So that was a mess, even if Amara had been sick during the second Carson brother’s death, and work was thin for her for a while just by association. Amara had been through this before, of course – usually by getting a bit too loose with the noblewomen, not because her client had been found in sixteen different pieces at the bottom of a well, but the result was about the same – and just like those previous times, she went off women and booze for a while and hibernated, lazing around cheaply and waiting for the next solstice ball. The royal balls were the best way to clear her reputation, so to speak: the larger ones needed every hand they could get, and the royals were a bit too far above noble disputes to care about whatever Amara had been getting up to. And then she’d have a new record with a few old rumors that she was very, very good at slipping past with her natural charm, and she’d be back to eating rich again.

She just had to make it through a week of dressing like a fucking fruit. For all their benefits, the royals had standards, which somehow meant that they dressed their guards up with bright clothes and tight pants and something that honest to God looked like a corset. A corset! And right, everyone knew what the kings got up to, it probably looked half-decent on some stripling boy-guard. On Amara it looked pathetic. She made up the difference with posture, a lot of yelling, and enough tobacco to have her coughing shit out for half the day. All that meant that by the time she saw the Carson widow sweep into the west tearoom, she was really quite done with noble shit.

And then Amara actually looked at the widow and oh, hm, maybe not. Letitia had stopped mourning a few weeks earlier than she should have, but Amara certainly wasn’t complaining – she’d exchanged her loose, baggy widow’s clothes for an actual dress, rich and green and tight around her waist and hips, restricting in a way that made her easy movement seem almost impossibly graceful. It joined up with her bodice in an open collar that emphasized her breasts and exposed the proud jut of her collarbone, ridged under an ornate necklace marked with her late husband’s crest. She had her dark hair in a high bun again, just like last time, but with her shoulders and upper breasts exposed the tightness in her face seemed deeper somehow, creeping out like a plague over the rest of her body as it held her careful and ready. She looked terrifying, nothing like the vaguely traumatized thing Amara had flirted with back in the hallway six weeks ago, and Amara found herself walking away from her post and across the room before she could second-guess herself.

Letitia had been talking to one of the maids near the far wall of the tearoom, and she glanced over as Amara approached but didn’t turn to greet her. “It’s good to see you again, my lady,” Amara said. “The ball’s treating you well?”

Letitia waved the maid away. “It certainly was,” she said absently. “Is there a reason you’re harassing me?”

“Oh! Not harassing, my lady, I’d never,” Amara simpered. She let out a small smile and spread her hands, deferent. “But I’m sure you know that women can be a bit hysterical, so soon out of the mourning period, so I thought it best to check in?”

“Really.” Letitia looked at her more fully, then, eyes sharp but still hesitant somehow, and Amara tamped down the shiver she felt at the attention. This was such a bad idea. “You think you’re a physician, then? That’s your excuse?”

“Oh, no excuse, never! I’ve been trained to treat hysteria, my lady. It is really the least I can do.” Amara smiled, glib at the way Letitia blinked incredulously at her in response, finally caught off guard. She kept talking, careful to keep the excitement out of her voice. “It’s quite simple. The womb becomes lonely, or wanders a bit too much, and your seed builds up and causes all sorts of problems. I assume you haven’t seen a physician since your husband’s death?” Letitia shook her head wordlessly. “Of course not. You’re a bit pent up, then, aren’t you? Tight and unsatisfied–”

“Be quiet,” Letitia hissed, and Amara obediently shut up. She wrinkled her nose, coiling on herself like a snake. “You never stop, do you. You want to inspect me for… female hysteria? After meeting me twice? And I’m the desperate one?”

“Of course you are,” Amara said, bobbing her head. “Certainly it couldn’t be me. I’m a professional, my lady, and quite skilled at it too! If you’re curious, I’ve served the Timpson wives quite extensively, so I’m sure you could ask them–”

“No,” Letitia growled, voice strained, “no, I don’t think I need to hear about that.” She clenched her hands, looking down at Amara with barely leashed rage, just like last time. Now it looked a bit less unnatural against the already severe picture she cut in the room, still strange on a noble but much better masked, enough that Amara might have missed it if it hadn’t been exactly what she’d been looking for. Amara smiled, glib and generous, preening at the way the other woman’s hands shook in place in response. “I know what you’re doing,” Letitia finally said, voice low.

