Fantasm, Coercion, Consensual Sex, Cruelty, Domination/submission, Erotica, Female Domination, Hardcore, Male/Female, Mind Control, Monster, Murder, Pregnant, Romance, Stockholm Syndrome, Violence, Written by women
A/N – Hello everyone! I hope you guys are enjoying this series as much as I enjoy writing. Please, please send me some feedback if you liked it (or even if you didn’t) and let me know if you guys have any suggestions for what should happen next, all ideas are open to consideration. Happy reading!
Get up! No use moping; crying will get you nowhere.
I push myself off of the wet rock, slipping and scraping my arm as I struggle to control my shaking body. Focusing on the icy pain, I encase my heart with that same cold, feeling it harden and add steel to my reserve. It seems silly, but blaming Asmodeus for this latest injury makes it easier for me to envision hating him. He did this to me.
While I haven’t quite managed hate just yet, I feel some satisfaction that my fear has – at least – turned into a soaring anger. I let it rage within me and my breathing speeds up. Curling my fists and squaring my shoulders, I resolve right now to return to my family as soon as possible.
But how to do that? Think Selena.
I know better that to hope I will find some magical, secret exit. If I ever want to leave this place I’ll have to be pretty fucking smart. I have to find a weakness of his somehow, something he’s said or done which will help me figure out a way to leave safely. Think, think! There must be something, a weak spot, an escape, a loophole; something. If I could find that one thing, I know I will be free.
As soon I realise his weakness, the loophole blares sharply in my mind and a plan forms under the idea. Suddenly, I have it, that one thing that will guarantee me safe passage home.
Right, first things first; get dressed.
If I have any hope of my plan working out, I have to let Asmodeus believe that I’m still under his spell. That means getting dressed in one of those ridiculously elaborate gowns and parading before him as if nothing is wrong. That is, until he slips. Then I’ll have my freedom, away from this wretched, volcanic prison and its gorgeous demonic warden.
I bite my lip, berating myself for that last thought. I’ve known since its inception that my plan’s fatal flaw is me. There’s no telling what my pathetic heart will make me feel when I see him; or what my treacherous body will make me do.
Best not to think about it. I’ll deal with those obstacles as they come.
Deciding that this is the best course of action, I scrub my body thoroughly with the earthy soap and lather some of it into my hair, washing away dirt, sweat, blood and tears. When I’m done, I step out of my waterfall shower and stand shivering for a moment until I register the sound of air rushing through a gap somewhere. Following the sound to its source, I find a large vent opened up in the ceiling.
Excitement courses through me. Could this be a way out?
Clouds of dust swirl beneath the spot and I wait for it to clear before standing directly below. The air pressure is so great however, that I cannot even look up from underneath. My heart sinks as I realise that even if the airflow was slower, I wouldn’t have a way to reach the gap anyway – it’s just too high up. The air is warm though and steadily begins to dry me off. Letting out a resigned sigh, I relax as the vent dries my body and focus again on my original plan.
As my hair dries, I wish for a comb to untangle the snarling mess. In the blink of an eye I notice a dressing table begin to rise from the stone floor. Slowly it ascends, finding a place next to the chest of dresses, the rock rumbling and scraping against the cave wall. After it has fully formed, a small stool of sorts rises before it and a crude box grows on top of it.
Stepping away from the relentless blast of air, I walk over to inspect my new furniture. Stopping at the table I run a hand over the rough edges of everything I have just created. I know it’s my work because it isn’t as beautiful as Asmodeus’. Lifting the lid of the box (which looks like little more than a miniature mud hut) I find a curved, primitive looking – though slender – ivory coloured comb. With only five teeth, it will barely do the job but it’s better than nothing I suppose.
I take the comb with me back over to the air vent and loosen the knots in my hair as it dries. The comb feels smooth and strong, and while I run it through my fine waist length hair, I find myself wondering what it is made out of. I’ve felt this texture before, I’m sure of it. Shrugging, I focus on combing out all the knots; I have to seem as if I still want to look good for my captor.
