by S J Doran
“So focused on the large scale he misses what’s happening in his own backyard,” Cass mumbled, his body lax and weak. Mara’s hand trembled then curled into a ball. “Hubris, Mara. My father had that in spades.”
She smiled, and it reached her eyes. “Remember how Aza used to lecture you about yours, demon?”
Cass gave her a cheeky grin in return. His own arrogance was vast, but he had one thing on his father. His insatiable thirst for knowledge. One cannot help but be humble when seeking out wisdom. He’d had to learn how to admit when he didn’t know something. It had been a hard lesson, but one that kept on giving.
“We took down my father using the same basic ploy. Distract him with large-scale issues, while slowly shifting the minor details.”
Mara nodded, her smile now blinding. “We’ll need to end him now.”
Cass laughed. He’d tried. Come the closest he’d ever been. Tried his fucking best, but his father still had allies in his pocket that Cass hadn’t counted on.
“Levistus is right. He’ll be coming for us.” Mara’s smile dropped.
His amusement faded. He didn’t want to think about fighting his father, but reality was not going to take him by surprise. Not this time.
Her hand came back to him, trailing down his chest, his stomach muscles tightening in anticipation. Yes. She stopped at the belt of his robe. Yes, right there.
He needed to be touched. It was beyond just a craving; it was physically painful. His blood burned hotly, his hips shifting up to feel her…
“Sin-eater you’re going to feed.” Her no-nonsense Priestess voice caused a flush of heat to rush through him.
“Got any apples?” He smiled, his brows raising as he braced for her comeback.
She playfully smacked his chest, then let out a serious-sounding huffy breath.
“That’s not what I meant, Cass.” His name rolling off her lips still did funny things to his insides. “And you know it. You’ll feed, whether I like it or not, you need to.”
He shook his head, denying her words, rejecting the thought altogether.
“Yes.” She brought her hand back up, nudging then shoving him back onto the rolled arm of the chaise. Her fingers twined through his hair, gently, oh so softly…
Then her grip tightened and her entire body shot straight with whatever she had resolved herself to do.
“I’m fine Mara.” He grabbed up her hands, bringing her attention back. “Don’t do whatever you’re thinking of doing.” He knew her well enough to know when she was plotting.
“You’re going to feed, demon. You need your strength. War is looming on both of our doorsteps.”
“Not anyone but you.”
“You can’t say that,” she hissed out. “We can’t do that. Stop making this worse.” She jumped back, making herself busy refilling their drinks once more.
His heart sank. Right down into his stomach. He could feel the acids dissolving it. There was no other way to explain how he was feeling so sick and heartbroken and numb all at once.
“Yes, Mara.”
Quick Fix
She pressed the faceted tumbler back into his hand, with a gesture for him to drink up. He brought it to his lips, watching her as he wrapped his lips around the edge. He tipped his head back, dumping the liquid down his throat as she turned her back to fill up another glass.
It burned like hellfire.
Curiosity briefly passed through his thoughts, wondering why she was pushing the alcohol. Did he care? She knew it wasn’t his preference, but hers. He supposed, the least he could do was to join her in drunken reverie.
He watched her, meeting her bright turquoise gaze, her eyes shadowed, a little tightness showing in the corners, her lips a little too red, as though she’d been chewing them, or repeatedly licking them.
She wasn’t happy.
She was pretending to be and putting on a good show of it.
She gave him an impish grin and stole his glass away, only to fill both back up. He hadn’t even noticed her emptying the other.
“Mara, enough. I can only handle so much.” He licked his lips, his tongue spreading the burn. “And it’s gross.”
Her grin was still smug as she handed him a full glass.
“Demon it’s only honey whiskey.” She gave a negligent shrug and tipped her glass into her mouth. “Don’t be a grump.”
He followed suit because she was unhappy and he wasn’t going to let her succumb alone.
“Whiskey?” He fought back the shudder as the warmth spread through his belly.
“Whiskey. Maybe some added… herbs.” She took his glass back, filling it right back up.
He narrowed his eyes on her but drank anyway. He trusted her, at least so much to know that she would never cause him harm.
He emptied another glass, then another.
His head was getting swimmy, his body relaxed—languorous—not quite numb, but close enough.
His brow wrinkled, his fingers reaching up to ease the tightness in her jaw, resting on her chin, tracing the line of her jaw up to her ear, then tucking a strip of hair behind it.
Both of them here, alone, hiding away from prying eyes…
Her hand came up to rest on his cheek, his face turning just in time for her fingers to drag across his lips, he kissed them softly.
“Kiss me?” He spoke softly, leaning in, his eyes never leaving hers.
He saw the flash of something go through them, and his chest instantly tightened, his body reacting as though he’d been slapped in the face. What was she up to? Damn his head for feeling too sloppy and scattered.
“I called someone here for you to meet,” she said, her eyes going hard.
His fuzzy thoughts tried to grasp on to her meaning. They finally had a moment alone, and she asked for someone to intrude?
She walked unsteadily to the back door of the temple, leaving him to sip at his once again full glass. He’d forgotten about the sneaky effects of alcohol.
