by J H Spade
Frantic, I take a look around the darkness in throne room, but everything—from doors, windows, and entryways have been warded off by magic. Like in any nightmare, the object of my fear takes all of the room in my mind, becoming a larger presence than the room itself.
“Wishing to escape me so soon, my sweet captive, when the fun has only just begun?” Eros’s devilish smile has the ability to freeze my blood underneath my skin. I welcome the cold because I never wish to feel warmth for him again.
I turn in Marcus’s hold, desperate for him to wake up. Thinking perhaps this is how I end this nightmare, so I reach out for his face with trembling fingers and beg him while gripping him, “Marcus, please Marcus . . . wake up. Wake up, damn you!” I scream in his face as he hungrily looks down at me with need and guilt in his eyes. I get nothing of the acknowledgement I want to see, other than his violet eyes devouring every inch of my pleading face, so I take my nails and rake them over the sides of his face—from his temples to the hard impenetrable outline of his chin. His blood drips, falling over my neck and breasts, but he doesn’t so much as groan. Just shows me his fangs, letting me know I have crossed an unspoken line right before he carries me, forcing my legs to wrap over his tapered waist as he takes me to the ground.
I lean my head back, too afraid of Marcus, trying to fight off all the rigid muscle keeping me trapped underneath him while I look for Eros, “Tell me what you want, Eros. Please tell me . . . Master!” I blindly plead, hoping to find myself away from Marcus because he makes me feel too vulnerable. I need to be able to think through all the emotions waging a war inside of me.
“Thank you, Marcus, for allowing Emma to see reason in the midst of all my madness others claim I have. You must stop now and leave her to me.”
A jab to the council members and the composure he wishes to keep in front of them, I’m sure has kept Eros from reacting. They’ve always blamed me, saying I would be the sole cause for the destruction that would befall their kingdom.
I would look at them now in defiance if I could, and promise them they surely would lose their kingdom to me. I’d promise to rain hell’s fires on their lands and scorch them all to dust if Marcus’s wings wouldn’t be obstructing them from my view.
Marcus . . . gods, he doesn’t stop.
He begins struggling violently against Eros’s command, but his rough movements manage to bring him closer to me in his attempt to fight his brother’s control over his mind. Unintentionally, he lowers himself on my body. My hips are molded to his, he grinds me to him with both hands gripping my back and ass, and I arch, lengthening my neck in silent invitation at the feel of him. Everything in me goes soft, pliable to his every whim, so I remind myself I don’t want this, to fall as I am into this black hole of need.
How do I tell my body not to respond to my enemy’s twin, when I once longed for my enemy?
It’s almost too easy not to struggle when I know nothing will come of this . . . because it is only a nightmare. A moan escapes from my lips—the same lips I have bitten down on to keep my mouth closed, drawing blood in my mouth when I feel him lapping, tracing hungry kisses, feverishly nipping at my wound. His tongue gives me tunnel vision where all I can do is look into his eyes, connecting us further, as heat scorches me alive. Shivers break out all through me, my nipples turning into hard pebbles, rubbing against his smooth chest. I bite his lip in hopes of shocking him with pain, but it doesn’t work, it only makes him more desperate to claim with his mouth . . . his tongue, so I tug, trapping his bottom lip between my teeth. Marcus is unapologetic as he smiles at me, lips bloodied, pivoting his hips possessively into my core.
I whimper, tasting Marcus for the first time when everything, and I do mean everything goes to all ten divides of hell, including the three of us in this room.
The unmistakable sound of a whip . . . my whip snaps the air in vicious warning before coiling around Marcus’s neck. But he fights with it, pulling on it with his claws, twisting his arm around the tight length in a tug of war for dominance with Eros.
Only Eros has the upper hand because he’s controlling Marcus’s mind. I try to crawl from under him, but Marcus pushes me back down with his hips and hand on my clavicle. My eyes scan over him. The strength Marcus uses makes his body recoil and pulse to wage his own war with it, yet he makes no attempt to move away from over me. I can feel how he thinks he’s protecting me.