When my hair is dry, I head back to the dresser, expecting to find a mirror behind it. Like the one in my room at home. My brow knits in sorrow and I fight hard against the lump in my throat. No time for that. I swallow my tears down and will a mirror to appear before me.
Cracking and wind-chimes sound as iron grows out of the wall, framing the polished silver and glass mirror which obediently shows me my naked reflection. Sitting down and staring into the mirror, a chocolate coloured heart shaped face stares back. Rich brown eyes glint in the red glow of the cave; freckles pepper flushed cheeks and dot a button nose and full, well-shaped, dark pink lips are set in a frown of fierce determination while silky straight ebony hair frames it all.
I look different. Beautiful... When did that happen?
I know already though, it happened when he loved me. When he showed me what it felt like to be beautiful and what it meant. I couldn’t see it before, not on my own but I do now. Because he loved me, I can finally love myself.
The sharp brown eyes soften, then freeze, hardening once more as I realise that I’m doing exactly what I feared I would. And I’m not even near him yet!
I yank the comb roughly through my hair again, sharp, jagged strokes which rip out a few strands. Furious at myself, and at him and at this stupid comb I slam it against the stone dresser, breaking off a tooth. The sharp shard flies at my face and I duck just in time to avoid losing an eye. Sitting up again only when I hear the shard clatter harmlessly on the floor, I examine the damaged comb. The mysterious material of which the comb is made still bugs me and after I run a finger over the broken edge, I realise why. The comb is made from bone.
It takes all of my effort not to scream as I fling the hideous object as far away as possible. Letting out instead a horrified gasp, I try in vain to convince myself that it was an animal bone. Somehow though, I just know its human and the thought makes me sick to my stomach. Fighting back a wave of nausea, I take a deep breath and try not to think about where the bone could have come from; while an awful image of the bleached human skull from high school biology floats through my mind. This place is a nightmare come into reality.
All the more reason to escape... And soon.
Banishing my nausea, I push myself up from the little stone seat and pull out the navy silk dress from the chest Asmodeus made for me. Slipping into it, I shiver as the silver lace caresses my back. Struggling, I finally manage to tie up the ribbons at my lower back, only to find myself stumped as half the lace hangs unknotted, having previously been held up by yet more hidden ribbons.
Unable to manoeuvre the crisscross pattern at the right side of my mid back, I throw my hands up in exasperation and admit defeat. My captor will just have to tie it up for me. Dropping back down at my dresser I huff in annoyance as the lace whips against the bare of my back.
Something soft whispers against my ear and my heart races while I strain to hear over the roar of the air vent. When I wish it shut the noise stops instantly as the gap in the ceiling closes off. I listen intently to the delicate zipping sound of silk sliding through metal and when I feel my dress tighten comfortably, I know that it’s closing itself for me.
Pleased, I rise again and study myself in the full length mirror that Asmodeus conjured for me.
The navy blue dress complements my brown skin perfectly, affording me a sinister sort of beauty, bewitching but deadly. When I twist my body around, the lace radiates femininity, contrasting beautifully against my skin and showing off a taste of what is hidden beneath the silk and silver. The plunging neckline showcases just the right amount of cleavage, making my body ooze sensuality, the dark twin of Marilyn Monroe at her prime. I feel beautiful and sexy and dangerous all at once. This is the perfect outfit, the perfect armour against my captor, giving me strength before the dreaded war for my freedom.
All that’s missing is a little battle paint...
A clinking sound over at the dresser reminds me that my wish is the cave’s command. A small glass container sits next to a fine, short bristled paint brush. Taking a seat I open the little jar and lightly rub my finger over the thick black cream inside. As I expected, the black kohl sticks to my finger. Conjuring a small silk cloth I wipe my finger clean and pick up the brush, dipping it into the creamy liner.
