Demigod Captive

by Lucy Auburn

  As the last few dawdlers leave the training room, I spot Mikael. He heads towards me, and I lean forward out of my hiding place, already anticipating what's coming next—specifically, the two of us.

  "So." I put my hands on my hips and smirk at him, glancing around to make sure the hallway is deserted. "Your cellblock or mine? Scratch that, let's just lock this supply closet door and fuck right here, right now."

  "About that." His dark brown eyes dart around nervously, and he rubs the back of his neck, looking nervous and sheepish. "I, um, as flattered as I am..."

  "If your cock isn't hard, I can change that." Striding forward, I reach out and cup his crotch with my palm, appreciating what I feel there. Then I twist myself up and press my breasts forward until my chest brushes against his skin, cleavage spilling over, my clothed nipples hard. His breath catches, and I squeeze lightly until I feel him respond. "See? You'll be ready in no time. Now c'mon—before the guards catch us. Unless you're into that sort of thing."

  "No, I—I can't." He makes a pained, strangled noise, and steps back, pushing my hand away. "You're off limits."

  "Off limits?" I raise a brow at him, laughing a little. "If it's my mother you're worried about, trust me when I say she's the dictionary definition of absent and uninterested. Death need not concern you or your definitely delicious cock. So just relax, sit back, and let me swallow you until you come so hard you see the Celestial Realms."

  "Oh, gods." His eyes flutter closed, and the bulge in his pants makes it clear that he's enjoying the picture. But he shakes his head, annoying me. "I'm sorry, I didn't know when I nodded at you... I mean, no one had told me, it's just that—"

  "Spill it, or I'll bite your dick off."

  "Vesuvius." He swallows, backing away from me. "He's said no one is allowed to touch you. If I even so much as let you put your pinky finger on my dick, he'll slit my throat. Trust me when I say he means it—the dude is serious."

  "You've got to be kidding me." Anger fills me, along with the bitter hot realization that I'm not about to get laid. "He can't do that! I'm not on his stupid fucking arena team."

  "But I am." Mikael backs up, running a hand through his hair, wincing as his pants pull tight on his obviously engorged cock. "Sorry. See you around."

  Then he flees, leaving me with nothing but my own anger and a short-lived moment of unfinished lust.

  Vesuvius will pay for this.

  Just as soon as I get my hands on him.

  Chapter Fifteen

  I can't get back into the training room. Now that the post-training godblood orgy is actually underway, they've apparently locked the doors. While I try putting my hands on them and trying to drain any death energy out, the damned locks aren't made of Ares gold or magicked at all. They're just plain, useless, unbreakable stainless steel.

  But my anger won't let up.

  Off limits. How dare this arrogant, no good, hotblooded demigod declare that no one can fuck me all because he says so. I'll show him.

  I'm not sure exactly what I'll do to him, considering I have my cuffs on still, and underneath them I'm basically a starved, weak wraith that even an unarmed mortal could probably fight. But I'll figure something out. Even if it's just yelling at him or spitting in his face.

  As soon as he's done fucking around in his orgy-go-round.

  Which is another thing: it's not like he's celibate. I'm sure he's getting his dick wet as we speak. So the audacity of him, to declare that I can't do what he's doing, is ridiculous.

  My logical mind recognizes the strategy: he wants me on his team, not Jasper's, and he's apparently caught on to the fact that I'm a horny slut. So he's made sure that the only way I can get what I want is if I officially join up with him. Become the Girl Friday on his arm, suck him off a few times a week, and the rules are lifted.

  What he doesn't know is how much I hate bullies. So much that I've nearly caused entire celestial wars fighting them. A simple half-mortal son of Hephaestus is nothing next to what I've faced in my relatively long life. I won't let this dick deny me access to other dicks.

  Pacing back and forth, I work myself up to even more of a rage. The anger builds inside me. It practically makes my hair stand on end. Waiting, knowing he's screwing around, that it'll be a while before I can give him a piece of my mind, just makes it that much worse.

