Viktor pulled his clothes back on, the fabric clinging slightly to his still-damp skin. The incubus mark on his lower abdomen pulsed with a fading, sated violet light as he fastened his trousers.
He didn't bother drying off completely; the lingering heat from the pond and the adrenaline of the ambush were enough to keep the forest chill at bay.
They walked.
The path was uneven, heavily rutted with old wagon tracks and overgrown with dense ferns. Lira took the lead, her surviving crew falling into a loose, wary formation around them.
Gwen walked a half-step ahead of him, her silver-blonde hair dripping slowly down her back, the wet material of her dress plastered to the sharp, elegant curve of her hips.
"So," Viktor said, his voice a low, unhurried rumble that cut through the crunch of their boots. "Viscount Harfield."
Lira didn't turn around, but her shoulders stiffened. The dried, sticky remnants of his cum were still faintly visible on her collar. "What about him?"