Its only animal hair, I tell myself as I brush the soft bristles onto the border of my bottom eye lid. The effect is instantaneous; a little eyeliner goes a long way, enhancing the dangerous gleam of my eyes. Looking at the woman in the mirror, I know she means business.
I add a coat to the top lids as well, painting a line above each set of lashes. Wishing to add a little more colour to my face leads to a yield of even more containers, this time made of metal, each containing a loose mineral powder in differing shades. Wiping my liner brush clean, I shadow my eyes with black, silver and navy powder, creating a smoky look which also matches my dress. Finally, a small glass tub appears on the dresser, similar to the one which brought me the eyeliner. This time it’s filled with a rich mauve lipstick, which I apply lightly before heading over to the full length mirror again. Before I have the chance to examine my handy-work however, I feel the wall behind me begin to rumble.
Whipping around, I watch with mounting fear as an opening appears, melting into existence from the solid rock wall. My heart pounds in my ears as the thought of seeing him again so soon sends me into a panic. I’m not ready! All the confidence I felt not two minutes ago fades with alarming speed as I realise too late that it takes more than a sexy dress and a little make-up for me to be his equal, for me to be able to stand up to him.
When the entrance finally reveals itself, it isn't Asmodeus who stands in the doorway. My relief is immediate and I let out a soft sigh as a demon strides through, clad only in a filthy cloth tied to his waist with a leather belt. I roll my shoulders back and lift my chin up high as he strolls confidently towards me, practicing my new 'femme fatale' façade before I have to see the King again.
Feigning indifference to his presence, I glance casually at my nails, as if the creature does not frighten me. He’s one of the less horrendous looking ones sure, but he’s still a demon. It doesn’t help either that at the sight of me; his prick begins to stiffen, straining against his loincloth. Guess I won’t have to check myself out in the mirror after all. Ignoring his state of arousal, I look up at his face as he moves ever closer.
“Has it been an hour already?” I ask, in what I hope is a bored voice.
“It has been half an hour. My master sent for me to retrieve you later but I thought I’d come early and have a little fun first.” A lecherous grin spreads over his face as he draws a sinister looking dagger from a sheath on his belt.
My heart pounds painfully in my chest as I force a sneer at his words.
“Don’t be an idiot, you can’t touch me,” I level my gaze with his, finding strength in the truth of my next words, “he’ll tear you apart.”
Undeterred, the demon stalks toward me, knife poised in front of him, disgusting grin in place.
“What Asmodeus doesn’t know can’t hurt me; and you won’t tell him will you bitch? I can do whatever I want with your body and you won’t tell a soul because if you do, I’ll gut you while you sleep; even if you happen to be sleeping in the King’s bed at the time.”
I swallow painfully, slowly backing away from this monster, knowing that either way Asmodeus cannot help me now. Even if I tell him that this demon raped me, it won’t save me from being raped.
The back of my heel slams against the rocky stool at my dresser an I’m cornered, unable to move away from the demon that stalks ever closer. Blind panic overrides my logic and I can’t think let alone move. I’m shaking from head to toe as he laughs, savouring the taste of my fear. His putrid breath washes over me as he presses his body close to mine. Slowly as if to caress me, his rough hands slide up my arms. Then one tightens like a vice, causing me to cry out as he spins me around and slams me into the wall.
He forces me harder against the wall, the pain of being constricted adding to the ache of a bruised arm and the throb of my busted lip. His hips thrust toward mine and he uses them to hold me in place. His hands, now free, move in opposite directions, one squeezing my breasts painfully through my dress and the other pinching my bare inner thigh. A finger brushes against my most private place and I cry out in horror. Tired of playing with me, the bastard whips me around again wraps a hand around my throat while the other reaches for the belt of his loincloth. My body trembles so hard that it feels as if the earth itself is shaking.
Only when the smile slips from my assailant’s face do I realise that the earth is shaking. My fear has literally caused the cave to quake.
