapons.
Carnan sat the kid – Eric – down and quizzed him. There was a professor with a lab who’d been inside for three days and had left strict instructions to call for help once the third day had passed. Plus, the lab wasn’t there anymore. Plus, something had tried to come out of the lab door that wasn’t supposed to be there.
Sorrel examined the key. Fairly standard five lever deadlock. She thought an adjustable snib pick with t-bar ought to work. She checked her tools. Pick stem, sliding tension handle, pick wires, decoding arm – all there. From the cut of the key, there might be a couple of low levers in there that she’d have to corkscrew but five minute job at worst. She gave Varga the key. At least one of them ought to make it out alive.
“Yada yada yada, skip to the end,” Shaleena’s hand moved softly across Sorrel’s skin
So. Very dark inside. Wooden floor and ceiling angles up and away. 10ft on either side the floor stops and drops into darkness. Blood on the door. Long insect legs – probably spider. Oziah drops a peanut over the edge, falls for a long time, light at the bottom, steps going down, Oziah ropes them together, off they go, big gap, Oziah jumps, Sorrel climbs…
“You were roped to Oziah?”
“We were all roped together.”
“But you were roped directly to her. Next to her.”
“I guess, I don’t remember. That’s not the point.”
Oh, she’d forgotten to mention the door had disappeared after they closed it. Hadn’t she?
“You’d have thought that would have been the important point rather than the Oziah stuff.”
“Oziah hardly features in this story. Shut up and stop doing that for a minute, please. Let me… no, really stop… OK, but do it slowly.”
Anyway, Oziah and Ivan bickering over alcohol, light appeared, doorway, sheer cliff, crack in the wall formed a cave entrance, heared someone inside, magic spell, moved silently, furniture made out of stone, some bloke - Professor Kilian Gallagher, to be precise, and he was speaking.
“I need my bag,” the prof said. “I’m performing an experiment.” He’s expanding, he explained, and set up a field lab down on the table. Something ate everything. He wanted them to get the bag back.
Not your usual hire, to be fair.
Long story short, the lab at the bottom of the stairs is huge. Like, really, really big.
“Those creative writing classes are really paying off,” Shaleena’s fingers performed delicate circles.
The lab was wrecked. Much larger than real life, but wrecked. Oziah said either they’ve enlarged everything including a roach or we have shrunk.
“Always got something to say, Oziah,” Shaleena snorted.
“Honestly, hardly said a word. It’s you that keeps bringing her into the conversation.”
Desk Job
They were standing on old alchemical work desk with a mountain of tools on the far end, a large alchemical flask or two, stacks of books, magnifying glass, plate, matches, candle, broken cup, test tubes, plus the remains of a field camp.
Ivan found the tracks of beast to the camp and signs of a struggle. Carnan found claw marks and something shiny. Varga found rat hair, but huge.
“So I figured it out – a rat in scale with the huge room climbs onto the table, something like a dragon attacks or... at least encounters the rat, the camp is wrecked and it seems to fly away. We climb down and follow tracks through the room. I swear to the goddess I threw my all into that. I was tracking, throwing out spells of silence, highly trained in spotting movement in darkness, there are at least four trainers and eight squad commanders at the House who would have me commended for that performance. But that lot were bickering the whole way. It was like… it’s reall really hard to concentrate if you do that.”
Sorrel tracked whatever it was into another huge room covered in moss with a table, notes on the wall, a bed, a dresser and in a gap behind the dresser a hole in the wall which opened into a kind of cave, like a giant rat hole, recently filled with shiny bits and pieces. And a dragon that seemed to be made of emeralds.
Sorrel had an arrow already fitted so fired rapidly three shots, all hitting home. Waves of psychic damage erupted from the beast, and half the party cluthed their heads in pain. Then the tanks went to work, Oziah smiting, Varga bringing down the Battleaxe of the Dominator…
“Wait, what?” Shaleena stopped stroking, which simultaneously annoyed and relieved Sorrel.
“The Battleaxe of the Dominator. It’s her battleaxe.”
“And it dominates?”
“No, it’s of the dominator. So I guess… who would be the dominator? Varga or the person who made the Battleaxe of the Dominator?”
“Are you just trying to find ways not to fuck me?”
The dragon changed into a weird necrotic beast.
“Now you are just making this stuff up.”
“Dude, I swear. It’s the Feywild. Shit’s weird.”
As Varga attacked the foetid beast she dodged poison spores flowing from its jaws. Sorrel was firing wildly for some reason.
“I know the reason. Hot babe near the enemy.”
“I’m a professional and I’m in bed with you.”
“I’m just saying.”
Was firing wildly. For whatever reason. But Oziah…
“Here we go.”
“Look, this is what happened.”
Ozaih’s smites trashed the dragon, it stumbled, fell… and turned into a golden dragon pouring spells down on Varga. As Oziah waded in, Sorrel held her breath as she notched an arrow, drew back the bow and breathed out as she loosed the string, the noise of battle receding and only the arrow there flying through the air until it plunged into the dragons eye.
It fell… and became a rat.
“Which I knew was coming because clever old Sorrel worked it out on the table. What is it with this flexing, baby?”
“This is not flexing, just what happened. And didn’t you hear me say how awful my shots were? Anyway. We gave the professor his stuff- including, it turns out, three bracelets that changed things into dragons which explains the whole rat business, and nicked some other stuff then ended up getting weirdly drunk on… I don’t know… emotions in a bottle. I felt things I hadn’t felt for a while. I… the whole thing was disconcerting. The Feywild, feeling outclassed by the team, the emotions… It felt like something was cracking inside.”
“You claim you don’t feel things.”
“No, of course I do, I feel… oh………………… yes, I can feel that…”
“Darkfire,” Shaleena whispered softly into her ear. “There are some people who might take offence if a casual lover,” and she made Sorrel gasp again. “If a casual lover appeared after weeks of silence, took them to bed, talked about some hot paladin chick and didn’t even deliver a punchline.”
Sorrel bit her lip to stop the moan escaping.
“But I am not some people. And you are a delightful plaything. But I have my limits.” She let her hands drift away from Sorrel’s skin and looked down at the rangers toned body and smooth skin, shaking her head. “The reason you’re still here is that I haven’t yet found them with you. But trust me, you’ll find them soon enough and you wouldn’t want this…” Sorrel gasped again. “To be a distant memory for the rest of your sorry days, would you? Now. Let me show you exactly who the dominator is. And baby, I don’t have anything even close to a battleaxe.”
