by S J Doran
His smile stayed in place, easing some of the tension that had gathered around his eyes earlier.
“Benzosia suggested something similar, use their greed to our advantage and bribe our way into their favor.” She glared at Cass playfully before turning back to Rasputin. “Asurim can’t afford conflict, our numbers dwindle even without the bloodshed of war.”
“What do you suggest?” Cass was studying the mad warlock, clueing in that his thoughts ran deeper than his words.
“Alchemy,” Rasputin grinned with a wag of his heavy brows. “The Lich are unparalleled alchemists. You get me their recipe for gold, and I’m certain I can recreate.”
“And they’ll just hand it over?” Mara scoffed. “Maybe I can just beat them into submission.”
“The Lich?” Cass sidled back up to her, nudging her with his elbow.
“No,” she laughed, reaching for his hand. “My Dominae.” Her eyes narrowed as she pictured stringing up Berith for a flogging. Nope, still not enough to assuage the feeling of utter betrayal.
The piercing of a needle interrupted her thoughts, the bite of cold fluid making the muscles ache as the syringe was emptied and the mad monk’s concoction began to spread through her bloodstream. “Oi, how about a warning next time?”
“A whole month’s worth of tinctures running through your system, Sarratum, and you complain of a little needle sting?”
“Large needle.” She could hardly make out her own disgruntled reply over the monk’s tirade about the perils of vanity and stupidity, and Cassius’s own poorly suppressed laughter.
“Okay, he’s kept the last one down,” Azadiel said, entering the room in a flurry of energy, stopping when he noticed her and Cass. “Mara. Cass.” Pity shone in his gaze.
“I’m sorry about your sisters,” Aza continued.
Cass, her sweet demon, shifted her behind him, thinking to shield her from something that was already done, that couldn’t possibly hurt her anymore.
“Sorry?” Cass’s shoulders were stiff, that vein in his neck throbbing. “I’d hate to think you knew of this beforehand.”
“I knew enough Cass.” Aza set down the empty potion vial, which Rasputin grabbed up, moving back to his table without comment. “I knew she was left to die in that dungeon. That you were never supposed to find her. That I was meant to keep the two of you apart.”
She’d asked for this. Couldn’t possibly — still more depths, more hurt to discover. They’d all left her there to die.
“Mara?” Aza moved around Cass, pulling her away from him. “They were all frightened of the prophecy, understand? Benzosia was killed because it was originally thought the prophecy was about her and Levistus. Then Levistus imprisoned when Asmodeus learned it was a mistake. The fact that you lived…” Aza took a moment, swallowing and deciding what to say. “Asmodeus thought by letting you live, and when introduced to Cass at the right time, he’d be able to control when the Apocalypse came about. If I’d been any less than what I am, I would have been executed for allowing the two of you to form the connection you had.”
“Allowed us?” Cass snarled. She couldn’t work up the anger, it was too buried under hurt.
“Cassius did you think I’d remained ignorant to the fact that the two of you bound yourselves? Didn’t you wonder how your ribbon ended in my personal keeping? I hid your hand-fasting cord and did the best I could to protect the two of you.”
She looked up onto Azadiel’s eyes, the color close to her own, full of pain, like hers. Shame too. And anger.
“Then the two of you nearly caused the apocalypse after all and make me look the fool.” Aza’s eyes flashed.
“We didn’t…” Cass cut in and Aza glared at him.
“Azadiel, enough.” He had no right to his anger, not against Cassius, and certainly not against her. Though he’d stood vigil at her prison door, and had read fairy tales to her when reality had been too cruel to bear, she couldn’t forgive the one being they’d each had looked up to like a father, their mentor, and their betrayer.
His gaze evaded hers, clearly understanding his place in her regards. The anger slowly dissipating from his eyes, the shame and sorrow remained. “You spoke to your mother?”
Cass nodded, turning his face. “She told me where to find the Rod.”