She walked back toward him with a lusty little witch following close behind, her head peeking from behind Mara briefly then disappearing again.
The feel of her lust hit him so hard it felt like his bones were vibrating. With Mara—it was all he ever needed to sustain him—but he craved purity to corrupt. Like the difference between stuffing oneself with comfort food and gorging on sugary pastries.
One he loved, needed, craved constantly — the other was a matter of impulse control. He didn’t need it.
His entire body shuddered with want.
All the Hells but he hungered.
Why would she do this to him? Was she testing his loyalty? Get him intoxicated, so he didn’t have it in him to protest… then throw temptation at his feet?
The witch dropped to her knees in front of him, her limpid grey eyes gazing up with unadulterated desire.
“Don’t do this. I don’t want it.” He kept his voice low, but anger still resonated.
Her eyes squeezed shut, a good parallel to the tension that was knotting up his own insides.
“You need this.” She spoke with a tone that brokered no argument.
Mara crossed her arms over her own waist and made a move to step away, as though preparing to leave him alone with; his eyes drifted over the female, her fingers already nimbly working on undoing the laces down the front of her ceremonial robes. To leave him with this female he didn’t know. Who didn’t know him and still wanted him. Because of his power, not because of him. He was only for his Mara.
“Stay.” He grabbed her hand before she could move farther away and pulled her back to him. “Stay.” He kept pulling until she fell into him. “Let me pretend it’s you.”
He couldn’t gather his thoughts, he was far too drunk. She’d gotten him drunk.
Her breath hitched. “I can’t watch this,” she said with a bark of a laugh.
“Just a kiss?” His hand cupped her cheek, turning her face to his. “Just a kiss so I can think of you.”
She let out a cry
, her mouth meeting his hard. Deep. Hot. Possessive. He was hers.
His hand wound through her hair, holding her steady, keeping her still. His tongue swept against hers, his teeth scraping across her lip as he deepened their kiss. Claiming her. She was his.
His other hand searched for skin, craving that tactile connection, her silken skin against his sensitive fingertips. She was soft, her skin creamy and resilient, giving way only to the firmest pressure. His fingers dug in. He wanted to mark her, so everyone would see she was his.
The kiss deepened, turned incendiary, liquifying his insides. Her skin became pliant in his hands as she melted against him. He felt his power reaching out, felt hers answering with a tentative prodding.
His breath caught in his throat, his hand tightening in her hair, his fingers stopping their wandering. The very epitome of bliss was right there. Here. Within his grasp.
She pulled back, panting, the glazed shine clearing from her gaze remarkably fast. She reached up, her fingers settling on his arm and trailing it until she found his hand. She carefully unwound his fingers from her hair, twining them through her own instead, a sorrowful look crossed her face before it went completely blank.
“You’re going to mark her.” She took another step back, her hand resting on the witch’s dark hair. “Your power is going to fuse with hers, corrupt it entirely and then she’ll be marked as yours, and become my acolyte.”
Everything inside of him turned cold. Cold and hard as marble. Even his booze-fogged thoughts knew this wasn’t what he wanted.
“Just lie still Cass and let her show you what she wants. It will feel good.” Great. Bas’s voice was haunting him from the beyond. He remembered that time now, he’d been hardly more than a child. It had been Amara who had eased him then, when he hadn’t even had the words to articulate his feelings.
He felt fingers running up under his robe and looked down with a snarl on his face. The witch’s fingers were already undoing the belt.
He looked over to Mara, pleading with her without words.
Begging her.
How many times had he done this in front of her?
“A few moments Priestess, I’m nearly done.” His cold voice. The memory of that faceless maiden replaced by the look in Mara’s eyes he could so vividly recall. He hadn’t cared then. Could he just pretend it was still like that? Long enough to feed?
Her gaze was distant, withdrawn somewhere in the recesses of her mind. No. If he had to be aware, she did too.
With a growl, he pulled the witch to her feet, very aware of the witch’s breathy gasp, he heard her heart rate accelerate — he could scent her fucking desire.
And it wasn’t what he wanted.
Yes, she was exactly the type that would make him look twice. Lushly curved, red pouty lips, hair as black as a raven’s wing, porcelain pale skin.
More recently, he discovered he didn’t have a type so much as a person. Mara was it.
He grabbed the witch by her hand and pulled her close, stripping the rest of her clothes away with brisk motions, watching Mara for a reaction. Anything.
She cared. She told him she loved him.
His hands went to the witch’s breasts, and the wave of lust that shot out of her nearly brought him to his knees. Right. He needed to feed. For the love of fuck, he was starved.
He bent down and pulled a rosy peak into his mouth, drawing it in with a deep suckle. The witch moaned and swayed into him. Mara made a pained noise in her throat.
Her anger prickled through the sigil on his chest. She cared.
His hands grasped the hips of the witch, fingers digging into the sides of her ass, flexing, testing, then sliding around to lift her. Her legs wrapped around his hips and he took the few steps he needed to lay her out on the altar.
