Free The Devil's Concubine (The Devil of Ponong series #1) by Jill Braden Page B

had to bite
her lip to stop it from quivering: Eventually, Jezereet would look like this.
    “Gently, Ivitch. He probably won’t remember
any lesson you try to teach him.”
    As Ivitch hefted at the ghoul in his hands,
QuiTai swiped a vial of sticky black resin from the crate by the cot and hid it
in her blouse. Empty vials rolled loose under their feet with several vinegar
bottles. The smugglers evidently had paid the dirt Thampurian in black lotus
instead of coin.
    The Thampurian gurgled.
    “What did he say?” QuiTai asked.
    “Who cares what the fuck a vapor dreamer
says?”
    “He looks pretty far gone. We’ll get nothing
useful from him now. I’ll come back to interrogate him later.”
    The Thampurian gurgled again.
    “Let him go, Ivitch.”
    Ivitch wiped his hand on his trousers. “I
already did.”
    QuiTai knelt before the man. His tongue
protruded from his mouth.
    “Why are his lips turning purple?” Ivitch
asked.
    “Because you crushed his throat, you idiot.”
    “He shouldn’t have been so weak.”
    Red bubbles foamed at the edges of the Thampurian’s
mouth as he gasped for air. His hand clawed at something only his glazed eyes
could see.
    “Excellent work, Ivitch. You’ve killed our
only link to the smugglers, not to mention a Thampurian citizen, and the
brother of the harbor master.”
    “An addict and a thief.”
    “I’m sure that the colonial government will
take that into account when they try you for murder.”
    Ivitch slapped his hands together as if
washing himself of the matter and crossed the skiff.
    “For the love of – Ivitch, get down. We
can’t afford to be seen now.” QuiTai turned back to the man on the cot. His
struggle for air was painful to hear. “Petrof will hear about this. You weren’t
supposed to kill him.”
    Ivitch already had a foot on the next boat. “He’s
not dead.”
    If only she could keep him alive. She glanced
frantically around the bare shack, but even if an entire surgery full of
instruments had been there, she wouldn’t have known what to do for him. She was
overcome with sadness: One day, Jezereet’s beautiful face would be like his,
her eyes abnormally large, her lips virulent red, her soul lost forever in the
nothingworld of vapor.
    She risked raising her voice to say, “Ivitch,
you bastard, get back here!”
    “My orders were to make sure you didn’t sleep
with Zul. You’re on your own now.”
    QuiTai bit back the insults she gladly would
have shouted at him if it hadn’t been for the soldiers.
    She waited for Ivitch to reach the dock
before she leaned over the dirt Thampurian and lowered her fangs. Fear seeped
through the fog of the vapor as his eyes darted about in search of help. She
pressed her mouth to his, gently parted his lips with her tongue, and milked
enough drops of her venom into his mouth for a gentle death that would end his
suffering; she stroked his throat to help the poison down.
    He gripped her arm with sudden, bruising
strength. His eyes widened as his pupils imploded. Fleeting wisps of his thoughts,
blurred by fear and dreamer’s eyes, pushed into her mind as her venom invaded
his brain. Words bubbled from his mouth with the red foam of his blood and
burst gently on his lips. Help Kyam Zul
find what he seeks.
    The Oracle had spoken.
    Before the Thampurians had brought their
black lotus to the island, evoking the Oracle had been an ordeal. The women of
her clan gathered rare roots and seeds and cooked them into a red tar that was
then smoked, much as the black lotus was. The difference was that black lotus
wasn’t fatal; at least, not if used in extreme moderation. The red tar always
killed. The visions were more potent, but given the price, her clan rarely
evoked their goddess.
    The dirt Thampurian’s head lolled. She felt
his waning life. At least he wasn’t afraid anymore.
    She crawled across the hull and peeked over
the side. Ivitch was already at the beach. He bypassed the harbor master’s
office and went to the