The bishop reclaimed the parchment, carefully affixing a wax seal. "I'll have one of the young ones deliver it."
"Good." His smile deepened, flushed with anticipation. Still aroused from his work in the dungeon, the Mordant added, "Tell Iris I'll have her in my bed tonight."
The prelate flashed a salacious smile. "Yes, lord."
The Mordant strode from the chamber, his purple cloak swirling behind him, the great Wyrm embroidered across his surcoat. Everything was falling into place, all his carefully laid plans. Soon Lanverness would be his for the taking, the keystone to claiming his next lifetime. And then he'd change his colors one last time, revealing the Darkness within.
49
The Priestess
The Mordant summoned her to his bed. An assassin knocked on her door, bringing word of his lord's desire. The Priestess was mildly amused by the choice of messenger, unable to decide if it was merely ironic or a portent of things to come. Either way the date was set. Tonight!
Twilight deepened to darkness and still she prepared. The Priestess managed every detail with utmost care, her skill and art roused to a formidable challenge. Seduction was the ultimate poison, leaching into the soul and subverting the will. Tonight she’d ply her powers on a thousand-year-old evil. Such an old soul, such a dangerous foe, but despite his years, the Mordant was still mortal. He was still a man, and men she knew very well. A cunning smile graced her face, anticipating the challenge. A man’s needs often trumped his reason. Needs had a way of becoming weaknesses. All men were slaves to sex. The Priestess planned to master the Mordant in his own bedchamber, exacting her own brand of vengeance while chaining him with his most primal need. The Mordant chained, the thought alone brought unspeakable pleasure.
The Priestess studied the mirror. She’d given much thought to his seduction. For such an experienced partner, she decided layered mysteries were the key to his enthrallment. She began with layers of scent to tease his senses, tracing fragrant trails across her skin, a rare aphrodisiac leading him on a merry pathway to pleasure. Layers of silk to tease his eye, she chose gowns from her cedar chest, each more diaphanous than the next. Soft and mysterious, the silken layers would entangle his gaze while she slowly revealed her secret delights. And last but certainly not least, she planned on using layers of technique. Methods of delight melded with magic, she'd wield both pain and pleasure, enthralling his mind while ensnaring his senses. Tonight would be like no other. She'd stoke his passion to an unbearable bonfire.
Her handmaidens hovered about, completing the details. Her raven-dark hair was braided into complex rings, a confection designed to slowly unravel. Accenting her eyes with kohl, they dusted her eyelids with crushed malachite and added a tint of ruby to her lush lips, but nothing more. By design, she kept her guise simple yet complex, the perfect conundrum to ensorcell a thousand-year-old soul.
The Priestess gazed in the mirror and a dark temptress stared back, a sultry smile on her face.
Pleased with the effect, she dismissed her handmaidens. Kneeling by her rosewood chest, she unlocked her store of deathly delights. Her gaze caressed the vials of lethal possibilities, considering her choices. She'd answer the summons of the Mordant, bringing seduction to his bed, but not without her best defense. Her serpentine bracelets were too obvious, a ruse she'd never get past his assassin guards. For tonight’s prey, she needed something far more subtle, yet carefully controlled, a poison designed as a hidden dagger. Carefully trimming the smallest fingernail on her left hand, she filed it to a razor-sharp edge. Beneath the nail, she painted her most potent poison, a deadly concoction of nightshade, crushed angel’s trumpet, and tincture of yew. A single scratch, a single drop of drawn blood and he'd die a most hideous death.
Of course the poison was only a prudent precaution, far better to enslave the oldest harlequin to her will with sex.
Her preparations complete, she settled a silver chain around her neck. The sundered Eye dangled between her breasts, her only jewelry. Bound in a cage of silver wire, she wore the broken moonstone as reminder of her bitter loss, a score that needed to be settled. The oldest harlequin had shattered the great gemstone, stealing the scrying power of the Eye. A gift from the Dark Lord, the Eye was a focus of great magic, but the moonstone was not her only power. Taking a deep breath, she summoned the Darkness within. Power thrummed through her, waking a ravenous need. The Succubus of Darkness, she was the Lover to the Dark Lord. Desire throbbed in her very veins. Seduction entwined with death, she was the very embodiment of pure allure.
