Ashlynn returned with the werewolves of Wade’s run Raiden having sent his daughter to call in reinforcements. The werewolves managed to persuade the winged people to assist with cleaning up the street, moving debris back in order to clear a path between the grocery store and where the talks were being held, in the intersection of main roads.
The unsuccessful attempt at roasting a cow was removed, loaded into a Ute to be taken out where it could decompose without bothering anyone and a new fire was built in its place.
Seeing the activity and their leader sitting at the head of it continuing conversations with Raiden and Galatia, the townspeople began to venture out of the buildings. Not many remained. Many had fled when the first portals had opened, seeking to connect with family, parents joining children or the reverse, leaving many of the houses and buildings empty, and businesses like the grocery store, closed. The arrival of the gang of winged ones had inspired a second exodus, leaving just a handful behind.
Children, free to run in the sunshine for the first time in weeks, shrieked and ran between the werewolves and winged ones with a bravery that the adults did not share. It would be these young ones that would forge the peace between the peoples, Dior thought as he watched a little girl reach out a hand towards the feathered wings of a winged man in wonder. The winged man noticed his admirer, and extended his wing in invitation, commenting under his breath to his companion as the girl stroked his feathers, causing his friend to laugh.
Dior watched the man gesture up and speak to the girl who nodded enthusiastically. He picked her up and flew to the rooftop before landing again, the child’s mother looking as if she would faint, but the girl laughing and clapping in excitement as the big man set her back down.
“They have families, too,” Charon murmured coming to stand at his side. “That they have left behind. Young that they will not see until the next games begin, or not at all if they perish here.”
“I hope this works out,” Dior replied pulling the winged man against his side and burying his face into the other man’s dark hair. “It will be good for your people, and good for ours. Baise-moi,” he murmured. “We need to go and nest,” he decided. “It has been too long.”
He signaled Etienne and Blaise and saw Etienne scoop Verity up, slinging the startled woman over his shoulder, causing her to shriek. He swatted her behind and meeting Dior’s eyes grinned, nipping Verity’s behind gently, so that her laughter rang out.
“You are nervous,” Dior said to Charon, feeling the change in the man’s posture, the tensing of his muscles.
Charon swallowed heavily. “I will not be able to return to my realm or my family, after this. But then, I would have to leave you behind if I were to return. I am losing either way,” he said his voice catching.
“I am sorry,” Dior pressed his lips to the crown of his head.
“I am hoping,” Charon confessed. “That the vampire king and his warlocks do manage to open the portals back into my realm. Perhaps through that opening I can retrieve my family and bring them back here.”
“Of course,” Dior felt his heart lighten. “Yes, of course, Charon. We will work towards that goal, all of us.” He was amused by Charon’s title for Elior. The vampire was indeed a type of king, although he did not claim the title, he thought wryly.
“What will all of us do?” Verity asked as Etienne set her to the ground before Dior.
“Help to bring Charon’s family here,” Dior replied.
“Oh,” Verity took Charon’s hand. “Yes. Will they want to come?”
“If they knew what it was like here, how free the people are, yes, I think so,” Charon replied drawing Verity against him and framing her face in his hands, his eyes dilating. He leaned over and kissed her, his hands sliding down through her hair, sculpting his way down her back pulling her body flush to his and lifting her onto her tiptoes as he deepened the kiss.
Dior felt his heart pitch, and the throb of his erection strain against his jeans. Etienne groaned, leaning his head against Blaise’s shoulder and stroking his hand over the goat’s stomach to the waistband of his jeans, his fingers sliding under the fabric just enough to make the goat’s pupils dilate and his breathing become heavy.
“I have been wanting to kiss you since the moment you met my eyes through the cage,” Charon murmured to Verity without lifting his mouth from hers. He returned to kissing her, giving her no opening to respond, and she moaned into his mouth, her hands sliding up the winged man’s chest to tangle into his hair, pulling his mouth harder to hers.
Dior took in a deep breath. “We cannot do this here,” he reminded them as the rise of pheromones between them became almost overwhelming. “We cannot f-k on the street in front of the children. Let us go to this house of Verity’s.”
“Yes,” Etienne withdrew his hand from Blaise’s jeans, causing the goat to whimper his protest.
Charon transferred his grip on Verity, lifting her against him, and sprung into the air, leaving the gargoyles to strip off and shift, clutching their clothing as they hastily leapt in pursuit.
Verity exclaimed. “Shouldn’t we wait?” She asked looking over Charon’s shoulder, between the strokes of his wings, to see if the gargoyles followed.
“I have been waiting for a very long time,” Charon’s voice was dark with his desire, causing her to shiver, the need spearing through her. “Which house Verity?” He demanded.
She pointed, wordlessly, the ability to frame words stolen by the lust that burnt through her like fire.
“The one with the row of trees?” He adjusted his grip on her, the contact between their bodies causing him to groan. She could feel the press of his erection against her, and nodded, meeting his golden-brown eyes as she slid her hand down between them, and released the top button of his jeans. The zip slid down under the press of his hard on, freeing him to her touch and the sound that tore from his throat when her hand closed around him was primal.
