by Aja James
Like what she did next—
Rising up slightly on her knees and gyrating her hips down so that her pussy swallowed the head of his cock in one voluptuous swoop, before she sank all the way down upon him to the hilt.
*** *** *** ***
Merciful Goddess!
The way he felt!
Dalair.
Sophia’s entire body racked with uncontrollable shudders the moment she took him inside her.
So deeply inside.
Every drop of blood and sensation focused on where they were joined. The incredible heat and strength of him. The thick veins that wrapped his satiny hardness creating the most delicious friction when his length plowed unrelentingly through her tight channel. Until he could go no further. There was no space within her that he didn’t fill.
He was so deep inside it felt as if the swollen head of him was touching her heart, in her throat, making her whole body seize around him, every muscle clenching within her to lock him in place. To never let him leave.
Oh Goddess, she was already coming!
She bit her lower lip as she shook uncontrollably with the onslaught. Just having him inside her did that. The orgasm that crashed through her was like the mightiest flood breaking through a beleaguered dam.
It had been so long. She’d been empty for so long.
And now she was full. The way she was created to be. Full of him.
Her Dalair.
His deep, husky growl echoed in the chamber as her body helplessly, relentlessly clenched around him, her core fisting his sex desperately for his seed.
He arched his throat as his body strained within his unyielding shackles, the tendons in his neck standing out in stark relief.
Still shaking uncontrollably, Sophia lowered her face into the crook of his neck and opened her mouth against his jugular vein. Instinctively, she sucked on the salty skin, needing to taste him.
And then, she needed more.
She was mindless with lust. With need. She was hardly aware when her upper gums tore in a burst of pain. Or when the sharp fangs that punched through them sank into Dalair’s throat. She only knew the relief of penetration, of being inside him the way he was inside her.
And when the heady, tangy flavor of his blood exploded on her tongue, this time it was Sophia’s possessive, feral growl that reverberated through the healing chamber.
Mine!
Greedily, she drank him in as he shuddered helplessly beneath her, his breath catching in shallow bursts, his cock thickening even further within the greedy clutch of her body.
Distantly, a small part of her worried that she was hurting him. Feared that she was taking precious blood when he was already so drained from his wounds. But her instincts instantly overrode the fleeting bout of conscience.
She had to have him.
His blood. His seed. His body. His soul.
His soul…
His heart and soul.
The thought reminded her of why this was wrong. What she was doing to him was wrong, even though their physical connection seemed to help him heal. He wasn’t himself. He wasn’t Dalair. And though she convinced herself that this was what he needed for him, she knew very well that she took him selfishly for her.
She loved him. Craved him. He was the only one across the entirety of her existence, across all of her countless incarnations, that she loved. Her Pure female fangs were the physical proof of that love.
But what about Dalair?
Sophia’s body tightened involuntarily and spasmed hard around him. She was too far gone to stop. She couldn’t, even if she wanted to. She was a mindless slave to her body’s needs in this moment.
His guttural groan vibrated through the strong, long column of his throat that she was still latched onto, as hot seed washed in tidal waves over her womb, as his sex pulsed endlessly within her, filling her to overflowing. Until their fluids trickled down their thighs, drenching the towel, the thin padding of the table.
Milked dry and depleted of strength, his body grew slack beneath her, his pulse slowing gradually, though his sex remained hard, locked tightly within her.
Sophia pulled her fangs out of his throat and licked the wounds closed, nuzzling her nose and lips against his musky male skin, hungrily soaking up his scent.
He still smelled like Dalair. Like desert heat and salty sea.
She was exhausted too. Wrung out. As if she’d funneled her life force into his body, even though she’d been the one to take his blood, his seed.
She shifted and settled over him, like a blanket made of flesh, so that her weight wasn’t pressing on any of his wounds, and they touched everywhere they could, skin to skin.
She clenched her core around him to comfort herself that they were still joined, and was satisfied with a small burst of semen within as his undying erection jerked in response.
It would have to be enough for now—the communion of their bodies. But Sophia knew that the real challenge was ahead.
The battle for his heart and soul.
Presently, Sophia lost herself in slumber. And dreamed. In her unconscious mind, she recalled when she first met Dalair. The moment she Fell.
The moment that altered the course of their Destiny.
6th Century B.C., Zau, Capital of Egypt.
“It is late, Princess. You should return to the Palace and rest. You have a very important day on the morrow, after all.”
Kira nodded to indicate that she heard the Priestess’s words, but didn’t look up from her script. It was a text on healing arts that she was immersed in. On a separate sheaf of papyrus, she jotted down her own notes.
It was not uncommon that women of privilege in her society were well educated, to say less about a royal princess. Reading, writing, numbers. But astronomy and healing arts were rare knowledge for a female to gain.
What would they use it for, after all? They would never work as healers. And becoming priestesses would mean that they would never marry.
Even though Kira didn’t think the lack of a man, her own household and family, were too much of a sacrifice, as a princess in the Twenty-Sixth Dynasty of Egyptian pharaohs, she didn’t have a choice in the matter.
