by Liza James
Goosebumps break out over my shoulders, and I run my hands up and down my upper arms as a shiver rolls down my spine.
Cold. A breeze of chilled air blows around me, and I quickly look back over my shoulder as if someone is watching. Na’amah’s name springs to mind, but I don’t see her, I don’t hear anyone in fact and I wonder if this would be the best time to explore the castle on my own.
I doubt someone would hear me sneak out of my room, so I slowly walk toward my door and quietly pull it open, carefully peeking around the common area for any open doors or late nighters who may still be awake. But there’s nothing, so I step out and shut the door behind me, letting my bare feet move across the soft carpet below me.
No creaks sound under my steps, and as soon as I make it to the narrow staircase, that familiar chill rolls over my spine again. I look behind me a second time, taking note of every closed door and the silence around me.
Everything is fine. I’m alone. I’m safe. I can explore and ideally find a potential escape route while everyone is asleep.
I hurry down the stairs, trailing my fingers along the wall for balance as I step along the cold stone below. For a moment, I worry I won’t be able to see anything past these stairs. But the moment I reach the bottom, I notice the torches of purple flames lining the hallway before me. Purple flames, interesting, I’ll have to ask about what that means if I’m still around in the morning.
I’d like to try and escape right now, disappear in those woods before anyone wakes in the morning. But I’m not naive enough to think I’d survive in the Underworld alone, without any knowledge of what lays ahead.
So, I slowly move down the hallway instead, my eyes scanning over every painting hanging on the walls. It’s each of the sisters, or Queens as Lilac referenced them earlier tonight. Eisheth is first, and then Aggie. Each painting captures their beauty but not nearly enough to match their true elegance. I pause as I come to Na’amah’s, and find myself indescribably drawn to her portrait.
She’s stunning in a way that both breathes her femininity and proudly displays her masculine side. Both weave so seamlessly within her, and my head tilts to the side as I find myself in a state of admiring her.
I shouldn’t be. I know this. My logical mind reminds of everything she’s stolen from me thus far. Of the ways she used me earlier by bringing me so close to an orgasm and then denying it immediately.
And yet, those ice blue eyes hold the same electric current that courses between us when she’s near. Each paint stroke carries this strange tether begging me to step closer, to run my fingers along her skin and surrender to every demand she makes of me.
Suddenly, the faintest fall of a footstep sounds behind me, and my head whips back while I stumble away from the painting against the wall behind me. I wait, my heart hammering loudly in my chest as my skin goes hot and palms begin to sweat. Closing my eyes, I quiet my breaths, forcing them slow and shallow while I strain to hear for any further steps.
Several minutes pass in complete silence. Nothing catches my attention however, so I caution my first step forward again, opening my eyes and looking to my left and right before moving further.
I don’t see anyone, and I don’t hear anything, so I hurry down the hall until I reach the small doorway leading into the throne room. There is a part of me warning my mind to turn around and go back to bed. Maybe this is as far as I should go tonight, but a louder portion of my mind is saying I haven’t actually found anything yet, and I’d like to take a closer look at the other doorway in the room ahead of me. I have an inkling that one may lead outside, and that will be my first means of escape when the time comes.
This time, I very slowly wrap my fingers around the iron lever resting on the wooden door ahead of me. I pull it down as gently as I can possibly manage, holding my breath while the faintest creak breaks out as I push it lower.
“No, no, no,” I barely whisper the words, but panic grips my throat until the quiet click alerts me that I can finally push it open. Moving lightly, I only open the door enough to allow me space to slip through, and I intentionally don’t shut it as I finally step into the grand space I was in yesterday. I breathe out a sigh of relief, inhaling in the next moment deeply while my lungs fill with oxygen and my heart rate calms.
I run my palms up and down my pants, taking the moment to relax before raising my eyes and letting them settle on the four large thrones ahead of me.
I shouldn’t go near them, I don’t think. But the curious side of me is urging me to step closer. I glance around the large room again, ensuring there isn’t anyone watching or any distant steps I may be hearing around me. But there’s nothing, again, so I take a single step forward and toward the thrones.
That chill blows around my shoulders again, for the third time tonight. Pulling my skin tight while my shoulders shake through another shiver that I quickly ignore. I can only assume the air filtration in this place is horrendous, and a draft is absolutely probable in every room or hall of the castle.
I move forward, each stride light and steady until I finally reach the few steps that lead up to each throne. Pacing up them, I’m thankful my feet don’t make a single sound potentially alerting the others.
Immediately, I’m drawn to the single throne belonging to Na’amah. My eyes linger over the others, and pause briefly over Lilith’s, but ultimately settle on the one directly in front of me.
Hers is so intricately designed after Winter. Wild, chaotic wisps of what looks ice flare out from the edges of the throne. I swear, it almost glows in the darkness, that bright blue electricity practically flowing from every inch beautifully. I lean even closer, my eyes trailing from the top, down the back and over each complexly engraved arm.
It’s absolutely stunning. My entire self is enraptured by the beauty of it. But as I study the details, I realize hers is covered in tiny gemstones like Aggie’s is. Only Na’amah’s stones are very specifically white and various shades of blue. Of course, this was designed exactly for her and I lift my fingers to gently touch them.
