We were a coven of women. There were no men in our coven. Sometime in our history, maybe during the Burning Times, maybe before, the history was murky, our High Priestesses decided men were a distraction from our purpose, from our powers.
As adults, after we were given our assignments, we were permitted to venture out of the woods to seek the company of men. In a superficial, physical way only.
No feelings.
No love.
Just sex.
Pleasure.
Reproduction, when we decided we were ready.
We only had daughters, continuing the cycle.
And while I had come of age two years before, I had yet to decide I was ready for the touch of a man. Which was likely because my mother, a woman of experience, had sat me down, and informed me that in her history, many of the men she had known the touch of simply didn't know how to touch her body the correct way, to make the primal magic sing across the nerve endings, cause those deep undulations inside.
We had always been empowered about our own pleasure, were taught the ways of our bodies, how we could make them explode with pleasure. Orgasm magic could help difficult rituals, that deep release of energy.
And with her words, followed by the words of some of the girls my age who had ventured out, coming back talking of pain and embarrassment and completion for the man that didn't bring about pleasure for them, I decided to delay that experience for myself, maybe until I thought I was ready to bear my first daughter.
So I wasn't familiar with the connection between desire and the presence of a male figure.
I hadn't been prepared for the heady, intoxicating sensation of it.
I shouldn't have even felt it.
This male was not even a man in the strictest definition.
He was male and he had male parts, but he was not a man.
He was a demon.
He was a creature of hell.
He was evil.
He stood against everything my coven and I believed in.
As he stood there as I pulled my clothing off in front of him, I expected to feel humiliation and rage.
What I felt, instead, was a warming sensation, making a flush move across my chest, up my cheeks.
As his hungry gaze moved over my bare body, there was a tightening in my core, making me turn suddenly away, to hide in the tub, focusing a moment to figure out the plumbing that I had heard about, but had never personally experienced.
The coven was, as the regular humans said, off the grid.
We had composting toilets, but no running water. Instead, we had wash basins and pitchers. And when we bathed, we either did so in the river, or we filled up a tub we kept near the river, that we then built a fire under.
Running water was one of the few things I was sure, as I lay back and soaped up my body, that the normal people got right.
Just as I was starting to enjoy the sensation of getting clean after feeling unwashed for so many days, a movement in the mirror over the vanity drew my focus. And there at the corner of the mirror, just barely visible, was the demon. Ly, his demon brother had called him. If I recalled my lessons correctly, that made him Lycus. He was second-in-command only to the leader, Ace.
But there he was, looking at the mirror. Looking at me in the mirror.
His eyes were intense, his jaw tight, his body rigid. As my gaze moved down the length of his body, I saw the bulge at the fly of his jeans. Even as my focus stayed there, his hand lowered, undid his button and zipper, reached inside, and pulled out his erection.
I might not have had experience with men personally, but I knew just about everything there was to know. We had many anatomically correct male God statues, drawings, and paintings.
In the flesh, as it were, was very different from statues and pictures. Those always made it look hard, yes, but in real life, it looked somehow hard, yet somehow soft at the same time. Like if you ran a hand across it, it would be smooth and warm.
The statues and pictures hadn't prepared me, though, for this.
For this man.
No, this demon, I reminded myself.
But regardless of his origins in hell, this flesh he was wearing was all man.
And impressive, at that.
I pressed my thighs together at the length of him, the girth, realizing my hand would barely close around him.
That should have been intimidating, a little worrisome.
But all I felt was a heat, a thrill, a tightening of desire.
As his hand started to stroke his cock, the sensation only grew until it felt like it was overtaking me completely, until there was an oppressive weight on my lower stomach, a throbbing between my thighs that begged for release.
I didn't dare, though, knowing he could see me. It was bad enough I was allowing him to watch, had said nothing about him looking at me while I was nude.
I soaped my hands again, wrinkling my nose a bit at the plain scent of it, so used to the soaps my coven and I made each summer filled with flowers and herbs, earthy and familiar, then ran my hands down my body as Ly kept stroking himself, somehow making his cock get bigger, thicker, as he went.
A jolt moved through me as my hands brushed over my breasts, finding them heavy and sensitive, then drifted lower, over my belly. I raised one leg out of the hot water, soaping it up as I casually watched the mirror, finding Ly's eyes so heavy-lidded they were almost closed in his desire. I washed my other leg. Then my hand moved upward, slipping between my thighs under the guise of completing my washing, but as my fingertips met my cleft, stroked upward to brush over the little bud at the apex of my sex, a wave of pleasure too intense to deny burst from my touch and outward, making my body jolt, making my head loll back, making a surprised whimper escape me.
It was right then, too, that Ly hissed, his lips forming the foreign—yet somehow instinctively sinful-sounding word—Fuck—as he reached completion, his body stiffening, his cock producing his seed.
It shouldn't have been thrilling, but that was the sensation that moved through me as I watched.
