Heels clicked planks, fabric fluttered, and Lorelai slipped out onto the deck. Her skin kissed light, her lungs tasted air, and her lashes soaked it all in. She hadn’t felt so weightless in her life. A twirl to the left and a spin to the right, the dress followed. It felt like it was made for her, carved with her measurements. Snug to her flesh and wrapping her in lace, folds and silver, it was a true testament to craftsmanship.

  Then, in an audible crash, a preoccupied Beetle walked straight off the steps, his boxes of devil stake clattering to the ground—the wasted food now flavoured with glassy soot.

  “Ah, fuck,” Beaumont cursed, his flushed cheeks brightening his carapace. “Brill. Just had to make a fool of yourself.”

  Bemused or just looking to entertain herself, Lorelai stepped forward, her fingers catching one ruined stake, her touch meeting his.

  And like she theorised, the beetle’s eyes shot wide, the red-faced boy stuttering back.

  “AH! Sorry, Mylady, didn’t mean—“

  She leaned closer, the smell of her breath mixing into a hot huff.

  “Lady?” She asked.

  Beaumont quickly filled his box and stood, the poor boy scurrying off like a fluttered ant.

  “Shame,” she said, “Nobody had ever called me Mylady before.”

  Her tail curled in flux. Was that good? She honestly didn’t know. Sure, she was old, but two hundred and eighty was merely early adulthood, so ‘Lady’ was pushing it. And eager to test her hypothesis, she sniffed out her next prey.

  The boy froze as if he thought she only detected motion. But it was quite the contrary; a stature in the middle of the deck wasn’t exactly a good hiding spot. So she prowled over, each step creating a new bead of sweat. Her heels clicking like a chamber, her lips dark like gunpowder.

  Mutt looked up, a slow gulp rolling down his throat, his lips open yet vacant of words.

  Lore cleared her voice and then—

  “Do you think I look old?” she asked.

  He blinked, and so did she.

  A long moment went past, the connections forming in the boy’s mind like a car crash of neurons. His breath sucking in as if he was affaid she would steal it.

  At least that’s what she imagined was happening.

  She poked him.

  Nothing.

  She grabbed his arms and shook.

  Nothing.

  “Uhh… did I break him?” She muttered.

  She shook him again, patting his face for any signs of life.

  “Hello, boy, are you alive?”

  She started to panic a bit, as he couldn’t even look at her, now, his red face steaming as if she had shaken out his soul.

  And then, grabbing his chin and aiming at her, she peered in.

  And Mutt’s eyes rolled back to focus, the slimy stare making her choice to get this close a rather icky one. She could practically smell him now, her lashes working overtime to deflect the odour. Her nose scrunching up as if she were to sneeze. And she just might.

  “God!” Mutt said.

  He snatched her hands, the sweat like grease clamping up her fingers. She tried to pull out, but his grip hooked her like friction-defying soap—more glue than slime.

  “Let go of me!” she growled.

  “Goddess, I see it. You. You. Your her.”

  “I said Let go!” Lore snapped

  She parted her hands like the sea, her slap in his face the only tide that came after.

  Mutt didn’t even rub his cheek, his stare like that of an obsessed child.

  “Goddess. She touched you. Her void. Her Sweet—”

  Lore rolled fingers into a fist. That word again. Something about it pulsed in her skull, lingering, making her cells hurt. But she stuffed it down her fangs, bubbling up in heat.

  “Call me a goddess one more time, and maybe I’ll send you to meet her yourself.”

  “Really, would you do that?” Mutt asked.

  Lore’s tail tightened. Was this idiot serious? He wasn’t really excited to get punched, right? A sadist who wanted to get beaten up.

  Then, as she searched those wide eyes, maybe for a seed of doubt or an act he was playing, her breath hitched.

  Strange tang rang up her hair, the pointed ends, pulled like she had goosebumps.

  This rat truly believed in a god, a demon looking for divinity among sin.

  Something about it unnerved her because no god watched demons, not one that wasn’t a Cthulhu monster from the void. And not one that cared for its brood.

  Then, jolting her tail, a hand gripped her shoulder.

  “Stop it, Lore.” Said Ego.

  Lore turned on a heel, but oddly, no mist, no form, just the sooty deck, stained like the warmth that held her.

  “Ego?” Lore asked, “Ego!”

  “And here I was questioning your sanity,” Said Serena. “Now I catch you shouting to the air.”

  The woman folded her furry arms, entering like a slinking predator who had been watching its prey.

  “How long have you been there?” Lore demanded.

  The she-wolf didn’t move, but her shadow oozed into the light, her face half lit. “Hmm… about the time you began twirling in my dress like you owned it.”

  Lore pushed her hips out, “Well, maybe it twirls better on me.” She said tail flicking.

  Serena gave a single blink—long, unimpressed—and turned on her boot. “A noble Valkar, pretty and vain, how original. The rest of us have to shave.”

  Lore eyed the fuzzy woman. “Shave? What do you do, wax it all off…”

  Serena continued walking like she didn’t hear a thing, Lore having to clink after.

  “Hey, wait up,” Lore exclaimed. “These bloody heels—”

  Serena flicked her ears. “Matthias is waiting. Try not to trip in front of him—he might laugh you off his ship.”

  Lore scoffed, stumbling after her. “I’ll have you know I run in heels. Just not on ships. With holes. And stairs. And... shut up.”

