Temple of Cocidius: A Monster Girl Harem Adventure: Book 3 Read online

  I harden. Finna feels it, purrs softly in approval, and then I’m taking them both in long thrusts, my movements not my own.

  Finna flows from my cock up Meridiana’s cleft, now blushed to a soft plum, both women nearly the same shade. My thrusts spatter small droplets of her onto Meridiana’s belly.

  Finna’s sheath thins along my body. I’m too mindless, my senses too scattered, to get it. It’s not until I lose the feel of Meridiana’s tight passage and the wet sensation increases that I understand why. Finna flows out of me, along my body, gathering at my shaft, and every thrust pushes more of her inside Meridiana. We fill her, and then it’s too much. On each thrust more of Finna squishes out, the sound illicit, the sensation overwhelming.

  “No more,” Meridiana gasps, eyes squeezed shut. “No more!” But she doesn’t mean it. Her legs strangle my waist.

  Finna covers me again, running back up my body, long tongues of slime that coat me, and all the while, we fuck Meridiana.

  The three of us writhe to a climax voiced by Meridiana’s deep moans and the soft splash of Finna driven into her.

  Finna strangles my body; her form swells my lungs and her orgasm wracks me inside and out, the scent of roses and the taste of pussy an intoxicant.

  I fuck Meridiana, bringing Finna to orgasm again and again. She runs off me, losing cohesion, puddling into the grass.

  The change in sensation feels so good I cum explosively, buried in Meridiana, Finna. The force sends a gush of slime and cum out around my shaft, onto my balls.

  Finna flows up Meridiana’s belly, between her quivering tits and coalesces, seated on Meridiana’s face, turned toward me. Her smile is pure mischief. I hold still, and Finna lowers, licking bits of herself and my cum where I’m buried inside Meridiana’s midnight-purple slit.

  Soft sucking. Through Finna’s still-thin form I can see Meridiana’s silhouette, the pink point of her tongue licking milky threads from deep between Finna’s thighs.

  Meridiana’s laugh is wicked, exhausted.

  Finna pools onto the blanket, soaking a wet spot in the shape of her body. She and Meridiana exchange a grin.

  “Everything you imagined?” I groan, falling to the grass without dignity or shame.

  “Mmmhmm.”

  That’s what a man likes to hear.

  -The Terrace-

  I’ll never get used to a hero’s welcome. Freya and Kumiko look happy to see me. Finna and Meridiana trail after me, silent, basking in afterglow. Everyone is here, but Callista, who’s apparently still asleep.

  “Thanks for letting me know you were leaving,” I tease Freya.

  Her lips twitch. “How did you know I’d gone? How did you know something didn’t eat me?”

  “I didn’t. But that something was well-mannered enough to fold the bedding, so I thought I’d let it be.”

  “Good to know.”

  Kumiko sits straight-backed in one of the thick-cushioned chairs, eyes closed. She looks serene, long ears relaxed around her delicate face, but not drooping. I sit beside her. She opens her pale pink eyes, and they penetrate me. “We’ve been talking.”

  “So I heard.”

  She looks confused. It passes. “Meridiana said you came to the temple to collect us for a King Mynogin.”

  Freya watches me, and I can feel Finna and Meridiana hovering at my back. They’re weighing me.

  “No, not exactly. I deceived Mynogin by making him believe I’d saved his life. And when that won me the honor of being his champion, he tasked me with running the temple for him. I swore to him I would collect the artifacts for the rightful king of Loria.”

  “You are the king,” whispers Meridiana, looking unbalanced for the first time since I met her. “You truly are.”

  I close my eyes for a long moment. “I am. My father was Travian Kynthelig, king of Loria and Hestia until Mynogin usurped him. Murdered him.”

  “If he defeated your father, doesn’t that make Mynogin king?” asks Finna.

  “If Mynogin defeated him the field of battle. But that would be defeat, not usurpation. Mynogin used deceit and magic to steal the throne. He used the Oryllix.”

  Freya drops her book. The others gasp.

  “I didn’t realize they were so famous.”

  “The Gardener told you who they were?” asks Meridiana.

  “An aspirant and an artifact.”

