The Vixen Torn Read online

  THE VIXEN TORN

  J.E. & M. Keep

  This book is intended for sale to Adult Audiences only. It contains sexually explicit scenes and graphic language. All sexually active characters in this work are of legal age. Over 35,000 words.

  If you require content warnings: this particular story contains sexual violence, consensual non—consent, and torture.

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  Book Description

  Anjasa has been through the worst parts of hell and come back from it wounded but stronger. A trained assassin and courtesan, she’s seen the worst in others… and herself.

  She doesn’t know what she wants, but she knows the things she needs. Companionship. Adventure. Fear. She needs to feel alive.

  When she meets the human noble, Loren, in the bar, she figured he’d be good for a night of fun. A place to sleep.

  Instead she finds an adventure that she can’t turn away from, even though her instincts warn her of the terrible things to come.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Note from the Authors

  More by the Authors

  Biography

  Chapter 1

  Things were simpler when she worked for the Royal Investigators. The pay was regular, she had backup—usually—and she got downtime in her homeland every so often. The downside was that she had to take orders that were often near suicidal and her methods were criticized by condescending superiors. It was perhaps that last part that irked her the most.

  Besides, as a ‘reformed’ sex slave she never really did fit in with law enforcement. Her stint with the Investigators had been brief but had ignited her passion for crime.

  So there she was, off in the human city of Normevor, the “jewel” of the North, they called it. Though it hardly compared to the eternal beauty of the elven lands she grew up in. However, the humans did try, and their lands had a sort of gritty appeal. The city of Normevor was large, a semicircle on the edge of a great lake, edged with a mighty protective wall outside of which lived many impoverished peasants. At its heart towered great noble structures of marble and shimmering glass and stone.

  The contrast was jarring to elven sensibilities, but then, she was often seen as jarring to her people's sensibilities.

  Anjasa wasn’t so down on her luck that she had to dwell in the slums outside the walls, but she was running low on coin. Out, in fact. She’d spent freely in her time there and lived well. The tavern she sat in was one of the nicer ones, as far as human taverns went, and so as she fished into her pocket for coins she realized the place had tapped her of the last of her money.

  The thought reminded her of how reckless she’d gotten to even be paying for her own drinks, when a bat of her lashes typically got a line of men willing to pay up for her. Men like the handsome young noble she found herself seated across from. Though that particular fellow stared into his drink thoughtfully, his shiny suit looking fancy and expensive. White, trimmed with black, and shimmering gold buttons. Human’s had odd styles by Elvish standards, but he filled it out well.

  The only thing about him that looked less than coiffed was his hair. The golden brown head of hair looking a bit shaggy and dishevelled, like he’d run his hand through it in frustration a few times too many.

  She’d been too lost in her own concerns, and the idea of having to strike up conversation wasn’t one she relished. But then, she was used to doing what needed to be done, all else be damned, and her ruby lips curved into a smile.

  She was a middle aged woman, still in her prime, and her bouncy black hair framed her face lovingly. The depths of her green eyes were almost eerie. The tan of her skin made it stick out all the more as she leaned forward and the tops of her breasts practically spilled out of her tight, red dress.

  “Lookin’ for me in that drink?” she teased, her eyes holding such mischief.

  The young human blinked and looked up, though he didn’t make it past her breasts. He found himself staring at them a bit blatantly until he shook off the dumbfounded look on his face and at last met her gaze. “What?” He had been a million miles away. Obviously, of course, for how had he not noticed her sooner with those amber eyes of his?

  Her lips quirked but she never moved from her position, her breasts so exposed, just barely contained by the tight material. “You seem much too thoughtful to be in this place.”

  With another bat of his lashes—and a dip of his eyes to her generous cleavage—he said. “You wouldn’t normally catch me in a place like this.” He stated it a bit critically, but then softened, deflating a little. “Sorry, madam,” he said in his refined voice, “I’m not terribly good company right now.” Then he lifted his mug of ale and drank from it, the look he gave telling her all she needed to know in that he didn’t drink such peasant brew normally.

  She leaned back, her legs crossing seductively, “And where would I normally catch you, if I want to find you another night?”

  The young nobleman’s cheeks reddened—actually blushed!—and he looked down into his drink to avert his gaze from her long, shapely legs, and her generous bust. “Ah, w well, he stammered a bit then swallowed. “Truth be told, madam, I, well...” he ran his hand over his golden brown hair again, the thick mess of it looking surprisingly appealing like that. “A club up the road,” he confessed, and she knew which one he meant. The swanky nobles club. It cost a small fortune to get in, however, and someone of the nobility had to speak for you.

  It had a reputation for corrupting the young nobles of the city.

  “And what happened tonight?” she grinned as she stood up, walking over to join him. She moved fluidly, the sway of her generous hips pleasing below the tight nip of her waist. “Did you get kicked out for being too rowdy?”

  The young man shook his head and seemed stubbornly insistent upon not saying anything further. Then she slipped into the seat beside him and his inhibitions vanished. “No, nothing like that,” he said; a bit of embarrassment brought a deeper hue to his cheeks. “Not tonight anyhow,” he cleared his throat and sat up a little straighter in his seat. She could read him like a sign printed in Elvish; his natural inclination to compose himself in front of her as his interest rose. “Though maybe if I had spent fewer nights there I’d not be in the predicament I am,” he lamented.

