The water crushed over me like a collapsing roof.
Cold. Black. Heavy.
For one terrible heartbeat I was sure that was it — Saya, drowned in swamp broth like a badly seasoned dumpling. No glory. No gold. Just muck in my lungs and one very smug frog somewhere laughing at my life choices.
Something dragged me deeper. My ears roared. My chest screamed. I kicked, clawed, thrashed — useless.
Then, by some miracle or spite of the gods, my fingers caught a jutting root. I hauled myself upward with a hysterical grunt and broke the surface—
GASP—
Air punched into me. Mud clung to my eyelashes. I spat out half the swamp.
And then — I saw him.
Someone else in the water.
Big shape. Broad shoulders. Armor glinting under the murk. Moving fast.
Before I could even scream, a tentacle lashed past my face — and something else grabbed it. Wrenching. Tearing. Water exploded around us. More thrashing. A splash like a drowning boar. A heavy, wet crack — something big slammed into something bigger.
Then silence.
The grip on my ankle loosened.
I kicked free and flailed toward the nearest hint of land. My hands found roots, then moss, then solid ground.
A moment later, strong hands hauled me the rest of the way like I weighed nothing.
I lay there coughing, sputtering mud, hair plastered to my face.
Someone knelt over me.
A knight. Helm off. Water running down his jaw. Dark hair stuck to his forehead. Eyes concerned and stupidly handsome.
"Oh," I whispered. "Hello."
He smiled. The kind knights use right before doing something heroic or absolutely idiotic.
We leaned in at the same time.
Our mouths crashed together — desperate, sloppy, grateful-to-be-alive kissing. Warm hands on my waist. My fingers in his soaked hair. Armor clanking. My skirt pushed up. Mud everywhere.
We were stripping each other with frantic fumbling, half drowned and half crazed, bodies finding each other like the world hadn't just tried to swallow us.
He pressed into me and gods—my back arched.
It felt good. So good I couldn't breathe. I moaned into his mouth, clutching him closer.
"Thank you," I gasped against his lips. "Oh gods—thank you—"
He groaned. Deep. Hungry. His hips moved, slow at first, then harder. I cried out, nails digging into his shoulders.
It was raw and messy and glorious, the kind of blind relief-fuck you give the universe for giving you one more minute to live.
He was close. I was closer.
And when it hit me—white-hot, full-body, spine-snapping pleasure—I bit his shoulder and moaned his praise like a prayer I'd never say sober.
He shuddered above me, breath ragged, right on the edge—
My hand brushed against a rock.
A nice heavy one.
Survival instincts: online.
"Oh… sweetheart…" I whispered, stroking his cheek tenderly.
He smiled down at me, dazed, trusting, bliss-drunk.
I swung.
CRACK.
The stone slammed into the side of his head. His eyes rolled back. His body went limp, collapsing beside me with a wet thud into the moss.
I wriggled out from under him, panting, wiping mud from my thighs.
"Sorry, darling," I said sweetly, patting his unconscious face. "But it's survival of the fittest. And I just lost all my loot."
I tugged his coin purse free. Checked his pockets. Examined the quality of his belt buckle.
"Gotta rob you," I informed him gently. "It's not personal."
I kissed two fingers and tapped them to his forehead.
"Thanks for the rescue. And the… cardio."
Then I sat up fully, gathering whatever valuables I could pry off him while he snoozed peacefully in his concussion coma.
The familiar thunderclap of wings rolled through the trees, scattering birds and causing a distant bog-monster to rethink its life choices.
A gust of wind hit me in the face just as the Dragon landed with his usual theatrical flair — talons sinking into moss, wings folding with all the weary elegance of someone who's been forced out of retirement again.
His massive head lowered. His eyes scanned the scene: me, half-naked and glistening with swamp muck, crouched next to a very unconscious, very naked knight, whose coin pouch I was currently freeing with my teeth.
The Dragon blinked.
I blinked back.
"Say it," I warned.
He sniffed, expression unreadable.
Then, in that dry, gravel-silk voice that could curdle wine:
"Well. This looks romantic."
I rolled my eyes. "I'm fine, thanks for asking."
"I wasn't asking," he said. "I was judging."
He tilted his head and gestured a talon toward the knight.
"And he?"
I gave the unconscious lad a once-over. "Concussion. Possibly a sprained ego. He'll live."
The Dragon narrowed his eyes. "He looks like he just survived either a tentacle attack or a particularly adventurous wedding night."
"Bit of both," I said sweetly. "He rescued me. Fought off the swamp squid. Made love to me like a man who'd just faced death. Very heroic. Very sweaty. Very... generous with his hips."
The Dragon made a noise low in his throat. Possibly a groan. Possibly acid reflux.
I jangled the knight's coin pouch. "And now he's funding my post-traumatic spa day. It's a perfect arrangement."
The Dragon stared at me.
Then back at the knight.
Then at me again.
"And how, precisely," he said, "did we go from drowning to fornication and theft in under five minutes?"
"Talent," I said, grinning.
He exhaled through his nostrils. "The bard wasn't exaggerating. You really are a one-woman economic cycle."
I stood, shaking water from my skirt like a wet cat with expensive tastes. "I lost everything, you know. All our loot. All my silk. The mule. The mule had my scented oils."
"Yes, tragic," he deadpanned. "Shall I compose an elegy for Janet the mule and her brave contribution to your wardrobe?"
I gave him a look. He gave one right back.
"Anyway," I said, patting the knight on the cheek. "He'll be fine. Might wake up with trust issues and some confusing dreams, but wisdom comes with a price."
The Dragon snorted. "Apparently so does you."
I climbed onto his back, smug and mud-slick. "What can I say? I'm a generous lover. And a pragmatic opportunist."
He sighed. "One of these days, you'll shock me. You'll save someone without robbing them after."
I leaned down, resting against his warm scales. "Maybe. If the next one brings me breakfast first."
He groaned. The wings unfurled.
"Try not to drop me," I added. "I'm still damp in unfortunate places."
"You're always damp in unfortunate places," he muttered, and took off.