Chapter 2

There was no transition. One moment Zoey was talking to the blonde-haired goddess, and the next she opened her eyes to a crammed, tight space, a warm body pressed beneath her. Despite the lack of cognitive shift, she gasped and startled, as if she’d been asleep for a long time and had just jerked to consciousness.

“Shit, you’re awake,” a foreign, crisply accented voice said. “Calm down. Easy.”

Zoey shoved herself up, but she hit her head, stopping her. Her hands shot up to grab at her now-banged head, but those were stuck in place, too.

In fact, as her panic mounted and she started to thrash in place, she discovered she was locked in place. Wherever she’d ended up, the space was compact enough she had zero mobility—or close enough. Zoey didn’t have claustrophobia, but who the hell was okay with being crammed so tight they were unable to even move one’s hands to their head?

For several moments she panicked in a desperate attempt to escape the dark, tight space she found herself in. Her movements became violent as she flailed. The soft body pressed beneath her yelped, then protested.

“Hey. Hey. Listen to me. I said listen.”

The hiss—commanding and infuriated—jerked Zoey out of her panic by dint of intensity alone. She quieted, hyperventilation still in full force, but at least getting a hold of her thrashing.

She blinked down into the piercing blue eyes of her entombed partner.

“Shards are brutal, and oftentimes strange,” whoever was pinned beneath her said, “but always fair. We wouldn’t have been summoned here only to be provided a slow death with no escape. So stop panicking, and think.”

The authority in her voice forced Zoey to do as ordered: to think.

Unfortunately, it was about the cloudy-ice of her pale irises, and the sharp edge of her jaw, the refined accent she spat each of her words with. The delicate, small frame of the person crushed beneath her.

The way their bodies were crammed together.

The way their naked bodies were crammed together.

Breasts, shoved against each other. Stomachs, crotches, thighs, too, a tangle of sweaty limbs, the tiny space suffocating with warmth from their extended sharing.

Zoey’s cock twitched.

Her partner of circumstance sucked in a gasp of air as Zoey’s member expanded, slowly but steadily filling the space between their stomachs. It was far, far from a subtle thing, with how generous Ephy had been in her bestowal. It engorged with blood until it had stiffened all the way to above their belly buttons. It scalded Zoey’s skin, so she assumed it must be doing the same to her partner, that the heat emanating wasn’t in Zoey’s head.

Her face burned, and by how her partner’s eyes had widened, Zoey assumed she had also been shocked out of a response. Though, it was only a natural reaction, considering the position they found themselves in. Or so she assumed ... she was hardly a veteran in this whole, cock-wielding profession.

“Well,” Zoey eventually said, breaking the stunned silence. “Good news is, I’m not panicking anymore.”

“Why the hell are you hard?” her partner shrilled.

“Because I’m crammed, naked, in a dark space with a gorgeous girl stuffed beneath me?”

“And? So what! How dare you! Do you know who I am?”

Do you know who I am? That was an interesting response that had burst from her partner’s mouth. It indicated something important, at a guess, though it was low on Zoey’s priority list to find out what.

And so much for the calm, assured composure Zoey had been introduced to. Being confronted with a slow death in an underground prison barely large enough to fit two girls wasn’t enough to unnerve her, but a cock pressed against her stomach had her stuttering over her words? Her priorities might be disordered.

Not that Zoey was handling things well, either. The awkwardness of their situation burned into her, lighting up her face, neck, shoulders—probably her whole body. Because what a situation. Just, Zoey’s discomfort tended to manifest as sarcasm, not a lack of composure. “Where are we?” she asked, ironically the calm one, now. It was a deliberate, strained type of composure, seeing how having the soft, hot flesh of a girl’s defined stomach pressed into her cock was excruciatingly difficult to ignore.

“The entrance to a shard, obviously. Now, if you don’t mind, get that thing under control.”

“Not really a choice I have.” The only ‘choice’ was to not start viciously humping, which every instinct in Zoey’s body screamed to do. But however erotic the circumstances she found herself in, Zoey wouldn’t do that to a clearly unwilling participant.

“Well, figure it out.” The girl beneath her squirmed, wiggling Zoey’s cock between their stomachs, and the action wrenched a moan from Zoey’s lips. A moan which silenced—and stilled—the other girl.

“Maybe don’t do that,” Zoey suggested in a sarcastic pant. “Trying to keep things under wraps, remember?”

The rapid breathing of her partner—which hadn’t existed until now—pierced the tiny space they were in, louder even than Zoey’s.

“Alright,” Zoey said. “What’s going on?”

“We’re stuck,” the girl said tightly.

“I’ve deduced that.” Zoey took a calming breath. “What’s your name? Mine’s Zoey.”

“Are you serious?”

“Seeing the situation we’re in, I think pleasantries are in order.”

A long silence, in which only their panting could be heard.

The girl swallowed. “Rosalie.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Rosalie.”

“Enchanted.” Sarcasm dripped from the response, but Zoey forgave it.

“I don’t know what’s going on,” Zoey said. “You said there’s a way out?”

“A shard wouldn’t just kill us, no alternatives offered, so yes. There has to be.”

Zoey shelved the term ‘shard’. “You’ve been awake for a while?”

“Long enough.”

“And you couldn’t figure anything out?”

“Clearly not. The solution lies with you, since none of my runes are applicable here.”

Ephy mentioned those, didn’t she? “What are those? Runes, I mean.”

A long, disbelieving pause.

“Is that some kind of joke?”

“No.”

“You’re in the Fractures. In a shard. What do you mean, ‘what are runes’?”

“Look, princess,” Zoey sighed. “We’re buried underground together, with about an inch of breathing room, so how about you humor me?”

Rosalie’s response came after a few tense moments. Zoey had stopped supporting her head, instead resting it to the left of Rosalie’s, pressing her forehead into the coarse material of whatever casket they found themselves in. She was trying very, very hard to ignore her cock’s positioning sandwiched between their bodies, to little success.