My gaze stayed on him as he recovered from his release, found a discarded piece of clothing on the floor, and cleaned himself off with it.
Then, I followed his movement as he seemed to be coming into the room.
With me.
A second later, there he was, at the sink, washing his hands as his gaze moved to mine in the mirror.
Nothing about him right then made me think he knew I had been watching him as he had been watching me.
Which meant my reaction should have been shock and outrage for him intruding on a private moment.
"Get out," I demanded, hoping my voice sounded more forceful to him than it did to my own ears.
To that, he switched off the water and turned to face me, pausing for a second, then making his way toward the tub.
"This is my room, witch. That is my tub you are soaking in. You don't make demands here. You don't tell me to do anything, in fact," he warned me, voice steely, cold, even, but I inexplicably felt a heat moving across me at the sound. "This is my water," he went on, squatting down at the side of the tub, running his hand across the surface of the water, making it lap up over my breasts, causing my nipples to harden.
At that, Ly's breath rushed out through his nose, his eyes flashing, seeming redder for a moment as he reached for my hand that was still holding the bar of soap, rested right above the triangle of my sex. He covered my hand and the soap with his, pushing it downward so it slid between my thighs, the touch making my legs shoot out, my back arch, a whimper to escape me.
"That's my soap too," he told me. "Remember that when you're rubbing it across your clit," he added, releasing my hand suddenly, standing, and walking out of the room.
The door to the hallway slammed as well, leaving me wholly alone for the first time since leaving the basement.
My hand released the soap, but stayed between my thighs, my finger teasing over the spot I'd always heard referred to in softer, earthy te
rms. Bud. Gem. Jewel.
I'd never heard the word he used before.
Clit.
There was something forceful about that word, something primal.
Clit.
I liked it, I decided, as my finger moved across it. I liked it more when he said it in that growling, masculine voice of his, but that was an issue for another time.
Right there, right then, in that tub of water, with my body humming with need, I let my eyes drift closed and brought my body upward in the song of desire, letting it reach the blissful high note that sang through my whole body before I finally finished my bath, washing and rinsing my hair under the running tap. I climbed out of the bath, drying myself off with the scratchy towel on the drying bar before moving over to the vanity, searching around for any creams.
Finding none, I used my finger to brush the chemically minty paste onto my teeth, cleaning them off, washing my hands, slipping into my cloak as a makeshift dress as I washed my gown in the sink, figuring I could hang it to dry in the basement, and that I could rotate the two makeshift outfits anytime they allowed me to bathe.
Unsure what to do next, I made my way out into the bedroom.
I'd never seen the outside of the demons' home, but this room was massive, bigger than my entire home in the woods, dominated by a wooden-framed bed that seemed like four could comfortably sleep on it.
There were wooden dressers, nightstands, and a massive box on the wall I knew of as a television, though I had personally never watched one for more than a few seconds when I'd gone with some of the older women in the coven to town to get some supplies that we couldn't secure any other way.
I moved over toward the windows, drawing back the drapes, seeing the damage of my swirling emotions all around the sprawling grounds—pools of water, broken tree branches, sad-looking rose bushes.
The sun was peeking through the clouds now, though, as the thick blanket of sadness seemed lifted.
I was still uncomfortable, unsure, completely in the dark about what was going to happen to me here.
But if the demon was going to rape me, wouldn't he have done it already? If they were going to murder me, wouldn't that have taken place?
I was starting to wonder if all those scary stories told around a fire were nothing more than tall tales from imaginative minds than actual possibilities.
Though, it might have been too soon to write much of anything off.
These were demons, after all.
Evil through and through.
When Ly didn't return several moments later, I made my way toward the door, pressing my ear to it, trying to hear if anyone was approaching, if he was nearby.
Hearing nothing, I hung up my gown in the bathroom and stood around waiting, figuring there was no way they wanted me walking freely around the home without express permission to do so.
After what seemed like hours passed, my stomach grumbling, my eyelids getting heavy, I slowly lowered myself down on the floor beneath the window, feeling the warmth on my face even as the hardwood cooled my back as I closed my eyes, eventually allowing the previously elusive sleep to claim me.
I dreamed of Samhain—the Summer's end solstice I would be missing this year, along with every other sabbat until the end of my time.
We would honor the dead, the generations of mothers before us. We would set their places at the table while we feasted. Then Marianne would hold a seance, seeing if any of the crossed over wanted to speak to us, guide us.
We would end the night by breaking away for private moments alone under moonlight with our cards in our hands, rolling them out in the Wheel of the Year spread, taking the guidance for the coming year that the universe, the mother, the father, had for us.
It was a happy dream as I saw myself spread in my black gown, my black cloak, my familiar, well-loved cards spread out before me.
It was the message that alarmed me, though.
Because it was a message of love.
We didn't fall in love, witches.
We met men, we grew heavy with daughters from them, and we devoted our lives to our beliefs, taking whatever love was within us, and pouring it into our daughters.
We didn't fall in love.
The cards never spoke to us about it.
