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Palming his heavy cock, thick with his own desire, Raskyuil slipped into his tent. He immediately dropped down on his bed and tore at the front of his pants until his cock spilled into his palm, hot and rigid with his need. His head tipped back as he stroked his length, his hips thrusting instinctively up into it. He worked his fist along his length, pumping into it as he grunted with every savage thrust. His balls ached and strained, his cock jerking in his fist, but he worked it harder and faster, squeezing the head with a slight twist at the end of every up stroke.
His breath broke out in a pant, his chest heaving as an image formed in his mind of having that small human female pinned beneath him as they rutted against a tree. His hips snapped furiously as he imagined that it was her hot, wet little cunt that he was thrusting up into eagerly. A growl tore from him as his hips kicked instinctively and his balls pulled up with a tingle that rushed from his sack straight up his back. His prick jerked hard in his palm, spewing out frothy spurts of seed in hard sprays over and over again as he brought himself to swift completion. Gulping for air, he released his cock, allowing it to drop onto the cooling mess spread across his belly.
He was sated and yet still unfulfilled with a hint of desperation and need whispering in his blood. He had found relief, but it wasn’t enough. Nowhere near enough.
ChapterSeven
MaryAnne scrubbed tiredly at her face as she made her way into the kitchen. Although they had left the carnival as the sun was sinking from the sky, it had still been a long enough walk that it was well after dark by the time they arrived at the home. And even then, there was much that had to be done as they readied themselves for bed. Baths had to wait until morning when it would be warmer and water easier to fetch from the well. That meant it was going to be a long day, and she was still trying to recover from the day before.
Especially since she had returned from the carnival to find Sabrina weeping just outside the home. At that moment, she could’ve killed Jamie. It had taken a hot cup of chamomile tea with a liberal amount of honey to get the girl to calm down enough to explain what happened. That explanation didn’t do him any favors nor lessen MaryAnne’s murderous feelings toward him. She shook her head. She always knew that he was a spoiled creep. He always told on himself with the little things, but for some reason Sabrina hadn’t seen it and was now suffering because of it.
Perhaps a little treat for breakfast would help Sabrina get out of her funk and start healing.
Truthfully, the children had more than enough treats at the carnival to last them until the midwinter holiday, but one more wouldn’t hurt. There were some sausage links in the cold box from the last pig they slaughtered, and they had plenty of honey from the hives beyond the walls of the children’s home that could be slathered onto some hot pancakes. That was always a favorite treat among the children, and it would only take her a few minutes to whip up a nice batter.
Humming a few bars of a half-remembered song from before the Ravening, MaryAnne bent to grab a bowl and smiled when she heard hesitant footsteps approach from behind her. She expected the girl to sleep in, but Molly was the only one in the house who was determined to get up as early as her to help out with breakfast.
“Morning, Molly. Do me a favor, would you, and run to the cold box for the sausage links.”
The footsteps shuffled to a stop, and MaryAnne straightened to peer over her shoulder. Molly stood there, her body stiff and her pallor a sickly white that made MaryAnne frown with concern.
“Molly? Are you all right?” Setting the large mixing bowl on the counter, she slowly approached the girl, noticing as she drew closer that her lip trembled and her wide eyes were filled with a sheen of tears. “Is it Sabrina?”
The girl nodded and then shook her head, her face crumpling. “She’s gone. They’re all gone,” she whispered, her voice distorted by the sob that broke from her.
“What?” MaryAnne gasped, her eyebrows flying up and she closed the remaining distance in a hurry and grabbed Molly’s arms, making her meet her eyes. “What do you mean?”
“They’regone!” Molly shrieked, a wail of anguish leaving her. “Sabrina, Sally, all the children in the dorms. They’re all gone! I thought that maybe they woke up early and were out playing in the yard, but there’s no one there. There’s no sign of them anywhere! I looked, MaryAnne, I swear. I looked everywhere! But they’re gone. My sisters are gone and all of the little ones. Everyone,” she sobbed, her body sagging as her legs failed to support her any longer in her grief.
