Category: fairy realm

For Darkenaz, featuring her shapeshifting dragon character, Jev.

——

I dig my talons in the flesh of the man who fucks me. I bury deeper and I know the man doesn’t mind it. I see in his mind a devious and twisted need and I find it thrilling.  My female body presses hard to his, he moves hungrily, the blood of the woman we killed, dripping between us. Thick strings sticking to us, while her dead eyes seem to follow our passion, as we make her blood live. His thoughts echoe in mine, and I can feel his ecstasy. So well fitting to the one he shows outside.

I lean to his ear, pointy one, elf-like.

“This drives me so much… all of this” I push him harder inside me with my legs. His body is like made for this, toned, well-built, but not too much, filled with energy and passion.

I needed this.

“She begged for mercy in an enthralling way…” he forces deeper, I feel a pleasant shiver down my spine. He reads my mind just as I read his, he knows what pace, what pressure I like most. I love all kinds of sex… but some things never change. I have my own sets of favorites.

And I know what makes him abandon.

What makes him hard most. Violence. And control. Pain. Not only of his victims.

I pull him even harder, fingers deep in the skin on his back, droplets of blood, blue, like the clear sky.

“All humans beg for mercy” I purr, my blue hair receiving him and I allow him to bury his hand in my tangles. My thighs press hard, harder, I feel him  spreading me.

“Intoxicating…” he whispers in my ear and I know he really thinks so – just like me. Humans, begging, bleeding… perfect aphrodisiac. For both of us.

His shadows penetrate my body alongside with him, sensing me, passing my pleasure to him, giving me a taste of his own rapture, and this is so similar to what I know of black-flame elves… but also different… a new species to fuck, an elf yes, but not completely.

And I have never had an elf yet…

My hips meet him at a faster pace, we are close, both. I drip between my thighs, my body receives exactly the treatment I like.

He hits the spot.

I roll over him, to stride him, to look at him when he rides his climax, look at him as he lays under me, pulsing inside. My hands bury in his short thick hair, pull, hard and I sigh, when he fills me with his release. I feel his climax, when my own rushes through my body. His own pleasure transferred between us, drowning us, making our bodies shiver.

Delicious.

I needed it.

I needed it and didn’t even know how much.

His eyes meet mine. Our thoughts intertwine. It’s the first time I can hear my own thoughts in someone’s mind. Someone who is like me, in more than one aspect. He sees this thought too – of course  – and laughs, so beautifully. If I was a lesser being, it would bring me to my knees. But I am not.

My muscles relax, I still twitch between my legs, I feel he throbs too. We both love it. We love fucking. I hope this week will be long and allows me to go as deep as I need.

The throbs slowly fade, pulling me back to reality, leaving me pleased and filled.

For now, I think.

“Your world never ceases to intrigue me” he muses, slowly separating from me, standing up, He finds his scattered clothes; pulls up the tight black trousers and feathered shirt. “But humans feel the same fear and pain. That never changes.”

“They are perfect playthings. Perfect amusement” I stand up as well, pulling something on myself as well.

Devin’s t-shirt.

Fuck it.

He is absent and I don’t need to wait for him. I never needed it.

I am a dragon, and I am one to rule. I am the one to  play the winning figure in this game. Even if he is so under my skin…

I see an amused glint in Lorian’s black eyes. He told me about his women. I wonder suddenly, if he would wait for any of them in a way I wait for Devin.

“Waiting is good, Jevon” he pins his upper shirt with an azure gem. “But only if you get a good reward.”

Now, I want him to not be able to look into my mind. But… I see it in him as well. Years of pain. Cruel suffering he takes in himself willingly and with sick joy. Twisted. But in some way… tempting.

He doesn’t smile anymore. He is torn between two women, between his desire for life and never ending agony. And he knows I see it all. Possibly first time in his long life. I am a first person who see past his masks. I know he finds it both intriguing, attractive and uncomfortable.

We are pulling all out on the plain sight.

“Time to show hospitality to our guest” I grin. No more doubts. Not when he can read all of them.  I know he doesn’t know nor care about Devin.

I could not think.

Not delve into this.

But Lorian seems to understand, in some dettached, alien way. Fey kind is both passionate and cold. A mix that can be terrifying.

I will love to see how much terrifying we can be.

*

“You like it raw?”

Lorian doesn’t feel good in the kitchen. He possibly never had to cook in his palace, which – this time – amuses me. But he is not the type to be offended. He knows his worth, and that is one of the things I like in him. Powerful, like me. But not pushing this, he just beams – tastily – with self confidence.

We are so alike.

I suddenly feel I want to fuck again.

Especially when I see the fearfully open eyes and struggles of the captive man. He possibly sees in us… serial killers, a deadly couple who finds thrill in killing random strangers. He doesn’t even suspect who we really are. Kings. Almost gods to his weak kind.

“Raw has the best taste” I grin at him, a slender finger in my hand.

“I think every good meal needs additional care” Lorian slowly lifts the spoon with meat on it. Her meat, human flesh, so well cooked. He learns kitchen rules, slowly – if we forget the incident with shadows. His playful gaze slowly lands on the captive man, passes him, and lays on me. My smile is cruel, when I bite the finger, savoring the taste of the human woman. I know how cruel my smile can be. 

“Please… let me go…” a voice reaches us, the shock has to be big, because he doesn’t recognize his wife’s finger. Strange that he doesn’t. But he will. Now, he almost wets himself.

“Oh, allow us to take care of  you” Lorian puts the spoon again in the pan. “It would be such an ungrateful thing, to just leave us alone, in such an unsatisfied need for being the good hosts.”

“We brim with need” I smile, my smile seems to scare the human even more.

He tries to retreat, when we approach him, two looming figures, powerful in their dominance. Lorian’s shadows lift him up a bit, closing hard on his throat. He moans in pain, but Lorian pulls him ever higher.

I allow my dragon features to bloom. Blue, like the sky. Like Lorian’s blood. Like the eyes of the captive man. I bathe in blue and in my glory, when I become a god of myths before him.  Lorian’s form flickers and becomes more smoky, darker… more dangerous. A shadow incarnate. Which I want to explore later. Let him into my every crevice.

“I like your experimental nature, dragon.”

“And I like your surprises, fae.”

This human isn’t able to comprehend who we are… what we are. If he knew that world he knows is just the beginning, with so many wonders to discover… and of course predators to fear.

