by J H Spade
I don’t allow myself to look into the kaleidoscope and see all the facets of him in all his perfect contrasts because I never want to be the weak fool I was when I was with him. All I have left to do is make myself blind to what Eros is for as long as I possibly can.
He doesn’t look the part of the mad king I’ve been hearing about.
He doesn’t even seem to notice me. The instant awareness I was expecting to my presence is absent while I continue to stand before him.
I take in my surroundings instead, hoping to be given the opportunity of reaching even the slightest thread of my power.
To my utter dismay, the long, narrow windows are sealed with scrolling iron bars over the black-painted glass, barring me from reaching any wind. We are too high up from the ground to try and jump out, even if I could get past the bars, surrounded by crimson cloud cover on the highest peak of the mountains in these parts of his lands.
With no escape in sight, I look for weapons in the room. Coming up with nothing, I do notice the room is lit by the high torches atop the slate pillars, their shape at the very top similar to the end of an arrowhead. The pillars line both sides of the wide hall. Smoke scented in myrrh reaches me as I begin wishing I had Darius’s gift of fire. Yet standing before Eros, I can see clearly how he is darkness, and no amount of light in the room can change this fact.
I’ll admit, I’m capable of bartering a part of my soul away to be gone from Eros’s presence. I even go as far and consider, I can try to negotiate with him. I can give him a small part of my soul and cut it away like a disease I don’t want to continue to grow. An amputated soul, why not, if we can have amputated bodies? What could he possibly want that I wouldn’t mind giving up for some peace of mind? I make up my mind it is for the best.
I look down to see I’m still wearing my riding clothes, a small, albeit desolate relief considering how much worse our confrontation can be, but I have no idea how I came to be standing before him.
“Release her,” I demand in my haste to be far from his castle. Before I even think to beg for my own release. I’m afraid, I realize too late how utterly fucked I am. But I just want the girl free, so I can find my own way out of here.
The sooner the better, I think as my eyes move over the many bodies lying dead on the steps leading to his throne. What sweet promises his lips must have whispered to get them all here. Slowly, before I can let the chaos of those words he uses to seduce echo their memories into my mind, the pain and horror of those frozen expressions register, and I want to fight back.
Yet . . . there’s another part of me that can’t help but think maybe, in some dark corner of my mind, I’ve been praying for this moment–the time when I can stand before him after very clearly moving on.
Maybe, I’m a sadist just like him. Or maybe it’s simply revenge that I feel I’m due.
I don’t give myself any more time to ponder my mixed emotions further—the utter turmoil I’m in and what it may mean to see him again because what could spring free may very well be something I can’t face.
So, I focus on the bodies, instead. They are all women employed by my mother, except for Tessa’s drained form—her hand ripped off and clearly missing from her body.
He savors the blood.
I quickly turn my eyes from watching him licking his bloodied lips—clearly in no hurry to get our meeting over with when he says, “Would you end their suffering by offering me your blood instead?”
“The dead no longer suffer, you would only release her to find another form of torture for her,” I say, pointing to the woman who is half laying on his spread thighs, half on the cold stone floor. “And I would never offer you my blood.”
“That’s a shame. Your wish to protect me from the comforting death your blood would provide me. Though I must say, I can’t blame you since you’d follow me quickly after. Our souls are already bound. There is nothing you or anyone else can do about it. As far as the matter of the absence of pain after death, I’d rather contradict you and say there’s another eternity of suffering after we part from our worlds into the afterlife. It is why I only plan on taking my exit with you by my side. To make it worthy for the two of us.” He laughs, eyes holding absolutely no mirth as his white shirt lays open, loosely tucked in his leather pants, stained in the blood of the ones fallen before his throne. My eyes lower from his smile that manages to pierce something I’ve hidden from myself.
“Always so morbid, Eros. Is that why you brought me here? To put into effect your death plan?” I can see scars along his abdomen and otherwise silky tan skin, scars he’s had from before, but there are new darker welts, looking like he’s been struck by a lance along his torso.