  So I startle and nearly jump when Vesuvius walks out of the training room, buzzed hair freshly wet from a shower, fully clothed in dark sweats and smelling like body wash instead of hot orgy sex.

  He blinks at me. "Mora. What are you doing here? Did you leave something in the training room?"

  "I want to talk to you—"

  "Oh, good." Vesuvius brightens, and I grind my teeth together at the fact that he looks so gods-damned handsome. "If this is about joining up with the Worshippers, I'd be more than happy to have you. Seems you have a few sword-fighting skills that—"

  Scowling, I shove him. Well, I try to at least. Even put my hands up, palms out, and throw my body weight against his chest. It's supposed to be intimidating, to make him stumble back and shut the fuck up.

  Instead I basically just wind up falling against the wall of muscles he's compromised of. Warm, dense muscles. A chest that moves as he startles and breathes in. Plus, when I look up, his lips are so close I can practically taste them.

  Except that I can't. Because of what it would mean. And what's worse, he's kept me from getting off some other way, with an inferior man.

  Sure, Vesuvius may be the hottest guy around here, except for maybe Jasper, and Aleksander. And he may have an impossibly chiseled jawline and muscles that are definitely sparking warmth between my thighs as I touch them way longer than necessary. But he's also a clit-blocker, and that I just can't forgive.

  If only I'd managed to actually shove him instead of just falling against his body like some fainting woman. The dick. The asshole. He'll be the reason why I get stuck in this place.

  Burning with anger, I hit his pecs with a closed fist, and take some small comfort in the oomph sound that leaves his mouth. There! That did... something.

  "You have my attention," Vesuvius says, taking a step back and rubbing his big, manly chest with the flat of his palm. Damned him for looking so confused. "Is something wrong?"

  "Is something wrong?!" Throwing my hands up in the air, I actually sputter, and hate myself for doing it. I hate him even more for making me into a caricature of an angry, unstable woman. A woman who just wants to put her hands against his chest and feel his muscles move every time he breathes. "You asshole, yes something is wrong. You're absolutely—"

  "Hold on." He grabs my wrist, stopping my angry flailing, eyes on something behind my head. "The guards are headed this way. I need to go back to my cell before they show up. Can we save this for later?"

  I stare at him so hard that it's a wonder his head doesn't explode from having so much rage aimed at it all at once. Not that I want his head to explode—he's so goddamned handsome. It's actually pretty distracting. I start to forget what I was even going to talk to him about.

  Then I hear the same sound as him: guards approaching. My body remembers what it felt like to be beaten, even if my mind doesn't. And a plan forms inside me for what later will mean.

  "Scurry back to your cell. But we're going to talk about your bullshit. Trust me when I say you've messed with the wrong woman."

  "Oh-okay." He seems uncertain, backing up while staring at me, his thick ginger brows furrowed. "Hope you're well."

  I fume, and Vesuvius apparently decides it's better if he just hightails it out of here. Watching him walk down the hallway, I narrow my eyes and wonder if he's like this in the arena, or if he's only a coward when it comes to facing off against women he's decided to control.

  Then I realize: I didn't even tell him why I'm mad at him. No wonder he's so confused. Time to rectify that. He should get a piece of my mind—without me being distracted by his muscles or his handsome face.

  Ducking into the su
pply closet, I listen to the guards trudge down the hallway. Once their boots have disappeared into the distance, I saunter back out again, check to make sure the coast is clear, and head towards the men's cellblocks.

  I must be insane to be doing this. It's probably going to get me in trouble. My ribs burn just thinking of the beating I'll get if I'm caught wandering around without a good reason.

  But I won't be able to escape until I've filled the well of hunger within me. Only more death will make it possible to remove the Ares gold from my body and find a way out of here. Death that Vesuvius has denied me with his prideful alpha man bullshit.

  I've got to teach him a lesson. To make him regret what he's done. And most importantly, to take it back. Not because I want to fuck Mikael that badly—he's a hot, muscular man, but also kind of an oaf and a coward—but because no male, immortal, half-immortal, or otherwise, tells me what to do.