  “I know, the ale is horrible,” she teased, drawing her lower lip into her mouth and biting it seductively as she stared at him a moment.

  She could sense he was more than just sitting stiffly already, with the way he was staring at her. He struggled to clear his throat and regain some composure. “I’m sorry,” he said rather sincerely sounding, “I’m not exactly the wealthiest noble in town. Not anymore.” Perhaps he’d thought her a prostitute soliciting him, or else a woman after a noble entanglement for wealth and prosperity. Regardless, he looked downright adorable with his apologetic expression.

  She grinned and looked around them, her head tilting to the side, “Honey, if you think I’m a gold digger in a place like this, I must be a really shitty gold digger.”

  He looked around at that, and though the place was an upper scale tavern for merchants and the other wealthy of the city who weren’t nobles, her words seemed to sink in. He smiled crookedly, which looked simply satisfying on his face, and nodded. “Sorry,” he said again, peering up at her beneath his dishevelled bangs, “I shouldn’t assume. I... I just didn’t want to waste your time with false hope.”

  Of course, a noble
down on his luck was still likely richer than the vast majority of the city, certainly wealthy enough to pay for drinks and a good time for her. But the circumstance of relative prosperity wasn’t something the young man seemed to grasp. Typical, of course. A noble with a purse full of coins and an opulent manor could think himself a pauper just because he lost his rights to a township.

  “So come on, you’re not even drinkin’ your sorrows away very fast,” she smiled down at the mug. “And the ale is weak as water. Why don’t you tell me your troubles and we’ll order up a proper bottle of something.”

  He dipped his head down in a bit of embarrassment again but nodded to her request all the same, with only a momentary flicker of his eyes to her breasts. “Okay,” he said lightly. “I figured I should get used to this peasant rot now,” he said with some humour, “but I don’t think I can stomach it.”

  That was enough to confirm for her that he was not as bad off as he thought. People truly down on their luck had to scrounge for coin for the cheapest of ale. He had chosen an actually decent blend, despite his complaints and melodrama.

  The man raised his hand though and got the barmaid’s attention, ordering a fine bottle of Sylvarin wine from her homeland as he gave her a pleasant smile.

  She smiled and her eyes brightened as her hand went to her hair, fixing an out of place strand among the large, bouncy waves. “I guess it’s pretty obvious,” she said, referring to her elven heritage.

  With a shrug of his stately shoulders, he said with some amount of modesty, “It doesn’t take the refinement of a noble to notice the ethereal beauty of a fair elven maiden.” He managed to make the words sound like he was reciting a poem, and perhaps he was. She wasn’t a master of human poetry, after all.

  The wine was uncorked and poured up before them both. The barmaid—though buxom—did not garner any of the entranced nobles attention, despite her efforts. Anj had a corner on that market, she could tell.

  Yet she appeared calm and confident; she was used to preferential treatment. Her thumb and finger rubbed down the stem of her glass wantonly, “So tell me. What is so horrible that you’re reduced to having to sit with me instead of some empty headed—” Anjasa stopped herself and grinned. “Some stunning noble woman.”

  That elicited a laugh from the handsome young man, despite his attempts to hide it. He licked his lips and tried his best to straighten his hair, “Ah, first.” He cleared his throat, “Allow me to introduce myself, madam. I am Sir Loren Faro.” He cleared his throat yet again, deflating just a bit, “Or at least, I was to be.”

  “Well, it’s a pleasure,” she smiled and dipped her body down to show off her cleavage once again. “Sir Loren Faro,” she said with a bit of an exaggeration to her tongue motions. “I like that. I think that’s what it shall be. I’m Anjasa.”

  Her banter made him smile just a bit, though she could see the telltale signs of gloominess trying to fight it. She won out of course. “That’s a lovely name, Anjasa,” he said sweetly and raised his glass. “To you then. A beautiful elven lady with a name as exotic as she looks.” He wasn’t fae or dainty like many noblemen were. It seemed his current softspokeness was something brought on by melancholy rather, evidenced by the increasingly firm tone to his voice.

  She brought her glass up and clinked it delicately, “So what’s happened? What ragamuffin has hurt such a handsome and charming man as you?”

  Tipping back the drink, she made a soft moan of appreciation before lowering the long stemmed glass back to the table.

  Loren shook his head, setting that thick head of golden brown hair to swaying gently. “No. I’m afraid I just...” he sighed softly. “I lost my inheritance.” He paused then added, “In a competition I mean, not like... down a drain.”

  “You bet your inheritance?” She whistled lowly as she looked over his body. “You must be huge,” she paused a beat, “ly confident.”

  That succeeded in bringing another blush to his cheeks, but he poured her up more of the familiarly expensive wine and shook his head. “Not... no, not exactly,” he said. “My father, he ah,” he cleared his throat. “He disapproved of my habits and set me against a cousin in a competition over who would retain his inheritance.” He looked down in his drink glumly. “I went drinking the night before.”