She turned within the circle of his arms and as he landed on the grass of the overgrown lawn, she heeled off her shoes. His mouth came down on hers, his kiss flavored by his need, his tongue against hers, and his lips demanding, and she heard the tracksuit pants tear as he brought her down upon the grass.
His wings opened over them, shielding her from the glare of the sun. “Oh, f-k,” he said against her cheek as he adjusted her beneath him. “Oh, f-k, Verity.”
Her ankles were trapped within the shredded tracksuit pants, but she managed to free one foot, bringing both to wrap around his hips as he sank into her, his cry brutal, and his eyes losing focus. “Verity,” it was a plea. “Alright?” He said, anxiously.
“Oh, god,” she clutched him to her. He felt so good against her, within her, that her body clenched around him, muscles contracting beneath the sudden pleasure. “Oh, Charon.”
His mouth grazed hers in breathless kisses as he began to thrust, and she cried out already on the edge of orgasm, as the gargoyles filled the skies over them.
Dior saw Verity point, and Charon’s shift in direction. He followed the direction of Verity’s arm and could see a house hidden behind a stand of pine trees.
Charon landed and Dior laughed as he watched the winged man strip Verity of her clothing and bring her down upon the grass, his arse exposed as he shoved his jeans off his hips.
“Now if that isn’t a tempting sight, I don’t know what is,” he called out to Blaise, and the goat laughed.
“Mon Dieu,” Etienne exclaimed. “He did not wait to take her into the house.”
“It is a nice day,” Dior decided. “Fresh air is good for us.” He landed some meters from where Charon thrusted as if his life depended on it, the cords of the winged man’s neck standing out as he fought back his orgasm, and the fingers of one hand clenched in the grass. “Good, hmm?” Dior shifted into man form, casting his clothing aside, and sliding under the parasol of the winged man’s feathers.
“Oh, god,” Verity’s head was thrown back and her body arched against the grass. They were both half-dressed, Dior noted to his amusement. Etienne grunted on the other as Blaise knelt to take him into his mouth, the griffin’s fingers clenching in the goat’s white-blond hair. From his position beside Verity, Dior could see the kneeling Blaise in profile, and Etienne up to the waist, his hips angled into the goat and his heels digging into the grass.
Verity freed her hand from Charon and reached between them to close around Dior, the lion grunting in appreciation, leaning between her and Charon in order to taste her lips.
Charon cried out, and Verity’s grip on Dior tightened as she came, her eyes losing focus. Dior stroked his hand Charon’s back, beneath the feathers of his wings and the ragged fabric of the shirt he wore, feeling his muscles tense as he spilled his seed.
The winged man sagged over Verity, trembling out the last throes of his orgasm, and Dior stroked his back and leaned over to press his lips to the stubbled cheeks of his newest mate.
“Welcome to the nest, Charon,” he murmured, his voice gruff with his emotion knowing exactly the price the winged man had paid to be there.
Charon lifted and met Dior’s mouth with his, his kiss heavy with breath and his tongue exploring against Dior’s. He lifted from Verity, so that Dior rolled onto his back, pulling the other man against him as they kissed, the lion gargoyle reaching between them in order to shred the remains of the winged man’s shirt, so that they lay chest to chest, skin to skin, and Charon’s hands in Dior’s mane of tawny hair.
The winged man broke the kiss, sliding down Dior’s body, tasting the skin of his chest, trailing his tongue down the furrow between Dior’s stomach muscles until his mouth fell in a hot ring around Dior’s c-k. The lion gargoyle grunted, his hips seeking to thrust in response, and he felt the winged man’s hand brush over his balls as Charon nudged the gargoyle’s legs apart in order to kneel between them without interrupting the suction of his mouth.
“Baise-moi,” Dior groaned. He had worried that Charon was inexperienced with other men, but the winged man’s skilled handling and lack of hesitancy put that concern to rest.
“Knows his way around,” Etienne purred, laying himself next to Dior and stroking his hand across the lion gargoyle’s chest, watching Charon suck on him with eyes heavy with voyeuristic pleasure. “He looks good sucking your c-k Dior,” he approved. Dior threaded his fingers into the griffin’s hair, cupping his skull and tugging Etienne’s mouth down to his.
He could hear Blaise’s grunts and Verity’s moans as the goat took their female mate and moaned his own pleasure into the griffin’s kiss as Charon’s skilled tongue and touch brought him to the cusp of pleasure. His hips arched, driving himself into Charon’s throat, and he felt the man swallow, taking him, the final sensation tipping him into orgasm, with Charon drinking every drop.
“Mon Dieu,” Etienne murmured, stroking Dior’s hair back from his face with tenderness. “I have always enjoyed watching your face as you come, my mate.”
Charon crawled up and laid his cheek on Dior’s shoulder, breathless and sweaty, his c-k against Dior’s thigh still wet from f-king Verity, and he laid his hand on Dior’s chest, his fingertips touch Etienne’s. Dior turned his head and Blaise was nuzzling and kissing Verity in the gentle, laziness of satiation, and she stroked the white-blonde hair, her eyes slumberous.
The lion gargoyle sighed in satisfaction. Finally, he thought, all his mates were together.