Monsters Under Mistletoe

Chapter 2

Chapter 2

T his was–despite not really having started yet—setting up to be a disaster. Nettle hadn't been prepared for him to be so … virile.

She couldn’t help but eye the way the orc bounty hunter’s biceps flexed and tensed as he lifted a large fallen branch off the trail, and ugh, those shoulders! She just wanted to … what would she even do, at that size? Fling herself down and roll all over them?

It was absolutely the wrong wing to be starting a quest off on.

“Oh, don't think it. He wouldn’t fit,” she mumbled to herself, eyeing the folds in his pants, the shape of his cock that they hinted at as he pivoted the fallen tree branch to the side.

He was easily ten times her size, honestly maybe even then some. She wasn't good with numbers. But even Nettle could tell his cock was likely as big as she was. There was no way it would work. It couldn't.

So there was no point staring at the shape of his arms, the taper of his waist, and breadth of his shoulders. He was simply too big to appreciate properly.

He dusted off his hands as he caught up to her. “Speak up, Firebug.”

It seemed he had settled on Firebug more than other names.

His eyes lingered over her lower half, and suddenly she wished for a few more leaves to wrap herself in, or maybe a whole bush to duck and hide in.

Above her knees, her legs glowed with a soft luminescence, becoming brightest at her rounded bottom. The soft glow of light swathed her hips just under the edge of her flower tunic.

Here in the gathering dusk, it was increasingly obvious. Luminescent specs drifted off her, like the sun catching on pollen.

It had been so commonplace at her home in the Fey Court, it had never occurred to her how strange it would be to the other beings of the Common World.

Not everyone glowed.

She looked at him, slowing her flight. “It’s just, I’m starting to rethink this. Surely you’re too ... big. You wouldn’t fit.”

Perhaps it would be ridiculous to even try.

The orc’s brow narrowed as he looked at her, uncomprehending. “... Fit where?”

“In the, uh. The passage.”

“Passage?”

“You know, the gauntlet we’re headed to. And even if you do fit, it’s not so simple to traverse; it’s dark, there’s traps and creatures. I’ve only managed to evade them by flying–” Nettle fumbled for an excuse.

“Well, if it’s just traps and creatures, you needn’t worry. I have other physical advantages,” the bounty hunter said, as he rolled his shoulders and his neck. She stared until he caught her eye and gave her a little wink. “They're gigantic.”

“Pardon?” For a moment she worried she had been staring too intently at his physique to have heard him properly. Then her cheeks scalded. “... Oh.”

There it was–that smirk. He knew what he was doing to her, he had to. Perhaps he was just trying to unnerve her. Perhaps he just wanted to annoy her with his presence, as she was saddled with it until the job was done.

“Was that too crude for the prim little lady?”

“I'm not prim!” she insisted, quickly, but it was in her voice, her tone. The very way she pronounced words was careful to enunciate every consonant clearly, to make every vowel pristine.

The orc scoffed as Nettle worked her wings backwards, so that she could cross her arms and watch him roll his eyes.

“It looked like it was your first night in a tavern,” he chuckled, a hint of a grin tucked behind his tusks.

“... It was my second.”

“ Pardon . Seems I've got you all wrong.”

Nettle felt her cheeks flush hot, but more than that, she felt her glow flare .

Perhaps that itself was more shocking than his scrutiny.

Immediately, she turned and zipped further down the path, though it did nothing for how fast her heart was beating.

Her glow had been dim and inconsistent for months. On occasion, a burst of excitement would bring it back, but it would dim until it was gone again. She knew better than to trust its fickle, flickering presence. It wouldn't stay fixed. Her court could no longer count on her to grow the mistletoe.

The bounty hunter seemed to know just how to ruffle her wings. She didn't care to be summed up in such a way, as if her life experience was so much lesser than his. He would not survive a day among the Fey Court, she thought viciously. It did bring her some comfort.

The few moments before he caught up to her again was time enough to let her embarrassment fade.

“Slow down, Firebug,” he called, as she came to a stop before a rocky outcropping covered in brush and roots. “I can’t do the job if you lose me on the way there.”

“My name is Nettlewisp,” she seethed.

The bounty hunter just waved a hand. “I don’t care to remember names.”

“I suppose that’s why you don’t have one, then.”

He stopped walking at that, looking at her, raising a brow like he had a story to tell. “The camp of orcs further North, deep in the Whispering Woods. They used to call me Silvertongue.”

She chewed the inside of her cheek, caught between a snide remark and prompting him further, before she asked, “They found you particularly persuasive?”

He gave a little grimace, shrugging. “To some end, sure. But I’m not there now, so no one calls me that anymore. Mostly just, ‘You there, bounty hunter.’”

