Chapter One
Taylor
“Beg for me.”
I open my mouth to comply before a sharp burst of pain explodes across my tender skin. His tutting effectively muzzling me.
“Not with your words, with those pretty little desperate noises you make.”
My wrists burn, a slight distraction from the blows that cause my back to arch so sharply I might snap in half. I should be embarrassed by how wet it makes me. His palm colliding with my flesh and the rumble of satisfaction in his chest as I scream. I would scream his name if I knew it.
The stranger has never bothered with that detail. He’s been dominating me. Bringing my body to the limit, blurring that perfect line between pleasure and pain for months now. Every time it’s exquisite, he spends hours teasing me, toying with me, punishing me.
“Good. Now cry those pretty tears for me, my perfect little slut.” His palm lands against my raw ass again and a sob wretches free from my throat. His voice does something to me. It’s the deepest I’ve ever heard. Like melted chocolate poured over gravel. It hooks into my lower abdomen and makes me squirm.
His dark laugh at my reaction is my favorite. He knows how he effects me. He loves it. Clawed hands reach around my chin as he jerks my head up to his shadowed face. He lets me see his giant, imposing body. Every ridge of his abs and cut of his chiseled muscles. He absolutely lets me see his unworldly, impossibly huge cock, but never his face.
“Close your eyes, pretty girl.”
I obey. I always do. I don’t know if I could fight it even if I wanted to.
His breath fans across my face, the smell of cinnamon ghosting against my skin. Then his hot tongue is running up the curve of my cheek, sampling my tears.
No face, no name. It doesn’t really matter though, since he’s not real.
Every night when I fall asleep, my shadow man comes for me. I’d suspect he’s a demon, except for the fact he seems to want to destroy my soul rather than possess it.
Another slap is all the warning I get that he’s circled back behind me before I’m screaming again. He’s never gentle. Never tender. Always brutal.
He forces his giant member into me in one swift thrust, rearranging my insides as I scream through the pain. Loving every second of it.
“Oh. My. God.” I gasp out the words as he pistons into me wishing there was a phrase more suited to describe the delicious destruction he wreaks on my body.
“God won’t help you, pet. Fuck, I plan to defile you so thoroughly even lucifer himself won’t take you.”
His words are growls now. Every syllable consuming me. Snaking between my legs and sliding against my core, better than fingertips or a toy ever could be. The echo of his words fades, the sound of my own pain tinged moans mixing with the slap of his flesh against mine and his grunts, making the coil inside of me threaten to snap.
My teeth sink into my bottom lip, begging my body to not betray my impending orgasm. He gets to say when I come. He hates it when my body takes the liberty. Even though I know he fucks me like this to illicit exactly that reaction. He knows all my spots, and he tortures them relentlessly. Anything that brings me pleasure or pain, he knows.
He knows my body better than I do. With a silent curse I stiffen. Matching the lack of movement inside of me as he stills.
“Were you about to come on my cock pet? Without permission?”
I could lie. I could shake my head and deny it, but there’s no point. He knows. Instead I whimper, tensing for the punishment.
His claw wraps around my throat so tightly it forces my eyes open as they water, bulging as I’m starved for air. He’s summoned a mirror in-front of me, probably to fully enjoy the look on my face as he chokes me.
I can’t blame him. As fucked as it is I don’t think I look more beautiful than when I’m like this. On my hands and knees, hand cuffs around my wrists, tears rolling down my cheeks. My dark skin covered in a sheen of sweat, wearing the demon behind me’s hand like a necklace.
His claws dig into my skin as his other fist wraps around my braids pulling me back toward him until my back is flush to his hot, hard, sculpted chest.
His hand loosens around my throat as his other tightens in my hair and I suck in the air greedily. Looking back at the mirror I flinch slightly. I’m not at war with my body anymore, but that doesn’t mean I love less than flattering angles like this. In this position, on my knees with my stomach and chest bared to the mirror it’s hard not to focus on the over roundness of my body.
