Bull Moon Rising (Royal Artifactual Guild #1) Read Online Ruby Dixon

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, Fantasy/Sci-fi, Paranormal Tags Authors: Series: Royal Artifactual Guild Series by Ruby Dixon
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Total pages in book: 179
Estimated words: 169943 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 850(@200wpm)___ 680(@250wpm)___ 566(@300wpm)
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They were still better than this crew.

I wash at the basin in my room, splashing water on my muzzle and wondering if everything is about to come crashing down upon Magpie’s nest. This team has to pass or Magpie’s going to lose her position as guild master. We’ll be kicked out and homeless, and I’ll never pay my hand back.

But I don’t know if this is the team to get us out of the hole we’ve been dug into.

It’s been two days of training and I haven’t seen a lick of potential. They’re a stunning disgrace, and I don’t have much time to get them into shape so they can do test runs in the tunnels. I knew it would be bad, and yet I’m staggered anew every time I look at them. I couldn’t have picked a worse team if I tried.

Lark is yawning and belligerent, but I knew she would be. She argues with all my orders and makes faces behind my back.

The slitherskin won’t take off his house, and I’m not entirely convinced he’s listening to a thing I say.

The young priestess cries when she has to run and says a prayer when I look at her.

Gwenna glares at me as if I’m ravishing her friend in front of her eyes.

And Aspeth?

Aspeth tries, at least. Just like yesterday, she tried her hardest today. Just like yesterday, she was the worst of them. She huffs and trudges along the heavily sloped streets of Vastwarren with the best of them, gamely trying to keep up. She truly wants this, I sense, which is annoying because she’s in terrible shape, athletically. It’s also annoying that the more she sweats, the more her clothes cling to her figure and outline the heaving mounds of her tits. It took everything I had not to stare at the dark nipples poking through her flimsy linen top.

I stare at myself in the mirror. Is that a hint of red in my pupils or am I imagining things? I look half-crazed already, and we’ve still weeks to go. It’s the upcoming Conquest Moon that’s making me act like a rut-addled fool. Normally I wouldn’t be mesmerized by a pair of sweaty breasts. I could focus on my work, on molding these students into decent guild members so they can tithe to Magpie’s house and I can pay off some of my debt. I could ignore all distractions.

Instead, here I am marrying a student and daydreaming about the salty sweat trailing between her tits.

The sacred knot swells ever so slightly around the base of my cock like a band, reminding me that things are about to get worse, not better. I rub the ache of it until it lessens, and then towel off and head out of my room to find Magpie.

The kitchen is surprisingly tidy. I expected it to be a mess after training started, but there are no dishes stacked on the table, no half-eaten crusts left about. That doesn’t track. Normally students are exhausted and don’t clean up after themselves in the first few weeks of training. They run the poor nestmaid ragged. They sit at the table and eat (and bitch) as much as possible. But the kitchen is empty except for one notable exception. In a corner near the hearth, the slitherskin’s large, swirling shell is on its side and a tiny bell hangs over the lip, indicating that the owner is inside. Tomorrow we’re going to have to talk about him leaving his shell behind. He can’t just take it everywhere with him. It’s against guild custom for fledglings to wear anything other than their assigned uniforms.

I’m contemplating the best way to approach removing the slitherskin’s house from him when Lark enters the room, muttering under her breath. She’s still in her sweaty uniform, her hair in messy braids. She glances at me and then avoids eye contact, heading for the cabinets and rummaging through them. I probably yelled at her too much today. I probably yelled at all of them too much today. I see my hopes for the future drifting away with every dramatic sigh one of them makes, every time they ask to sit down and take a break.

So then I push them even harder. They’re probably regretting ever joining Magpie’s nest.

“There’s no alcohol,” I tell her, grabbing an apple from the bowl on the table and taking a bite. “You’re wasting your time.”

She turns and glares at me. “I did my time. I just want a quick sip before bed.”

“I mean it. No drinks. You know the rules. And if I find you’ve snuck something in, I’ll have you on belly-crawling drills for the next three weeks.” I devour the apple in two bites and snag another. “I’m tired of all the drunks in this house.”

“You wouldn’t.”


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