“No, you don’t deserve something so . . . rushed. The council advised me the gods sent you to end me, but we are bound together . . . in life and in death. We are immortal, and I rather think we both would enjoy it if I draw it out for you.”
Shaking my head, I say, “I refuse to believe that.”
His eyes pierce mine, “You can refuse all you like. But there’s no running from it. I will bring you here to Edenstone, and you will become my queen. We can live out in misery until our last days if it is your wish.”
“I will not go anywhere near you, and if you try to make me, I will do what the council has learned. I will kill you as the gods sentenced you to die.”
“You think I don’t welcome death after what you did to me? After what your father and family did to me? I see you like my new scars. Those are . . . courtesy of your father. Shall I stand for you, princess? Would you like to inspect the others he gave me? Will you shed the tears you haven’t shed for me in all the time we’ve been apart . . . at seeing them? Will you pretend to care . . . now that I have your attention?”
I shake my head in newfound horror for what awaits me, “Is this a nightmare . . . am I dreaming?” My voice shakes with fear, and I barely manage to keep my spine straight and from doubling over.
“Precisely, I hold your mind trapped, my clever girl, to do with as I wish for as long as I wish it. And it is entirely up to you for how long this will go on,” is all he gives me to go on while I feel another poisoned bite on my neck, raising my arm to have my hand drag along my neck because dizziness has me reacting slowly, trying to wave them off. The gesture has his eyes going dark with intense need.
“Are you offering me more, love? Because I’m enjoying the view.” His lips fill with my blood as he moans and leans back in his throne, a hand covering his mouth as he studies me further. He looks to be taking his time, thoroughly enjoying the taste of me.
I ask him barely above a whisper, “Do they do your bidding, providing you with my blood,” before I go down on one knee, a sign of my weakened state, but truth be told I wish to retrieve my dagger hidden within my boot while avoiding the hold of possession I find in his eyes. The question was merely a means of keeping him distracted while I reached for my blade.
“No, it is I who take what I want. Don’t ever be afraid of them, for they are me. And believe me when I say, there are worse things than me coming after you. I will always offer you protection through the scorpions if I can’t be with you myself. We both know how you love to run from me.”
When I don’t respond, keeping my head bowed, my braid snaking over my shoulder, he continues, sounding rather bored with my company.
“Does the princess wish to kneel and beg for forgiveness before I see her pretty tears stain her cheeks? I promise you I will not be cheated of what I’m owed, of their beautiful sight on that sinfully deceitful face.”
“Will it do me any good if I did? I doubt it,” I say more to myself than him.
I take my dagger and instead of aiming it for him, I try to slice my arm, so if I’m dreaming I can wake from this nightmare.
The glorious pain is sharp enough, it almost works.
I begin to feel the cool grass scratching softly at my nape as I struggle to wake up, hearing before I’m fully out of the room and back on solid gr
ound, “Marcus, bring her back to me,” before another bite has me returning to that room with all the dead women and their trapped pain forever etched on their faces.
Only it isn’t Eros who bites me, but the vulture that was waiting over my head as my eyes were opening. It struck digging its large beak into me, pecking greedily at the hollow in my neck, but not before I caught the flash of glassy violet eyes that are unknown to me.
Once returned to the room, I feel feathers trapping me against a powerful body that is larger, with more sinew outlining the skin than on any I’ve ever known. He keeps my shuddering form, losing more warmth every second, upright and almost holds me away from Eros.
When my hands reach back to steady myself, gripping leather thighs, I learn quickly . . . feel how he who holds me so close to his body, wears nothing on his chest and feet. To my shock the large male’s leather pants are the only article of clothing on him.