My head jerks back, hot tears stinging the corner of my eyes.
“Stop. This body, including every thought in your pretty little head belong to me. I only want you thinking about me splitting you in half.” His rumble snaps me back to the present and I have to fight down a hysterical giggle. I’m being punished by a demon dream lover and still somehow worried about my body. Typical. Obviously my shadow man doesn’t care considering he’s still so hard inside of me I feel him pulsing.
Before I can even consider myself in the mirror for another second, pain and pleasure surge through my veins as a set of razor sharp fangs sink into my neck.
He starts to move inside of me again, the euphoria lazily winding through me like it does every time he bites me. My insides flutter as my fugitive orgasm makes itself known. His fangs don’t leave my throat but my mind booms with his voice.
“Come, pet.”
***
As usual, by the time I wake up the vividness of my dream has faded. If not for the flash of deep purple flesh patterned like long, slender fingers around my neck in the mirror I’d think I was crazy.
It fades as quickly as I notice it, but the soreness doesn’t. That delicious ache between my legs reminding me I’ve been thoroughly used.
At this point I don’t really know why I even bother dating in meat space. It’s not as if Tinder could possibly provide me with a seven foot, ethereal sex god the way my dreams do. Still, the pesky detail of him not being real always brings me back here. Waiting for another mediocre date in yet another Starbucks.
At least the dark tiled floor, wall of colorful tumblers and dark panelled wood is familiar. Hell even the smells are familiar, ground coffee and baked goods. The faint hint of bubblegum vape juice wafting off the crowd of high-schoolers that just set up court at a corner table.
“Taylor?”
Well, at least he looks like his picture. Tall, deep, rich skin. A tight nicely trimmed beard. Certainly attractive.
“Hey Logan. Yeah, how’s it going?”
The sharply dressed man smiles brightly and I try to match it, but who am I kidding there’s no way you’re getting golden retriever energy out of me at 8am for a coffee date.
Mercifully he heads straight to the counter and I’m afforded a warm London Fog to wrap my fingers around as we sit down and go through the typical coffee date questions.
Where are you from? Oh cool. What do you do? Yup I totally know exactly what an insurance adjuster is.
“Taylor?”
Shit.
“Uh, sorry, I take a minute for the caffeine to kick in.”
He chuckles and a small sigh of relief escapes me. I don’t want to be an asshole, even if the chemistry with button down shirt and bold tie Logan is officially sporting an F-.
“I asked what you do?”
Plastering on a look that won’t have me clocked for RBF I give a quick run down.
“I work in a call center that caters to pharmacists. So I’m a legal drug dealer.”
He gives me the appropriate laugh at my joke and I successfully avoid rolling my eyes. Not at him, at myself.
“What about outside of work?”
I have my usual answer locked and loaded but before it makes it out, the truth breaks free instead.
“I listen to podcasts while I smoke weed and crochet.”
He blinks slowly and I have to bring my drink to my lips to stifle a howl of laughter. Perhaps bold ties are where the adventurous streak stops for Logan.
His full rich belly laugh surprises me. “Alright Taylor. I see you. What podcasts do you like?”
With a grin I feel my usual walls of sarcasm and self deprecation melt away. Maybe someone actually could like me for me. Take that, Mel.
“I listen to the Faebound podcast.” He might as well know all my red flags nice and early.
“Oh yeah, that’s the one with the anonymous creator right?” His enthusiasm hasn’t turned to condescension yet, a great sign.
“Yup, nobody knows who he is. No name, no face, just the voice.” I can’t keep the note of exhilaration out of my tone but I know Logan probably misses it entirely.
Even with this new spurt of first date honesty I think I’ll keep the dreams I have about a demon with a podcasters voice defiling me every night to myself.
“So, do you believe in the fae realm then?” His expression is open but there’s enough of an edge to his tone I know to reel in the honesty.