  I'll box his ears in. I'll twist his fingers back until they break. As I stalk down the long hallway towards his cell, glancing in each of his neighbors and finding most of them gone—they're probably involved in that orgy, or doing yard time—I imagine the things I could do to punish Vesuvius for his stupid man rules.

  I could kick him in the balls. Punch him in the crotch. Then maybe palm his crotch, feel him harden for me, get down on my knees... and bite his dick so hard it leaves scars behind.

  Okay, so I'm mostly thinking about what it would be like to suck him off. How his cock would be weighty and musky on my tongue. The taste of his life force flowing out of him as he comes, his heat splashing the back of my throat. How I could simply pull my black bottoms down, wrap my legs around him, and draw his precum-soaked shaft inside my body to make him give me what I need to get out of this place.

  Being denied so much—first Jasper's cock in my hand that went no further, then feeling Damien's bulge but not getting to have it inside me, and now the bitter lack of Mikael's heat feeding my hunger—has made me more than a little distracted.

  The hunger for death that nips at my heels has grown so strong it now pushes past the barrier of the Ares gold that was keeping it at bay. It probably doesn't help that I've drained and removed my cuffs a few times, first to experiment with them, then to heal myself. I can feel the lack of recent feeding like a yawning pit inside me that hollows out my throat.

  As it reaches a crescendo, I find Vesuvius's cell. He's all the way in the back of his cellblock, alone in a large corner room that by all rights he should have to share. Of course he doesn't—of course the big, strong, muscular man with fire in his eyes and biceps thick enough to throw a woman down and have his way with her gets all the space in the world to swing his big dick around. And he has a full size bed, too, one with an actual mattress on it, which is what he's sitting on, feet over the edge, his sweatshirt on the ground, broad shoulders working as he bandages up his middle.

  There's some kind of slash in his side. Bright red blood is covered by the bandages as he thickly rolls them around and around his torso. His incredibly well-muscled, dimpled torso, with abs on abs, a deep V towards his waist, and those flared back muscles that tense when a man is fucking his cock deep inside his lover's body.

  He looks like he could probably put his cock in you so deep that you'd feel it in your eyeballs. Your eyes would roll back in pleasure, and...

  I clamp my thighs close together, rage rising inside me, so angry that I'm not fucking Mikael right now because of him. How dare he, I remind myself—how dare this man with sword-calloused fingers and beautiful brown skin take a good lay away from me. He has no right, with his abdomen that dips as it reaches his hips, and a curl of ginger hair peeking up above his waistband, no doubt the start of a happy trail that leads towards a thick, large cock.

  "Vesuvius." His name snaps out of my mouth, and he startles, blinking as he turns to stare at me. "Let's have that talk now."

  Warily, he looks out into the hallway, frowning. "How'd you get past the guards?"

  I slipped past them, my rage and hunger so strong that I became something like a wraith, a shadow of Death, her only daughter disappearing into the darkness. Instead of telling him this secret, I just shrug, grab onto the bars of his cell and stare him down.

  "You told your men they aren't allowed to fuck me. Because you think you control my pussy. A position I don't remember electing you to, because it doesn't exist, because I'm the only one who decides who I get to sleep with. Yet here we are."

  He flinches, fingers fastening the bandage around his middle. Then raises his chin, draws on his strength, and meets my angry glare with one of his own. "You refuse to join up—that's fine. But you don't get all the perks and benefits if you won't come to heel."

  My hands tighten around the bars, and I feel it within them: death. They may not have as much magic in them as Ares gold, but it's there still. As hungry as I am, something like a black hole inside me, I can't help but draw the energy of them out and feed on it.

  But it doesn't calm the storm inside my soul. It isn't enough to fill the void. I need more. The man between me and an end to the hunger is just sitting there, daring to defy me. Trying to control me.

  The daughter of Death obeys no one.

  "I don't have to come to heel for anyone," I tell Vesuvius, words snapping as my tone grows short. "Especially not some nobody like you. Lift your stupid fucking rules and let me do what I want."

  "You are allowed to do what you want." Standing, his muscles rippling, he crosses his arms and stubbornly faces off with me. "It's my men who aren't allowed to do what they want."