  This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

  Hopping her way past the nails, cracks, and her face almost banging the wall, Lore entered a dim copper-coated room. The heat was unbearable, the damp floods under her arms overflowing. She wanted to breathe, but even the baked air betrayed her.

  “In Devil’s arse, I like my room toasty but are you planning on cooking us alive?” Lore said.

  Serena, as per the recurring theme, ignored her. The fur-lined woman waltzed in—boots, trousers, and… where had her top gone? Then again, with a coat like that, Lore might strip too.

  Then her eyes snagged on Matthias—Captain Shorts himself—sweating buckets down a surprisingly muscular hide. Not bad for a kid, she guessed.

  “Sit,” Matthias said. “Heat rises.”

  Lore bared her fangs. That little sarcastic twat, they did this on purpose, didn’t they? Heat her enough, and surging just might kill her.

  But taking a seat, anyway, Lore blinked through the heat, trying not to sweat like she was the one in boots and belts. The fabric stuck to her back, her spine practically boiling. Her horns ached with every heartbeat. Demons weren’t meant to cook in their own flesh—especially not ones dressed in now sticky silk.

  Across from her, Serena lounged like a smug fox. Matthias leaned on the table, shirtless, arms crossed, like this was casual.

  “So what did you want, so bad you had to cook us three like steak?” Lore said.

  “We needed to be prepared, that’s all,” Serena said, the line of her lips betraying how much she was enjoying this.

  She glanced at the woman, the ends of her fur showing signs of moisture. Coated herself in salamander’s saliva, no doubt. Still, it was too hot for her to use Neurite. So no mind reading at least.

  Matthias sighed, “Can you blame us? An Archdemon could kill us all with a finger.”

  Unlike the she-wolf, Matthias had no reliance on this heat-buffing liquid, as with thick dark skin more suited for the deserts of outer hell, the boy was in his element.

  And so tasting the salt drilling down her lips, Lore smiled her dangerous smile.

  “I could just strangle you with my tail, you know. Doubt you could stop me.” But she dropped the threat like it bored her. “So tell me already, why the meeting? And what do you want?”

  Matthias exchanged a glance with Serena. His eyes flicked towards her, and her fangs bit into her lip. Lore wasn’t sure what kind of foreplay they were engaging in, but she was tired of waiting.

  She pressed her claws into the soft wood, the table creaking as she applied pressure.

  “Are you going to tell me or—”

  Serena spoke first, of course. “We need to get to Wrath’s Port.”

  Lore blinked through the sweat. “That’s it? And what does that have to do with me? You have the ship, and Valkar aren’t known for our wings.”

  Matthias tensed his jaw. “We—” he hesitated, “We need a noble—someone to add credibility to our vessel.”

  “And that’s got to do with me, how?” Lore said, “If you’re looking for a noble, I don’t exactly have any ID on me.”

  Serena scoffed, “oh don’t bullshit me, look at you. Pretty, elegant, and totally full of yourself. You hit all the boxes, you even frown like some spoiled princess.”

  Lore wrapped her tail around the woman’s chair leg, one wipe from beating that cow. Her. HER… spoilt. A noble. She didn’t need to hear this shit from some welp that ran from home. Lore didn’t choose to get dethroned, for her father to go a nameless death.

  She was nothing like the wretched noblewoman her mother was.

  “So…” Lore seethed, doing her best not to flip this table and strip that wolf of her fur folical by fucking folical. “What about you two? I can smell your high birth a mile away. Why don’t you use your own heritage as a bus pass?”

  Serena gave a dry smile. “My family put a bounty on my head. So that’s out. Besides…” she leaned on her stocky captain, “Do you think he could pass a noble even if he had his robes?”

  Lore folded her legs. “Sounds like a you problem. But anyway, I lost my nobility long ago, and I doubt I could weasel my way back in. So you might need a new plan.”

  And she was technically correct; she did lose her title, albeit she was still a noble in a purely ex-princess kind of way.

  Then unexpectedly Serena leaned forward, “and maybe that could be in our favour. Ever heard of Lorelai Violette?”

  Lore nearly jumped out of her chair. “Violette… as in Princess Violette?” she asked, voice low.

  Why was her name coming up? Worse, why was that wolf smiling?

  “The city of Furorica, the place where the Princess Violette would have ruled if she hadn’t gone missing,’ Serena whispered. “And you just so happen to resemble the old royal. In fact, the resemblance to her estimated description is uncanny—mid three hundreds, tall crimson eyes, and violet hair. I wouldn’t be surprised if you really are the lost princess.”

  Lore fake laughed, the rest chuckling at how unlikely that would be.

  Better yet—where the hell did this wolf get that mismatched information? She wasn’t over three hundred. She wasn’t magically missing. This wasn’t some fairy tale.

  She was sold like cattle.

  To the highest bidder.

  “Captain!” Belmont crashed through the side hatch, panting. “We’ve got a problem.”

  “Oh, what now!” Lore muttered. “Do you forget to change your fucking diaper?”

  A blast rocked the ship. Lore slid, catching herself on the desk’s edge, the silk dress sticking to her like overused lube.

  “Incoming fire,” Belmont gasped. “Looks like raiders—the 12th armourment, by the looks of it.”

  Lore stiffened, “The 12th armourment, are the ones that traffic demons, right?”

  Matthias gave Lore a concerned look, his hide tightened just from Lore’s expression.

  “Yes.” He said.