Her powers awakened, her deadliest poison hidden beneath her smallest fingernail, the Priestess was armed to engage the Mordant.
Her handmaidens rushed to open the door. She glided down the long hallway, her slippered feet soft on thick carpets. Assassins stared from the shadows but they did not hinder her passage. She’d come to know the Mordant’s mansion but she’d yet to breach his bedchamber.
Candles flickered at the hallway's end.
She reached the final door and paused, her stare fixed on the doorknob.
An assassin abandoned his post, rushing to open the door.
The Priestess smiled, more proof her appearance had the desired effect.
She stepped into the Mordant’s bedchamber, a soft whisper of silk.
Brightness was her first impression. An abundance of candles lit the chamber with too much light. A large four-posted bed piled with pillows dominated the chamber's heart, yet the Mordant sat behind a desk piled with scrolls, as if her presence was an interruption instead of a carnal delight. The Priestess ignored the not-so-subtle slight, focusing on her victim. Fair-haired and young of face, he hid his age well, until he lifted his gaze. Ancient and fathomless, his eyes radiated implacable power.
Their stares crossed, the air between them crackling with power.
Undaunted, the Priestess glided across the room, dropping to a deep curtsy. “You summoned me, my lord.”
“Yes, you may begin.” Setting a scroll aside, he leaned back in the chair. Clad in a crushed velvet robe of deep crimson, the open vee at his neck revealed pale chest hairs, yet he remained seated at the desk, sipping a goblet of red wine.
He's going to make me work for it, she smothered a smile, undeterred by his opening sally. "Shall I strive to please you?" her voice was low and sultry and full of suggestion, "Or shall I make you please me?"
He flashed a serpent's smile. "If you think to compel me, it will never happen."
So the terms are set, like a gauntlet thrown down, yet how little he knows me. Rising to the challenge, she gracefully glided around the room, snuffing candles. Setting the mood, she made it a suggestive game, her fingers slowly sliding up the long tapered lengths…to gently snuff the flames. Smoke rose from her fingertips like a trail of sizzling passion, her polished nails glittering gold in the waning light. One by one she dimmed the candles, leaving just enough light to see by…and just enough shadows to subtly obscure. Passion flourished on the knife-edge between the hidden and the revealed.
She returned to her starting point, standing in front of his desk.
He remained statue-still, yet she felt his dark gaze drinking her in.
Having seduced his stare, the Priestess began to dance. Slow and sensuous, she twirled before him, weaving an enticing trail of scent and silk and seduction. Every gesture held a promise and a tease, a dance of a thousand delights. Her hands molded her curves like the hands of a lover, and then swooped lower, offering a promise of fulfillment. Silk whispered across skin as she slowly shed diaphanous layers. And all the while, her gaze smoldered, never leaving his.
She licked her lips, full of suggestion. One by one, she twirled away each silken layer, turning them into a perfumed lash. Like colored ribbons she wove them through the air, accentuating her every movement. A silken whip snaked out, entwining the Mordant’s neck. She gave a suggestive tug, yet he resisted. A flick of her wrist and the silk released him…but it left her scent on his skin, marking him with a
tease of another sort. She saw his nostrils flair wide. Twice more she teased him and twice more he refused.
The Mordant remained statue-still but his eyes had darkened, betraying his arousal.
The Priestess reached the last silken layer. Instead of removing it, she made it a cloak, a shawl, a diaphanous curtain. Reveal and hide, she gave him tantalizing glimpses of her naked perfection. Dancing behind the silk veil, she teased and taunted, but never revealed the whole. And as she danced, she slowly unbound her hair. Raven-black tresses cascaded to her thighs. Silken and scented, she used her hair as a second cloak. She danced before him, every glance provocative, every movement a beckoning promise.
Coming to a sudden stop, she gave him a smoldering stare more intimate than touch. Her voice was low and throaty. “Come to me, my lord.”
Still he resisted.
For the second time, she licked her lips. "Come and taste my pleasures." She twirled the last silken layer into a lash and snapped it towards his neck.