As if the Priestess heard her thoughts, she spoke again, “Are you not eager to meet your Prince? I hear he is very handsome and strong. Cultured as well, unlike the other Persians.”
“Since when do you listen to gossip, Priestess Undine?” Kira challenged, still not looking at the woman, though she set her reed pen down.
Her concentration was shot at the thought of her impending marriage. And to a dirty, uncouth, barbarian Persian no less. One she’d never met. Not unlike most arranged marriages in her society.
She’d been shown portraits of the Crown Prince Cambyses of Persia, but one could never rely on the rendering of the artist. Who knew what they’d been bribed with to paint or sculpt? A fictional likeness of their subject in order to embellish his charms, perhaps. All she could reliably account for were the Prince’s black, wavy hair and olive or sun-bronzed skin. As most Persians boasted.
Whether he was tall or short, fat or thin, handsome or otherwise—all of that could be misrepresented, and she would simply have to see with her own eyes.
To say that she was not looking forward to it was to grossly understate her sentiment.
“Try not to judge him too harshly,” the Priestess advised as Kira stood and walked toward the front entrance of the Temple of Neith.
“Wait until you see him in his own home to assess the real man.”
It was a strange enough comment that Kira turned finally to look the Priestess in the eyes.
Glittering, hypnotic black orbs met her gaze.
“After all,” the Priestess added, “he will not feel at his utmost ease here, in a foreign, somewhat hostile land. His manners might not be…natural. Wait until you see him in his own palace, amongst his own people, to judge him. Treat him with an open mind while he is here.”
“Why are you so interested in my marriage?�
�� Kira asked curiously.
This particular Priestess had been a fixture in her life for many years, since she began escaping to the temple to learn astronomy and healing arts. She was one of a dozen Priestesses, along with the Head Priestess, who served the Goddess Neith and carried out the duties of the Temple. It was both a place of worship and a sanctuary for learning, and it was Priestess Undine who had taught Kira the most.
Kira learned from a young age, like every other Egyptian, that each person was composed of the soul and the body. Each soul was made of many parts—the heart, the vital essence, the personality, the shadow, the life force, the name, and the mind. Equally, the body was made of many parts. And all of these parts had to be in balance in order for the person to achieve their fullest potential, whether it was health, strength, wit, or emotion.
Well, she was definitely not in balance right now. And she feared she wasn’t going to be in balance for the foreseeable future. One in which she would be tied ’til death to a stranger, in a strange land, and among strange people. The Prince might be out of his normal realm of comfort tomorrow when he came for her, but Kira would have to endure a lifetime away from her home.
“I am merely interested in you, my child,” Priestess Undine said in response to a question Kira had already forgotten, too lost in her own thoughts.
Even so, the way the Priestess worded the sentence seemed strange, prickling Kira’s awareness.
“I want you to achieve your fullest potential,” the older woman murmured as she waved Kira goodnight.
Early the next morning, Kira raced out of the royal stables on her fastest steed, needing to unleash the coiled energy and frustration that had been stewing within her all through the night. To clear her head and simply feel the hot wind in her face, the rhythm of the mare’s pounding hoofs, lose herself in the exhilaration of space and speed.
Across the deserted dunes, over the quiet sands along the sea, she could imagine for a brief while that she was free.
But reality pulled her reluctantly back into its gilded cage the closer she rode back to the Palace. At least, in her boyish disguise, no one paid her much attention as she entered through one of the city’s side gates.
She wasn’t Princess Kira. There were no responsibilities to uphold for that lofty position. No arranged marriage to attend. No rules, no boundaries.
She observed her people bustling about their day, in more of a flurry than usual, and she realized that it was in preparation for the Persian Prince’s arrival.
Everyone wanted the city square to look its best. They swept the paved roads free of dust and debris. They decorated windows and doors with rare blossoms and garlands.
Women, men and even children donned their finest clothing. Many of them wore kohl around their eyes and various shades of lip color, as well as necklaces, arm bands, wrist cuffs, anklets, and all kinds of bejeweled hair adornments.
Her people loved to celebrate. And there was seldom an event grander than the marriage of their most beloved princess.
If only Kira felt even a speck of their excitement.
“I hear he is a most accomplished poet,” one woman said to another as they filled large flasks of water at the public fountain.
Kira slowed her horse and dismounted, making a show of checking the mare’s front shoe, when really, she was shamelessly eavesdropping on the women’s conversation.
“Extremely cultured,” the other woman agreed. “A true erudite in a land of heathens.”
“He is said to be quite beautiful as well,” the first woman tittered behind her hand. “Tall and slim, with raven black hair.”
Her friend sighed. “’Tis a match blessed by the gods, don’t you think? Only a man so perfect can deserve our princess.”
Kira decided to lead her horse away at that, no longer listening.
From what she heard just now, Prince Cambyses didn’t sound perfect at all. He sounded like a perfect twat.
Poet? Erudite? Beautiful? Slim?
None of these adjectives resonated with Kira. The sort of men she’d always been attracted to were men. Even as a girl, she was drawn to strength and power. Not necessarily of body, though that didn’t hurt. But more importantly of the soul, and all of its parts.