He looks at us with a plea in his eyes… I feel how Lorian feeds on his fear. I never met anyone like him. Devin… he would condemn us now. He has his own rules, despises feasting on suffering. An own moral code, which doesn’t include killing for fun.

But Devin is not my god.

“Please… release me, I won’t tell anyone about you…”

The human lost his hope, I can feel it in his mind. Still, it’s natural for humans. To beg.

Lorian chuckles. I like his laugh. Soft, deep… but touched with darkness. Which makes it even more interesting.

“Your wife will surely love to become part of us. Consider it a feast of senses…  she will please us… with her flesh.”

“Eating someone out never had more apt meaning” I add, seeing pure fear widening human’s eyes.

Lorian pats him over his cheek, with a tender move, a kind expression lighting his face. I see that this act becomes too much for the human. This fake care. He knows how to disturb the weak mind.

“Do not worry” I add, dark gleams in my eyes. “We will share with you. The best morsels.”

We would rule the world, if this had chances to last.

But I already savor how much pleasure I can squeeze from Lorian, how much I can give him and take from him. I know he doesn’t belong here and I won’t stop him from returning. But what will be mine, will always be mine.

It will be a glorious week.

Enjoy the party.

 

Veralia’s hair was falling with a golden cascade over her arms, reaching her shapely hips. She was beautiful, in a very fae way, like a touch of setting sun, and was well aware of that. Her aura gleamed with gold as well, an autumnal aura so fitting her auburn eyes and vermilion attire, a dress made of silk and gossamer.

Lorian’s fingers wandered in her tangles, his expression seemed bored, while he, Varalia and the group of ar’salien watched the performance of lower fey entertainers.

Ar’salien. Humans, but not slaves. More of a company, cherished one. Lovers, if Lorian wanted. They proved their loyalty in trials in which they couldn’t lie. And most of them – after delving more into court life, gathered enough knowledge to enjoy their position. As humans, they could end much much worse.

Most of Lorian’s ar’salien were skilled in not only the art of love. Not only in being a good company. Lorian knew how to use lower races and equip them with almost fairy advantages.

Veralia never understood Lorian’s fondness for them. They were so short-living and simple. Of course, humans could be tasty in bed, but… she preferred fae lovers. Too much hassle with educating those creatures to the level of the court,

She caught the gaze of one of them. Twir, a tall human male with light skin and blue eyes, was looking at her with strange intensity. His face was a mask of complete peace. And something disturbing in his eyes… some kind of knowledge and curiosity, which she would find offending in fae’s gaze, but found very uncomfortable and improper in human’s one.

She didn’t like it.

She feigned laughter and sat closer to Lorian, her light gossamer dress fluttering around her like wings of a bird.

Twir still looked at her.

“Lorian” she mused, oblivious to the performers. Lorian was looking bored, either way. “I thought you train your humans better.”

His black gaze drifted from the spectacle. As a prince, Lorian had a reputation of a spoiled one, but also very charismatic, gaining the hearts of many courtiers. Lerrel Ain’Dal perceived him as a bothersome, annoying kid, who uses his privileges way too widely. That’s why he sent her to his younger brother. To spy on him and take his attention away from what’s really important in the court. After all, Lorian liked to indulge, he perceived life in terms of pleasures. Delicious prey for a spy like her. The prince loved to fuck her and she had to admit, that she started to like it.  He was passionate lover and knew what she liked, like he read in her mind. Yet, she was not a weak, easily wooed woman. She knew she was a distraction and informator.

Which seemed to work very well.

She was not a trained spy… but Lorian should eat from her hand soon. He got lost in sensual sensations and she felt that he is hers already. She almost pitied him. But he will lead pleasant, wealthy life… even if far from the throne. In some property, where he will be able to do whatever he pleases… as long as Lerrel allows.

His smile was exceptionally beautiful. Like a morning coming from over a mountain, being in contrast to his dark eyes filled with void. Another pleasant thing connected with her work.

“How so, Veralia?”

“One of them looks at me all the time. He should know his place.”

Somehow, she could swear that Lorian gaze landed for a small second on Twir, but eventually slid over him and took in the whole gathering of his human companions.

His voice was especially low, when he spoke.

“Very unfortunate, my dear. Tell me who, and I will mind to punish it.”

His stunning smile didn’t take an ominous mood from his words.

“Point any of them and I will feed it.”

Her brows lifted up.

“Feed it?”

“After all, it must be very hungry for you. It needs a treat. Disobedient pets love attention.”

Veralia felt that air around them becomes heavier, thicker. And that not only Twir but also the rest of ar’salien looked at her with almost insistent way.

This sounded ominous. What he had in mind?

“I didn’t mean anything very vile” she said fast, the eyes of the prince’s companions seemed to drill her soul. “It’s only a gaze. Perhaps a simple flog will do.”

His fingers delved into her hair, separating golden tangles. His smile was as beautiful as before, but his lip corner twisted almost invisibly, giving him a slightly off look.

“Its presence is already an insult to me. Point it, darling. We all want to know.”

Lorian… acted differently. Even the lesser fairy performers stopped, not sure if they should continue or not. After all, they performed for the prince and his concubine and they stopped caring about their art, leaving them confused.

“Perhaps I should choose by myself. Ar’salien are easy to replace, even if they are hard to train. But no human is allowed to disturb you” he looked at his companions who showed no fear. Lorian for a moment seemed to ponder, but quickly decided.

“Choose from yourself, if my lady isn’t sure. The more it prolongs, the harder it will be for you.”

“No” she caught his hand. “You want to kill them?”

“Death is a very… final act” his kind smile was disturbing her more than if he fell among the group of humans and tore their hearts with his teeth. “But… if he dies, it will be interesting to observe.”

She stopped in the mid-word. What she should say? She suspected he is showing off.  Ar’salien were hard to replace, even if he just stated otherwise. And killing one of them, would cause lack of real loyalty in the others.

“It’s this one” she eventually said, pointing at Twir. She knew she could just tell him all beautiful lies… but something in his face was telling him it was a very bad idea.

Maybe he was showing off. Or he knew something that he shouldn’t.

Lorian frowned, his one feet resting on his knee, his arms spread over the back of the bench.  The performers looked at them with curious and intrigued impressions.

“Come, Twir” he moved his finger at him.

The human raised slowly from the seat, and approached, his long hair windswept, his eyes set just at Lorian. But she didn’t see fear in them. Lorian was known for  very often strange ideas… sometimes violent, but that human knew that he wouldn’t kill him, just for looking at her, yes?

