Chapter 1

CHAPTER1

The amulet was burning a hole into Myth’s pocket.

Two weeks since he’d stolen it, and he couldn’t get rid of it. Every time Myth went to a fence, he’d consider just what would end up happening with the amulet. The kind of merchants who bought stolen, unique jewelry like this were sure to sell it on—and they were also sure to tell any passing guardsman of what they’d hawked, if pressed.

Besides, the amulet was clearly magical. It would be worth more to a mage. Unfortunately, the only mage Myth knew was the same person who sold him all the spells he used, and Myth didn’t want to put him in danger. His best friend dealt with enough trouble just by association with Myth. And who else would he go to for cheap, quality spells?

That left him trying to find other mages, without letting anybody know that he was trying to find mages. It made the whole process a lot slower than it had to be.

Maybe he needed to be less picky, too. He’d been directed to two mages already, but they mostly dealt with small healing spells. One of them even had services for the poor. Myth couldn’t hawk stolen goods to somebody like that.

Which left Myth in another shady tavern, in another dark corner of a small city, asking around about the sorts of people who liked to buy things of questionable origin.

He should have stolen something else. Anything else.

A shadow suddenly passed over him, blocking the lamplight and turning the shady corner of the tavern he’d picked even darker. Myth scooted his chair over so he could see who was crowding that close to him. Hopefully it was the “guide” the barkeep had promised to send over his way.

As soon as Myth saw the man, he knew he couldn’t be the “guide.”

He was too… tall. Too clean. Too… something.

Too handsome, maybe.

The man wore a simple black shirt with the sleeves rolled up to elbows, and dark leather pants. The clothes contrasted with his pale skin, as much as the black, silver-streaked hair and black beard did. Even his eyes were dark, a color that made his irises and pupils almost blend together.

On his fingers were multiple colorful rings. Along with the faint embroidery on the shirt, there was no way this man was poor enough to regularly be coming to a place like this.

Myth eyed him, wondering what one of the rings was worth. He didn’t mind stealing from those who clearly had the means to replace whatever item he took. Rings could be tricky, but it would be worth it.

He gave his best smile, the one that usually got him his way, and canted his head so he could look up at the stranger. “You look lost.”

The man smiled back at him. “I might be. I seem to have forgotten how to get home, at least. The roads aren’t what I remember.” He sat down opposite Myth, not even asking for permission first. “But I’ve been told the best adventures happen when you’re a little lost, sometimes.”

Myth shook his head, bemused. “Adventures? The biggest adventure you’re going to have here is being robbed and beaten bloody in a dark alley.” He sized the man up. He was bigger than Myth, but then, most people were. It was a good thing Myth didn’t have to rely on his own strength and size to steal. Being small and lithe was an advantage when breaking into homes. It helped him look unassuming, too. He wasn’t above pretending to be somebody’s bedmate to sneak in—or out—of a house either.

“I’m not particularly afraid of dark alleys,” the man answered with amusement. “People tend to be more honest when the lights go out.” He leaned a little closer, and the way his eyes honed in on Myth, it was pretty obvious what he was angling for.

Well, that would make things easier. A little sex, a little cuddling, and a tiny spell to knock the man out, and Myth would have a ring to sell while he tried to find someone to foist the amulet off on.

“Is that so?” he wondered aloud, pondering. He tended to find people were less honest in the dark, but that was just his experience. “I don’t hang around in dark, unfamiliar alleys often enough to find out. But I might just have a place I wouldn’t mind spending some time in with the lights out.”

The man chuckled to himself, bringing those ring-adorned fingers up to his mouth to cover the sound. “And here I thought I might have to convince you. You looked like you were waiting for somebody.”

“You’re more interesting,” Myth said, trying not to let his gaze linger too long on those rings. It wasn’t like it wouldn’t be completely obvious who the thief was when the man woke with one or three of them missing, and perhaps something from his coin purse as well, but Myth didn’t intend to stay in the city much longer anyway. “I’d love to hear how you came to be here, lost and alone.”

“It’s a very long story,” the man answered. His smile slipped for just a fraction of a second, but Myth noticed. “But I suppose I’ll wine and dine you, if you like.” He raised his hand to summon one of the servers to their table, the harried looking woman who’d been putting up with stray hands all night. The man held out several gold coins to her. He definitely had funds to spare. He wouldn’t miss anything Myth lifted off of him, and he’d deserve it for being so overt with his wealth. “Your least terrible wine, please. And whatever food is still warm.”