“Doing my duty, ma’am?”

“Hm,” Letitia said. She leaned back, eyes dark. “Fine. You’ll come to my quarters in an hour. Then you can serve me,” she spat, “if that’s what you want.”

“Ah.” Amara shrugged sheepishly. “Maybe tonight? My work ends at sunset–”

“But this is your work too, isn’t it? Servicing me?” Well, Amara wasn’t going to say no, but seriously – she flinched as Letitia brought a hand up to Amara’s neck, fingers pressing and marking the skin, and when she shivered again the other woman clamped her neck and held her still. “That’s what I thought,” Letitia said, satisfied. “An hour. Don’t be late.” And then she swept out of the empty tearoom and back into the hallway, leaving Amara to rub out the marks where her hand had been.

An hour later and Amara was standing outside the widow Carson’s quarters, shift covered by one of her drinking friends, out of that fucking uniform and into the clothes she’d picked up as a mercenary years ago, sleek and attractive to bring in clients. She knocked twice, short and even, waited – terrible, terrible idea, all of this – and then she heard Letitia’s muffled greeting through the door and pushed herself in. She found Letitia fiddling with her clothing on one of the larger chairs. She’d taken off the long green gloves that covered her arms, and beneath them her forearms twisted and clenched as she worked apart the delicate ties of her dress and corset, eyes dark and focused. “Lock the door,” Letitia said casually, not looking up. “You need me exposed, don’t you? For your test?”

“Ah,” Amara said, and then she stared for a bit. This was a terrible idea, she thought suddenly. Amara had broken Letitia’s control and reduced her to a flailing, blushing virgin twice now, but seeing her here, low and deadly in the bedroom, it felt like none of that mattered at all. She’d been tricked, somehow; she’d thought the other woman the right kind of noble to play with, someone too virginal or self-concerned to really hurt Amara back, but this was horrible, animal; Letitia was looking at her like she was about to skin her alive. But Amara was still locking the door, and Letitia smiled and rucked up her dress in reward, spreading her legs and baring her cunt on the edge of the wooden chair, and yeah, okay. “Well,” Amara said, “usually we’d have you lie back on a bed–”

Letitia hummed. “I’m not doing that. On your knees.”

“Sure, okay,” Amara said weakly, and she knelt. Sometime in the last minute she’d lost the ability to be clever, and she wracked her head for something else to say, but a foot away from Letitia’s pussy lips it was even harder to think. She could make out the individual hairs in the dark thatch around Letitia’s cunt, slightly beaded with the woman’s wetness, and with her lower lips gaping slightly she could smell her. Amara felt a flash of terror. She was going to act like a physician right this instant or she was going to go insane. “Begging your pardon, my lady, I’ll need to spread you open to, ah, check for hysteria–”

“Would you shut up about that,” Letitia said, and when Amara’s mouth clacked shut she smiled, satisfied. She’d left one hand on her own thigh, clenching it anxiously, but when Amara went still she moved it to tangle in the mop of curly hair on the back of Amara’s head, loose and proprietary. “Good. Very good. Now, I’ve been thinking about the last time we met. You’re always so enthusiastic, so I thought you wanted to fuck me. But that’s not quite true, is it?” Letitia’s hand tightened on Amara’s hair and pulled down firmly, forcing her head up and her neck exposed as she looked up at the widow with wide, scared eyes. Letitia smiled, sedate and satisfied, and her voice pitched even lower when she spoke. “You’ve said it this whole time. You want me to use you. Say it,” she snapped.

“I–” Amara didn’t remember saying anything like that, she was pretty sure, but at this point she’d say anything to keep this woman’s hands in her hair. “Use me, then,” she said flirtatiously, but there was an undercurrent of desperation there that doubled when Letitia frowned and yanked down on her hair. Again, the widow was saying with just her hands, and Amara felt the command in her core. “Oh,” she gasped, “use me, use me,” she was going to break, “please–”

“Yes,” Letitia growled, and then she pulled Amara’s face in against her cunt.