Lorian nodded approvingly. And he laughed silently. Veralia looked at him with surprise, his laugh, even if quiet, rang in the silence like a knife separating sky from the earth.

“We are civilized people ” his laughter stopped fast, like a cut with the same blade. “My lady would like you to be flogged. Would you like that?”

Twir at first didn’t seem to want to oblige and reply. But in the moment when Veralia wanted to ask Lorian to stop this, he replied.

“No, my lord” his voice was silent, and strangely ethereal, like not belonging to a human.

“Insolent boy” Lorian clicked with his tongue.

The human companion looked down, like not being able to stand his gaze.

Veralia felt… strange. These humans were with Lorian for longer than her. He many times showed he cares for them. She would assume that he shows off indeed… and she hoped this is it. If no…

Lorian waved at one of the lower fey guards that stood between the gardens and the meadow on which they were sitting. Veralia observed as the tall winged fairy  approaches, and bowed slightly. He didn’t feel moved by his prince’s cruel behavior. Like he has seen it before lready.

What I ommited?

“The human was insolent, as you heard” Lorian’s tone was as lazy as the summer reign. “Hold him tightly. Hunger must be appeased.”

The prince reached under his shirt. His fingers swiftly delved under the material and pulled a small bottle. Veralia looked with doubtful air at the crimson liquid inside.

“Shivara” mused casually Lorian, and the time stopped around them.

Veralia now knew it was no game at all. Lorian really meant it. Shivara. Most dreadful poison in the whole Ain’asel. Rarely someone was using it, if they didn’t wish someone the worst. And even then, they didn’t. Made from the seeds of the rotting madanis, the trees, which were long gone wiped out from the terrain of the palace, were causing the most hideous and painful death one could imagine.

And Lorian wanted to force this poor creature to drink it.

Because he looked at her.

“Lorian, are you mad?” she didn’t even try hiding terror. This couldn’t be. “This was only a gaze… you can’t really mean it.”

Lorian stood up, uncorking the bottle slowly. His black eyes showed no emotion and his smile was making her skin creep.

“Lorian…”

“Force him on his knees” he said silently and the fey guard tossed the human man on the ground, pushing him hard, so he landed on his fours. Veralia still couldn’t see fear in his eyes. But something… more. Love. And trust.

This was hideous.

Lorian’s fingers opened the jaws of the human companionand slowly poured the blood-colored liquid into his throat.

“We are civilized people” he patted him on the cheek. “And know how to cause a lot of pain.”

Veralia with even more intense shock watched as the human ar’salien curls in himself. His veins slowly started to be visible, darkened, like the night sky bubbling under his skin. No scream came from his mouth, like some force didn’t allow him, and she realized it was Lorian. One of his abilities was muting voices and he did it exactly now. He wanted to watch his agony, without disturbance.

He returned to the bench and seated himself next to her, his one arm over her shoulder; she was too shocked to wipe his hand from herself.

Her eyes met his black ones and found in them something that made her nauseous.

She underestimated him.

“Why?” she asked, anger flowing in her, from her own naivety, which shouldn’t be present in her after long months of working for Lerrel.

He leaned to her, his lips almost touching her ear. His warm, fragrant breath reached her skin. Jasmine. And violets.

“Because the spies get the best performance. This could happen to you so easily. If I had such a whim, I could do that to you.  Lerrel should know better – and consider your well-being much more. You are so delicious to bed, but your own performance in the game of deception was average at best.”

He didn’t allow her to express her surprise, but clicked at the guard.

“Assist the lady to gardens and forth. What happens here is not for delicate eyes.”

The human ar’salien was slowly dying on the grass floor and Veralia could almost hear his scream in her head, coming along with his tensed features, bulging eyes and swollen veins.

The wild spring overgrowth swallowed them with green and yellow; light touching their skin with soft caress.

For Leira, it was a beautiful time, stolen from her sad reality. Her father would never allow her to spend time with a mere hunter. Mira was for him not more than a peasant – and she knew in the eyes of other nobles or noble born, she was just a wild child, secretly sneaking from under the protective canopy of her rich life, to indulge into forbidden activity – loving a lowly born.

How false it sounded for her, how… cruel. This was unnecessary cruelty. Not even for them both, as much as obvious it was. It was cruel for her. This protective canopy was made of empty rooms, numerous and haunted, of one time angry and now broken father, who couldn’t even think of finding new love in place of her mother. Love is a sadistic goddess – her choosing another was a thing that broke his soul in half. How should it feel for him to see her so happy with someone she truly loves? Maybe that’s why he would chase Mira away, to not invite love under his roof. To not invite something that would drill his broken soul; to the bare bone.

Yet… Leira didn’t intend to be the vessel for his love. Since her mother left, he didn’t allow himself to treat her with affection that she wanted – affection from father to his daughter; she longer for laugh, for joy, and they became for her a forbidden treat. Something that she had to be stealing for herself to feel them. She was hungry for love, thirsty for touch. Lonely years made her even more willing to abandon herself in her hunter’s love… forbidden, yes, yet made just for her. Not for her father, not for a silent house in which she lived.

For her.

And she was ready to swallow each drop of happiness that trickled from this high hanging fruit.

Her lips pressed to Mira’s one’s. Her legs embraced his waist, pushing him inside. The thick and swelling richness of spring around her, was making her even more passionate and even more lost in the feeling.

He broke the kiss and looked into her eyes.

His eyes, green. Like leaves. Like young life.

“Leira…” Mira was never vocal during sex. But her name whispered during their union, always bringing her on the edge.

She embraced him and pushed between her neck and collarbone, wanting to feel his lips in one of her most fragile places. He obeyed, his kiss sent a shiver through her.

She wanted to come when he was kissing him. Far from home, she wanted to leave her home forever. And stay here, tangled with Mira into one person, not thinking of sadness and pain.

The sun gleamed through leaves, caressing her just like his fingers.

I so want you to fill me…

The sun.

Silent murmur of the leaves.

Warmth of the day and his heated body, pressed to hers.

And a gust of cold wind.

It raised the hair on her hands.

His thrust was especially hard, and she came. Her eyes opened from delight, but something crept into her, something unwanted.

He had to feel something, because he raised his eyes and looked into her irises, with visible worry.

“Leira…? Is everything alright? Have I hurt you?”

“No… just…”

She felt winter. Winter in spring. Not a winter she would want to feel now.

She felt guilt; Mira didn’t feel anything. Were her worries really so deep, that it caused mirages?

Something was not right.