When she was halfway between the city’s main gates and the foot of the hill upon which the Palace was situated, a procession of attendants walked stately from the opposite direction, led in the front by the royal viceroy.
She’d better hurry back, then, or she’d not be ready to greet the Prince when he arrived. Her parents would not be pleased to see her in these clothes, without makeup and adornments. Looking like a common boy…
And that was when a terrible, wonderful idea dawned in Kira’s mind.
“Halt!”
The viceroy stopped the procession when Kira presented the back of her hand to him, the ring on her middle finger glinting in the noonday sun.
The man squinted for a better look, then immediately dismounted his horse.
“Your Highness,” he greeted, bowing deep.
“You are dismissed, Viceroy,” Kira intoned, using her “Princess voice.”
The man visibly blanched and looked up in shock before bowing his head again, addressing the ground, “I do not understand, Your Highness. Have I done aught to offend? The Crown Prince Cambyses—”
“I will lead the procession to welcome him,” Kira said. “You may return to the Palace.”
The man quickly flicked a look at Kira’s attire and looked back down, but not before she saw his disapproval.
“If I may, your Highness—”
“You may not,” Kira cut him off once again. “Do not make me repeat myself. Await me at the Palace and make sure my handmaidens are ready with a change of clothes and all the necessary frills for the engagement tonight. Now make haste. Leave the rest with me.”
Unable to disobey a direct command, the royal official had no choice but to remount his horse, turn it around and head back to the Palace.
The procession of men and women for the Crown Prince of Persia’s official welcome into Zau looked as one toward Kira for further instruction.
She got back onto her mare, and with a flick of her head, indicated that the two lines follow her as she rode ahead of them toward the city gates.
It had been a spur of the moment idea. To impersonate a man, someone other than who she was, to meet the Prince for the first time in disguise.
He might still be guarded around strangers, especially a person in official capacity, but Kira would be able to interact with him more “naturally.” Without preconceptions and expectations. In the time it would take them to slowly make their way back to the Palace, perhaps she would learn a thing or two about her intended that were true markers of the man he was.
No matter what she learned, she knew she couldn’t do anything about it. She was doomed to marry him either way. Getting a glimpse of who he was before they made it official seemed almost like torture.
What if he was a horrible person? Loud, obnoxious, arrogant and domineering? What if the handsome portraits of him masked an ugly soul or even an ugly form?
Kira wasn’t particularly picky when it came to male looks, but she’d have to bear his children, wouldn’t she? They’d have to copulate in their marriage bed. For that unpleasantness alone, she prayed he would at least not be physically repellant.
As these and other useless thoughts circled like vultures in her head, she could barely keep her heart from pounding out of her chest when the heavy city gates creaked open.
Bit by bit, the opening gates revealed four men on horseback. All young and strong. Quite un-noble looking. Unadorned and dusty from travel. They looked more like soldiers than officials. None of them wore what she’d expect a Crown Prince to wear, no matter how backwards those Persians were.
Three of them had dark hair; one blond. The blond, at first sight, was almost blindingly handsome, his golden crown soaking in the sun’s bright rays. One dark-head looked tho
roughly barbarian, with heavy brows and a scruffy beard, exactly as Kira always pictured Persian men. Another one had a slim, lean figure with a clean-shaven face and a bored expression. He could have been the prince in the portraits, and he certainly fit the women’s descriptions earlier. But there was one more to go before she made her guess.
Finally, her eyes alighted on the fourth man, as the gates fully opened.
As if in a dream, Kira realized that her mare was moving forward toward the visitors, but she couldn’t recall urging her steed to do so.
Her mind was a blank as she looked upon the fourth man.
Beautiful.
The word throbbed in her head even though she’d dismissed it with disgust earlier. And yet, no other word would do.
That face. Those silvery eyes framed by thick, long lashes that shadowed his cheeks. Those cheekbones that reminded her of jagged cliffs by the sea. The wide, generous mouth that hinted at deep grooves around their corners if he ever smiled or laughed.
Suddenly, she wanted to see him do just that. Her heart thundered even louder at the thought.
What in the Goddess’s name was wrong with her?
He held her intense stare unblinkingly as she approached.
What was he thinking? What did he see? Did he feel the unfathomable connection that she felt? Could he hear her racing heart?
Drawing a bracing breath, Kira gathered her composure like a protective cloak and said:
“Welcome to my homeland.”
Chapter Three
Dalair…
Are you you…?
I-I don’t want to…
Disjointed whispers sifted through his mind. His eyes rolled restlessly behind closed lids. Lids that wouldn’t open no matter how he commanded them. Limbs that would not move.
He was trapped in a body that no longer obeyed his will. His shattered soul in jagged fragments he could never piece together.
His name…
Dalair.
What did it mean? Who was this person? Why did he matter?
Especially to her?
He no longer had a sense of self. It was merely a shadow. Unknowable, insubstantial, with death as its constant companion. He could no more pin it down than leash the wind in his hands.