Ch_ Heavenly Sin
“Come here Emma,” Eros says with feigned sugary softness dripping from his words. He’s standing over me in a wide stance my eyes immediately shy away from. Eros doesn’t care if there’s pain. In his grip on my hair, I can feel his hold of vengeance, taking my braid hard when he unleashes the whip, Marcus crashing into the stone wall.
Before I can see what happens to Marcus, two things register enough to bleed me out on his stone floor without Eros laying a blow to my skin; the whip and how my body fills with unquenchable hunger at the thought of him using it on me.
It’s wrong.
The command to my body is ushered through the unspoken melody the whip releases, snapping at skin and the burn that I recognize would follow. The memory is trapped, but I instinctively know I’ve been privy to too much emotion under Eros’s ministrations, his use of the whip, and the tug of his hand on my hair both triggering the past. Now, it’s like I’m a trained beast, and I can’t help when I feel desire pool between my legs.
And to think it is all in response to the whip.
Abruptly, I’m thankful for the distraction of what sounds like an earthquake in the room. That is right up until I look up and see who is responsible for the sound of the world splitting in half. Great large stones tumble loose, cracking further on the floor when Marcus lands. I can’t help but scream out in fear as gruff moans fall from his broken lips, and I see a pool of blood surrounding his head.
“No . . . you’ve killed him!” I push Eros away, running to kneel in front of Marcus, facing off against Eros and using my body as a protective barrier.
His gaze is inscrutable as he takes in my position. “He can’t die, not when I hold his mind as captive as yours. I just wish him to watch what I’ll do to you without interfering.”
I keep my body crouched, ready to fight, and detached as I dip my head to the side, watching Eros for any signs that will allow me to weaken him.
He sees me studying him, so with a knowing look, his lips curl. Quickly, his arms extend over his back, pulling his shirt above his head. His muscles ripple like a vast current all through his body, and he says, “We can go slow, and I can draw out your torture. I think you may like that, but if I remember correctly you get bored too easily. You’re too wild for your own good, My Love. It’s time I lay down some ground rules and make this interesting for you,” his voice is feather-light in its softness, which causes me to stiffen because there isn’t a time when Eros is more lethal than when his voice goes calm.
I simply nod, let him think me weak while I purchase myself some time. My wrist is poised behind my back, releasing a hidden blade in the heel of my boot. I use magic to place it underneath Marcus’s arm right before I extend my wrist and give him my blood. This time I hold back my wince when I feel Marcus feverishly drinking.
“First rule is you will heed my every command, no matter what it is . . . or there will be repercussions. Stand, Emma, I wish to see you in nothing but your riding boots and corset.” There is no room for objection in the tone he uses and the stifling need I find in his blown pupils, making his jades eyes go fully black.
When I don’t listen, he snaps the whip too close to my legs for me to continue to defy him.
My whip, the one he gave me as an early present on my eighteenth birthday to use on him and not on my beloved mare he’d gotten me the year before.
I stare at it blankly, blinking repeatedly because it draws out of the darkness the memories that have been hidden from me. I force myself to remain where I am. It looks menacing, like it’s poisoned. I shouldn’t want the me
mories to reach towards the light to lay uncovered. The whip seems alive and waiting on his order to strike when I finally stand—too shocked because I know where this is leading.
For some odd reason, his voice turns gentle when he warns, “I will use this on you, as you once tried to use on me if you do not listen. Do you understand?”
I believe him when he says he will use the whip on me and from the fresh wounds on his body I know it won’t be as pleasurable as when he used it on me the times that came before. I don’t truly remember what once was between us, but my body does.
“Yes.”
“Wrong fucking answer, my greedy girl. You will address me as your Master.”
He was waiting for this. It was probably why he used a gentler tone with me before because he loves to play his tricks on me. It’s too late when I seek to rectify my mistake and try to add, “. . . Master!”