Mira kissed her, but she couldn’t respond with similar fire. He withdrew.

“If something’s wrong, tell me” he sat next to her, confused, but trying to turn it into a relaxed joke. “I am not – hopefully – that bad as a lover.”

“Do you feel it?” was her response.

“Feel? Should I feel something more than you?”

“I sense… cold.”

He looked at her with visible worry… and a slight dose of disbelief. He really could think that she disliked it. She wanted it. So much.
But…

… the winter was slowly creeping in. Mira looked around, confused. Now, he felt that too.

The cold air danced around them, and embraced her soul, squeezing the unrequited fear from it. Unnatural, even if only a touch of the air on her skin.

And in the moment she was watching the leaves fall from the trees, dry and dead, like late autumn vermillion…

She saw them.

At first, her mind didn’t connect. Really couldn’t embrace it. She felt a strong gust of love… and strong fear. Her mind lost for a moment in reverie of adoration and a need to run, far from them, far from their gleaming wonder.

Pointy ears, like taken from old stories. Five men and one woman, beautiful, so beautiful, like dreams coming through… but ready to turn into nightmares, in every minute.

They were sitting on animals, which only by shape resemble horses. But she couldn’t understand it, because they looked like horses. But… only looked like ones. They weren’t.

A woman, with face hidden behind a bird mask, was looking at her and Mira intensely, until she broke into a scoff.

“Lovers. How cute.”

Leira’s eyes though weren’t on her. A man, next to her. Clothed in a black, belted with a wide belt, in black tight trousers and high boots. He was looking at her with attention. He was smilingly, kindly, but his gaze… his eyes were completely black, a void filled with stars and moons, so ready to drag her into the abyss.

Leira swiftly, protectively pulled her skirt down, terrified they saw her intimately.

“Do not laugh at lovers, my cruel raven” the man in black still looked at Leira with an attentive gaze. “Seeing them reminds me of possibilities of… attachment.”

Leira swallowed, hard. His voice was deep, silent, and cruel. A voice, which promised pain.

“You Majesty… the Wild Hunt awaits us” one of them looked at them with scorn… but with hunger too.

“I am the Wild Hunt” the black-eyed’s tone not allowing any objections.

The man hit his horse with his feet, and it started to approach them, Leira involuntarily backing off, fast, wanting to get as far from them both, as possible.

Mira pulled the knife, ready to protect her.

Don’t.

Please.

“Do not come closer” Mira uttered with clenched teeth, but his knife-holding hand was almost invisibly shaking.

Of course they saw it too.

The man smiled wider, charmingly. Beautifully. The scent of violets reached her. Her favorite flowers.

He didn’t say anything, but approached closer, not minding his pose, ready to attack or defend. The horse-like creature between his legs looked blanky just into Leira’s eyes.

“I will kill you, if you do” she felt that under Mira’s voice, a panic, deep, gut-wrenching, hope-stealing.

“Oh. How… bold. Is that what you are going to do? Kill me, send me to my gods? Pull out my entrails with that knife?”

“Y-yes…”

“Interesting!”

His horse stepped in place, restless. Awaiting something.

Something started to creep from behind the black-eyed man. Something very dark, something that had its roots in the very first night. Shadows, which Leira felt were hungry. Just as the man in black.

And they slowly, very slowly started to swirl around her lover, caressing his skin with soft strokes; his confused expression reminded her of her father, when her mother told him she leaves.  They crept, binding his arms and legs in a tight grip.

And just as slowly, entered him through his skin, filling him up.

Mira’s eyes opened wide. So wide. A groan left his mouth. Pained and not pained one, at the same time.

“Humans are created for pain… and pleasure” a kind, cruel words. “Both are equally carnal for them. And both can be their undoing.”

Mira groaned again, this time louder. Leira saw sweat on his temples. Something was in him… and caused him feelings that scared Leira.

She felt as her limbs became weak. Her heart pounded in her chest. Her whole being screamed against this. She still felt him inside, how he loved her. And now..

The man’s smile was predatory, and Leira felt it in her bones… blooming in her with hopeless fear.

Run.

Now.

Leira knew, though, that they wouldn’t allow her to run.

Mira didn’t scream, but his body was suffering, and so did Leira. His skin tensed, showing slowly blackening, swollen veins. Leira could see as they grew and spread under his skin.

He started to utter heart-wrenching moans, falling on his knees, also – almost – like her father, when her mother left. Leira had to do something. Anything! Her mind raced but her acts were faster than her thoughts.

She decided to do something stupid. So stupid. Reckless. Foolish. But she couldn’t look at his torment. He loved her and offered her something no one in her life did.

She slowly approached the man on the horse, trying to be brave. Trying to not think what can happen. Trying to find a spark in her that will allow her to not run.

That was never an option.

The man moved his gaze, lazily from the agony-filled Mira, to look at her, his smile always present, like he knew something that was hidden from all the others. Leira felt as she loses control over her body, she felt only a force, a force of her will, that dragged and guided her forth, like strings, attached to her strenght and determination.

“Please. Do not” her eyes rose. Boldly. Without doubt. They met the black void of his. “I will do everything, but stop.”

His smile still on his face, but only for a small, insignificant second. His lips formed an expression that sent a real shiver down her spine. Real one, because she understood it.

No matter what she’ll do, they will be dead.

“So that’s what humans do now” he mused, his tone laced with irony. “Sacrifice. Such strong feelings you have for him. Such a strong… devotion. A really admirable act.”

Humans.

And they were not ones.

Creatures of old tales, pointy ears, painful beauty, fables, terrible fairytales by the furnace fire.

“And such a promising one.”

Mira’s body twisted in an unnatural way, his eyes becoming as black as the man’s one.

“No!” empty voice, not existing tears rushed to Leira’s eyes, threatening to break the dam. She would not show them she is crying, even if they knew she did, deep into her soul, deep in her heart. If she showed… it would be the end.

It happened so fast… like a spring storm, rushing over fertile fields, flooding them with destructive rain.

She knew it would be the end of her free will. And they knew it too. The tempting love was forcing into her mind, mixed with fear… a sick and terrifying amalgamate of contradictions.

“But sacrifice would not be full without a delicious hopelessness” the man smiled again. A single shadow danced around her, and caressed her face, which she reacted to with a toss of her head; the shadow insistently followed. “He can suffer like that for months… or you will end this.”

Leira didn’t at first want to understand what he just said. Her soul rejected this immediately. But her heart pounded in her chest quicker than ever, she knew what he meant. The song of the birds, the spring green and the light breeze around her suddenly became black and dull; devoid of colors.