  The chutzpah of it nearly takes me out. I laugh in his face, then shift my weight and lean forward, face dipping between the bars, teeth practically bared in a snarl. "What a fucking copout. You're such a petty little man, not letting me get what I need."

  "I fail to see how screwing around with my men is something you need." Vesuvius's nostrils flare, frustration crossing his face. "And I'm not doing it to punish you, Mora. That thought didn't even cross my mind. I just need to make sure all my warriors have their eye on the prize—which means concentrating on the arena tournament instead of screwing around and starting fights. They're not allowed to fuck anyone, male or female, who isn't a member of the team. Not just you."

  I blink, frowning at him, this news changing things... a little. "Still," I argue, "it's a punishment whether you claim it is or not. I need to be able to have a little—a little release." Struggling to find words that don't reveal what I feed off of, or my plans to escape, I tell him, "Every demigod needs a bit of fun in bed to relieve the tension caused by having celestial blood run through your veins."

  "No one said you're not allowed to screw around." He raises his chin defiantly. "I just won't have you, or anyone else not a member of my team, causing tension in the ranks. If you want to mess with warriors, mess with some of Jasper's team—I'm sure they'll be more than willing to fuck around and fight over whatever scraps you give them."

  "Scraps?" My fingers dig into the bars of his cell, the metal suddenly soft beneath my skin, its death magic the only thing I have to settle the burning ache of hunger spreading within me. "Look here, Vesuvius. Nothing, and I mean nothing, that I have to offer would ever be called 'scraps.' Not in a millennia. So watch your mouth."

  The fiery demigod smirks, one corner of his mouth higher than the other, and sketches out a mock bow for me. "Apologies, milady. I would have never called what you have to offer scraps if I'd realized it would hit such a nerve. Let's call you a... handful? Instead. Maybe two, if the positioning is right, and the hands are small."

  Sputtering, I lean in as far as I can, angry enough to want to jump into his cell and wrap my hands around his thick muscular neck—and the bars crumble beneath my weight, the magic of death drained out of them, bending and warping until I'm actually stepping into Vesuvius's large, impossibly well-decorated cell.

  For a moment we stare at each other. He looks just as shocked as I feel. All this time, I had no idea I could do tha
t—and with my cuffs on at that.

  The hunger must be growing.

  Soon it'll consume me.

  Unless I find someone to feed off of.

  Someone strong, powerful, full of godblood, and capable of going again... and again, then again.

  A mate so rare and verified he or she would be the type to climb to the top of the food chain and lead others. The type to ride into battle on a warhorse and destroy regiments with the edge of a blade. Warriors, leaders, rebels—those are the types I need, the kind legends and myths are made of, who have life force to spare and then some.

  Staring at me in shock and wonder, Vesuvius finally says, "I thought you couldn't do things like that."

  "Yeah, well." I brush my hands off, the dust of his cell bars falling from my skin. "Like I said, I'm very, very angry with you."

  "Because you want to be able to fuck someone, and I denied you that."

  "Yes."

  "But I didn't." Raising a brow, he takes a cautious step towards me, like he expects me to raise my hands at any moment and turn him into dust, too. "I invited you to our post-training get together. You knew what was on the table. Everyone knows. But you didn't show."

  "I didn't realize I was missed," I grouse, inhaling the sharp, ash-like scent that clings to him. "And I didn't go because I don't want to be on an arena team. Like I've said a dozen times since getting here—"

  "You're 'too weak' to fight, so I've heard," he says, sounding unconvinced, just like Jasper. "For some reason you don't want to go to the arena. I don't understand why—it seems like the perfect place for you. Death's daughter can't be scared of a little bloodshed."

  "You're the daughter of Death. Surely a bit of blood doesn't scare you. If so, you're weaker than I thought." My heart twists a little in my chest, and I force myself not to think about Ares, the way his face looks when he's full of rage, how his fists rained down on his favorite son when he discovered what we were about to do. Blood may not scare me, but there are certain things in my past I'd rather not repeat.