MaryAnne wrapped her arms around the girl, catching her before she fell. Gone? But that was impossible. They had all returned home just last night and had been tucked into bed. They were safe behind these walls. The children’s home was a safe place… wasn’t it?
“Tibby!” she yelled as loud as she could as she shouldered Molly’s weight and attempted to point her in the direction of the table.
Something crashed overhead as it was knocked over and was immediately followed by the sound of footsteps rushing over the floorboards above as Tibby and Jason hurried from their room and down the stairs.
“MaryAnne, what in the world…” Tibby exclaimed, her worn robe wrapped tightly around her as she rushed into the kitchen, her husband close behind her, a rifle in his hand.
“Something has happened,” MaryAnne rushed to explain as she helped Molly lower herself into a chair. “Molly went to check on the children, and they’re all gone! How could this have happened?”
“What? Are you sure?” Tibby gasped, and at Molly’s nod, she swung around to her husband. “Jason…”
Jason nodded as he spun around without waiting for her to complete her sentence, his bare feet thumping on the floor as he ran out of the kitchen. His deep voice bellowed through the house as he first climbed the stairs and then again as he roused Max before they both came rushing back down, their feet hitting the stairs hard, the door slamming behind them. Tibby’s hands shook as she went over to Molly and patted shoulders soothingly.
“They couldn’t have gone far. Don’t worry,” she murmured. “Jason will find them and bring them back home. I’m sure that this is just some prank after all the fun at the carnival. The little scamps are always good for a joke to give us all gray hairs,” Tibby added with a weak chuckle.
MaryAnne bit her lip and moved away from the table to peer out the kitchen window. The kids had gotten up to all kinds of games, but for them all to simply disappear from the grounds was unlike them. The grounds of the children’s home appeared as bleak and empty as the house. There were no happy sounds of children anywhere, not even the smallest sign that it could all be just a game. The entire house itself and the grounds surrounding it seemed to be waiting quietly for something. A quiet before the storm as a stillness pervaded MaryAnne’s awareness. There was nothing there except the sound of Molly’s quiet sobs and Tibby’s softspoken words to the girl. Nothing except yawning emptiness.
Leaves scattered with a brisk breeze that sent the trees outside rattling. She usually loved fall days. The Ravening gave her a new appreciation for the season when before it had been all about the parties and fun of the spooky season. Now she loved it because everything seemed to slowly wind down to rest, the dead leaves a reminder of change and time’s ceaseless march forward—the old dies away but makes room for something new. It was the last hurrah of life and the lushness of all of nature’s gifts before the quiet of winter.
A fall day gave her a sense of hope for an even better next year and happiness as the food that the children’s home grew was brought in and the days were spent busily at the stove, salting, canning, preserving food for the winter. That was how she should have been spending her day, but now she was crippled by an ominous feeling that crept through the house, slowly filling the emptiness with something far worse.
Her breath escaped her in a ragged, fearful pant and then suddenly the silence was broken by a sudden riot of voices, and she craned her head toward the gate. She couldn’t see anything at her angle, but it didn’t sound like the children. The voices were loud, profanities shouted. Concerned, she exchanged a worried look with Tibby before hurrying to the front door, leaving the older woman to care for Molly.
She raced from the kitchen and across the gathering room for the front door and threw it open to see several townspeople there standing in a loose half-circle in front of Jason as he faced them down, his rifle held in a relaxed manner at his side. The only indication that whatever was going on wasn’t friendly and was escalating quickly was the bewildered look on Max’s face as he stood beside his father, his own rifle nervously in front of him.
“Fuck.” Hissing the word vehemently between her teeth, MaryAnne opened the door and stepped out into the cool air, the shouts of the townspeople rising abruptly without the thick walls to muffle them.
“They’re gone! Each and every one of our children has just disappeared into the night,” a surprisingly portly man in a heavy red coat at the front shouted, his unkempt graying whiskers making him appear like an overfed scruffy terrier stuffed into a red sweater. Jamie’s father, Walter Duncan.