The others, one woman and four men who arrived with her tormentor, looked at them with beautiful and charming smiles, like they were watching a family scene. She felt nauseous.

“Kill him, show that you can sacrifice yourself. Slit his throat, end his suffering. Fill our eyes.

The woman in the back laughed. Leira feld so cold suddenly; her limbs even weaker than before.

Slit his throat.

Fill our eyes.

His eyes.

She couldn’t do it. She couldn’t. But when she looked at Mira, and saw his writhing in agony…

He can suffer like that for months.

And she knew she had to.

The man in black waited, curious, dangerously focused on her. A hate, strong one, filled her. Hate, fear and hopeless will to refuse. But she knew she couldn’t. And that was most cruel in this already cruel game.

Tears eventually filled her vision – her failure and their victory – but she slowly, feeling like her body didn’t belong to her, walked to Mira and picking the knife he dropped in his throes, she looked at it with blank stare.

Kill him.

Fill our eyes.

Mira looked just at her. The shadows retracted, his body still tensed, still pained, but… he was looking just at her.

“Leira…” he rasped.

She couldn’t.

She had to.

The black-eyed will fill him with shadows again. He won’t let him be. And he made him conscious only for him to look at her like that.

Her mind filled with the last lovemaking. She wanted to leave her house, join him on the hunt, and live with him.

She wanted to carry his child.

The only person who truly cared for her and loved her.

The only person that really mattered.

But now… she will die too. With his blood on his hands, her last minutes before death will be filled with anguish after taking his life.

She caressed his face, hating herself for doing so… She touched his hair… they were wet and sweaty under her trembling hand. She despised herself for daring to touch him, but she had to feel him, last time.

She remembered his scent, like leather and smoke, his lips on hers, how he was taking her to his house in the woods he built himself. The warmth of his bed, of his embrace.

Of his tender and loving touch.

She will die today, with a knife that took his life in her hand.

She couldn’t think of it, tears wanted to rush to her eyes.

“Leira, please…” his voice low, changed, not like the voice she heard every day. He didn’t want to die. And it was slicing her heart into millions of tiny pieces. She felt as huge bile chokes her, blocks the air from her lungs.

She took him by his hair… once rough in touch, familiar… now messed up and wet, so terribly wet…

She lifted his head, exposed neck, now tensed and hard as stone…

“Leira…”

Her hand didn’t shake, which terrified her even more.

… And slit his throat.

The knife went in so easily, frighteningly easily. Separating him from life they could live together.

The man in black looked at her, with his cruel void.

The others laughed, pleased, gloating, like his death was a precious prize.

Blood gushed on her hands, her vision blurred; she dropped the knife into the grass, the laughter of her tormentors reached her like from bottomless well.

The man in black looked at her though, without even a small laugh, small smile… he looked at her with morbid curiosity.

Like he measured her and pondered how much she can still withstand.

Leira’s body was shivering. Mere minutes ago, he loved her. He will never do that again.

She wanted to scream at the man in black, to tell him he should kill her now, if he finds death so thrilling. But her throat couldn’t form a word and her mind – a coherent thought.

And she didn’t want to die.

Black eyes were drilling holes in her soul.

The masked woman was telling something to her tormentor.

But she didn’t hear it. The shadows embraced her neck and delved under her clothes, to enter her skin. She felt both pain and misplaced, unwanted pleasure. So strong that she was sure she was losing herself, despising herself, her body pulsing and trying to oppose it.

But the goddess had mercy on her. She passed away, before something she would hate happened.

Allowing her to sink into the void.

*
Lorian’s smile faded. The human woman was lying unconscious under his feet.

Humans are so fragile.

So easy to control.

So eager to be broken.

He still felt fire, deadly flame in his veins, traveling into his most fragile places, mixing agony with pleasure. A faint burst of suffering, not comparable – this time – to his night torments, but for that, even worse… blurring borders.

Nymre got closer. Her gossamer aura repressed, wild; she wanted him, he felt that. His cruel raven. Violence was increasing her drive tenfold.

This human woman amused him though. She was… promising.

“We are taking her with us.”

Nymre’s smile disappeared from her features, her will for sex cut like with a sharp knife.

“Why? You have many slaves already” she didn’t add that too much, but Lorian knew she thought that, even without entering her mind.

“Your Majesty…”

Alnam. Of course. Everpresent.

“That was amusing, my Lord, but most of our portals won’t take her. She will die. If we took her the traditional way, even with the ones that let her be, it would take… much more time.”

Lorian’s gaze met with Alnam’s.

Yes, Lorian knew what Alnam thought now. Cruel. Unnecessary ruthless. Sadistic without a reason. He killed my son – this thought unwillingly was pushing on the surface, even if Alnam didn’t want to, an old wound, but still producing pus.

Pain. Hatred. So strong, touching him in an almost intimate way.

Alnam’s strong will to oppose, even if he never would, not in reality. Perhaps, Alnam’s repressed, hopeless hatred was what brought him the greatest pleasure and pain, borders blurred again, a bitter and desired taste of rot.

“She will hate you, Your Majesty,” Alnam added.

“Perhaps her hatred is what I really need” Lorian smiled at him, with his most beautiful smile. A sun rising over winter mountains.

Perhaps, hatred is what kept him sane, when the pain was coming and the world was bursting in blue color and his blood boiled in his veins.

Beautiful. Strong.

Intoxicating.

Pure.

And dangerous. Impressing him with its strength.

This is a few chapters long story, on how it all started between Alnam and Lorian. They already despised each other, but not as much as after the events. Let’s just say that Corvel wasn’t killed because of having eyes for Nymre 😉 Lorian is not a fool. He would not kill a son of Alnam because of a woman. Alnam though, never knew the real reason…

 

Dal’coler was… intimidating. To say the least. Living his whole life in his father’s property, not visiting the palace, the first impression pushed Corvel into the ground. The stone walls, which were guarded by the magical barriers, were biting into the mountain side, like teeth of the predator in its prey’s throat. When he and Alnam were passing the gates, many eyes looked at them – stone eyes, brimming with strange intelligence that things shouldn’t have.

Alnam seemed focused on the goal, which was passing the gate and only this. In his opinion, Dal’coler was not a good place for Corvel, at least no until he learns its ways. He was too naive, still, too young. Court schemes should be left to older fey. Like him. Or any other with more than four hundred years. But Corvel gave him no choice. It was his biggest dream and Alnam hoped it will appear for him as he dreamed it, not a disappointment.