“Yessir,” she answered, coming just close enough to take the coins.

It was too much for just some wine and two meals, but the man didn’t ask how much anything cost, and the barmaid of course didn’t offer to bring change. Good for her. She’d earned the extra and then some.

Once she was gone, the man turned back to Myth. “Was that rude? I ordered, and we haven’t even introduced ourselves yet. My name is Callan.”

Myth laughed. “I never turn down food and wine. I’m Myth.”

“Then I am delighted to have you join me for a meal, Myth.” Callan reached out to run his knuckles—and his rings—down Myth’s cheeks, more forward than Myth had expected. “You look like somebody who wants…” Callan paused with his thumb on Myth’s lips. “Hmm. Sex, definitely. But I wonder. Do you enjoy it?”

Myth quirked a brow at that, kissing the tip of Callan’s thumb but not quite going as far as to lick it or suck it into his mouth. What kind of question was that? “Of course I enjoy sex. Who doesn’t? Especially with a man as handsome as you. I don’t often get this lucky—wined, dined, a good story, and what I’m sure will be an excellent fuck.” And an even better score.

Callan abruptly let go of Myth and settled back into his chair. Myth was about to complain, but the barmaid returned just then with their drink and food. Once she’d gone, Callan picked up his wine goblet and took a sip.

“Ah. Truly, the least terrible thing on offer. Which is, unfortunately, a very low bar.” Callan chuckled and held the goblet out to Myth in offer of a toast. “To our first meeting. I hope it won’t be our last.”

Now that was bold, but Myth only gave an amused shake of his head and held his own goblet out to clink lightly against Callan’s. “My, my, you’re forward.”

“I suspect you’ll enjoy my brand of… forwardness.” Callan’s eyes twinkled with reflected light, somehow highlighting just how dark they naturally were.

Yeah. Myth could enjoy himself with this rich bastard, and rob him blind well before the sun rose.

* * *

“And here we are,”Myth said, opening the door to his rented room. It was clean enough, at least, which was all Myth really asked for when he was traveling—and depending on the circumstances, sometimes not even that. He walked over to the oil lamp on the center table and lit it. The shadows the light cast were deep, as if warning that nights weren’t meant to be illuminated.

Callan stepped inside, bee-lining to the bed almost immediately. His features seemed sharper here, with only one lamp to reveal him, and his eyes appeared almost entirely black. He ran his hand over the clean sheets, as if inspecting them. Once they’d garnered his approval—and Myth internally rolled his eyes—he straightened his shoulders and smirked at Myth.

“Come here, then, pet. Let’s be… honest with each other. Since we’re in the dark.” His eyes flickered to the lamp. “Mostly dark. I do so love seeing the shadows flicker over your skin.”

“I’ll be honest, then,” Myth said, pulling his long shirt over his head and showing off his slender form. “I desire you. I think you desire me as well.”

“Very much so.” Callan made no move to strip his own clothes off as he watched Myth. “It’s been a while since I’ve had somebody so…” He trailed off, not finishing the sentence.

“So…?” Myth prompted, preening as he tossed his shirt onto the nearby rickety table. He always did love compliments.

“I’d say beautiful, but I’m not sure that’s right.” Callan laughed. “I once fucked a phoenix, if you’re willing to believe that. Now there’s a story. But I suspect you’ll be better than he was.”

A phoenix? Myth’s mouth hung open a little at the mention of the creature. He knew they existed, but he’d never seen one. “Are they really as majestic as everyone says they are?” he asked, staring at Callan in awe.

“They’re as bright as everybody says. Light that will warm even the darkest, coldest night.” Callan rubbed his chest, near his heart. “But at least the one I’d met was also stupid, and needy, and not particularly good in bed.”

Fascinated, Myth watched those ring-covered fingers. He couldn’t believe the sheer stupidity of wearing those gaudy baubles in a run-down neighborhood like this. It only made Myth more eager to rob the fucker and be off with his pleasant surprise of a good score. “And you? Are you good in bed?”

“He didn’t think so.” Callan chuckled again. “But for you, I will be. Turn for me, pet. Let me see what I’m working with.”

Myth eyed him, considering. Callan was just a rich fucker. He probably came to this section of town to get off and return home, courting danger for the hell of it and spinning tales about mythical creatures and getting lost. But there was always the chance Myth was wrong, and he didn’t know that he wanted to turn his back to a stranger.