I don’t even know why I’m so bewitched by this. I want to touch it, I want to sit within it, I want to feel the stones and engravings against my skin as if it’ll somehow bring me closer to her. Suddenly, the word I so avidly refuse to speak begs to spill from my lips. As if I can’t even control it and my skin is overwhelmed by the feeling of chill from earlier. But I welcome it this time, breathing it in while my tongue forms the unspoken word.
“Alca,” I whisper so quietly I can barely hear it myself. But the instant I do, right before my fingers finally make contact with Na’amah’s throne, I’m completely paralyzed in fear instead.
“Not exactly when I wanted to hear you say it, but satisfied nonetheless hearing that word slip free of your lips, little Kitten.” A sharp, cold, blade rests against my throat as her heated voice moves against my ear. I can feel her powerful body at my back, her hands tightly securing me against her frame before I could ever touch her throne.
“Na’amah.” I breathe out her name as well, the word coming through as disappointment floods my chest at being caught. I was so fucking close to something I could almost feel it. As if each of these thrones were alive and carrying secrets.
My heart is racing, and I wonder if she can hear it. Does it call to her? My blood? Is that why she chose me?
“Not to you,” she grinds out, and her tone is laced in obvious irritation. She’s angry, I can practically sense it radiating from her, and I’m immediately afraid of what I can expect to come next.
This isn’t familiar to me, her methods of punishment, and I have no doubt that punishing is exactly what she intends to do to me.
Her hold on me constricts my movements entirely, I’m completely at her beck and call as she pulls back and drags me down the stairs and into the center of the room. Her breathing is steady and strong against my ear, my own voice completely muted by the knife against my throat. I dare not speak, but I refuse to beg for release from her.
/> I already know that’s not possible.
“I was going to give you time to adjust here, connect with the others before I started with you. But you don’t know how to simply follow along, do you?” She pushes me toward the big white doors we came through yesterday. “Keep your head down, do as you’re told. Are those all outrageously complex concepts to you? Do you think it was smart to sneak around the kingdom at night?” Annoyance is evident in her tone and the way I can hear her teeth grinding beside my ear. We continue moving forward and I continue ignoring her.
She doesn’t stop however, and with every demand and sarcastic remark at my back, I’m growing even more irritable with her. She’s leading me down a dark hallway, several large, iron doors line either side of us. Each look exactly the same, with no distinguishing marks to differentiate one from the other.
She doesn’t remove the knife at my throat, she doesn’t put an inch of distance between us as we walk. I remain completely cinched to her chest with one arm wrapped powerfully around my waist and the other threatening the blade while we walk.
“My sweet, fragile, Kitten.” She replies in a hushed tone, but there isn’t any sweet endearment in her voice as she says it. She’s mocking me.
“Do you ever shut up when you’re like this?” I finally snap, my own frustration getting the best of me. Immediately, I know it was the wrong decision and just as I assume we are passing another door, I’m yanked to the right and roughly pushed through it with Na’amah following behind me.
I fall to the ground, a yelp escaping my mouth as my hands and knees hit hard, cold stone. My body is still sore from my encounters yesterday, and my dry lips crack as I wince at the pain. The scent of wet cement and stale air wafts over me, and when I lift my head to gauge the space we’ve entered, I realize I can’t see anything. But the sounds of Na’amah’s heated steps sound out behind me in consistent, terrifying patterns.
Fuck, fuck, fuck. I’ve gone too far.
My skin pricks with erratic goosebumps, my blood rolling in anticipation as the footsteps suddenly halt and I’m surrounded by silence in this dark room. My heart is hammering in my chest, a shiver running down my spine as I struggle to adjust to the bleak darkness. I wish I could see what the fuck was happening right now, but I can’t.
“Focus,” Na’amah suddenly speaks. Her tone lacking even the slightest emotion. “You’ll need to do exactly as I say in order to survive this. Do you understand me?” Fuck, is she serious? Survive what? What the hell is she about to do to me?
I glance around again, looking in the direction I believe I hear her voice. But it’s difficult, because the stone room echoes in various places with her sadistic and vacant words. I can’t even fight this. I have nowhere to run, nowhere to hide. I turn around and sit back on my ass, inhaling a deep breath and trying to clear my mind in order to find her. “Yes.” I finally reply, because there really isn’t another option for me here.
“You’re going to be a good girl for me, Skilla. Do everything I ask, when I ask, and I’m going to make sure you never wander around the kingdom at night again. Tell me I’m right,” she says, only this time her voice changes tremendously. It’s laced with something new now, that iconic sensual authority seemingly woven into her DNA. It instantly has a pulse running through my core, and my head floods with the memories of how she touched me earlier tonight.
“You’re right.” I give it to her, because these are easy things in the moment, and they are currently keeping me alive.
“Good girl.” My head snaps to the right this time as she speaks, her voice completely changing directions in the room and catching me off guard. And now she’s closer, far closer, the icy chill she radiates is flowing around me, coming from every direction so I have no idea where she’s moving. “Are you afraid?” Her voice slowly whispers in my left ear, the cold sparking along my skin as if ice was forming in my fucking flesh. How the hell is this real? Feeling her like this seems impossible.