The lonely passages that surrounded the heart of the palace, breathed with melancholy. Filled with stone sculptures surrounded by ever hungry vines. Pierced by roots, just like walls. The place had a beautiful aura of something decaying in all its glory. Reaching to them with talons made of mist and night.

Alnam loved Dal’coler.

Corvel touched the wall with badly concealed fascination. He stood in that pose, like the stone was telling him long forgotten stories – and maybe it did, each fey felt Dal’coler differently. Personally. Corvel pressed on Alnam for months to be taken to the court. Wintery court for an autumnal child, born seven hundred years too late…

Without saying anything they passed the main corridor, leading to the throne room. As custom wanted from each lord, younglings were submitted under judgment of the king. Alnam already had enough of old customs, at least those who were changed. Current king didn’t keep to tradition, unless it was comfortable for him. And gods help them, the young fae were pleased when nothing like that bound them. Bliss and violence. Darkness and illusion of freedom.

The corridor became wider, more overwhelming. The roots and even whole trees were growing straight from high, looming walls. Alnam was drinking it like delicious wine. But he saw that his own autumnal child was not used to the dark aura of this place. At least as much as High Fae could not be used to their natural element.

Corvel, though visibly nervous, enjoyed the visit, which could start being his key to blind and moody but also generous fortune.

Alnam was sure that for Corvel, change of the environment, may be both his saving point, like his damnation. He liked to think, that rather saving point. Corvel was maybe inexperienced in court life, but filled with inner flame.

Dal’coler already injected its poison into their veins, brimming in them, promising more than they could ever get. Corvel looked enchanted. Boy should know that with his blood and strong budding magic, he could bind many humans and lowest fey here with such thick magical thread, that they would never be able to set themselves free.

Oh, he was surely aware of his own power. Alnam minded to pass him that knowledge. But Corvel was only thirty. A man who was still a child. Too young to truly spread his wings.

A small lesser fey approached, bowing before them, her opalescent wings gleaming with their own light in darkness.

“My lords… king Lorian was told that you arrived. He… waits for you in the throne room.”

The slight pause the lesser fey did, told Alnam, that Lorian either doesn’t wait for them at all, busy with own affairs… or prepares himself to just reject Corvel. It was not a secret before them that both disliked each other. Alnam thought that Lorian is a brat with huge ego. Lorian thought that Alnam would one day oppose him openly. The words filled with toxic brew they both exchanged, always were heavy with animosity – the court possibly predicted Alnam’s fall already.

A human woman passed the corridor, far from them, yet Alnam stopped his gaze on her. Blonde hair, oval, beautiful face – features like taken from an old tale… and well known human fear in her eyes. Alnam knew her. She was Lorian’s slave. Strangely still alive. Lorian captured her on the wild hunt. He remembered her better than others, for some reason.

Alnam’s gaze lingered in place where she was, when she disappeared.

Corvel looked with badly concealed interest at the throne room, when they entered the chamber. Alnam needs to teach him to not stare. Not here, when each step was watched by many eyes. Some of them, with attention only, some – with hunger.

He saw Lorian as soon as they entered.  Filled with tempting enchantment… and all of this in the wrong, distorted way. When Lorian took the throne, Alnam hoped that he will be a king who will be at least in small amount similar to his father, Marnsul. Marnsul was rigid but fair and Alnam was proud to call him his friend. Lorian yet, even if at first seeming a perfect match with the throne… with time turned to show his true, cruel face. Lorian didn’t have children, though and that was giving less hope. Only offspring can replace a king. And of course the assassin’s hand. But in Lorian’s case, trying to kill him was madness. His magic was too strong and that alone was making Alnam hope he will get his woman pregnant, the sooner, the better.

Or any woman, that is.

Lorian was conversing with her exactly. Her face tensed, she was not agreeing with him and that seemed to displease him too. Worst moment to present Corvel, thought Alnam, but what has been done, couldn’t be undone.

He felt Lorian’s attention on them, rather than saw, as he still seemed to be focused on Nymre. But he felt it, deep under his skin. Lorian looked at them slowly, almost lazily and Alnam bowed, his expression a perfect mask of calm composure, Corvel following his example.

“My lord… my son, Corvel Devlon” presented Alnam.

“My lord” smiled Corvel. He was moved by the atmosphere of the capital, so much. Fire in his eyes and probably in his soul too.

At least that.

Lorian stood up, Nymre looking at Corvel with curiosity. The fey ruler approached, stepping down to them.

Alnam wanted to shake Corvel, so he straightened, for dark woods’ sake.

Lorian smiled charmingly. Like he was really glad from their arrival, which Alnam knew was not true.

“Look at me, boy. I need to see your heart.”

Corvel raised his eyes, flaming and passionate, holding darkness of another, purer kind. And brushed over Lorian’s black holes. His gaze drifted though and suddenly landed on Nymre.

Alnam cursed in his mind. Because his son’s gaze landed on Nymre and stayed there. Longer than it should in such situation.

Lorian’s eyes followed Corvel’s and his smile from perfect became perfect and predatory.

“Many wonders are to be found by you in Dal’coler. I am glad that you found some even before being accepted as a part of the court.”

Alnam decided it’s time to enter and stop this. Corvel was not making good impression. And gods know what he was thinking.

“My lord… will you do the honor to our family and take my son under your wings?”

Lorian managed to cause Corvel to focus on him again. The boy really needs to learn how to be a lord, though Alnam. Maybe the court will carve that in him, even by the price of wounds.

“Your son is a promising young fae, such high flame, such intriguing… mind” Lorian’s smile still lighting up his features. “I like seeing what Devlonmere has to offer, always. Fresh blood is delicious.”

“I am glad to hear that” Alnam pressed his teeth. “This is pure joy… how it could be otherwise.”

“The first day in the palace is always the most enthralling one. I will send someone so to show him his place, a one he truly deserves. So he could revel in tempting beauty of his new home.”

Alnam felt like hit by the moon spear.

“I will show him myself, my lord. You surely need all your servants.”

“Lesser fey can do the task without blinking an eye. Let them enjoy. Let them feed their eyes with new face.”

Alnam smiled too. His grin stark and pure, a waking up sun. A young radiant star.

Lorian was testing him, but Alnam was both used to it… and ready for it. Corvel looked at Lorian with curiosity, which could move mountains to tell him their secrets.