“I never put much stock into prophecy.” Aza looked to each of them. “And I refuse to believe that the two of you will be the cause. Cass cares too much, something Asmodeus never took into consideration. And Mara… your love for Cassius has saved him once, it may just be the salvation of all the realms. Don’t give up. The Ruby Rod may be the answer.”
“My mother,” Cass cleared his throat. “Avrogale thought it would be my downfall.”
“Benzosia said much the same.” The words of the dowager queen, her grandmother she supposed, had been measured. Still, she’d caught the trepidation behind them. The fear.
“They speak from the past. Mephistopheles has it from a seer, the Rod is meant to be in play.”
Destiny is decided through sword and rod, wielded by fates bound by ribbon, ring, and cot.
Damn Elmira for both her confusing visions and her conspiring ways. She shot Cass a look. Though she could hardly blame her Domina for siding with demons, especially when it seemed her own people believed their Sarratum to be a mouthpiece for the demonarchy. The fact their very survival depended on the infernal energy their truce and collaboration secured seemed to matter little to the injured warlock pride.
“Amara,” Azadiel’s voice softened a little, that sharp edge from earlier gone. “Thank you for saving Levistus from the bog.” He stepped back toward the doorway, running a hand down his face. “And for bringing back Benzosia. I never thought to lay eyes on her again.”
“Neither deed done for your sake, teacher.” What she wouldn’t give to have some of her demon’s ability for compassion and forgiveness.
“But I am grateful for it, anyway.” He left the room, shutting the door silently behind him. Leaving both her and Cassius to stare after him.
“What did he mean by that then?”
The demon at her side looked uncomfortable for a moment, then shrugged. “You missed Benzosia telling us he’s her brother?”
This was information she’d known of course. Yet amidst all revelations and developments, she’d repressed it. “Which means they’re all related to me. Oh joy…”
“He left without the new batch,” Rasputin grumbled, interrupting conversation as he poured the liquid from his pot into vials. “Bad manners that.”
Cass silently reached for her hand again, giving it a reassuring squeeze.
“So you two need to know how to reach the Lich.” Rasputin set down his instruments and sat, tossing his feet up on the table he’d just been working at. “I know the portal to their rift.”
Safe word
He slipped his hand into Mara’s as they left the room, twining his fingers through hers and giving her a light squeeze of reassurance. She didn’t even look up at him, lost in her own thoughts.
To Hell with the Demonarchy and Dominae who thought to have any say in their future. They each served their purpose in the past, but he was back by her side now, where he belonged. And he would not be cowed by overzealous advisors and prideful nobles. Not Berith, not Aza, not anyone.
The antidote was working fast, her proportions returning to normal… sizes. It was also clearly draining her, the potion and the antidote fighting each other, her body the battleground. She needed rest, they both needed sleep, but first, he needed to take care of her.
Knowing her quirks he tugged her along to the bathroom where she finally blinked, before looking up at him with a questioning glance.
“You need to bathe.” It wasn’t a question, his fingers already working loose the chains staying the fabric of her robes. Her breath of relief when she daintily stepped into the tub letting him know he did good. His brows furrowed when she started to scrub her skin raw as if trying to rid herself of dirt whi
ch wasn’t there.
She stopped when she noticed him watching, her voice small. “It’s been a hellish… day.”
“Just relax.” He cupped his hands and filled them with water, dumping it over the dark strands, seeing them turn to silver grey as he rinsed the oils from her hair. Lately, she’d been coloring her hair brown, a shade lighter than his own. He remembered the first time he’d seen it’s color, she’d had to cut off a piece for him to take to his rooms, her cell too dark otherwise.
“Let me take care of you. Wife.” The word made his chest fill up with emotion again. How long he’d craved this simple task, a chance to care for her, to protect her. To claim her.
She looked over at him from the sides of her eyes, “Without contract or ceremony, our union won’t be officially recognized you realize.”
His hands hesitated with their next scoop of water. “I recognize it. And you meant your vows, didn’t you? You can’t take them back.”
