"THIS FEELS WEIRD," HERVOR TOLD him down a riverbank, "I’ve never talked before, in all my life." She touched her throat. "My voice—"

"...is beautiful." Eotigan finished in a low voice. Unlike his Bonecleavers of Hel when they needed a quick dick-suck at a pub, he wasn’t blowing smoke up her ass. Hervor had a voice just as he’d imagined: low and calming. She was the complete picture now. And not to brag or anything but he’d done that. His cock had cured her.

If Eotigan was anything like that self-fucking cunt, Narkissos, this moment right here would be a colossal ego boost. In those primordial days, this was not a metaphor; Narkissos did like to fuck himself.

Eotigan didn’t even know he had a prowess on his [Aether] like that. The power to heal was only reserved for saints, for obvious reasons. A devil could corrupt, and maim, and even steal a Halo, but no way was that condemned shade healing shit. The High-powered [Caelestes] did grant like abilities to mortals occasionally—the power to mend wounds as seen in Healers; this was called a [Blessing].

However, the expression of such power did not come from sin. Nowhere had a Blessed fingered a leper woman and revived her. Eotigan soliloquized, "I have just given Hervor good dick. I might be a demon but even I know miracles don’t work like that. She has gained the ability to speak...

...how the fuck? My sperm ain’t glorious?"

In the end, Eotigan decided to chalk it down to an Attribute. It had probably rubbed off on him through contact with the Half-angel. He wanted not going down that road, so he didn’t mention her name—even in his head.

"All done." Hervor came to stand in front of him. Behind her the stream mimicked the silver of her hair. "Ohh." She quickly put up her hand, folding the alabaster waves delicately into a braided bun. Very typical of her introvertive self. Eotigan chuckled, "very wise. We don’t want the village raising eyebrows."

Hervor bit on the inside of her cheek, a bit bashful under his smouldering eyes—never mind that he was apathetically leaning on a moss rock and she, standing above him. To Hervor, his pupils reminded her of anything but fire. He was more like a vat of liquid gold. She didn’t tell him this.

Eotigan pulled off the rock. He appraised her new modesty fondly, calling to quick remembrance all the mounds and clefts of her foxy body as he spoke, "for someone who just got their voice, you sure aren’t in a hurry to use it."

He posed it as an observation, rather than a question. Hervor shrugged. Inside him, he liked her even more. Eotigan knew for sure if he used [Cyclops Demon-Eye] on her, her aura would be blue, because blue is the warmest color. Her totem would be a turtle. Thinking all these was pulling him more to her and he was staring. Her smile was growing. Her green eyes, dilating. ’Fuck me,’ Eotigan sighed, ’she has just cleaned up two seconds ago in that fucking brook. If I grab those hips again, I’m not letting go till night hits the forest.’

Eotigan groaned, tearing his gaze to the tops of the trees. He really wanted to drag her back to the sand and put that mouth to work.

"Go." His lupine eyes fell back on her. He pointed to the path. "Go!"

Hervor turned quickly, and walked. But not before his large hand made a loud connection with her sweet behind.

PAH!

"—green-eyed witch!"

Hervor was still biting on the inside of her cheek, battling with her giggle. She considered letting it out, if it’d make him slap her fat ass again. But she and Eotigan knew it was the last bodily contact they’d ever share. One and done. She was under no illusion of commitment. She was grateful he fucked her though—extremely. She’d always worship Calypso, but, Eotigan? . .HE was her god. She’d never forget him. "My stallion." She smiled where he couldn’t see.

The village came into sight ten minutes after their trek from the lake, and the second the folks saw them in the distance they started waving. Except Eotigan, everyone else thought Hervor yet had her speech impediment. He knew no sign language but Hervor did not seem to be telling a thing either. She replied the welcoming bands as she’d had always done before—with nods and her quick hands. And where it demanded, with stick drawings in the sand.

"MAI FRIENDA," The Chieftain hugged Eotigan with a deep accent. The man had all the qualities of a bear, save the rage, fur, and fish cravings. In other words, El Cabana’s chief was a big panda.

"Did ya enjoy da Hut?! Many mysteries lurking in dere, eh!" His robust hand beat Eotigan’s shock. And if he were not supernatural, his clavicle would have a dent in it.

"Yep, Your Highness. Many mysteries inna da place." Eotigan correctly assumed the accent. He was good too. What could he say; one of his girlfriends was rasta. However, the mystery of the Hut ended with Mother Diamante. There were two things Eotigan had enjoyed in the bleeding jungle jog: peeping the wild shaman and the ’alone’ time with Hervor.

But he wasn’t going to break panda Chief’s heart. "So memorable, mmhmmm." He nodded, even he trying to believe himself.

He was thankful when he spotted a familiar blonde head in the mingling folk.

Panda Chief had a good heart but a psych eval in a bamboo fortress wasn’t exactly his idea of harmony. Therapy wasn’t going to work on a demon; especially when you’d had fucking Lilith for a godmother. Eotigan beelined for the blonde the second the Chieftain’s beaming grin shifted to a chubby dame dragging a goat.

"You missed lunch." The blonde hit him with crossed arms and even crosser eyes.

Eotigan’s brows became a uni brow. "Well good evening to you too, Thyra."