“Don’t be silly. I just like a good story.” He nods, seemingly satisfied and my stomach boils in protest.
Overall it’s a decent date, bland but comfortable. If it were a dinner date I might have actually let Logan take me home, even though I’m not interested in a second date. A girl has needs though, and buzzing one out gets boring after awhile.
Then a familiar shrill melody blares from my phone triggering my unwittingly Pavlovian response. Panic.
“It’s my work, excuse me a second.”
Stepping out into the early morning sun I force my lungs to function before I stab at the button.
“Hello?” I wish I wasn’t like this. Every time my work calls or texts, or I get an email, I immediately enter panic mode. I know why; sooner or later I know what’s coming. It’s inevitable. My boss will see their mistake in hiring me, just like Logan would see the mistake in dating me if we had more in our future than today.
“Taylor. You’re late.”
My stomach falls out from under me. Pulling the phone away from my ear I eye the time frowning, my scheduled start time still 32 minutes away.
“My schedule said 9:30.” Forcing the words out instead of the bile forming in my throat is an Olympic feat, but I manage it.
“No. I sent an email last night that I needed you in early. Did you not put your work email on your phone like I told you?”
My carefully prepared speech about boundaries and work life balance dies on my lips as he continues, bulldozing right over my opportunity to speak. It’s not surprising, Devin doesn’t really do conversations as much as he does lectures.
“Look. It doesn’t even matter. Don’t bother coming in today. I’ll have HR get in touch for you to pick up your stuff. You’re fired.”
Chapter Two Alerion
TEN YEARS AGO
“What is the point of books I can’t read? It’s cruel, you lock them in a cage whilst they beg to be held and you force me to stand by and watch them wither.”
Kembran pinches his snout, the rusted scales beneath his claws reflecting the light of the spring sun in new directions. I wager if I were anyone else he’d have smoke coiling out of those scrunched nostrils, but I know better. Dragon’s are supposed to be stoic and perhaps I’d have agreed with that the first several years I spent in this library guided by the grumpy keeper of the tomes. Now, well I’d say he’s downright dramatic.
“It’s the restricted section for a reason young master Alerion. No pretty words or heart felt pleas can change it.” His arms cross over his chest with a note of finality but I conveniently choose that moment to stop paying attention to his non-verbal queues.
“Surely the future king wouldn’t count amongst those restricted?” I press with a look of friend innocence plastered on my face.
Another long sigh rattles from him as he turns and walks down the golden sun-soaked corridor back to the desk he usually haunts. I suppose the future king is in fact counted as restricted. Well, it was worth a shot.
With a shrug, I make my way back to the main reading area of the enormous palatial library. The dozens of plush armchairs sit empty and as usual my only company is the millions of books that cover every wall of the three story building.
With a final forlorn glance toward the padlocked gates that gaurd the volumes beyond my reach I turn back to the small pile of books on the table.
The warm scent of cinnamon and oak envelopes me as darkness falls across my vision, warm palms pressed gently over my eyes.
“Have you been arguing with Kembran again?”
Relaxing into the muscular chest behind me I let my limbs loosen.
“Are you accusing me of being disagreeable Sylv?” His deep ambrosia laugh vibrates through me warming my insides with adoration. Spinning in his arms, the darkness falls, his hands coming to rest around my waist.
“Never.” His lips quirk up in a devastating grin that floods my veins with heat. It’s only been a week since Sylv left for the court of Shadows. A blip in the thousands of years I intend to spend with him, but it may as well have been an eternity.
I want to consume him. The air between us is practically vibrating with his desire, my own ramping up in response. He looks even more powerful than when I saw him off. His dark hair and chaotic curls beg my fingers to slide through the silky strands. The deep mahogany locks rich against his flawless porcelain skin.