  She had to suppress her laughter, and she licked over her lips. “Well, we all get cock...y from time to time. So who’s this cousin and how’d he even get chosen for the possibility, huh?”

  Loren shifted in his seat slightly, and she knew his blood was rising from the way he looked at her, even amidst his tale. “Like I said, Father,” he cleared his throat again, “he did not care for my habits, and uh... the company I kept. He felt it a good lesson to make me compete for my inheritance, and I thought I had it in the bag but...” he shook his head glumly. “His name is Zarach. You’ve probably not heard of him,” he said with an irritated exhale. “He’s an extended member of the family, far removed. Family doesn’t even own land. Well,” he screwed up a corner of his lips, “they don’t until my father passes... which could be anytime now. Wherein they use that scrap of paper to humiliate and disenfranchise me.” He brought his glass of wine back up and sipped sullenly.

  “Well,” she leaned forward thoughtfully, her finger rubbing along the seam of the wineglass. “Can your friends do anything to help you out?” Her foot brushed against his pant leg casually as she recrossed her legs. “Surely they would like for you to be back in that other bar with them.”

  He forced his gaze away from her in some measure to maintain control in his melancholy. “I doubt it,” he said. “I thought of plans to get that testament away from my cousin, but,” he shook his head sadly. “I couldn’t do it. And if I were caught... it’d be worse than my current predicament.” He peered about distastefully at that, though looking back at her soft, supple body soothed him.

  “Well,” she mused thoughtfully. “You’re not alone anymore, are you? You’ve fallen into the lap of a guardian angel.” Her lips spread into a smile, and she ‘absent mindedly’ pressed her breasts together for a fleeting moment, fanning herself. “It’s warm in here, don’t you find?”

  The blatant stare he gave to her breasts as he nodded would’ve been embarrassing for anyone. “Aye,” he tugged at his collar just a bit then drank some more of the wine, finding it far more agreeable than the ale. “You’re... you’re not like other women, are you?” he asked her with a curious gaze. “I mean, not even the Elvish women I’ve met.”

  “Well, everyone starts to look the same if you only spend time in the same places,” she grinned as she tipped back the rest of her wine. “But no, I doubt I’m like the other elven women you’ve met.”

  He managed to tear his eyes away from her tits to stare into her emerald gaze. “You’re probably like... a princess back home or some such I bet.”

  “An ambassador to Normevor?” he guessed, rather incorrectly. She noticed his free hand rubbing at his thigh instinctively, unable to get to what it really wanted to touch, she had no doubt.

  She smiled calmly as she shook her head, “No, nothing so glamorous. Just here trying to experience new things. You don’t realize how different humans and elves are until you surround yourself in their culture intimately.” Her words were like honey as her foot stroked up his leg again, lingering. “So what types of things did your father disapprove of? Drinking?”

  His leg twitched just a bit at her touch, but then pressed back to her foot. How he wanted her! It practically oozed out of his pores.

  “Aye,” he nodded then grimaced a bit. “And... women,” he admitted with another blush of his cheeks. “He didn’t care for me associating with anyone but the most prim and proper noble ladies,” and she could tell from his tone that he didn’t share the sentiment. “Obsessed that one would woo me and I’d plant my seed in her and there’d be some bastard to contend with.” He rolled his fetching eyes.

  “Well, I imagine that’d be your problem and not his,” her lip
s quirked, her brows rising slightly. “Did any manage to disappoint him so?”

  His brows rose and he stared at her wide eyed. “Huh?” Then getting her meaning he shook his head, “Oh, no no.” He drank down more of the rich wine, “I was not so daring as my father seemed to think I was. He took the clubs reputation a little more seriously than he should have.” He cleared his throat and lowered his face, glancing to her from the corner of his eyes, and she could tell he was desperate not to embarrass himself further in front of her.

  “Then that’s an even bigger shame,” she lamented for him. “I can’t have any more children, but if I could, well, I’m sure there are other arrangements than taking off with an entire inheritance,” she smiled coyly. “Still, if I were you, I’d just be filled with spite. You’re taking it quite well considering.”

  Loren looked a little overwhelmed but he took the compliment with a half—smile and a nod. “Thanks,” he said. Then looking to his empty glass he said. “I, uh, please, excuse me if you think this rather forward of me, madam Anjasa, but,” he cleared his throat yet again, seeming to have developed quite the habit. “But would you care to join me for an evening with some more fine elven wine as I seek to enjoy the last of my privilege before being cast off?” The hope in his beautiful amber eyes was palpable, and stood in contrast to his strong jaw and masculine good looks.

  “Are you a poet as well as a noble?” she smiled amiably before giving a soft nod of her head. “And I think that’d be delightful. Do you have a place nearby?”

  Her acceptance seemed to nearly floor him, and he delayed a moment before nodding abruptly. “Y yes, I do,” he said then stood up and quickly ordered another bottle. “It’s just down the road,” he said with a pleasant smile. “It’s my family’s townhouse; it’s mine... for the time being.”

  Taking the bottle of wine he extended his arm to her in a gentlemanly fashion.