But there it was, undeniable.
Ace of Cups, symbolizing new love. Two of cups, repressing learning to open up to another. Queen of Cups, a card speaking of sexuality. The Sun, a happily-ever-after sort of card. The Empress, suggesting children.
All happy.
All pointing toward love.
Until my eyes landed on the final card.
The Devil.
"What the fuck are you doing?" A growling voice startled me from my dream.
My eyes flew open, struggling to focus with the fogginess of sleep still blanketing my mind.
Several things came to me at once.
The sun was down in the windows to my side.
I was freezing because my cloak had fallen open down the middle exposing me completely.
And Ly looked even more intimidating and primal standing over me.
"I... resting," I said, voice thick with sleep.
"On the floor? There's a bed right there," he said, waving toward it.
"You own that bed. And the bedding. And the pillows," I spat, throwing his earlier words at him.
"And I don't own the floor?" he shot back, rolling those entrancing eyes of his. "Being a stubborn ass isn't going to get you far now that you're here," he declared, squatting down, slipping his hands under my body, and lifting me off the floor.
Surprise flooded my system. I hadn't been lifted since I was a little girl. I hadn't been carried since I was a babe. And this, well, this was decidedly different than that.
I felt oddly... small.
And strangely safe.
Which was absurd.
I was in the arms of a demon.
A creature of hell.
Safe was the last thing I was.
But he picked me up. And he carried me as though I weighed nothing more than a dried leaf before stopping at the side of the bed and tossing me onto it.
"Sleep there," he demanded in that grumbly voice of his.
I was starting to miss the basement. The certainty of the days there. Footsteps on the floorboards above, a sink and toilet, halfway edible food on a tray at least once a day, brought down by a man who didn't look for me, didn't notice me, didn't seem interested in harming me in any way.
Here, in this room, on this bed, with this demon prowling around, I had no idea what to expect.
Would he touch me like he'd done in the tub?
Was I in that kind of danger?
If I was, why did the idea send a thrill through me?
Ly moved through his room, grabbing something out of a dresser, then going into the bathroom.
I heard the water turn on, then off a few moments later before he appeared, this time wearing only a pair of loose black cotton pants slung low on his hips, putting the rest of his body on display.
Again, I'd seen pictures and statues. But there was something about the flesh itself that was more appealing. The way his muscles moved under the skin as he walked, the artwork he'd had tattooed into his skin.
"What are you doing?" I heard myself ask as he moved to the other side of the bed.
"Going to sleep," he told me, getting into the bed, rolling onto his back, staring up at the ceiling.
I couldn't think of what to say to that. His temper seemed short-fused. If I asked why he didn't bring me back to the basement, he might get set off.
And if his intentions were simply to go to sleep, there was no harm done there, was there?
This bed was preferable to the one in the basement, especially now that the basement bed was broken. And was more than large enough for both of us to sleep without ever so much as brushing shoulders.
So I rolled onto my side away from him, curled my legs into my chest, and closed my eyes.
But slee
p refused to come.
I was too aware of him just a few feet away from me. Despite the space, I could feel the heat of him. It warmed my back in a way that shouldn't have been comforting, since his warmth came from the fiery pits of hell. Yet that was exactly what it was. Comforting. In this cold and drafty house, to feel so much warmth, like falling asleep in front of a winter fire, the heat tingled across your skin, burrowed inside, warmed you to your core.
"Fucking hell," Ly growled some indeterminate time later, making me jump, a little squeak escaping between my lips.
"What?" I asked, pulling the front of my cape closed before I turned to look over at him. There wasn't much light in the room, but his eyes seemed to catch what little there was, glowing redder in the dark.
"How am I supposed to sleep with your stomach growling like that?" he demanded, sounding genuinely angry about it.
"How am I supposed to make it stop growling if I haven't been fed?" I shot back.
My body had never become accustomed to hunger. Our coven participated in fasts for certain rituals, but while others seemed to effortlessly get through the long days of emptiness with ease, I was always tormented by the grumbling of my stomach, the stabbing hunger pangs.
"Fucking witches," he snapped, getting out of bed, moving across the room in the dark, and flicking on the light. "Come on then," he demanded as he opened the door.
I didn't stop to think.
I hopped off the bed and followed behind.
I wasn't going to turn down food if I could get it. Who knew when they would feed me again?
If these demons were willing to show me any sort of kindness, I had to be humble enough to accept it graciously.
It was against their nature, after all.
Chapter Four
Lycus
I wasn't known for my self-control.
That wasn't how we were built.
Self-control wasn't a virtue in our world.
In fact, the utter lack of it was much more desirable.
Why I was showing so much to the fucking witch was beyond me.
I wanted to slip my fingers in her waiting pussy in that tub.
And then I walked back into my room after punishing myself in the gym, to find her passed out on the floor with her fucking cloak open, exposing damn near every desirable part of her body to my hungry gaze.
The Sacrifice: A Paranormal MC Romance Page 3