As I look my fill I fight to keep my features impassive. Sylvanus is the most beautiful being I’ve ever laid eyes on, but the steady glow from the golden tattoo beneath his open tunic is a reminder he is also becoming the most dangerous. The King of Destruction. The King of Tragedy. What do prophecies really know though? They are far too cryptic to take at face value.
His fingers run down the curve of my jawline, his lips following their trail making my brain stutter and short circuit.
“Your mark is strong.” I gasp out the words as his teeth graze over my pulse point. He nods burying his face against my neck fully.
“Yes. Any day now and we’ll need to start planning my crowning ball.” His voice is tight.
It’s a sad thing whenever someone we love passes to the afterward. It’s a waking nightmare for Sylvanus. Neither he or I expected to step into the throne for another thousand years. It’s almost unheard of for a first century prince to be king.
“There’s really nothing that can be done?” My hand finds his hair, gently stroking it as I pull him against me.
“You know the fates rules better than any of us, Rion.”
Swallowing hard I robotically repeat the phrase that’s been drilled into my head my entire life.
“Your future is your own, until you see it. Then it’s the fates.” He nods gravely.
“Even the king of the afterward can’t interfere.”
“A pesky fact Rowan left out when he made his deal with Hadine.” The words are bitter in my mouth.
Rage flashes in Sylvanus’s light violet eyes. I sympathise. I’d like to wring that demons neck myself. Even if Sylvanus’s father should have known better. With a brisk clap of his hands Sylvanus straightens his towering form again, his shoulders squared as if he might be able to fight the future with fists and claws.
“It’s no matter. My father will fade soon to fulfill his contract in the afterward. Once I am king I will be free to do what matters most.”
I don’t envy Sylvanus for needing to step into this role so early, but I can’t help the sludge that forms in my gut when I contemplate what that means for us. He will be the King of Aetherice, across the realm. Running the kingdom entirely. While I remain a Prince of Blightbloom, at the whims of my mother and father, the Queen and King, until my mother deems me ready to rule.
The imbalance frightens me. Still, I can’t let my fears free to the world. It would be cruel. Sylv can’t do anything about his ascension or my insecurity surrounding it. Only time will tell if my concerns are founded. So instead I shove my fears down and plaster on a grin for my lover.
“And what is that?”
His eyes spark at my question, the air between us blooming with intense pheromones and electric need.
His fangs nip against my neck drawing a deep groan from my chest.
“Marrying you.” His voice is a low purr, but the words might as well have been shouted given the dramatic effect they have on me.
“Sylv…” There are so many things I want to say, yes first and foremost but the enormity of the situation steals each syllable from me until I’m left with silence. My heart pounding so hard it could be a rally call.
“What?” Rejection flashes on his beautiful face and on instinct my lips find his. Pouring every word, every hope I have for us into the tension that binds us together when we touch. I lean into the way his lips chase all my fears away. He’s like the air and the sea, stealing my breath away and leaving me spinning in the most glorious tempest that threatens to tear me apart.
A clatter from across the room is the only reason I let him break the kiss. Turning to investigate I prickle at the smug smile on Kembran’s face. It only grows wider as I glare at him.
Gentle hands douse my wrath and my attention is once again fully consumed by the love of my life. Exhaling a shaky breath, I finally find my words. “Yes. I want nothing more Sylv, but…you’ll be a king, and I’m merely a prince. Probably for the next thousand years or more.”
I can’t keep the crack out of my voice. Sylvanus doesn’t see the chasm the way I do, but it’s there. It has always been there in a way. Hell, the only reason we’ve grown up together is because he’s been my father’s ward. If King Hadine hadn’t went mad when Sylvanus’s mother dissapeared, we wouldn’t be here. It’s foolish to not acknowledge he’s had to grow up far faster than I, and now again.