“I don’t understand,” I say, completely in shock as I foolishly look back over my shoulder, so high my head falls back on the cradle my shoulders make, and I slip into what I first view as a violet sunrise exquisitely reflected in his eyes. My eyes open wider when I see Eros, but not him at all, staring into my eyes with an intensity that rivals the power he is barely keeping leashed within his body. There is fire that burns alive in his eyes. Very different from the one Darius wields that I’ve learned to love so much.
In every way, he is as beautiful as his twin brother. If their magnetic masculinity can be called beautiful. For the same danger that lies beneath both of them lies in the chaos one would call beautiful a force of nature, but the beauty which so easily captivates can kill before the blink of an eye. Yet, there’s something different other than the obvious: violet eyes rimmed in vibrant green, the few added inches in height, and the added muscles gained in combat. I can’t pinpoint the difference straight away possibly because it is something not seen, but it is more to do with what an entirely other sense may be telling me.
“Emma, let me formally introduce you to my twin . . . Marcus. Your other mate who I wish to torment while he dreams in another female’s bed after foolishly taking a tonic I had the woman he bedded give him . . . so you can both give me what I’m owed. You know this woman Emma, would you like to know who frequently beds your mate?”
Marcus’s fangs lower as he hisses a warning to his brother, “I’ll slit your defiling throat for this.”
“No you won’t. Not while I hold complete control of your minds. Especially, not while you stand here, after I’ve allowed you to taste her and stand protecting her from me.”
At the mention of my blood, Marcus goes completely still, almost as if he’s just remembering he can drink from me. Suddenly, his grip turns more possessive and the feel of his full lips are instantly at my neck while Eros smiles darkly at me and continues to watch.
My breath stops.
This was everything I once wanted.
Well . . . with Eros that is. I remember how much I begged him at every opportunity to find a way to drink from me, so. . . .
Everything stops. I forget where I am, who watches, who I am. Who . . . I hate. I can only feel those lips cushion my neck. Up until Eros nods, giving Marcus what feels like sick permission. Marcus takes my riding jacket and harshly pulls it from my body, leaving me to hear how the exquisite material tears to pieces for what seems like forever. I’m viscerally aware of how I’m being peeled away layer by layer. When I’m free of it, everything goes silent inside me. I can feel the stillness of the predator behind me preparing to strike. I barely have time to reach back and grip at the black silky feathers surrounding me when his fangs sink in an attack that’s too quick, rupturing my skin on a painful wince while my eyes close tightly shut because the pain is gone so fast, it’s as if it never was. A burning need is all that is left in the wake of his starving kiss, replacing my fear. A moan of Marcus’s name, I can’t keep trapped flies free from my lips.
It’s a raspy plea for him not to let his brother use him this way, at least that’s what I tell myself it is and not the mindless begging for him not to stop that rings in my mind.
Eros is enjoying this, pinning us against each other when I can feel deep inside of Marcus he is nothing like his brother.
In the next few moments, I have to remind myself the rage I feel towards Marcus for taking what doesn’t belong to him should be redirected solely on his brother.
The objective is harder to do when I can feel how Marcus hardens, as his hips begin a slow meticulous grind, pressing me to him.
Desperation makes me weakly cry out, “Eros, stop! What do you want?”
I can see exactly what he wants in his eyes right before he answers. “Now is when you wish to cooperate, Love?” he asks too menacingly, showing me how much he’s enjoying tearing me apart, yet he continues to drain the servant right before my eyes like I’m absolutely meaningless to him. Eros wishes to see the spark of jealousy he’s been accustomed to in the past, but I no longer allow myself to feel those things for him. Instead, I concentrate on my rage, feeling as Marcus pulls my blood deeper into him. He lets out a low growl that reverberates through his chest, warning me not to move. Feebly, I try to shake him off. He continues, digging deeper into my vein, and I’m afraid he’s capable of draining me.
Maybe it would be for the best.
Marcus won’t stop now that he has found this is a dream, and one in which he has been given the chance to drink without dying after tasting me.
“Demand that he stop, Eros.” I hoarsely cry out, all but begging as my full weight falls back against Marcus, and his hands feel heavier, dig further into my waist, letting me know I can’t get away.