She hadn't thought a grizzled bounty hunter would be particularly chatty.

“You can just call me Silver,” he offered, his voice a little too soft.

She didn’t like what it did to her.

“Fine, sure– this is the entrance. It’s a little hidden–” she began, gesturing to the thick wall of roots and vines that covered a good stretch of the hill.

No sooner had she pointed it out, Silver stepped up to it, waving her off. “Right, wait here.”

“What–no! You won’t be able to get in without me, it’s locked–”

“You didn’t say there was a lock.”

“You didn’t ask. Besides, this is my task, I have to go.”

“No, no. I’m not a babysitter.”

Indignantly, Nettle buzzed up to his face, stopping right in front of his nose. “I don’t need babysitting, I’ve already been–”

“People don’t hire me so they can go get it themselves,” he said, rolling his eyes. “Look, give me the directions, tell me what it is you’re looking for, and I’ll bring it back out with me. I do better work when I'm not tripping over pixies.”

“No, I need to go there myself.”

“You’re not coming with me. This is not a field trip.”

He made a swipe through the air to grab her again, but she was too fast for him, ducking into the hedge. She tucked her wings and wriggled through the tightest tangles of it, and soon was inside the passage. Only a few rays of light poked through.

“Keep talking about how I'm not going to be coming along. No, really,” she called loudly, fully meaning it. Nothing could throw a bucket of freezing river water on her overzealous nethers than a man insisting he knew better than she did.

He grumbled, but took out his ax, and swiftly sliced through the tangle of roots. It was enough to part them like thorny curtains and duck through. The roots fell back into place, where they had been separated barely visible.

“I’m no chaperone. I don’t protect, I get the job done,” he said, his voice echoing off the narrow walls of the passage.

You protected me in the tavern, she nearly reminded him. Just the thought of him plucking her up by the wings again was enough to make her feel that full body blush.

Damn him.

“I’m not asking you to protect me,” she grumbled, more to herself than him. Stooping to asking for help was bad enough, but his company was quickly becoming intolerable.

At least the underground passage was exempt from the chilly climate of the lower Spinal Mountain’s frosty disposition, warmed by the hot underground river. The reprieve from the weather was little comfort, however. It was a treacherous gauntlet.

The tunnel was long and dark. Nettle already knew how endless it could feel. When it was only her little glow that barely made a dent against the heavy darkness, sometimes she felt she lost track of what direction she was going in.

The addition of Silver's footsteps, rhythmic and heavy, was somewhat comforting. He lit and held aloft a torch, revealing the narrow halls and the tiles underfoot.

Then, a sound joined the pattern of his footsteps. Stone grating against stone.

Silver stopped in his tracks, but he had already triggered the mechanism. A small series of clicks ran under the floor.

Nettle dove, wings beating harder than a hummingbird's as she grabbed the front of his tunic and yanked downwards.

Silver followed, falling with her instantly. She let go of his collar, landing in the dirt. He landed just after she did, catching himself on his hands, hovering inches over her.

When the noises finally abated, they dared lift their eyes.

Embedded in the stone too close to Silver’s standing height was a rusty metal bolt, fired out of a deceptive crack in the stonework on the other wall.

Nettle let out a sigh of relief. “That was–”

“–Too close,” he finished for her.

Though she agreed, when she returned her attention to him, Nettle realized that he was nose to nose with her. She watched his throat bob as he swallowed.

“I did say–”

“You’d been here before,” he nodded, the words riding on a breath. “I … didn’t think you’d bother getting your hands dirty for me.”

Nettle couldn't help but let out a shaky laugh. “Don't look so shocked. I need you, Silver.”

She watched the way his usually tight, furrowed expression slackened, surprise left behind in its place. She felt her cheeks flush with molten bronze as she realized she had let her guard down around him again.

“To open the door,” she added quickly. “That's all.”

“Right.”

Of course he wouldn't be thinking that. He was probably just glad she knew about the traps. The last couple of times she had come down here, there were rats heavy enough to trigger the false plates. She always tried to fly low enough to stay under the path of the bolts, but not so low that the rats found their next meal.

Nettle felt Silver move to get up again, shifting off of the trigger plate.

“Wait–” she started to say, but the mechanism had already started again.

The next thing she knew, Silver’s hand was over her, covering her body entirely when the second bolt fired. It bounced off the stone this time, a cacophony of metallic notes following it as it rebounded down the hall. Finally there was only the sound of it rolling across the stone floor.

Only when his hand relaxed around her did Nettle realize she was clutching her arms around his pointer finger.

Silver looked down the passage, and at first she thought he was rattled by the second shot, before a grin crept up around his tusks. He caught her eye, and if Nettle could, she would have clutched her heart with both her hands to keep her glow from flaring again.

“Light the way, Firebug.”