He wasn’t the least bit mad. Not with Thyra looking like a Viking baddie in front of him. "No hug, well damn, Goldie!" He said this to make her smile. It was working. Her stance loosened up a bit and she whipped her pretty head away just as the smile was forming. Eotigan followed her rich blue eyes. One arm slipped into her waist, testing the waters. The next heart-beat he tipped her face and went in for a hot kiss. "You know I love your cooking...and some." He kissed her again. Thyra was already melting, revealing her lovely neck.

He pinched her underboob. "You can’t stay mad at me, can you?" He chewed at her bottom lip.

"Fuck it. Mmm—" Thyra gave in, pulling on his shirt for a final ardous frenching. "Mhmm, yes," she licked his strong jaw. 𝒇𝙧𝙚𝓮𝙬𝙚𝓫𝒏𝓸𝓿𝓮𝒍.𝓬𝙤𝓶

His body was all the apology she needed. She didn’t let him pull fully away as she explained to his eyes: "I know you don’t like clingy, but we’ve been back from the hot baths two hours. Kam nearly sacrificed a lamb for a [Location Orb]..."

Well, thank fuck she didn’t, Eotigan surmised. He wasn’t surprised his harem were worried; his enemies were [Rank S] motherfuckers who did not piss and miss. They’d be crazy not to worry. But wait...he got Inaia’s first pinging after the Hut, so that means he’d spent those two hours Thyra was talking about with Hervor.

’Damn. New record right there!’ He allowed himself a second of self-praise.

"...if you think I’m being bratty, wait till you see Inaia." Thyra finished.

He pinched her boob again—this time over the pink cherry. "Oh, so you do know you were acting like a brat?" He teased her. "A little brat. MY LITTLE GOLDIE BRAT."

Thyra was in full giggles now. "You play too much." She pulled away, looking to his left, "—and who is this Silver Fox?"

Eotigan turned to Hervor, giving her the legendary I-Told-You-So. The woman shook her head, yet denying the world again her fruity voice. "Allow me," Eotigan made both females smile, "this is Hervor. Hervor, this is my third consort, Thyra."

A full silence settled as each woman took in the other and what else their shared hunk might’ve left out of the intro. Hervor bowed to Thyra, and dipped to Eotigan. She was one step away when Thyra told Eotigan, "the warship is being prepped by the village’s oarsmen. Inaia said you desire to leave the island—for some reason she couldn’t mention. We should set sail within the hou—"

"What? You’re leaving! Already? Now? Within the hour?!" It was Hervor, her sweet lilt clipped.

Thyra did a doubletake. "She can talk?"

Shite. Eotigan face-palmed. ’Time for god-level female management.’

"Hervor," He took hold of the silver fox first, "I love your nature and consciousness...and I love your body," he dropped his voice, "but I need you to do what you do best: form no attachment. I need you to let me go."

Hervor was frozen a full minute. Her green eyes then brightened. "Give me twenty minutes."

She turned and was gone, like a midnight chill. "O-Okay?" Eotigan blinked. That seldom worked. But he knew he wasn’t done putting out the fire yet. He turned next to Thyra, sweeping around with skill. "Apparently, she can," he replied his blonde’s prior question, "now please lead the way. Don’t make Inaia begin worrying for two."

On the way to southern huts from the Longhouse, Thyra kept looking back at Hervor vanishing in the other direction. ’Something doesn’t add up,’ was her thought, ’I am sure as shackles of steel that kitty could not purr before. I wonder, what cured her vocals.’ All the while, Eotigan stayed a pillar behind her, making sure she didn’t see enough of Hervor to discover the detective skills she didn’t know she had.

Inaia was waiting at the door.

Unlike Thyra she didn’t bug Eotigan—until he had finished his late lunch. And then the questions came. A flood of questions.

"You lock me outta ya head for two hours, why? You ask for fresh missions from the Epic Board, why? You hair is all muddy, why? And why do you smell like moonflower and river water?"

Eotigan struggled to push down his last morsel of beefcake. A good wine flush after and he was ready to take his [subservíena] and her quizz...kind of.

"Here I thought you’d dropped it when you’d seen me walk up through the wisteria with Thyra. I guess not," he sighed, "now, while I’m glad you understood to feed me before you probe me like a damn pecker, it’s my head, woman. I can lock you out of the [psyche bridge] whenever I damn well please. You ghosted me first for fuck knows how long, when you were enjoying hot sprays in some fancy cubicle...SECONDLY," Eotigan’s voice deepened in warning when Inaia tried to interject, "you know shit well why I need the fucking [Missions]. And I never, NEVER smell like moonflower."

He drank his goblet hard, "river water?" He shrugged, "eh, maybe."

Inaia was sitting really close to him on the long table, and Eotigan drew her in with his right hand; the same hand found its way into her blouse, from above the brassiere, and he groped her large breast hard, palming her with a friction she couldn’t hate. Inaia didn’t stop him.

"Lastly," he growled his bass into her pinewood eyes, "I looove the food."

Just like that their argument was over. As Inaia refilled his cup, he whispered, kissing her ear, "your punishment for ignoring my summoning continues on the ship."

Inaia filled his cup to overflowing. She still had not slapped his hand away from her bosom. And in the corner of the quaint hut Eotigan spied Kambili—where she squatted, packing them up; he spied her wet her full lips and smile. If one girl got the D tonight, they all would. Kambili knew the ’ting’, and that’s why she smiled.

Eotigan was making to put Inaia on his lap when Hervor burst in through the flailing curtain—and with five coolers of food.