He slowly turned anyway, letting Callan take in the sight of his coppery skin—mostly unblemished, but for a few scars from knife fights that hadn’t necessarily gone in his favor.

Well.

He was still alive, so there was that.

“Pretty,” Callan said, approval in his voice. “Come closer, so I can get my hands on you.”

The condescending tone should have rankled, and it did—but it also made Myth’s heartbeat quicken strangely. Myth swallowed his reactions and smiled for Callan.

He approached, giving Callan an eyeful as he sauntered over. “I think someone else needs to strip off an article of clothing,” he said, his voice mildly teasing. “It’s only fair that I get to see what I’m working with.”

Callan tilted his head at Myth. “Is it? I can. But I think…” Callan circled around Myth smoothly, as if sliding on ice. His cool fingers lingered on Myth’s shoulders, tapping from one side to the next. Myth shivered at the touch, both from the temperature and the casual, entitled way the fingers moved across his skin.

Like Callan had a right to touch Myth.

Callan leaned closer, his beard brushing against Myth’s ear. “What do you really desire? I do so hate to leave people hungry.”

Myth’s mouth went a little dry. It was one thing to perform with an entitled prick like this. It was another entirely to be wanting it. But he’d always liked flirting with a little bit of danger, and the longer he was around Callan, the more he found that that was exactly what the man radiated.

That, and so much more.

“I’m sure you won’t leave me hungering,” Myth murmured, a little too honestly.

Suddenly Callan’s hand wrapped across Myth’s eyes, blocking out all light. Myth inhaled sharply and reached up to pull the hand away, but Callan grabbed his wrist and squeezed roughly.

Fuck!

Myth wasn’t sure whether he wanted to jerk completely away or not. Part of him was alarmed; all of Callan’s talk about honesty in the darkness combined with the sudden blindness had him concerned he might be missing something. But at the same time, his cock was throbbing in his pants from Callan’s casual dominance, the way he exerted his will.

He wanted to be safe, wanted to get away, but his curiosity—damn it all, and his sex drive—was too piqued for him to really panic.

“Which way do you prefer?” Callan asked, guiding Myth’s hand down to his crotch. “Take your cock out, pet.”

“I prefer to be able to see,” Myth said, but his voice was breathless, uncertain. There was a certain thrill in this that was akin to sneaking into the most secure—supposedly most secure—noble households. Dangerous. A little stupid. But he couldn’t seem to bring himself to stop.

He unlaced his breeches, pulling his cock out and squeezing it lightly. He groaned, leaning back a little and hoping not to find a knife in his ribs as he shed his pants and shoes.

Callan’s hand moved away from his eyes, down to his throat. Myth wasn’t sure that was an actual improvement, but Callan didn’t do more than lightly stroke his skin. “Does it make a difference?” Callan brushed Myth’s curls aside to kiss the nape of his neck, the shoulder-length hair no longer offering even scant protection from Callan’s touch. “Whether you see me or not? I’m larger than you. I could easily overwhelm you. I could swallow you down right now, and the only difference would be whether you knew it was coming one second before it actually did.”

The words should’ve been a turnoff, but instead, Myth had to bite back another groan. He squeezed the base of his cock, appreciating the words—the challenge in them. Myth could handle himself against people who were bigger than him, who thought he could easily be taken down. “Do you always sweet talk your lovers so thoroughly?” he asked, trying to play off his increasing arousal.

“Rarely.” Callan moved to kiss Myth’s shoulder, the softness of his lips offset by the roughness of his beard. One hand remained around Myth’s wrist, while the other moved from his throat down to his nipple. Callan scratched it with a pointed nail, and Myth gasped at the slight pain. “How much can you take, pet? How much do you need, how much do you want?”

How much…

“How much what?” he whispered, his voice strangled as the words tried to wrench themselves free of his throat. Cock? No, it didn’t seem so. Threats? Maybe. Pain… That was the biggest possibility.

Callan chuckled… and pushed Myth toward the bed, releasing him entirely.

Myth stumbled forward, only his honed reflexes saving him from falling head first into the mattress. “Hey!” Myth braced himself on the mattress with both hands and glared over his shoulder. “You could have warned—”

Callan filled the space behind him again, this time clamping both his hands over Myth’s. He rolled his hips against Myth’s ass, and for the first time, Myth felt Callan’s erection.