I give him what he wants, easily, if it means it will save me in the end. Best if he thinks I’m the weak girl he wishes me to be. That I would break so easily. The leather sings in the air right before it reaches for me, squeezing the breath from my lungs while its tight, relentless grip is a sharp sting around my waist.
My breath wheezes, and I struggle, fighting with the leather that is like a cold snake coiled around me, trapping my air in its hold.
When Eros pulls on the whip I can’t offer much—if any–resistance, skidding and falling on my knees on the very hard ground before him.
Through the few gasps of air I’m able to pull into my burning lungs, I ask, “What do you want . . . Master?” My eyes plead while they rise from his thighs—thighs at my eye level, until they reach his face.
“I want many things. I want you to give me what you have denied me from the moment I lost you. I want you to know the pain I suffered through, when I felt the kind of loss you have no way of coming back from. I want your tears, the blood I shed for you—to be shed for me, but we will have plenty of time for all those things, so we can start with something simple. I want the name of the man who erased me from your heart.”
I know horror is reflected in the shocked expression in my eyes. For a moment . . . I am frozen, forgetting about breathing, about fighting.
When time does resume, I can’t think of anything but erasing one name from my mind. I can feel the hot tears sliding over my cheeks. My temples throb painfully, and I can hear loud ringing in my ears. My body fights, repulsed by what he’s asking me for.
He must see I’m absolutely out of my mind with misery because he redirects his focus to Marcus, giving me a few seconds to catch my breath at the feel of the loosened whip.
“Brother, I see you’re back with us.”
My mind is his, Eros said. It is why it’s in absolute purgatory. But at the mention of Marcus’s name, the buzzing and fear subside just enough to have me looking over my shoulder, wishing to protect Marcus, even when I’m in no position to.
I look at Marcus, seeing his lethal stance, and the fact that he’s taken a few feet closer to me. I realize it is what drew Eros’s attention away from me. There’s no sign of the dagger I gave him. Good, I think, a smile spreading over my mouth. Eros won’t see it coming.
What if I gave my mind to Marcus . . . instead, just long enough till we make it out of here? Then it wouldn’t be me suffering, only the shell of a body Eros seeks his vengeance on. A body that isn’t even in this room, I further clarify to myself. A body that’s on the other side, on my mother’s lands, taking the soft caress of a warm breeze instead of suffering through all I know will come.
It makes my focus unflinchingly determined, to keep that name Eros will have me say, out from this room.
It doesn’t belong to the shell of a girl trapped in this nightmare, but to one who is loved on the other side of a border too evil to contemplate. The girl who seems so far away—she is safe, who won’t lose precious time when she wakes. She will send the man who means more to her than anyone else from her lands, so she can face the monster on her own and end him.
It is why I smile.
Ch__ The Games We Play
“Tell me Marcus, now that you’ve had the pleasure of Emma’s presence, have you fallen under the Emma Effect? Do you wish to have your mate, no longer wishing to kill her?”
“You think I didn’t know this was a test, brother? That I didn’t wish to see you suffer for her attention before I took her life from you?” Marcus spat the last words to his brother, unable to hide his hate for him.
What he is saying can’t be true. He can’t wish me dead.
“We both know I won’t be able to kill her in this nightmare you’ve devised, as it would put an end to your sadistic games,” Marcus supplies.
Was I to be a toy, broken into pieces by the time this tug of war between them ended?
My eyes revert back to Eros to see as he turns his back to us, seemingly unafraid for the strike I expect from Marcus.
Eros tugs on the whip and frees it again. I can feel the deep slice of the cut on my neck, and I can’t help but trail after him, almost slipping on my blood because I’m unable to hold back from looking over my shoulder when Marcus doesn’t strike.
Eros comes to a stop before his throne, looking out into the room, and I imagine it is to look into all the faces of those present.