She’s everywhere. In my blood. Along my skin. Fucking with my head.
Fear builds its home in my mind, growing and causing every decision I make to be uncertain. But arousal is there as well, warring in the same moments for control over the fight.
“Yes,” I reply, the only word I seem to be able to form tonight. “But I have questions myself.” I lift my hands in front of me, splaying my fingers wide in order to hopefully brush against her. She’s silent at first, and I come in contact with absolutely nothing while the temperature in the room continues dropping.
“I’ll give you one answer, once we’re finished. And only if you do as you’re told.” Her voice is low and smooth in front of me now. I want to bathe in her sound as it flows along my heated form, and my head tilts to the side as I surrender to listening. “Get on your knees.”
Pausing, I consider momentarily whether I should oblige. But I’ve already agreed to whatever is coming, and if I can gain the answers to my questions, I believe this may be worth it. Also, quietly, in the back of my mind, deep in my stomach, there’s something else lingering there. A seed of submission, the need to do as I’m told and release the control I have to so frequently hold when I’m on my own or with Rowan. This is such a different dynamic, and one a small part of me is desperate to give into. Hell, even K and Ruby weren’t like this when I was with them.
I shift forward, slowly, feeling the cool ground under my knees. My palms rest on the floor as I adjust, small bits of what I assume must be dirt and rocks press into my skin in little pricks of sharp pain. Brushing them off on my legs, I finally sit back, resting against my calves as I look up and scan the room for her.
Nothing. That familiar wave of fear and anticipation wash over me. My hands tremble against my legs and it’s one of the hardest struggles of my life to remain calm in this.
“I can’t even see you,” I mutter under my breath, and suddenly the frozen tenor of her voice speaks from just behind me.
“That’s the point, Kitten. You don’t get to watch.” She breathes the commanding words against my ear. Her lips brushing along my flesh as her tongue slips out to taste me. I gasp, sucking my bottom lip into my mouth and biting down between my teeth.
There’s something so incredibly erotic in all of this and I can’t even begin to understand it. The idea that I could find this turning me on in any sort of way has me feeling insane and as if there’s something wrong with me. I was kidnapped for fuck’s sake, nothing about this situation should be making me wet and curious to push forward.
My eyes are wide, still searching the space for any ounce of light or forms in the darkness. But there’s nothing, and I’m completely blinded while every other sense works on overdrive. My lips part and my tongue slips out, tasting the salt on my skin and the staleness in the air. I focus on the sounds around me, any footfalls, or even the intake of breath as Na’amah remains at my back. She’s quiet, but the simple reminder that we’re both alive and here continues serving as a means to calm me.
Touch. This one is the most intoxicating. But it’s erratic, confusing, and completely overthrows my logical mind.
I’m feeling a million different aspects to this. Internally, my body is on fire. Arousal, curiosity, fear, intrigue—all are emotions currently twisting through every part of me.
Physically, I’m frozen. Ice and chill surround the air around me, and pain lingers under my knees and that ache remains in my muscles. I’m also wet, my thighs unintentionally shifting every so often as I try to distract myself from the burning desire to be touched and fucked.
Mentally? Well, that’s just an absolute disaster. Logic has completely evacuated the space. My body is in survival mode, relying on basic needs to be met.
Food. Shelter. Sex.
Sex is the one currently at the forefront, and if it makes space for my logical mind to re-enter and get those answers, then I’m surrendering as much as I can manage.
Her hands suddenly reach around me from behind and grip my wrists. She holds me tightly, draggin
g my own hands slowly up my waist, brushing over my own tits, and above my head. She settles them at the back, weaving my fingers together so that my back is arched and facing straight ahead.
“This is your submissive position. If at any point you’re uncertain of what to do or if you know you need to be punished, or I call on you, you immediately wait for me like this. Understand?” She speaks so surely, her tone an easy demand without any room for question. She’s breathing in sync with my own, her hands slowly releasing my wrists while I remain in that position.
She moves down my body, her fingers tracing lines that feel like ice burning against me. It’s so cold it stings, and I’m gasping as she slips under my top and pulls it over my head. I assume she drops it to the floor, because her hands are on me again in the next instant, running over every inch of my body in gentle slow patterns. I’m breathing heavily and quickly, struggling to remain calm in the midst of my heightened senses.
“Stand up and take off your pants.” She demands, her tone thick with tension as I feel her move away from me. God, I don’t want her to stop, and the immediate way my body responds to her distance is practically embarrassing. I don’t want to say I’m addicted to her, but fuck, it feels like it. My skin and form swaying back to be near her. “I want you naked and on your knees, now Kitten.”
The demand intoxicates my blood, flashing through my core in sparks of arousal and need. I’m so fucking wet, and I can’t stop the urge to stand and do exactly as she says. So I do, and as I slip my hands under the hem of my sweatpants, I sense every single moment of the soft fabric dragging across my skin. I notice everything, so much more than I usually do when I’m deprived of my other senses.