“Rion, please hear me when I say this.” The grave tone of his voice has my heart thumping painfully, but I nod, relieved when his fingers twine with mine. “You could be a trickster, a vandal, a mortal. A villain, a scoundrel. You could be my own personal poison and crush the antidote beneath your heel and I’d still need you more than the very blood in my veins. I would still want to marry you more than I wish our realm to not collapse into itself. I would lay my life in front of the fates scythe for you. I love you ferociously, Alerion Pyrthorn prince of Blightbloom, second of his name. I would love you if you sought to ruin me. I would love you if you were ruined. Your title is of no matter to me.”
I can feel the moment my soul stops being my own. The very second another name is scrawled across it, filling in the parts of me that once were unfinished and incomplete. It has always been him. My heart has never raced for an other’s words, my body has never responded to an other’s touch with the pure molten need Sylvanus causes. It’s never been quite so raw before though, so real.
If I could rip my heart from my chest for him I would. His beautiful words land inside the now burning muscle in my rib cage and I know they will never leave. My voice is barely a whisper when I finally find my way back to the plane of conversation. His words hanging between us like the twinkle of fireflies on the night of a triple moon, the silver orbs lighting up the velvety midnight sky, the playful dots of warm light connecting the space between the heavens and the earth.
“Your words are nearly as beautiful as you Sylvanus Glacelight, King of Aetherice, the first of his name, the shadow of winter.” With each word I close the distance between us until my lips caress his perfectly pointed ears. I continue, pouring my devotion straight into his soul, claiming it as mine the way he has with me. “I will never ruin you. I will always raise my sword to defend your body and honour. The only poison I will ever be is lust, lighting your veins on fire with satisfaction and desire. The antidote, my touch and unending loyalty will be given freely. I promise you I’ll never be your villain and god forbid I’d ever be mortal. I love you, in equal measure. I love you with my future, my past and my potential days. I love you with everything I am, and I am yours. Forever.”
I hope he sees the meaning in my words, both those said and unsaid, the way I registered the significance of his. For Sylvanus to say he would love me even if I was mortal. The ones we suspect kidnapped his mother, and weakened our realms. I know his affection runs much deeper than I ever could have hoped.
“You left out a title there princeling. What was it again Sylvanus? Oh yes, the Tragic King.” As the condescending laugh begins the air around us changes. The soft comfortable energy replaced with irritation and rage as we both spin to the familiar voice.
“What are you doing here demon?” Sylvanus snarls, his face more beast than fae as he stares at Rowan, his violet eyes freezing over into slits.
With a twitch of his tail the handsome horned man winks, sinking down into one of the arm chairs like he is entirely at home. Entirely at home in the library of my people, a place outsiders should not be able to conceive, let alone visit.
With a clenched jaw I move to put myself between the bargainer and Sylvanus. “A question was asked of you Rowan.”
“Simmer down. I just happen to love a good proposal.” He pauses to splay his claws out inspecting them before he starts to sharpen his ring finger nonchalantly.
Sylvanus notably grows more tense behind me as every second that passes. I can feel the heat of his breath as his nostrils undoubtably flare in challenge and the hairs on my neck raise in response to the impending danger. Sylvanus runs on instinct, he doesn’t care for the frivolity of civility. It’s a wonder he hasn’t tried to coat the library in demon blood yet.
I should do something. Banish the demon, command he leave. It’s on the tip of my tongue to do so when I make the mistake of looking directly at the intruder. It never fails to confound me how stunning such an awful creature can be.
From the impressive horns to the bulging forearms and naked torso displaying unreal chest and ab muscles it’s impossible to pretend Rowan isn’t visual perfection. He knows it too. His loose pants slung low on his hips to accentuate the tempting silhouette. Shaking off the thoughts about his only palatable feature I open my mouth to banish him, but he speaks before I can find the words “Oh yes, and Sylv, your father wants to see you, final goodbyes and all that.”
With a roar I pounce toward the smug bastard, my words evaporating in the explosion of white hot anger that consumes me. Even before I collide with nothing more than cushion and wood I know he’s gone.
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