Her knees lifted, then dropped, allowing him a complete view of her plump folds. Moisture seeped out already — dark gods he hungered. He trailed his fingers from her knee, down the inside of her thigh, over her folds…
He plunged two inside of her, hard and deep. She was tight around his fingers, clearly had never before been breached, but she was lost to the throes of lust, his power overriding her natural inclinations. Her body arched, a husky moan escaping her lips, her hands cupping her breasts, fingers strumming over her own nipples. She was close already — hardly needed his help.
He heard Mara’s shriek before he felt her claws dig into his arm, spinning him to face her. With one hand still buried between the witch’s thighs, his other hand cupped the back of Mara’s neck, his fingers cradling the back of her head, his drunken brain failing to register the rage on her face.
Failed to notice her hand flying until it landed on his jaw. Blood filled his mouth as the inside of his cheek split over his teeth. He spit out the mouthful, then captured Mara’s mouth with his.
His power surrounded them, absorbing everything the squealing witch had to offer and then some. It wanted more—it sought it out, entwining itself with the witch’s meager power, latching on to some bite of familiarity. Whatever god she sought her powers from was linked to him.
He didn’t dwell. He worked her with his fingers, his other hand keeping Mara held fast, his mouth refusing to release hers-
His power latched on to the witch’s and spread like an infection, first fooling her power into recognizing it, then corrupting everything.
He moaned low as the corruption spread, feeding his very soul, his body aching with the need for release…
He had to do it.
He stopped kissing Mara. Begging her forgiveness for what needed to be done. Her lip quivered and she bit down hard.
Fuck could he hate himself more for what he was?
“Do it,” she whispered hoarsely and turned away, her hands still clasped around his arm.
He closed his eyes for a breath, steadied himself—
He gave his cock a few rough strokes, he needed this to be over with quick — then slid it against her folds, spreading her juices, preparing her.
He sunk into her with a slow yet rough thrust, not even giving himself time to catch his breath. He wrapped his arm through her leg, angling her up as he plunged deeper.
Mara’s claws sunk in farther, her sigil burning his chest.
The witch’s screams echoed through the acoustically designed temple, the sound reverberating through Cass, as her climax and complete corruption of her powers sated every hungering part of him.
He could feel his own orgasm looming, but it was like a mirage… flickering, just beyond reach...
“Mara,” he rasped, turning to look at her with pleading eyes. “I can’t.”
She bared her teeth and let out a low hiss. “Somehow that doesn’t upset me demon.”
With an agonized growl, he pulled out of the witch, wrapped his hands around Mara’s waist, and tossed her over his shoulder in one motion. He stormed off to the side of the temple that led to her private rooms, kicked open the door, startling Agate who sat just on the other side.
“Go see to the witch,” Mara squeaked out. “And grab Cass’s robe.”
Agate scrambled out of the room, shutting the door behind her. Not that Cass cared. He had one thought. He needed to come.
He needed to come and to make a point.
He tossed Mara onto the bed, swiping pillows and cushions to the floor, the blankets following when they wouldn’t cooperate, then stopped to look down at her, tearing open her robes with a growl. He didn’t need anyone else.
She sucked in a breath, then started giggling.
“You going to hurt me?” she asked, her smile a little too bright.
He flinched back. “Why would I ever hurt you?”
“You look like you’re going to throttle me.” She raised her brows and propped herself up onto an elbow, running her fingers down his chest.
He growled roughly, “I should. I should spank that ass until it’s cherry bright. That was a mean trick, Mara.”
Her smile dropped. “No trick. You needed to
feed.”
He inhaled deeply, the scent of her desire making his body tingle.
“Yeah. Feed.” He fell over her, a tad on the clumsy side, his elbows hooking behind her knees, his mouth clamped over her mound, his tongue lapping roughly, sloppily.
She moaned loudly, her hips rocking up hard against his face, he suckled harder, his hands gripping her ass cheeks, holding her up to his mouth so he could properly feast on her.
“Yes… help... don’t…” her cries were broken, her words barely forming. “Don’t stop.”
He had to let go with one hand, he needed it wrapped around himself, stroking his length as roughly as his mouth and tongue worked over all of her sensitive spots.
Her throaty cries turned into pants, then her body stilled. His tongue didn’t — she was right there.
She screamed. Cried out his name.
His own orgasm blasted through him with blinding intensity.
He crawled up her body, caging her in his arms and collapsed, his head still floating, his body still heavy.
“I’m sorry Mara. I’m so sorry.” He lay over her, his weight resting on the mattress.
“You going to be one of those maudlin drunks that whines about their woes?” she mumbled against his chest, sounding as tired as he felt.
“Don’t do that to me again.” He spoke after a long drawn silence.
Did she not understand what that did to him? To be forced to do what his body desired, even as his head screamed something different?
“You needed to feed. You have to stop denying that aspect of yourself, Cass.” She was trying to wiggle out from under him. He held her tighter. “It’s who you are and I don’t like it, but I understand it has to happen. You need the power. Especially now — you need to be strong.”
“You one of those drunks that ramble endlessly?” He hated that part of himself. Like he was forever to be punished merely for the sake of being born to the wrong species.
Building Empires
“How do you expect us to sleep?” Mara looked over at him, her eyes bleary from drink. “Pick up my blankets I’m cold.”