The caravan had stopped by the roadside. Each wheel creaked beneath the dimming sky, silent but heavy. The world was fading into dusk, and they were nowhere close to their destination. The horse, Bexxy, neighed as loud as she could, stamping the wet ground with uneasy hooves.
Tiamael rubbed a calming hand across her steed's face. "Easy, boy. Easy."
Rennia glanced around. They were exposed here. Open road, post-rain mud, distant trees twitching in the wind. The breeze itself whispered things—wrong things. A foreign tongue that tickled her spine. Gave her the chills.
"Why did we stop?" she asked. "Tiamael? Right here. Beside the road,"
Tiamael replied, far too calm. "We need to rest."
"You're thinking of camping? That's practically suicide. We'll be robbed in our sleep."
Tiamael, the dark-scaled woman, smiled. "You're right. We are camping. But I won't sleep. You will. And I'll succumb to a few naps later on, Beexy will guard us. We can take turns tonight, if that pleases you."
There was something in her voice—low, fluid, a moan behind her words. A suggestion. A promise. Rennia's breath caught. She didn't know how to reply. Her mouth opened, no sound. Tiamael giggled. Then smirked. Said nothing more. Walked off a few dozen meters. She returned shortly after with dry wood for the fire. Rennia hadn't seen a weapon. No axe. No spell. Just... wood. As if the trees had offered it to her.
She didn't ask unnecessary questions.
Tiamael unpacked her things with an unsettling grace, laying out bedrolls like it was a picnic. She placed the firewood at the center, looked at Rennia, and gestured with her eyes. Rennia scowled. Tiamael kept laughing. Always that teasing smirk.
"Roadside camping is the spice of life. Or death," she said. "Either way, we'll stay warm tonight. Won't stay lucid enough for the ol'bitin cold."
Rennia raised an eyebrow. Warmth was not her worry. Anything could be out there—chimeras, kobolds, bandits, devils of the night. And this woman... she just kept flirting like Rennia wasn't on edge. Like she didn't care that this spot stank of danger.
Campfire Building
Rennia insisted on doing something useful. She built a textbook Kibblestadt firepit: rocks stacked in nested squares, kindling centered neatly. She tried to light it with magic. Again. And again. Each time, her spark fizzled. Her hands trembled. Shame crawled down her back.
She gritted her teeth. She had to try again.
"Sparks that glow, burn my foe. Sparks that bleed, set this wood aflame. Firebolt. Firebolt. Firebolt—"
Nothing. Not even a pop. Her skill was gone. She felt the mana leave her palms. But her magic—gone. A few flickers hissed out of her palms like dying embers. She clenched her fists, humiliated.Tiamael stepped close. No mockery in her face. Just silence. Her eyes gleamed red in the night. She didn't say a word. She just... exhaled.
A perfect, controlled stream of fire curled from her lips. No chant. No hands. Just breath—like a dragon in disguise. The wood caught fire instantly.
She dropped herself onto the ground, Tiamael sat cross-legged on a bedroll. She didn't boast, she didn't brag. Didn't even seem interested. Just that same serene smile.
She was marvelous, and she looked marvelous.
Goosebumps. That's what Rennia felt. Her thighs tensed. Her chest ached. She had seen it—how wide Tiamael's throat had opened, how her tongue glowed, how her lungs flared golden under her scaled skin. No spell, no ritual. Just a mouth-breath spell from a goddess or monster turned human.
"You're a powerful mage," Rennia said.
Tiamael shrugged. "Something like that."
"I'm not really hungry. But a good meal would be nice. Do you cook?"
No pack. No gear. No weapon. No supplies. Not even a staff or shield. Rennia could barely believe this woman was alive, driving these roads solo—not even a guard. She sighed, irritated, aroused, confused. But she decided, she'd cook, anyway. She'd cook for her.
She dug into her satchel. Salted beef strips. Dried vegetables. Garlic. A foldable tin pan. She began slicing with mechanical focus—Kibblestadt discipline. Knife clean. Cuts even.
Flesh under firelight. Curls of garlic slipped into her lap, thin and pale. She dropped the cuts into the hot pan slicked with water. The beef sizzled, sharp and wet, steam rising in slow, heavy clouds. She stirred constantly, let the grease slide, added the greens with restraint.
Tiamael watched with her chin in her palm, half-lidded eyes glowing faintly.
Rennia seasoned. Salt. Spice. Then a Stirring. The stew thickened into something dark and savory. Less like rations, more like a real meal. Like comfort. Like hunger.
When Rennia passed her the bowl, Tiamael took a slow bite. A lingering one. She moaned. Not from hunger. From pleasure.
"I bet you fuck the way you cook," Tiamael said.
Rennia flushed, but held her gaze. "It's just plain old stew."
"No, really. This is good. Delicious. I wouldn't mind taking you on the road with me. Hot wife style."
Rennia blinked. "I—what?"
"I'm bisexual, and we both know you are," Tiamael said, slurping her stew. "Open to arrangements. Ilna might not approve. But I wouldn't mind sharing that thing between your legs."
Rennia shook her head. Denied it all. But her cock twitched, and she didn't know why. Tiamael was doing things she shouldn't, and she couldn't resist. But it was wrong, oh so wrong, She had just left her best friend behind.
Cooking skill rekindled.
Level up: Cooking Lv. 1> Level up: Cooking Lv. 2
Too fast. Skills didn't level like that. Something was off. Tiamael noticed the strange and eerie air around her. She watched Rennia's hands. Her lips and her eyes.