That… was not small.

“If I warn you, you’ll evade,” Callan murmured. “And we wouldn’t want that, would we?”

“No,” Myth said, swallowing thickly. Fuck. “I won’t…” He couldn’t promise he wouldn’t try to evade, not when this was so different from anything he’d ever experienced before. Noblemen—and the more Callan spoke, the more they interacted, the more sure Myth became that Callan was a noble—were often careless and rough, but it wasn’t like this.

He’d never felt anything quite like this before.

He rubbed back against Callan’s crotch, trying to envision just how large he had to be. It had been too long since he’d had a good fuck. It was making his head fuzzy, but he couldn’t bring himself to try to clear it.

“There’s a good boy,” Callan murmured. He let go of one of Myth’s hands and trailed his fingers up Myth’s arm. “A nice, obedient little pet.”

Myth’s eyes widened. No, fuck that. He’d been ignoring the ‘pet’ until now, but he wasn’t going to be obedient for some noble dick.

Never mind that it made him feel fuzzy, a little strange, and that he wasn’t entirely sure why he was reacting this way. Normally he’d have been plotting revenge against anyone who condescended to him, yet here they were, and Myth’s body was being a fucking traitor to him.

“I’m no pet,” Myth said, struggling to stand up. “Least of all an obedient one. If those are the games you want to play, find someone else to play them with.”

Except he definitely did not want Callan to go play these games with someone else. Fuck. What was wrong with him? A little bit of a dry spell, and he was turning into someone horny enough to be degraded while he was getting set up to be fucked?

“A phoenix, maybe,” Callan answered, chuckling. “Phoenixes aren’t obedient at all. Neither are princes. Maybe I should fuck a dragon? I hear those are a good time.”

Phoenixes, princes, and dragons? Did Callan expect Myth to believe he’d actually fucked all those beings?

Callan dragged his tongue across Myth’s neck. “I think I could make you into my pet. Have you sitting pretty at my feet, begging for my cock. I’ll keep you tied up and blindfolded for hours on end, and you’ll never know when it’s my shadow crossing over you. I’ll leave you a panting, wanton little dog whose only desire is to be fucked over and over.”

If he thought he could turn Myth into some needy little bitch, he was in for a rude awakening.

So why was his cock fucking throbbing?

He elbowed Callan, trying to straighten up. “Fuck you,” he snarled. He hated that he was breathless, hated that his cheeks were hot, hated that he was so obviously turned on despite how shameful those words were. “Let go of me.”

Callan coughed, but he also loosened his hold just enough for Myth to get his hands free. Myth turned around so he was facing Callan, ready to kick him, only Callan surged forward and hauled them both onto the bed.

“I’m already having so much fun,” Callan said with a laugh.

Myth wasn’t going to take this lying down. He threw a punch at Callan, but Callan was surprisingly fast for a noble and caught Myth’s wrist.

“Get off, you fucker,” Myth growled, pulling his wrist back and trying to leverage Callan’s weight. He’d roll them off the bed, and—

Callan brought their lips together, one hand still on Myth’s wrist, the other tugging on a few curls, forcing Myth to bend his neck back.

Myth snarled like a wild beast against Callan’s lips, pissed off at being cornered like this. If he’d had to describe how his night would go, this wouldn’t have been it. He wasn’t used to being relegated to this sort of position.

He fought hard against the crazy fucking noble, but he couldn’t break free. He might’ve been smaller, but that didn’t ordinarily matter.

It mattered now.

Callan let go of Myth’s hair to grab his other wrist and pin it above him next to the first one. Another surge of panic—and fucking arousal—coursed through Myth.

“My, my. Now we’re getting somewhere,” Callan murmured, his lips just barely not touching Myth’s. “There’s the hunger.”

His eyes were so fucking dark, like ink spilled on a white page. Myth suddenly wished he’d bothered to light more lamps, just to make Callan look a little more human.

A little less like he wanted to devour Myth.

“What—what do you want?” Myth asked, his heart racing, his cock throbbing.

“More,” Callan said, as if that was a fucking answer at all. “Isn’t that the way of it? Everybody wants more.”

He brought one hand down to rub against Myth’s chin. Myth hadn’t felt Callan shift his grip, but both his wrists were still pinned down securely. No matter how he bucked or writhed, he was trapped.