Yes, you will learn, that not all here is what it seems. And most of residents of Dal’coler will faster eat you than level you up.

They didn’t like each other, even if they would never really frontally attack. Alnam knew why Lorian does it and Lorian knew what to expect from Alnam. They both danced on the edge of the colossal munument and the pit under them was filled with broken glass, which any of them wasn’t that eager to fall onto. He didn’t even blame Lorian – he would do exactly the same.

Alnam just hoped that hidden gaze that Corvel gave Nymre again, was only an accidental one.

But of course it wasn’t.

Of course.

Foolish boy.

Alnam was furious, how badly it all went, deep under easy words and court politeness. Corvel should know better.

They all should know better.

Lorian’s youth. He was more naive. Reckless. Susceptible on tease. Autumnal reign was much more easygoing than winter one. The fey were still dark… but more wild and dangerous than cruel and sadistic. Time [ and dark magic ] changes everything… Even bathing in dark power, he could remember the free autumnal prince he once was, who he can hate… but long for it, equally.

 

The autumn attire of Dal’coler was beaming with lights, carried by hundreds of fey. Alit lanterns’ color indicated what they planned for the night. Love, darkness and forbidden joys – it brimmed in their veins, washing over their minds with desire for the new. On the longest night, all were equal and all could wildly take from all privileges that was coming with that fact.

The High King, Marnsul Dal, the autumnal lord of Dal’coler, had no power that day. Other fey though were aware, very well, that he will return on the throne, and his power still lingered in him, untouched. No one would dethrone him, no one would dare.

Laughters were piercing the air, and screams, but not pained ones. The High Fae touched nature and nature responded, filling them with the ichor of the night. Making them reckless, even more dangerous and wilder than woods in the deep pitch-black darkness.

Prince Lorian Ain’Dal’s eyes were taking all of it in, dark holes, which held even deeper shadows. But two other fey who accompanied him, didn’t see the darkness, didn’t see the black wells. They could recognize the sparks of intrigued interest in them, burning with forbidden fire.

He was the youngest of them all. And most impatient, most filled with fire. And most reckless, foolish youth brimming in his veins. That was one of the reasons why they liked him so much. No one ever could be bored in his company.

“Lorian can’t wait to see that nymph again” chuckled lord Varien, his long fingers running through his thick reddish hair. The young prince looked at him with blank sternness, which Varien knew was only a studied pose.

“Is she really that beautiful? Worthy of royal attention?” teased Sirnal, enjoying Lorian’s stormy expression.

“After all, today, we are all equal,” added Varien. “And fires burn high tonight.”

Lorian’s face alit with a dark, ironic smirk.

“Like any of you cared about equality of positions, romancing lower fey, tracking unsuspecting humans in the woods.”

“Like you cared for that too” grinned Varien, joyfully. “I only showed you possibilities, your highness. You love to fuck lower fey. They can be so fiery.”

Oh, Lorian knew. He knew so well. Pleasures of autumnal reign were countless. He was born in the rusty season, caused by the almost cordial nature of his father. Stoic in its mute darkness, the least violent reigns in the whole history of the fairy kind.

The fey were enjjoying safety given by him, adapting to it. For Lorian though – partially losing something.

For Lorian, power and position were not a goal, but were pleasant and were allowing him to live how he wants. He never wondered how it would be to not have it. He was spoiled, but smart enough to not pull too far.

“You should commit a thief’s hunt on her. You can go against all what your father thinks about good pleasure… openly” whispered Sirnal, viciously. “He has no power over you. Not today. Why to hide, when you can have her to the sound of your court’s approval.”

Lorian’s expression showed more interest. It could be felt how his dark aura pulses around him, when he weighed the options.

“You are both such a clever fools” he eventually said, his shadows brimming around him in anticipation. It was an old solstice custom. If two fey were fond of each other, one of them could kidnap the other, and carry them in the darkness, with an applause of the celebrating High Fae.

And on nights like this, old customs were tempting to try.

“You want her, Lorian. Drag her into the woods.”

“And she wants you too. For me though, she would better choose, if she wanted me. You have skill with shadows, but I am a natural born lover. She would prefer me, if she ever tried my charm.”

Varien was sure that this would lit his royal friend up. That it will make him steal his solstice bride.

When Lorian’s black eyes sparked with something aflame-like, they both knew that their teasing worked on him. Lorian walked gracefully into the candle-lit darkness, and his friends followed him, surrounded by his deep enchantment, intensified by the awakening desire.

The night’s scent filled him in, a mix of decay and rebirth, of sleep and awake. His eyes searched for Mosla, the wood nymph, a beautiful and most of all clever lower fey, with whom he would lay the first day of their meet, if she was not a servant of his father. She was sure the king will know and Lorian was aware that she might have a lot of right. Marnsul had one huge disadvantage. He was somehow obseesed with pregnancy. And Lorian liked to seduce women. None of them got pregnant.

He seduced men too, but for obvious reason, they weren’t as problematic for Marnsul as women.

More so, Mosla impressed him, everything in her impressed him, and he could give her so much fire. He could give her so much night.

The three lords spotted Mosla putting the wreaths on the water. Her black hair tangled in braids, her green mossy eyes holding secrets of the moon and stars.

“Thief’s hunt!” howled Sirnal. The fey around immediately turned their hungry faces in his direction.

“A hunter comes for his bride!” laughed Varien. The High and Lesser Fae started to whisper, the air between them became warm from amassing auras.

Lorian stepped from darkness in the company of shadows, which were warmed up by his inner fire. Making the air even more dense around him.

Mosla looked at him and he immediately felt her power, light like breezy spring morning. She laughed, dark dark sound filled with temptation.

“Long way you treaded, my lord” her gaze locked on his. Fae were easily ignited and easily tempted. Sexual pleasure was for Lorian as natural as breathing.

“Thief’s hunt. The thief’s hunt” started to whisper the fey, eager to see the solstice bride losing her freedom. Rarely anyone kept to this custom, more so a royal son. It was as old as time, older than all autumnal kings, older than winter lords, reaching into the core of spring.

Lorian’s eyes drilled holes in Mosla’s soul. She felt his intensity, he was always even too intense. Yet she wanted that, wanted to lay with him in the leaves and feel him. She wanted to embrace his waist with her legs and push him deep inside.

She wanted to tear his shirt off, and own him. Allow his aura to swallow her. And he felt the same.

Let them all hear her as she lets him in.

