Creation Mage 6 Dante King (online e reader .txt) 📖

the rest of the gang gathered around. By the time a circle had formed around me, I was back on my feet, managing to save a little of my tattered dignity, though my ass was killing me.

“I’ve always been mercurial on my views of the part the ass plays in times of recreation,” Igor said conversationally. His thundercuss was still smoking in his hand. “I’ve never baulked at introducing a little powder to the rectum, but never in such a forceful and straightforward way, my boy.”

“You make it sound like I shot myself in the ass,” I said, wincing a little as I flexed a cheek.

“Well, it takes two to tango,” Igor said.

“This shit, this powder,” I asked, “it’s not going to make me sterile, is it?”

“No,” Reginald said. “No, no, mate. I’m quite sure of that. For someone of your size and muscle mass, it would have no effect whatsoever.”

“I think it’d be best if I took you back to the ranch,” Aunt Ruth said, her forehead wrinkled in a slight frown.

“Oh, crap on a spatula!” Great Granddaddy Gorlbadock cursed. “We’ve only got one more hunting ground left before we can retire for lunch.”

“Don’t let me stop you,” I said hurriedly.

I flexed my right leg and then the left. My ass pulled tenderly. You don’t really give much thought to just how much work your butt does in the walking process until some half-drunken mage shoots you in it.

“Come on, dear,” Aunt Ruth said, pulling me away from the rest of the group, “let me take you back to the house and sort you out with some medicaments. I’m sure we have an unguent for these powder burns that would be most efficacious…”

As I allowed Aunt Ruth to lead me back through the trees, following the path we had already cut through the resinous undergrowth, I shot a look back at the group.

Great Granddaddy Gorlbadock stumped forward and clipped Igor around the back of the head.

“You can’t just go shooting guests on a gnome hunt, boy!” he snapped. “Who d’you think you are? A damned politician?”

I caught Enwyn and Leah’s gazes just before they were hidden by the trees. Enwyn’s eyes were shining with professionally suppressed mirth, while Leah’s were full of something else.

If I had to hazard a guess, I would have said her eyes were full of shrewdness at her Aunt leading me away.

Aunt Ruth and I got back to the ranch house in fairly good time. My ass was still tender and throbbing, but some of the stinging fire had been taken out of it. I wasn’t sure whether that was from the walk or from the cold air that now permeated the multiple holes in my pants.

Aunt Ruth led me up to a bathroom on the second or third floor of the ranch. It was hard to keep a track of what floor you were on in the Chaosbane family home. That morning at breakfast for instance, I had slipped out to use the washroom and, on glancing out of the window, had been surprised to see that I was now at the top of the house without ever having set foot on a stair. When I had returned to the breakfast room, the view from the large double doors had been straight out onto the back lawn.

Ruth and I were both still dressed in our orange hunting attire so, when she had shown me the door to the bathroom, Aunt Ruth excused herself, saying that she wished to change into something that made her feel less like a root vegetable and more like a human being.

I walked into the bathroom and shut the door. Igor’s cloak of many shapes had enabled me to emulate the get-ups of my fellow hunters that morning, so it only took me a moment to switch into something a little less silly. My usual attire felt a lot less baggy and heavy than the hunting garb. Thankfully, the damage the cloak had sustained from Igor’s blunderbuss was completely repaired.

I pulled my pants down and looked at my ass in the enormous mirror that made up one wall of the bathroom. Under close scrutiny, it did not look so bad. A few superficial cuts and abrasions from the blasting powder, but most of the damage had been done in welt and bruise form.

“Those gnomes must be tough little bastards,” I mused as I poked at a remarkably sore welt on my left buttcheek.

The door opened, and I hurriedly pulled my pants back up.

Aunt Ruth swept in, dressed in a very comfortable looking navy bathrobe.

“Ah, just missed the show, did I?” she said with a wink.

She looked a damn sight better out of that pumpkin costume, and doubly good in a robe.

“Not much to see, I’m afraid,” I said with an easy grin. “Just a lot of bruising. The pants took most of it.”

“I would have called it a good show, no matter what, dear,” the older woman said.

I wasn’t quite sure what to say to that.

Aunt Ruth held up a small glass tube and placed it on the counter. “This is for any grazes, cuts, or bruises,” she said. “I can vouch for it. It sorts out bruises when I’ve been a little… rough with myself.”

Those last three words were as loaded with innuendo as any three words uttered by a woman.

“Well,” I said, still quite unsure how to play this quickly escalating scenario, “if it has your personal seal of approval, that’s good enough for me.”

“One has to look after oneself, Mr. Mauler,” Aunt Ruth said, swinging her auburn curls back from her face. “It’s a bit of a mantra of mine. Take these for instance.”

Aunt Ruth opened her robe with as much insouciance as she might have shown had she been giving me a peek