Fire in the Cave Read Online Free PDF Page A

stop building.
Highhawk’s skin was hot, smooth, a little slippery with sweat
and pigment as she moved atop her prey.
    The witch-girl turned her head, lips parted, eyes open wide in her
painted deer-mask. A quiver of fear went through her as she saw the
hunter’s face, the dark-circled eyes, the bloody red down her
throat… Highhawk’s left hand slid up the back of the
witch-girl’s head, fingers tangled in her hair. She held her
prey still and leaned in for a hungry kiss. Lips brushed against
each other, then pressed, the hunter’s tongue slipping between
them to seek and find and tangle with its mate.
    She gasped for breath as Highhawk released her, then whined as the
hunter’s mouth moved downward, along her throat, kissing the
hollow of her shoulder, tongue licking eagerly. The witch-girl’s
head rolled as she rode the sensations, baring her throat in
surrender as the steady, sliding rhythm of the hand between her legs
stroked away her resistance.
    The weight of Highhawk’s body lifted off her back, and she
rolled onto her side, baring her throat and breasts and stomach in
surrender. Highhawk pulled her close and kissed her once more, her
little breasts pressing against the witch-girl’s larger, softer
ones. The hunter stroked her hair, petting her, trailing warm
fingers down her back, whispering to her with lips still touching.
They were both reaching down, now, hands slipping between thighs,
reaching for heat, for tenderness and pleasure.
    The witch-girl tasted berry-juice, and smoke, and sweat, and the
hunter. Their lips brushed as they moved against each other, their
breasts pressed and slipped, sensitive tips sliding over soft, hot
skin. Below, the witch-girl could feel Highhawk’s fingers
stroking, rolling over and over her bud like waves on the beach. She
mirrored the motion, Highhawk’s bud small and smooth under her
fingertips, rocking towards each other as they drove each other
closer to their finish.
    Highhawk was close, she could tell, her hips pushing faster against
the witch-girl’s hand, her mouth hungrier, nipping at her lips,
gasping against her. The witch-girl smiled and closed her eyes, her
own shoulders starting to shake with the heat inside her, almost
complete, almost visible in its intensity…
    Highhawk’s fingers moved against her faster, frantically, and
the hunter’s mouth closed painfully tight on her breast. The
witch-girl gasped as the heat inside her broke. She came, moaning,
writhing, her hips rocking helplessly, and the hunter’s hands
were on her, in her, holding her, she was prey, she was captured,
taken, caught.
    *********
    They lay together in the pile of leaves and furs. Their heads
cleared as the smoke spiralled out the hole in the roof, into the
night. Highhawk stretched, her smooth stomach arching, her long arms
crossed above her head. Her eyes were half-closed, a look of lazy
satisfaction visible beneath her smeared warpaint.
    “Tell me a story,” said the witch-girl.
    “Mmm. What do you want to hear?” Highhawk murmured.
    The witch-girl was silent for a while. Her eyes were on the painted
skull, high up on the wall. Highhawk was her friend. Highhawk was
one of the brothers’ hunters. She couldn’t ask for help,
but she could ask for stories. “I need to know about the
brothers. About Black-dog.”
    Highhawk yawned. “They lead well. They hunt well. It is good
that we have them. What else do you need to know?”
    The witch-girl’s head rested on Highhawk’s chest.
Highhawk had draped an arm over her, holding her close. The
witch-girl closed her eyes. “I need to know if Black-dog is
dangerous. If I should fix him. Bind him. I have seen him being
cruel.”
    Highhawk was silent. Her chest rose and fell as she breathed. The
witch-girl’s heart thudded.
    “Have you ever seen it?” The witch-girl whispered.
“Have you seen him be cruel, to a woman?”
    Highhawk stared up into the circle of sky, the hole in the roof above
the fire. “I