A smile tugged up her lips. “As if you’d let me.”
“As if you’d allow me to dictate to you,” he grinned back, working shampoo through her hair. “We’ll have a ceremony in front of your Dominae and Masters. I want to see you dressed in my colors. Our covenant will be signed in blood. Indisputable.”
“Greedy demon,” she murmured softly, leaning into his massaging hands. “Maybe I’d like to see you in my colors, pledging to me on your knees.”
“To be your knight and consort, my lady?” He laughed lightly, helping her rinse her hair.
“To be the man I love,” she stated simply, and his insides burned with joy.
“Mara…” He leaned around and kissed her softly, cautiously, afraid to disrupt the reverence of the moment. “I should find you some food?”
Her eyes were heavy, and despite the elation that filled him, he knew she hungered as much as he.
“Food. Sleep. I need something.” She used his shoulder to stabilize herself as she stepped out of the water. “Fewer troubles compounding in my life.”
He held up the robe Agate had left folded on the counter, helping her into it.
“Will you allow me to feed you? You need more than food for sustenance.”
He watched her towel off her hair, noticed her posture stiffening momentarily at the suggestion. It was one of the many things usually left unspoken between them, one of the many secrets they no longer needed to keep. They were each other’s strength, and there was no harm in others knowing.
“Sin. You know what I need, and there’s no way I will ask you to put yourself through pain just to satisfy my… hunger.”
He turned her around, holding her upper arms, “Mara,” he echoed back, “I’m a greedy demon, as you’ve said, do you think I’d expect nothing in return?” He ran his hands up the back of her neck, then traced the fold of her robe down the front to where it overlapped her breasts.
“You sure you want to go that route, demon?” She smiled and batted her eyelashes with coquettish flair.
He laughed, gripped her waist and lifted her onto his shoulder as she squealed. “Trying to tempt the king of temptation, wench?”
He sat her on the top of her desk, parting her legs so he could snugly fit between them. She looked up at him, her eyes full of heat, running her hands up and down the thin cotton of his t-shirt. He could feel the heat between her legs, his cotton pajama pants not much of a barrier… and they were alone.
He tapped up her chin and pressed his mouth to hers, swallowing down her protests, devouring her cries. He took her mouth deeply, stroking his tongue against hers, tugging at her lips with slow sucks until her hands were tight in his hair, grasping as she pushed all of her body to his.
His hands wandered—up to her breasts, freeing them, down the front of her robe, parting it, spreading it open over her silken skin.
Satin and velvet, with the scent of her desire driving him to a near-frenzy.
“Just so you never again doubt, Mara, you’re perfect. Look how you fit in my hands.” He palmed her breast, the nipple tightening on contact, her lust sending heat through his blood.
Dangerous line here. His hunger for her was relentless. Insatiable.
He kept his hands on her thighs, fought to keep them there. It wouldn’t take much to slide the silk of her robe away from her skin, he could be touching her bare skin in a matter of moments…
He lifted one trembling hand from her thigh and pulled out the bottle he’d snagged from Rasputin’s stores.
“Demon.” Mara swallowed visibly, licked her lips. “You can’t take his poisons, he’s my top assassin and maester of poisons for good reason.”
She read the label, removed the stopper and gave it a careful sniff, giving him a look full of malicious glee. His hands tightened on her legs, anticipating.
“Just a little. We have Lich to find.” She sprinkled a few droplets on her wrist, holding it up in offering.
“Body shots, then?” He held eye contact as he slowly dragged his tongue across the inside of her wrist, followed by an open mouth kiss that left her shuddering.
“See if you can guess,” she said, her voice thick with building desire.
He slid his hands up her legs and around her hips, grabbing her ass and pulling her right snug to his body, the juncture of her thighs pressing against his prominent erection. The thin silk parting…
The inside of his mouth blistered first, then the insistent burning started, setting fire to his tongue, the insides of his cheeks, in a nice little trail down his throat. He coughed, an instinctive spasm, the molten liquid rising like bile, then back down, making him cough again, harder. He covered his mouth with his arm, disconcerted to notice the blood splattering, then felt a pop, and blood started flowing freely from his nose.