“There are whispers that have made their way to me, Emma. They say you have taken a guard in close confidence, his name is Arlnan, I’m told. We both know that is not his true name. I want it. I will take it out of you . . . be wise and give it to me willingly. Or, I will carve it out from your body.”
“I’m afraid your spies aren’t very good, Master. For I hold no one in close confidence. A lesson learned, I must say after being with you.” With grim satisfaction marking my every syllable, the words are final and loud, all around us in the room. The sound they give bounces off of the pillars, condemning me as my own death sentence would. It reaches, traveling to those who would wish me to succumb until the thunderous sound makes its way back to us—yet, he is a stoic king before his throne, while I’m on the last step that will take me before him.
“I was hoping you’d say such things to me, Love. You are predictable enough in the simple fact that you never disappoint.”
“Marcus, come here and kneel beside your future queen since this will be the only opportunity given to you to see her,” Eros orders his brother. I don’t trust it, knowing he wishes to prove a point.
“There’s no need. I do not wish for him to kneel . . . Master.” The last word is said with enough bite to it, it’s transparent how I was hoping parts of him would fall off due to frostbite, best to start with his tongue and dick.
“No? Oh, that’s right, you just wished for him to fuck you.” He means Marcus, and I can tell he wishes to demean me further.
I take the last step, backhand him hard enough to watch his face whip to the left, splitting his bottom lip. There’s the undeniable flash of surprise in his eyes, it makes mine shine with satisfaction in return, that is until his become hooded in dark desire. His hair falls over his brow when he angles his face down, so that I can’t see his eyes, but he’s too late.
I recognize his own satisfaction in his eyes. Eros enjoys for me to be rough with him. This tells me he’s more damaged than ever before. His thumb runs over the blood on his lip in a sideward sweep before he bites his finger in an enticing gesture, keeping it from me between his mouth.
Eros turns to me, eyes flashing black, a smile spreads wide enough over his lips to show me his mouth filling with more blood from my strike—right before he uses the hand he cleaned his blood with to strike me quickly with the same force I used. If I were a lesser being, I would be flying across the room. As it is, I stumble to the side, my hand instantly covering the damage he’s made. I go numb, shocking even myself because I’ve learned to adapt quickly to his punishment. Though, this time it’s different than the rest. I’ve always been safe before since he’s always used it for pleasure.
Not this
time. Never again, if I have any say.
His backhand leaves a painful slice on my bottom lip when he pulls on the whip that has me falling against him.
“I stayed my hand, Emma.” He leans forward, speaking softly into my broken mouth. My hands fall between us as I try to push off of him. He weighs in on my body, keeping me trapped against him.
“Should I thank you?” I ask, breathing icicles of bitterness on his lips.
He continues as if I hadn’t spoken, “But I will not have you disrespect me in front of my prisoners, or they will think to do the same.”
“I hate you,” I say with so much contempt, my blood sprays on his lips.
He licks my blood from his lips, taking a pause while looking deep into my eyes. His jade eyes cut deeper into me than the preceding blow ever could. I see in them what we once could have been if neither of us would have let our pride matter so much to us. He says the following words like they are a declaration of his everlasting love, “And I you. I hate you so very much, it is all I do. My hate for you is the only reason I go on. It keeps me company when nothing else could. Let’s hate each other until we can both learn to love each other once again.”
There’s an overwhelming flood of emotions, threatening to break free. I can’t help when the tears fall, and I tell myself I have no control over them because I’m so very angry with him.
“This is madness! I will never feel that way for you again. You are mad!” I laugh as if it is all a bad joke on his part.
He shakes me before he says, “But you will. I promise. For where would it leave me if you didn’t? You see, I wish to garner the peace I haven’t known . . . tirelessly in your body. Would you deny me?”
Afraid of him, I try to back away, but his hands trap as efficiently as chains would, “I will never allow you to touch me again. Let me go.”
“Never . . . is too long a time, but as you wish. I will enjoy breaking your will, and proving otherwise.” He turns to his brother, “Marcus, come forward and kneel.”