Rennia had enough. She curled up in her bedroll. Let Tiamael keep watch. She didn't care anymore. She pulled the blanket over herself. Felt her cock press between her thighs, shame burned behind her eyes.
She was trying not to cry. Trying not to think of what had happened—in the orchard, in the town, in that house. She heard soft steps approached her.
Tiamael's voice came in low, but the vibrations were deep. "You're cold. Cold enough to wither away."
She offered warmth. "Come here."
Rennia didn't move. Tiamael didn't push. Then she whispered. A whisper that cut deeper than any spell. "You're allowed to want. To be greedy. To be sexual."
Tiamael moved behind her, arms wrapping slow around her waist. Warm skin. Soft breath. A scaly patch pricked her side. Her hand slid down, slow, beneath the blanket. Down past the waistband.
She gripped Rennia's cock. Moved with care. Up and down. Not teasing—understanding. No words. Just breath. Just heat, lots of heat.
Rennia bit her lip, her body ached, yet she let herself enjoy it. Tiamael picked up the pace. Her cock throbbed, pulsing harder, driven by some deep need to be caressed..
She came. But the release didn't spill. Tiamael bowed lower and her head took her cock into her mouth. Sucked with pressure and grace, tiamael tongue dance around the tip. This was worship of some kind. Rennia's back arched. Her moan was short, sharp. She duck her fingers into the woman's robe.
Tiamael pulled away gently. Tucked the blanket back over her. Kissed her stomach once and left her there wanting…
"Go to sleep," she whispered. "I'll keep watch."
Rennia drifted. Weak. Sated. The scent of woodsmoke still in the air and then she smelled something. Something new...
Time passed.
When Rennia awoke, the smell hit her. Not breakfast, not campfire smoke. Something worse, Something wrong. A deep, oily tang clung to the back of the throat. Burned flesh. The kind of stench you only knew if you'd seen it up close—when adventurers fucked up in the field, when feet tripped wires and fell into braziers, when some mage missed their mark and hit their own crew. It wasn't a rare smell—but it never got easier.
Rennia bolted upright. Her eyes locked onto the firelight. There were shadows at first—No, not shadows, bodies. Two of them, twisted, blackened, charred, limbs severed. Their armor had cracked and melted like brittle shell.
Standing over them was her—Tiamael. Calm. Way too calm. Eyes faintly glowing red, mouth stained like she'd been licking ash off stone. Blood coated her skin. Dripped off her arms like sweat.
Those weren't hands. Not really. The nails were too long. Talons. Rennia froze for half a breath. Then scrambled, crept backward through the dirt like a kicked dog.
What the fuck?
Tiamael didn't chase. She just looked at her, voice low and strangely pleasant.
"Bandits. Five. Oh, the shadows shadows, three of them—I torched them. These two were tougher. I couldn't help it. Had to get the job done quickly."
Rennia had seen bandits die before. Cut down by coordinated strike teams. Charred by fireballs. Gutted in ambushes. But not like this. Not... this intimate and visceral. This was worse. Too quiet. Too final.
She and her group had been lucky. No real encounters yet on the road. Not until now. Not like this.
Tiamael turned her gaze back to the corpses.
"This is why we stopped," she said, as though explaining the weather. "They had been following us too long. I warned them. They didn't listen, they would've struck tomorrow. Or tonight. I just got to them first."
She said it like it was mercy.
Rennia's gut turned. Her limbs wanted to run. But her chest—her chest trembled in place.
Tiamael stepped forward.
"I know you're scared, Rennia. But don't be. There's a reason your mother entrusted me with you. There's dragon in my blood. And not just dragon."
She didn't finish the sentence. Didn't have to. Rennia felt the rest of it. It rang in her bones, whispered behind her ribcage.
Tiamael smiled. She was dragonborn or maybe something more.
"You're a dragon?"
"I said what I said. I am what I am. There's dragon in my blood. Leave it there."
She stepped closer, barefoot. Her silhouette had changed—larger now. More real. More dangerous. Had she grown? Since the fight? Rennia squinted. Behind her—no, that was a wing. A shadow-wing, drifting like silk in the night wind. Or maybe it was just her mind playing tricks.
Rennia backed away, again. Instinct. One part of her wanted to kneel. Another part wanted to sprint into the woods and never look back.
Why would her mother send her with this woman? What the hell was waiting at the end of this road?
Tiamael's voice was soft again. "Go back to sleep, Rennia. You're safe with me. I promise. You don't need to worry. Not on this road." She giggled. Not mocking. Just... like she knew more than Rennia could ever ask.
Rennia didn't reply. She considered sleeping in the bushes. Maybe Tiamael's talons wouldn't reach her there.
"Unless you want to stay up with me," Tiamael added, gentle. "We can. If you want."
Rennia lay back down, stiff as a corpse. She didn't close her eyes. She couldn't. She kept thinking about the fire. The burned bodies. The way Tiamael had breathed that spell, like it was nothing. The way she looked at her—not with hunger. With... something else. Something deep. Alien.
Her hand drifted down. She was still hard. Again. But she didn't touch herself. Just lay there, pulse throbbing, breath stuck, overwhelmed. Confusion. Shame. Regret. And something else.The past was behind her. Tomorrow? A stranger waited. A place she didn't know. Someone she didn't trust.
Tiamael was a lovely person. And Rennia was only going to know her for a little while.