“Bring the binds! Bind their hands, so none of them could run!” Varien beamed as the master of the ceremony. Lorian even thought that a little too much. He was in his environment.

“No,” whispered Lorian with a mysterious smile. Mosla looked at him, with dark amusement, like wanting to know what he planned. “No,” he said louder. “No vines. I can bind her myself.”

That made all fey brim with urgency and impatience. Of course, the shadow prince had a way to steal his bride and not let her escape. And his own shadows could bind them without losing ability to touch each other deeply, until the hunt is over.

“That is cheating, my lord” her smile deep like her spells, her expression amused. “Why should only you be able to bind me, so easily being able to unbind yourself?”

“Because it’s me who steals you” he purred and she laughed, eagerly, wildly, like a real solstice bride.

“Do it then” she teased. “A young prince needs to earn his bride.”

“I will do much more. And you as well… you will do so much more…” His tone was tempting and seductive and she didn’t regret anymore that he made her the center of attention of a whole gathering.

And he stole her.

He really did.

To the crispy murmur of the leaves and creaking of the branches under the sharp autumn sky.

He would have killed anyone who would try to stop him now.

And he was carefree enough to not see the eyes of the High Fae, who he knew well enough, and who was looking at him with badly concealed hatred.

Enjoy light-hearted Lorian :> He can be like that too.

 

His hands embraced her waist, dragging her against his chest in a possessive gesture. Nymre allowed on that and looking into his eyes, she smiled at him, a beautiful, dangerous smile of a predatory creature, caught in the net made of night. The dim, magic-filled ballroom lit only with fairy lights, closed over them with darkness, she felt his shadows slipping under her dress, invisible for others, hungry.

“Let’s show them what we are made of” she teased him.

The music filled the air, spring-like, like a rippling stream during meltdown, but with a touch of something hidden, something unattended and wild – sometimes hitting a more unsettling note. Lorian pressed her tighter, his darker presence in need for her light.

“Of stars and moonlight, and forgotten dreams” he whispered into her ear.

And he led her into a dance.

It was untamed, like the music which was accompanying them entered their veins and filled them with fire, with wind, and raging waves. They abandoned themselves, with flames under their skin, awash with azure tides.

Lorian took her into adventure and she didn’t want to return. These moments with him were like soft feathers sliding over her very spine; intimate, in joyful, pure way. Something others never expected of him. Something he held for her. Something unruly, dark and light at the same time. A mystery to solve, a universe in his black eyes, ready to be explored. His dark aura and her lighter one, absorbing each other, were creating almost touchable pleasure.

The music reigned over them, embracing them with the sound of the blooming meadows, woods filled with life and silent passages, sleeping under a thick veil of snow. Sound of frozen caverns and deep woods taken by the winter, forever.

“Of raging light and seething darkness” she added, allowing his hands to slide down her hips.

“Of night eternal and frozen storms” he smiled mischievously and kissed her in the neck, just where her collar exposed the skin. She sighed when his lips touched fragile place behind her ear. She felt as his darkness slowly explores her, a touch of shadows and desire.

The Fae which gathered in the ballroom observed them; unknown enemies, loyal courtiers, those who would betray them if they were weaker, and those who admired them, openly or silently. The way he took her and filled her with rhythm and sound; it was something spellbound in them, so the court allowed the spell to drink from their feelings. Lorian’s enchantment embracing them and swallowing completely. Nymre’s smile conquering them over and over again. They enjoyed it. They enjoyed it a lot. Lorian seemed another person, when all eyes were on them and when he felt as his lover’s aura brims with content, pulling him to her with gossamer tendrils.

This was their time. This was their moment.

Before whole world drowns in blood.

 

 

I imagine this music playing while they dance:

With fairies, snow falls in he summer, leaves grow green in winter and night gleams with thousand of suns.

With fairies, you bathe in flowers with metal thorns. They make deep cuts in your skin, and your smile grows wider with every touch of sharp edges.

With fairies, you dance hundred of nights, while ladies in gossamer dresses circle you, their laughter bleeds like daggers.

They are air you breathe and wine you drink – a cursed ponds filled with black water, in which you see your distorted reflection. They are sweet like sunborn apples, innocent like a cat, prowling among the lessers. They are bitter like jagged pill, that chokes you with wonders and nightmares.

Step into the woods, step into the grove. They spread horizon before you, offering you eternal life. Life, enchanted with spells, that make it heavier than a mountain, your sorrows deeper than an ocean.

Step into the forest, where seasons change under your feet, and pearls of forbidden dreams spread like a gift from cruel gods.

We are your lords. We are your ladies. We own your breath, your blood and skin you wear. Get lost in the sea of mirages and wishes – clean your heart from life you once had. Sip from the maddening cup and become the servant of a timeless crown.

We wait for you. We crave for your innocence. We yearn for your mortality. It gives us life. It enchants our souls. It sets us free.

Our garden is always locked. We open it before you.

Step in, child, and be born again.

His dreams were filled with fire consuming his flesh, torn skin burning til it became black. the smell of boiling was making him drown in horrors of his own body, changing into dark bleeding pulp, shadowed remains.

When he was waking up, though, it wasn’t better, there was no solace for him, other than bathing in his own darkness. Taking everything he wanted to take. And looking in fearing faces wherever he went.

He saved them. He saved them all. They should fear him.

The pain was coming and going, attacking him when he was not expecting it. No. He was expecting it. Oh, he was expecting it, as this was the price. A price for veins filled with liquid fire. As price for making them dream. Price for taking what he wanted. And not allowing for elders to swallow his soul, and by it, not allowing his court to be swallowed too. They slept with one eye open, and he drank from them, hungrily, taking what belonged to him.

They can’t wake up.

Dal’coler can’t perish, a beautiful nightmare which he dreamed in awake.

But the gifts of the elders, taken with violence, by force, weren’t free.

He learned that, but addiction was causing him return to them. Sipping with thirst equal to the elder’s power. A drug that he will never be able to put off.

Hazy, tasty, delicious. Best flesh he ever tasted. Best blood he ever drank.

A painful bliss of eternity which was digging holes in his veins, making him…

… b u r n . With wild, stunning, enchanted flame.

Curse them.

So good for him.

Yet so deadly.

 

[ yes, Lorian POV ] [ this is part of further chapter, which will appear after few more ]

I felt bloodthirsty today.

This is not a chapter. Only a short thing, which will surge later in the story.

under cut: violence, torture, decadence. I would say “do not” but you all will read either way. Please don’t read if you are not fond of “hard” stuff.

 

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