“Hellebore?” He coughed again, turning his head from Mara who was trying to wipe up the blood on his face. He kept swallowing reflexively, trying to ease the burn, get the liquid out of his throat…
“Fuck me this is going to hurt.”
She patted his cheek, her lids lowering as she breathed deeply. “Kind of the point?” She dipped a cloth in her pitcher of drinking water and resumed swiping at his face.
His heart pounded fiercely, merciless waves of dizziness washed through him, causing a constant buzz in his head. He weaved to the side, and before Mara could grasp him, his knees gave out and he dropped, knocking his chin against the desk as he fell, and bouncing his head off the floor where he landed.
She slid off the desk and dropped to her knees beside him, dabbing at the blood trailing across his jaw, her expression grim, her eyes gleaming with hunger.
He pulled her over his lap, wrapped her still-damp hair around his wrist and tugged her in closer. His nerve endings sung with agony and he knew it called to her, the same siren’s song as her lust was to him.
“Feed.” His throat was hoarse, but the swelling was dissipating, leaving behind burning pain that made him feverish. Thankfully, it had only been a few drops. “Want to feel what it does to you.” His free hand went to the top of her thigh, gripping hard and pushing down harder.
She rocked her hips against him, moaning softly, and he felt when she latched on to his pain. Felt it because she grew lustful from his response. Her essence claiming his pain, her body translating it to pleasure. Anyone who tried to tell him they weren’t made for each other… he’d call them a fucking liar.
She buried her face in his neck, turning to press kisses up, along his jaw, on his chin, him rocking against her, so close…
She moved her lips to his, and he quickly turned his face. “Poison…”
“Immune to Hellebore,” she whispered, turning his face back to hers and claiming his mouth.
She fed, pulling each hit of agony from him, ensuring that his oblivion was just beyond his reach, replacing it with building tension and need.
So close… with frantic motions, he pulled his pants down, needing to feel...
Her wet heat slid against him… just a bit of a shift, he co
uld bury himself in it…
He released her hair and cupped her breast, his fingers plucking at her nipple as it beaded for him. He wanted his mouth there…
He eased up his hold on his power, leaving it to seek out what she was offering. Undiluted lust. So potent, its intensity caused his vision to momentarily dim.
“Cass,” she moaned his name against his lips, nearly causing him to burst right then.
He deepened their kiss, leaning up, sucking at her mouth, his teeth scraping across her lips with the manic need that seized him. He moved his hand from her leg, cupping her mound, sliding his fingers to part her folds, the back of his hand moving against his throbbing cock.
“Let me feel it,” he whispered, his throat raw and burning, the sensation of pain dulled as Mara drew it all in and translated it into lust. “Let me feel the pain, Mara, you don’t have to keep it from me anymore. I… need it.”
“Demon.” She clumsily covered his mouth with her hand as his fingers slid against her slick flesh. “I’ll protect you from whatever…” she ended on a gasp, her body shuddering as the crown of his cock dragged between her folds, dipping into the entrance of her snug sheath before he gripped himself harder, groaning, on the precipice of ecstasy.
He wanted—needed—longed for… craved… an addict with his hit poised to enter his veins…
Their power enveloped them, their safe bubble, expanding… evolving. She fed off the agony of his denial, the pain from the poison, her body a trembling mass in his hands.
“Shit.” Mara pulled back gasping, then nearly falling against him as he pushed his fingers inside of her. “Cass... uhn… Unless you want to be the ruler of ash and dust, we need to....” He circled his fingers, cutting off her words, her small claws digging into his skin “No... don’t fucking stop,” she groaned out.
He noticed it then, that blurry around the edges draw, his greedily growing expanse of power, it devoured hers as she fed off his, growing together into something new — Together they generated a new energy, their joined creation both beautiful and terrible, apocalyptic in power.