  “Did she tell you who they serve?”

  “Helreginn,” whispers Freya. “Of course.”

  “Of course what?” I’m lost.

  “That’s how Helreginn forced her way into your trial. It’s why our challenge in the frozen wastes with Callista was so complicated. Mordenn’s hand is in all of this.”

  “But he wasn’t a presence in Finna’s realm, or Kumiko’s or Meridiana’s…”

  “Mortals.” Kumiko nods. “Mordenn has limitations when it comes to trifling with magic beings, creatures, gods and demi-gods. He was stripped of nearly all that power by Heijl for an outrage against the Pantheon. But any realm with mortals…”

  “Freya’s realm is Titans, draugr,” I argue.

  “But I am half mortal,” says Freya. “He had influence.”

  “Was Mordenn a part of the temple before?” They must know; they’ve been attached to it for so long.

  The women shake their heads.

  “I’m rarely surprised by anything anymore,” says Meridiana, falling onto a couch. “In this case I’d be happy to stay bored.”

  A woman appears at the far end of the terrace. Her movements catch my eye not just because she’s new, but because her legs and hips, arms and shoulders seem to move independently, graceful swells of her limbs.

  Her skin gleams like white silk in the sun. Her eyes are as black as the mass of hair spilling in waves to her waist and sparkling with prisms like a raven’s wing. Her black velvet robes hug a shape that’s feminine but not quite human, too lithe and carefully made to be real.

  When she reaches me, she holds out her hand. Her fingers are long and slender, deft looking but beautiful. Somehow, I know what she wants, and I reach out, touch my fingertip lightly to hers.

  The spider slips from wherever she’s hidden on me, and moves eagerly to the woman’s arm, her shoulder. Its tiny form disappears into the loose vee of black velvet at the woman’s breasts.

  Her eyes close and she hums, a familiar sound, and somehow her body becomes more doll-like and lovely. Color spread through her cheeks.

  She opens her eyes and smiles. “Tamlir Kynthelig. Last aspirant of the gold leaf cycle.”

  Fuck me. “You?”

  “No one ever saves the spider,” Finna whispers, looking just as awed. All the women do.

  “Andraste,” says the Gardener. “Once, before the trials.”

  A cold realization cuts through my shock. “If I didn’t save the spider, I couldn’t win the temple?”

  “An aspirant who gathers all the artifacts defeats the curse. But the interests of others may not-” Andraste catches herself.

  “There’s more to the temple than the artifacts,” I guess. I can take them and go, but there’s more I can do here.

  She remains withdrawn. “I serve the temple and it’s laws.”

  I watch her carefully as she says this.

  She has no age. Her face betrays no lines or fullness. Her voice has no distinct quality; trickling water, the music of a breeze. There is something about her that feels primordial, bedrock. And worthy of fear if she weren’t bound here.

  “Rest. Recover your strength. Eat. I would say take your pleasure but-” Andraste laughs, scooping a glob of Finna from my chest piece, then places it gently on the slime girl’s forehead. Finna nods her thanks.

  The Gardener turns. “The sixth door awaits you.”

  “What should I expect?”

  “Darkness.”

  “More night, huh?”

  “No. Darkness.”

  That’s ominous. “Nature of the trial?”

  “Cleverness. And perha
ps a...resistance.”

  This time when she moves toward the grove, her feet roll over the grass and her limbs are breezy.

  The rest of us exchange looks in silence.

  Callista rounds the grove, agile and light despite her size.

  Kumiko gasps, and her ears draw back. I know what she’s feeling, have felt it myself. The instinct to run, when prey spots predator.

  “It’s alright.” I gentle her shoulder.

  “Callista.” Freya smiles, looking her over. “How are you feeling?”

  The half circles of Callista’s ears perk and she frowns. “Sore, for being rutted by a mortal.”

  Silence is thick enough to cut, along with my embarrassment. Meridiana smirks. Finna leans in, licks me again, and hmm’s. I’m the only one bothered, apparently.

  “What will we do, if you win, when we leave here?” asks Kumiko, eyes still trained on Callista.

  “Kill Iden, defeat the Oryllix. Avenge my family and save my sister.”