The Mordant caught the lash. He stood, shrugging his robe from his shoulders. Naked, he revealed his rampant manhood.
She gave the silken leash a tug.
He tugged back.
Dropping the silk lash, she fled for the bed.
The Mordant gave chase.
An animal thrill rushed through her, prey enticing a powerful predator. She reached the bed and knelt with her submissive side bared towards him, pale curves alluring against the dark furs. And then he was on her...in her. Pressing her face-down into the pillows, he took her swift and hard. She let him have his way. When his pace slackened, she rolled. Keeping him trapped inside her, she reversed their positions. Straddling him, she pinned him to the bed and took control. With excruciating slowness, she stroked his length. A gasp escaped him, proof of her affect.
She plied her powers keeping him rock hard. Painstakingly slow, she rode him up and down, taking his measure. Part pleasure, part torment, she teased and tortured him, but she did not let him come. Deciding to sate her own needs, she indulged her every whim. Tasting, teasing, touching, she used him in every way imaginable. Pain and pleasure came in shuddering waves as she plied him with every trick, every technique. Twice he arched his back, straining with a guttural growl, yet she would not release him, her magic holding him in thrall. Gifting him with uncommon stamina, she rode him through the night. He growled in frustration, but she would not let him reach his peak, exacting a petty vengeance. Lashing him with her hair, she taunted him, holding him on the very knife-edge of climax. His whole body bucked and shuddered beneath her, slick with sweat. Agony and ecstasy became a blur. His eyes became glazed, drunk on sex. The Priestess deepened her hold. Weaving a spell of enthrallment, she set a trap of obsession lodged deep in his soul. Satisfied with the spell, she took her pleasure in a different way. Connected by sex, she unleashed the succubus. Ravenous, she began to feed on his life force…and found herself intoxicated. A thousand years of life, she delved into a deep bottomless well of velvety Darkness, brimming with power. Hers for the taking. His life force was like nothing she'd ever encountered. So many flavors of Darkness blended together in an ancient brew, she nearly swooned with the first taste. The succubus within reveled at the feast, howling for more. Drinking long and hard, she tapped his strength till she pulsed with magic, a vessel brimming with power, stoked by a heady elixir. Reeling with power, she set the last binding spell and released her victim to his pleasure.
Answering the unspoken compulsion, the Mordant strained upwards like a lunging bull. Thrusting deep, he roared his triumph.
Sodden with sweat, he collapsed back onto the pillows.
The Priestess lay next to her vanquished foe. Power thrummed through her veins, a succubus finally sated. Suppressing a satisfied smile, she nestled her head on his shoulder, her raven hair spread across his chest like a cloak. Now you wear my colors! His breathing slowed to a deep sleep, issuing a soft snore.
Restless with imbibed power, the Priestess flicked her gaze to the far window. The dawn’s first light probed the curtains. She’d ridden him all night…a night he’d never forget, a night indelibly etched in his Dark soul. Triumph blazed through her. She’d conquered the oldest harlequin. She'd drunk his power and set her obsession deep in his soul. As the Priestess of the Oracle, the Succubus of Darkness, she had no peer. To seal her triumph, she wrote her true name in the sweat glistening on his chest.
A hand snaked out and grabbed her wrist.
Shocked, she tried to pull away, but his grip was iron-hard.
“You thought to master me!” Rage rode his voice. “I am Darkness!” He threw her to the floor like a discarded strumpet.
Leaping from the bed, he stood naked over her.
Before she could rise, pain seared through her, as if every nerve in her body burned with fire. Wracked with agony, she convulsed across the carpet. A scream burst out of her. "No!" A thousand knives stabbed her, yet no wounds appeared. She tried to crawl away, but the pain followed, doubling in intensity. Collapsing, she bit back a wail. Her limbs twitched and shuddered. Her body convulsed, becoming an instrument of torture. Gripped with agony, she writhed at his feet. “Stop it! Stop it!”
His voice dripped with venom. “You sought to seduce me. In this realm, I am the Lord of Darkness, I am your god…and you are but a trollop bound to my bed. You shall worship me!”