She was so unbelievably wet, and for the first few seconds Amara closed her eyes and lost herself as Letitia dragged herself up and down Amara’s face, rutting against her like an animal. Her hands dug into Amara’s neck; her thighs clenched and unclenched as she jogged her hips against Amara’s waiting mouth; her cunt was gaping around Amara’s nose and mouth, thick and devouring. She was everywhere pressing in, and at first it was too overwhelming to think, but after a bit Amara felt Letitia’s fingers pressing and rubbing at the back of her neck and realized what it meant – Letitia needed her tongue.

So she licked into Letitia in time with her rutting, running her tongue along the inside of the other woman’s pussy lips as she was dragged up and down her cunt. At Letitia’s peak, tongue brushing against her clit, she was in the perfect position to look blearily up at the woman sitting above her, looking triumphantly down at her come-slick face. “All this trouble and this was what you wanted. Aren’t you so much better like this?” Amara made to lean back and answer, but Letitia forced her back in, sealing Amara’s lips on her clit. “Don’t speak. I’ve found a much better use for your tongue. Lick me,” she growled, and then she let out a pleased, shaky breath as Amara left a smattering of kitten licks against and around her clit. “There you are. So good,” she crooned, and Amara whimpered pathetically against her lower lips, dumb and cunt-drunk.

Letitia smiled down at her, satisfied, and then a shadow crossed her face. “You’ve caused me no shortage of trouble. I should really let you go, I know this, I know.” Amara didn’t, but she was a bit past caring at this point. She kept licking, and Letitia snarled down at her, rutted once firmly against her face. “But you keep asking for it! What am I supposed to do? And that strength, that clever tongue, everything, I can use it,” she panted, delirious, tightened her thighs and half-crushed Amara’s head. “God, I could use it all, use you so well, I–” Suddenly Letitia bit down on nothing, gnashing her teeth as she growled, low and heavy. “Fuck. More. Give me more,” she hissed. “I can’t think.”

Amara could barely think either, but she had to ask permission, and when she pulled her mouth away an inch Letitia let her pant and catch her breath. She worked a hand up to rest on Letitia’s inner thigh. “If you want my fingers–”

“No hands,” Letitia snapped, and Amara whined and dropped her hand to fold back on her knees. “Good. Something else – let me fuck you, I don’t know–”

“Sit on me,” Amara moaned.

“Yes. Good pet,” Letitia gasped, “so, so clever. Get on the floor and let me fuck you.” She stood all at once, forcing Amara to shift back on her heels as she watched the other woman stretch, bare legs quivering from Amara’s service. She was still half clothed, dress clinging to her breasts and shoulders, but it hardly mattered with the way she held herself viciously above Amara, looking down at her like a thing to be used. Amara fell back on her ass under the sheer weight of that attention, stretched herself out against the carpeted floor and looked up desperately as Letitia settled down on her chest, preening as she rubbed down against the tight leather leathers. “Look at you,” she said wondrously, “so strong, and I’ve got you on your back like a whore. And with what? A few words?”

“I – hh,” Amara sobbed, going limp as Letitia clasped her neck lightly and cut her off. She rubbed at Amara’s face with her other hand, dragging slick fingers across her cheeks and eyes and hair, and Amara gurgled and licked at the wetness she could reach.

“I don’t need you mouthing off,” Letitia said, amused. “It’s good that you shut up quickly, though. Just a taste of my cunt and you’re easy again. So, so obedient.” Amara moaned up at her in agreement, eyes watering as she lay pinned against the floor, and Letitia met her eyes and snarled, looking almost delirious, pale face flickering in the candlelight. “Yes. I’m going to take you now.”

“Please,” Amara whimpered.

Letitia smirked. “That’s what I thought.” And then she shifted forward and sat on Amara’s face, and the world blurred away like the first time, but now Letitia’s own weight was pressing her in, slow and unstoppable, and there was no space left to breathe. Amara could barely see past the other woman’s stomach and thighs, and those absurd breasts swaying unattended up at the edge of her vision, but she couldn’t attend to any of it; her arms were trapped in by Letitia’s thighs, impossibly strong for a woman her size, and her head was forced back and mouth open by the sheer weight of the woman against her. She was being used like a piece of meat, and with her arms held she couldn’t move except with pathetic little quivers of her legs and hips, back bent like a bow as she chased any sort of friction and failed. Her whole body was throbbing, horribly untouched except for her come-slick face and mouth, and when Amara bucked her hips up to try and find some friction Letitia forced her back down effortlessly, growling as she tightened her legs and held Amara still.