  “I don’t think it’s that simple anymore.” Meridiana chews her lip. “Freya is the only alimaðr in the Middle Realms. Finna, Kumiko, me; the only ones.”

  “And Callista is the last of the artaois,” adds Freya.

  I meet her eyes, remembering our talk on the way to Verdajln. “A collection.”

  “Each cursed.” Meridiana shakes her head. “Cocidius brought us here to help break the curse. It’s Mordenn who’s trying to collect us.”

  “And the Oryllix are his hounds.” It all fits together. “I’ll have my hands full when we leave here. We all will.”

  Callista crosses arms over her taut middle. “We’re ready. I’ll take my chances with whatever waits out there, rather than be bound to Verdaljn.”

  “Then we’d better push on.” I poll the women. “Darkness, but not night. And resistance. I think it was a clue.”

  Finna nods. “I felt like she meant protection, not force. What’s the worst that happens if we’re wrong?”

  “Uhh…” I gesture at everyone.

  Finna laughs. “You take the fun out of a joke.”

  “Maybe it’s premature,” says Kumiko, “but I, for one, am really proud of you, Lir. And amazed. We’re free, and you’ve made it further than any aspirant that’s come before you. Even if–” She sucks a small breath, looking around the garden. “I’m grateful for my time in the garden. Together we’ve gained something wonderful.”

  Even if it doesn’t last. I hear what she doesn’t say. It’s not a lack of faith in me but a resignation that comes with what they’ve endured.

  I will not fail them.

  “Ready?” I ask Finna. She doesn’t seem surprised that she’s my choice, like she’d already guessed.

  “Meet you at the door? I need a dip in the pond on my through. There’s-” She slides a finger through her breasts and comes away with white strings of goo, “Something foreign I need to wash out.”

  My body stirs, and I shudder. “I’ll join you. After the last realm, and what happened when in the garden…” I blush and can’t believe I’m still able to. The women laugh. “But hands to yourself. We have a trial to beat.”

  Finna ripples with a giggle, and a bit of her dislodges from my chest on a slow lick, a piece I hadn’t realized was still there. It runs down my leg, then across the grass, rejoining her. “You’re no fun,” she pouts.

  It’s going to be a long sixth realm.

  -God of War-

  The bust between the south doors hasn’t changed or improved in appearance, but the once smooth alcove behind it is lined with a carved inscription.

  Cocidius was warned by the Four Hundred of the Tribunum not to cross the Tavia. He prayed and made sacrifices to Heijl and Berynwen all that night. In the morning, on the day of the winter solstice, he led his army over the Tavia and conquered Corinium Magnus before the sun had set.

  There’s nothing else and I need more. Cocidius. The solstice. It’s the beginning of the end of a story.

  “Ready!” Finna startles me. “What’s wrong?”

  “Look at this…”

  She leans in, squinting. “What! And then? Then what!”

  “Exactly!”

  “Only the arch is covered. Maybe there will be more later?”

  I nod. “The bust appeared, and then it changed, so maybe. Guess we’ll find out when we get back.”

  “Don’t die. If I don’t get to read the rest, I’ll find you in Helheim and suffocate you.”

  “Whoa, who says I’d go to Helheim? Fólkvangr at a minimum. And that’s a hefty threat.”

  “You’re not getting into Valhalla. And it’s not a threat, it’s a promise.” She plants a sticky wet kiss on my cheek.

  “Uh, I think this is actually a solo realm. You can stay here.”

  “Hm mm.”

  “I’ve got this one.”

  Her eyes flutter. “Nope.”

  “Sit this one out.”

  “Are you afraid of me now?”

  “Of course not. After you.”

  That poor fucking dryad.

  -Eirenè-

  Etain

  Wind whistles up the road like air through gapped teeth.

  It stretches away at our backs like there was never a portal, and to a horizon where the moon rests like a jewel in a sickly green band. Underneath the road disappears in a sword point.

  It is night, but the darkness The Gardener mentioned is a feeling, an aspect that permeates the air. Its weight is palpable. No stars mark the dark sky. No insects creak, no night creatures coo or howl.