Desperate to end the pain, she began to crawl towards her tormentor. She stretched out her left hand, the poisoned fingernail reaching towards him. One scratch, one cut, and he'd die a hideous death, ending her torment.
Pain pounded through her, deepening to an unbearable agony. Feeling as if her insides were being torn asunder, she collapsed to the carpet, clutching her stomach. Consumed by pain, her feeble attempt to poison him fled. Screams ripped out of her throat as she writhed across the floor. She thought she would die, murdered by Dark magic. A keening wail burst out of her, the sound of a wild animal caught in a trap.
The agony intensified. She felt as if she were being flayed alive. Ripping with pain, her screams became muted, smothered to ragged whimpers. Tears streamed down her face, green with malachite. She began to yearn for death...and remembered her fingernail.
The pain stopped.
Suddenly gone, she gasped in surprise. She lay on the floor, shocked by the sweet absence of pain. Smothering a whimper, she froze statue-still lest the pain return. Sodden with sweat, she found herself panting, her body quivering with remembered agony.
“Now you know who is master here.” The Mordant nudged her with his bare foot, but she was too weak to rise. His raised his voice to a shout. “Come!”
The door opened and a pair of black-clad assassins rushed to answer their master's call.
“Take this one to her room.”
Strong hands grabbed her, roughly lifting her from the floor.
“And, Iris.”
The assassins stopped, one of them lifting her head so that she could see the Mordant's face.
“The next time I summon you to my bed, you will come as a mere woman, as a meek woman. You will offer yourself to me and you will take what I choose to give without touching a drop of your power.” He gave her a chilling stare. “I like spirit in my horses and my hunting dogs…not my women. Am I understood?”
Her voice was hoarse from screaming, yet she croaked a reply. “Yes, lord.”
He made a dismissive gesture and the assassins carried her from the room.
Devastated by the reversal of fortunes, she lay supine in their arms. Insensate like a corpse, they carried her back to her room and dumped her inside the door. She heard the door close and the lock turn, a prisoner once more.
Slick with sweat, she shivered with the aftershocks of agony. She rubbed her eyes, her hands coming away smeared with malachite, kohl, and tears. Tears! Humiliated and defeated, the Priestess curled on her side, riven by the ordeal. She’d never known such extreme pain…or such shame. For half a heartbeat, she considered scoring her own flesh with
her poisoned fingernail...but then he would win. Despair threatened to crush her…but then a spark of outrage glittered in her soul. She was the Priestess of the Oracle...how dare he treat her this way. The Mordant's words replayed in her mind. Her thoughts fastened on a deeper profanity...and she began to see his undoing. How dare he style himself a god! Outrage shuddered through her. There was but one Lord of Darkness, one Dark God…and he ruled this realm and the next. The Priestess knew their god better than most. Their lord was all-powerful, but he was also a jealous god. Hell hath but one power and that power never shared.
Her voice whispered a hoarse prayer. "My Dark Lord, my Dark God, he dares to rival you. Let me be the instrument of your vengeance!"
A second pulse beat between her breasts.
The Priestess stiffened in surprise…and then she remembered the sundered Eye. Wrapped in silver wire, it dangled on a chain nestled in her cleavage. She took it in her shaking hands and breathed upon it. A heartbeat answered. She gasped in amazement, feeling the gathering power within. Instead of three sundered fragments...the Eye was fused together, whole once more. A wild giddiness gripped her. She must have drawn far more power from the Mordant than she'd known, power enough to heal the Eye. A smile lit her face. Draining so much power would have its consequences. She'd tapped deep into the well of his life-force, drawing decades from him, cutting short his unnatural lifespan. He'd not miss it now, but he'd feel her vengeance later, ambushed by the early onslaught of old age. A victorious smile slid across her face. She imagined him bent and riddled by the early assault of old age. The Priestess gripped the great moonstone tight, triumph lighting her face. Fused together by passion and pain, the Eye of the Oracle was whole and unsundered...proof the Dark Lord had not abandoned her. The Great Dark Dance continued but not as the Mordant expected. The Priestess remained a formidable player. The game was far from done.
The Prince Deceiver (The Silk & Steel Saga Book 6) Page 27