Amara bucked again, struggling like an animal in a trap, and then she finally went limp. All the fight had left her, and she heard the woman above her hiss in triumph, grinding down further on her face and rubbing her come in deep and desperate, like she was trying to work it under Amara’s skin. Between that and the feeling of being denied, Amara was throbbing faster, tighter, close to coming. But she’d need something, anything to touch her to get her off, and she couldn’t even think to try, so she just lay there, defeated and used and dumb as above her Letitia rutted her clit against Amara’s parted lips and came with a sharp cry.

“Esther,” she sobbed, “Esther, Esther, fuck, mine,” she snarled, deep and inhuman, and then she collapsed onto her knees, then her stomach, leaving her hips quivering against Amara’s collarbone and her ribs poking against Amara’s face. It all pinned Amara quite cleanly, so she stayed there for a while, dull but buzzing with arousal and the heady feeling of being used. She didn’t really want to get herself off, though, not after what she’d heard. Was Letitia seriously hung up on some other woman? She waited a few more seconds for Letitia to collect herself, then unceremoniously pulled her off Amara’s body and onto the floor, leaving her sprawled at a safe distance.

Letitia looked blearily over to her, confused and a bit pleading, and Amara smiled. “Who’s Esther?”

“What?” Letitia blinked at her incredulously, then tilted her head, concerned. “…it’s your name?”

Yeah, okay. “It’s not?” Except now that she thought about it, on the day the second lord Carson had died, she’d… used it as a fake name? What? She’d been sick. She hadn’t even left the inn. “Wait. I said it to Carson…” She paused. “You were there? When your cousin died?”

In front of her Letitia had gone very still. “You’re misremembering things,” she said. Lied. She was still weak right now, and Amara could hear the panic creeping through her voice. Panic about Amara remembering. Oh.

Too close to run. “Ah. My mistake, then,” Amara said sheepishly, “I’m sure it’s fine. If you’ll excuse me–”

“No.” In front of her the monster had risen to its feet. Wiry, inhumanly strong, growling, seen indoors. Vampire, and Amara’s sword wasn’t even in the building. “You’re a terrible actor. Look at me,” the vampire said, low and commanding, just like Letitia down to the slight hiss as the air curled around her fangs. Her limbs angled brutally against the soft candlelight, looking just as desperate as she’d been in bed, and god this was so much worse than some power-mad noble. Obsession like this from a thing like Letitia could break her completely.

But the vampire was waiting, at least, which meant she could be reasoned with. “Or I could leave,” Amara offered, backing slowly towards the door.

“I can’t risk it. No.” But she seemed uncertain, and Amara kept stepping back and closer to safety as the vampire shuffled anxiously in front of her. “Don’t take another step. Please just look at me.” Amara took another step – to no response, ha, coward – and then another, and then another and the vampire hissed, terrified, and rushed her all at once.

She was barely a meter from the door when Letitia tackled her and sent them both crashing into the far wall, pinned there as the vampire scrabbled at her neck and head. When she tried to shout Letitia jammed her whole hand into Amara’s mouth and shouldered her into the floor. Fighting had never really been an option, not hand-to-hand against a vampire, but Amara still kicked out at Letitia’s bare legs until she hit something delicate. Letitia let out a choked noise, reeling, and Amara tried to pull herself away but found herself crushed against the other woman’s body as the vampire clung to her with her free hand. And then Letitia’s legs replaced the hand on her back and Amara felt the vampire’s fingers running up her face and around her neck, tilting her head back and forcing their eyes to meet.

She looked disgusted, at Amara or herself was hard to tell, harder when her eyes did their magic and spread their soft, dull feeling through Amara’s nerves. It was really so much better to not have to think about any of this. Running-Amara had been a bit of an idiot, after all, so, so eager to ruin a good thing, and like this… well. She smiled calmly at her lady’s terrified face, shook out her terror and angled herself calm and comforting, thinking for something to say. Human, yes, always good to be human. “Letitia–”

Her lady screeched and shoved her back strong enough to send Amara stumbling halfway across the room. She wasn’t wanted, and so she just watched as Letitia sat against the wall, slid down to the floor, and buried her head in her hands.