Fuck.

“We aren’t playing a fucking game, Callan,” Myth said, struggling against the grip. “Let me go and get the fuck out of here. You may be a noble, but that doesn’t mean everyone else is your plaything.”

Callan burst out laughing, dark and cold.

The sound pierced something inside Myth, and the panic only ramped up more.

“Am I a noble? Most people guess mage. But I suppose you’d have noticed if I were a mage, wouldn’t you? That little spark of magic inside you is so, so insignificant, but it’s been enough to keep you safe. Keep you undetected.”

Myth went still at that. No one had ever identified his magic before. It wasn’t insignificant, but it was small, and he’d often counted on that to be overlooked. Callan shouldn’t have been able to sense it. Most people guessed mage, Callan had said, and it seemed Myth should’ve been asking that question instead.

Before Myth could even protest, though, let alone ask pertinent questions, Callan kissed Myth again, darting his tongue out to run it along the seam of Myth’s mouth. Myth tried to turn his head away, but Callan pinched Myth’s nipple. Myth gasped in pain, and Callan darted his tongue inside Myth’s open mouth.

Fuck, Callan’s tongue was cold. It wriggled inside Myth’s mouth like an insect, searching out every crevice. Over his gums, along his palate, twisting around his tongue. It was unsettling, and wrong, and—

And Myth moaned, more aroused than he’d ever been before. His hips bucked automatically, dragging his cock along Callan’s large, leather-clad thigh. That was hotter than it should have been, the texture of leather against his sensitive skin.

He wanted to rub against it as much as he wanted to continue to try to fight. His cock was pulsing, threatening to push him close to the edge—and how the fuck could his body even be close to coming when he was fighting like this?

He whined when Callan broke the kiss.

“Shh,” Callan murmured, replacing his tongue with two fingers. “I was right. Do you want me to hurt you more? Or should I treat you nicely now? I’m not sure you know the answer to that.”

“Let me go,” Myth tried to say around those fingers, but the words came out muffled. He moved his head, but Callan followed insistently, not letting him.

“No, you definitely don’t want that.” Callan laughed again. “You want me to fill you. You want me to reach into every part of you. I’ll leave you sticky, unmoored, and so satisfied you won’t be able to think straight.” After a pause, he added, “Or I suppose I could leave now. Disappear into the shadows. You can finish yourself off with a sad, lonely wank.”

Myth moaned, shaking his head despite himself. No. No, he didn’t want that. He didn’t want that at all. He wanted… Fuck, he wanted to be fucked by this insane noble—mage—whatever he was. He rubbed a little more insistently against Callan’s leather pants, hating himself for giving in to his baser desires, but there he was doing it anyway.

Callan reached between them to finally undo his own laces. Myth watched as best he could, the poor light and the shadows making it hard to make out what was happening. But once Callan had moved his hand away, Myth’s mouth began to water even more.

That was definitely not a small cock.

It might have been the largest Myth had ever seen, in fact. It throbbed visibly, the blood under the skin making it darker than the rest of Callan.

A monster like that would spear Myth open.

How would it feel, though, to be so completely filled? To have that thickness dragging against his insides and relentlessly forcing pleasure on him?

“Open up for me,” Callan said, smirking. “Show me how much you want it.”

He hated that smirk. He wanted to wipe it off of Callan’s lips… but not as much as he wanted to feel that cock inside of him. He’d never considered himself to be particularly predisposed to size before, but Callan was driving him crazy, and Myth didn’t want that pathetic, sad little lonely wank he’d mentioned.

He shuddered, slowly spreading his legs. “Release my wrists,” Myth said. It was some kind of magic, wasn’t it? It had to be. But it was cold, so different from the kind of magic he was used to. “And I’ll spread wide for you.”

“If you wanted to be free, you would be,” Callan answered, dragging his mouth along Myth’s jaw. “Close your eyes.”

What was that supposed to mean? He almost asked, but the little nips and kisses along his skin had him too distracted to pay much attention. He hesitated, meeting Callan’s inky black eyes again. If he closed his eyes, he risked never opening them again.

But what awaited him if he obeyed?

Myth closed his eyes, a full body shudder running through him as he spread his legs in a silent plea for more.

Callan chuckled again, but he also sat back to grab Myth’s thighs and push them higher. Myth had a vision of Callan driving into him, no oil or anything to ease the way, and started to protest.

