Total pages in book: 142
Estimated words: 134898 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 674(@200wpm)___ 540(@250wpm)___ 450(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 134898 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 674(@200wpm)___ 540(@250wpm)___ 450(@300wpm)
I just want to blend in. Get a decent job that doesn’t involve handling other people’s chamber pots or a broom, maybe make a little coin to send back home to my ma so she won’t have to work so hard for that skinflint Lord Honori.
I’m not a mancer, though. I can’t be. I’m not anything special. This must be a sickness. That must be it. Scrubbing the window viciously, I tell myself the dizziness is due to something I ate last night. Nothing more. Soon enough I’ll get the sweats and then go running for the garderobe. I mean, I am sweating. But as time passes, more bits about the dead man leak into my brain. That he was a repeater, just like me. That he was doing a stint on guard duty. That he was supposed to meet someone in the alley last night for an exchange when someone came up behind him and a hot flash moved over his throat. Then he couldn’t breathe—
Choking on air, I grab my bucket and haul it toward the next room. The moment I’m inside, I slam the door behind me and lean against it, gasping.
“Who’s there?” asks someone with a deep, irritated male voice.
Shit. Mucking shit. I must have awoken the healers’ patient. Sure enough, when I look over, there’s the big, pale white form of a Taurian sprawled over the bed, which seems far too small for him. He’s naked except for a sheet tossed over his loins and what looks like a cloth covering his eyes. His bed has an overly tall footboard, upon which his hooves press. I guess that’s more comfortable for him on his back than lying flat like a human would, because his legs bend backward at the knee. He looks mucking grumpy that I’m here, too.
“Sorry, sir,” I chirp, sliding into my old friendly-helpful-maid persona. I step forward, clutching my bucket, and notice that his eyes aren’t just covered, they’re blindfolded. Good. He won’t be able to say it was me who interrupted him. “Name’s Sarya.”
Maybe I shouldn’t lie about my name, but I figure he doesn’t need to know who I really am. If I annoy him, the last thing I want is someone reporting back about how terrible Gwenna is. I set down the bucket near the window and then glance back toward him. This is the guild medics’ main hospital, so I reckon that he’s a guild artificer. He’s enormous, this Taurian man. There’s a glinting golden ring in his bovine pink nose, and his shoulders are so broad that his arms hang over the sides of the narrow bed. His horns jut forward over his bandaged brow and look sharp and deadly. Someone, one of the nurses perhaps, has tied a bright red ribbon in a colorful bow on the end of each one so the staff notices if he swings his head.
I don’t think they’re necessary. He’s impossible to look away from. I’ve seen him around guild headquarters, but I don’t know his name, just that he’s one of the guild’s hardworking Taurians. His barrel chest is nothing but muscle and the occasional scar, with two flat nipples decorating his delicious pectorals. The hooves on the footboard are equally enormous, and his tail swats the side of the bed with irritation. He’s magnificent.
Grumpy as muck, but magnificent.
The Taurian grunts, shifting his big body on the bed. “You’re the female they sent up?”
To clean the windows? “Aye, that’d be me. I’ll get you taken care of and then I’ll be on my way, promise.”
“Good” is all he says, and then he drops the sheet covering his loins to the floor and gestures at his fully engorged cock.
* * *
Raptor
I’m a terrible invalid.
It goes against everything I am to lie abed all day, doing nothing at all. I should be in the tunnels, digging for artifacts. I should be scouting for new paths. Five hells, I should be drinking in a tavern for all I care. Just not in bed with my eyes glued shut by a thick paste under a bandage. Granted, the paste is cool against my burnt skin, and the healer assigned to my care reassures me my vision will come back soon, but each day that I’m here, I can practically hear the coins clinking. The guild loves to charge for everything. Meals. Uniforms. Medic services. Everything. I’m going to be in so much mucking debt after this, just to get back to normal.
It’s my own fault. I shouldn’t have let the new guy in our Five handle the artifacts. I should know to duck and cover when someone says, “I wonder what this button does.”
I’m lucky all I got was a pair of flash-burnt eyes and some scorches on my hands. I’m told Romald—sorry, Bustard—didn’t make it. That means our Five has an opening again, and it means we’ll have another new guy. I mucking hate new guys.