Eros looks at me with utmost contempt, the first sign of any emotion on his face. “Bring them in. My brother does enjoy an audience, after all,” he states to someone in the room with an air of boredom that I do not trust.
The girl slips from Eros’s hands and leathered thighs, rolling off the stone steps to land among the other bodies with her lifeless glassy eyes looking up at me. I can still hear her echoing heartbeats slow and the crack her neck gave when she tumbled down the steps. I can’t help but think, What if there was a chance he wasn’t bluffing, and I could have saved her?
It’s too late now to help her, after I tried to prove to myself this was only a dream by cutting my arm, losing my chance when I tried to get free.
There’s a lump stuck in my throat because I’m terrified. Terrified of waking up and finding the women missing from my mother’s household.
Eros leans forward on his throne and says, “What I want for now is to hear you call me Master as you used to, and only then, will I rein my brother in. The quicker you comply, the quicker we can get started on those wicked games we loved to play so often. You do remember how often you sought me out after your first initiation with the whip and how it made your body crave me?”
I can feel other eyes on me coming from the room and think he most likely wishes to degrade me in front of his council members, so I ignore them and don’t turn to look.
Marcus is seduced by my blood, undoing my breeches when my tears begin to fall, making my vision swim. I use my fear against Eros, let my emotions visibly overwhelm me, so I can use them against him, once he suspects I’m too broken to fight back. I shake my head at Eros because I can’t force the bitter word he wishes me to call him out of my lips.
Eros nods for his brother to continue, enjoying my shame as he’s always done in the past. Marcus’s hands travel, caressing almost reverently from above my navel to dip lower. They glide in a lover’s touch over the skin of my thighs, simultaneously making the back of his palms lower my pants. I keep my eyes filled with defiance—deliberately focused on Eros, trying to ignore what Marcus is doing to me.
When he smooths his palms to the more sensitive parts of my inner thighs, breathing heavily on my neck, I can’t take it anymore and move to rip away from Marcus. His hands span wide, opening my stance, while effectively tr
apping me against his body. He growls another of his warnings. Its effect has my body in flames, ringing out chaos throughout, but I don’t heed it because there are tremors proving how weak I am. I continue to shake, reminding myself that it is only anger—possibly because I feel things I only wish to feel with Darius.
It’s a betrayal to us, and I hate Marcus all the more for it. The word ‘mate’ rings in my head, and it is another thing I begin to hate and blame.
My fear for my body’s betrayal makes me fight like a wild animal against Marcus, his breaths deepen, and he pulses strong against my back, while his hands hold me firmly to him. I should stop. It is clear he has lost all patience with me, perhaps because he can read my body’s reactions to his all too well. Before I can make myself go still, he moves too quickly. Taking both of my wrists in a one-handed hold, he rips my pants from my legs, leaving me in my cream-colored corset and scant undergarments. Marcus struggles enough for me to wonder if it is Eros’s hold and silent orders he’s acting on.
It is only when Marcus begins to rip at my oversized tunic, pulling its string loose over my heavy breasts that I know this dream is taking a course I want to shut my eyes from and won’t be able to stop. I want to turn a blind eye, but the loosened strings free more of my skin; most of my breasts are within view as he yanks on the soft fabric and it gives way. The tear echoes loudly and is the only sound in the vast room. Marcus, a destroyer of my will, pulls the rest of the material from underneath my corset forcefully, and that’s when I can’t help blurting out with a lethal stare given to Eros, “Call off your hound, Master.”
His voice thunders with impatience in the room, it’s loud sound the only sign of how much he is bothered by what his brother is doing, “That is enough, brother. You heard the princess.”
Marcus’s lips let’s me go, and he hisses against my skin for telling Eros to make him stop. He licks my flesh to prevent me from bleeding out, but does not remove his clawed hands from sinking into the waist of my corset underneath my breasts.