A cold finger pushed against his lips. “Shh. You’ve fought. Now you can be good.”

Myth breathed out slowly, shakily, not knowing what that meant. He couldn’t just relax, not now. He couldn’t just give in. But wasn’t he doing just that? He was widening his legs, giving Callan easy access to his ass, and—

Something cold and slick pressed against his hole. Too large to be a finger, but not large enough to be Callan’s cock. Myth was tempted to open his eyes, but…

But he didn’t.

There was no familiar pain as it smoothly slid inside him. The coolness was strange, but it did something funny to Myth’s insides too.

It kept going, and going, and going, deeper than Myth thought possible. And—and wider, too, and Myth wondered now if Callan was a mage after all, and he’d used magic to get his monster cock inside so easily.

“Not all of me,” Callan murmured. “But that’s quite a lot. You really are hungry.”

Not all of him? How could there still be more? Myth let out a soft little whine, not liking the throwback to the degradation of earlier, but how could he argue when this felt so fucking amazing?

He’d never had anything like this before, and he’d have thought there would need to be so much oil and so much pain, but this was simply… good. So good. Better than good.

Myth moaned and bucked his hips, crying out when sparks of pleasure lit up across his eyelids.

His lashes fluttered, and he started to open his eyes.

“Keep them closed,” Callan ordered as he started to thrust. “Just feel me. Feel how much I could give you, all the time. This pleasure. This satisfaction. Have you ever felt it before?”

Myth honestly couldn’t say he had, but he didn’t want to admit that to Callan. It felt like losing, somehow, and he wasn’t going to lose this. He thrust back against Callan, his fingers digging into his hands as he struggled with his wrists against the mattress. He felt so helpless, but there was something about it that was…

He didn’t have words for how it felt, but he knew he’d never feel it again—so he was going to enjoy it as much as he could. Just for now. Just for tonight.

Every thrust brought another wave of pleasure over him. No other lover had ever managed to find that spot inside him with such unerring failure. It could have been skill, or it could have been the luck of having a cock so monstrously huge that there was nowhere else for it to go.

The thought made Myth smile just a little.

“See? I do give people what they want.” Callan kissed Myth again, his beard rough against Myth’s chin. “I’m going to come soon, pet. You can let go whenever. You can fall to the pleasure. It’s your choice.”

Choice.

What about this was his choice?

“And if I tell you to release me?” Myth asked, shivering. “To stop fucking me and leave? What then? Do you simply leave your plaything behind without a word?”

He didn’t want to find out, so he thrust his hips harder against Callan to drive that cock even more inside of himself.

“You’d be lying,” Callan answered. “Do you want to know how I know?”

Myth almost opened his eyes, but he kept himself from doing it. “...yes?” he asked more than said.

“Because,” Callan thrust harder, “you haven’t moved your hands.”

Myth went still. It was only then he realized that there were no longer any bonds around his wrists. He’d been sure…

Fuck.

“Fuck me,” Myth choked out. “Stop being an insufferable bastard and fuck me.”

It was better than admitting Callan was right.

Callan increased his pace, and Myth cried out. He should have protested more. Brought his hands down to fight. But it felt good, and his voice was nothing but pathetic mewls and whimpers, and—

And blinding pleasure, and an orgasm ripped from him after too long on the edge and still far too soon, just as Callan’s hips stuttered and a strange coldness flooded Myth.

Cold, that was soon buffeted by an even odder warmth. Those strange sensations only enhanced Myth’s own pleasure, extending the orgasm.

For a few seconds, Myth felt like he was drowning. He couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t think, his head was fuzzy and cold—and if this was death, it wasn’t so bad after all.

Then he gasped, and Callan collapsed next to him, drawing him into a strange embrace.

Myth blinked, staring at the dark ceiling. The oil lamp must have burned out while he’d had his eyes closed.

Callan draped one arm over Myth’s stomach. Even in the dark, his rings gleamed.

“If you’re around in the morning, I wouldn’t mind doing that again,” Callan whispered.

It was almost tempting.

Myth murmured something unintelligible, unable to form proper words, and he settled in. He could relax for a little bit after such a sound fucking. Then as soon as Callan’s breathing evened out and he used his little charm to make sure the man—mage?—stayed sleeping in his absence, he’d take a few of those rings and help himself to the coin purse before hopping on to the next city.

It was a pity, though.

He’d have liked to feel that again.