  Finna shivers. “There’s something about this road.”

  I see what she means. Something about its straightness, despite rises and ruts, feels like the narrow run of a fox trap.

  Mist rises from the leaf litter and detritus filling the gullies on either side where it’s heaped back into a black forest. It mingles with a green haze that tints everything, even ghostly wisps of cloud that claw the moon’s disc.

  Finna takes a few steps. “Tik!” she swears, thinning a little.

  I jerk my blade.

  “It’s alright. Just startled me. I thought...It’s still hideous,” she gestures, “But it’s not a creature.”

  She gestures to the trees at the forest border. Their branches arch the road like skeletal fingers poised to snatch up hapless travelers. The whole of each tree is stunted, gnarled, bark thickened and peeling, indistinguishable from fungus and disease. Holes, knots, and broken branches give every single one for as far as I can see the appearance of a menacing, tortured face.

  A fickle wind clacks the branches like dried bones, and in response they cut the sharp breeze until it screams and dies.

  It’s next gust sounds like a voice. I look at Finna and shake my head. “Already getting under my skin.”

  “And no clue what to do. Follow the road? Move into the wood?”

  The wind-voice grows louder. Maybe this place is poisoning me like the Tiste, and I’m going mad.

  If so, I chose the right companion.

  Come to me.

  Finna snaps around, form quivering.

  “You hear it, too?”

  “Perfectly.”

  Come to me.

  At first it came on the wind, from all around. Now, between gusts, it has a direction. Finna and I creep to a tree whose snaking roots wind closer to the road than the rest.

  Pick me up.

  Cold iron clutched tight in one hand, I skim the other over tree bark, first a quick brush and then a longer stroke. I push. Its roots are stout, trunk parasite-ridden but dense.

  Pick me up, the voice insists, feminine and muffled, coming deep inside the wood.

  Putting doubt aside, I grip the wide trunk and heave with all my strength. Wood groans.

  “Not the tree, you idiot!”

  I leap back and Finna yelps.

  With my sword tip I rake at the mound of blanched wet leaves between the roots.

  It sputters, spits out a twig and more leaves. Its firefly eye
s light on me, and the expression twists to one of disgust.

  “You have got to be joking. A moron and a puddle are my hope of salvation?”

  “Hey!” Finna cries.

  “Just cover me up.” The being squeezes her eyes shut, snuffing their golden fire. “Cover me back up. I’ll take my chances with the next aspirant.”

  Now I’m helping her out of sheer spite. I reach for her head. She jerks side to side, bright teeth snapping, trying to bite me.

  I reach behind her, and my fingers burrow into hair under the loam. “I’ll hold her,” I tell Finna over my shoulder. “Can you-”

  The head comes up. Just a head. “Fuck!” The mouth hangs slack, eyes closed.

  Finna loses a few blobs on the ground. “Did you...tear the artifact apart?”

  I thrust an arm between the roots. Solid ground. I’m not buying this. Gripping the hair tighter, I shake the head like a dog.

  Her eyes snap open, glow going from soft firelight to inferno. “Stop! Stop that. This is ridiculous! I am Etain of Eirenè!”

  Finna and I stare, agape, waiting for why this matters. And also, because a disembodied head is the thing saying it.

  “My armies consumed Thornwood. Hell’s Half Acre submitted to my conquest!” Her chin thrusts, stabbing at Finna. “Give me your body. His is hideous.”

  Finna looks at me and shrugs. “Whatever gets this over with.” Her face loses shape and her head and neck flow between her shoulders, leaving a well for the neck of this hateful thing we’ve found.

  “Taller! I’m at least as tall as you,” she spits at me.

  Finna lengthens, barely. She could do more, but she won’t. I smirk.

  “Now, carry me to Teme Hollow,” demands Etain.

  Finna’s body jerks, confused.

  “Where?”

  “Ugh. Just…” Finna’s arm raises and her finger flicks. I don’t know if she should attach herself so fully to something this awful, something that can apparently control her. I have a moment of panic, imagining Etain stealing my companion, disappearing into the forest. My fingers twitch, ready to grab the head and rip it off the artifact if I have to.