He launches himself away from me as chunks of rock rip free of the ceiling and crash deafeningly to the ground, cracking and crumbling. The terrified demon dodges them in a sick game of tag, narrowly avoiding being crushed by the large boulders or impaled by falling stalactites. All the while I have my body pressed against the wall next to my dresser, fighting to regain control of my body and end the bombardment of the cave.
Cowering against the wall by my dresser, I watch as a smaller stalactite falls too quickly for the dodging demon to notice. It is only when the shard – as large as the pins which originally held me captive – fixes his foot into the red earth that he pays any attention to it. His scream of pain is deafening, even louder than the din created by the falling rocks. The sound of it yanks me away from my fear as I realise that he can do me no harm, trapped as he now is. The rumbling and shaking slows and eventually stops until the only sound I hear is the demon’s low moans and gasps of pain. I stride confidently toward him, my fear forgotten and replaced with a rage unlike anything I have ever experienced.
Seething anger rolls off me as I stalk around the immobile, kneeling figure of the creature who would have raped me. My breathing is short and fast, air expelled in furious huffs and inhaled through flared nostrils. I feel as if I could breathe fire and I want to, if only to burn this worthless sack of shit to a crisp. I lick my torn lip, letting the burn add fuel to my rage, until I realise that I’ve healed myself. Interesting.
When I stop in front of the demon, he begins to whimper. He knows that I caused the earthquake (and its subsequent rain of deadly rocks); he can see the power in my eyes. He begs for forgiveness.
His cowardice forms a disgusted sneer on my lips. I lean forward and caress his cheek.
“Aw, what’s the matter honey? You don’t want me anymore?” I mock, using a faux-sweet voice and laughing outright when he flinches at the touch of my hand.
“Don’t tell me you’ve given up already! I thought we were only just getting started. Weren’t you telling me a few minutes ago that you wanted to ‘have a little funi’ with me? What’s the matter?” I taunt, “Can’t get it up?”
Using my will, I force the spike into his foot further still and he howls while I laugh.
“Please, my Queen, have mercy,” he croaks, panting hard and wheezing.
“Oh, so now I’m your Queen? Silly me and here all this time, I thought I was your bitch. Boy, do we have communication issues! That won’t do. If I am to really be your Queen, I need to work on my communication with you lesser folk don’t I? Hmm?”
“My Queen?” he asks uncertainly.
“I need to send a message; one which clearly illustrates that I am not to be fucked with.” I pause, all sarcasm aside. “You’ll do nicely.”
* * * * *
After I'm finished with my 'message' I decide to leave him in the cavern to be found by his kin. A deadly calm has washed over me and I feel absolutely no remorse over what I have just done. In fact, I find the blood spattered cave chaotically beautiful. My dress has become more than just symbolic armour; it showcases fine smatterings of crimson death, painting me horrific. Nothing will stand in my way.
Have I finally proven to myself and soon the entire hordes of hell that I am a force to be reckoned with? No-one would think to challenge me after they find the scene I left waiting for them in my chambers. Not that I intend to be here for very long, but still, it pays to be prepared.
I open up the cave and leave it unsealed to make it easier for them to find my victim. With Asmodeus on my mind I walk the passage ways unhindered, as if they were leading me directly to him. Indeed, it isn't long before I stop at the entrance of a large dining room.
Opulent as is possible in such a grungy setting, the room is as well decorated as a rich housewife's would be. A large candle chandelier drips hot wax onto the massive stone table, forming a ring of miniature red stalagmites around the centrepiece; a metalwork sculpture of a woman in the throes of pleasure. The detail is exquisite.
The naked figure is kneeling; her head thrown back, eyes squeezed shut. Her mouth is opened in an eternally silent scream of ecstasy. One delicate hand caresses a silver breast while the other is pressed firmly against her mound. Two fingers disappear into the life-like metal folds. As I examine her, I feel as if I am a goddess, watching over little humans and witnessing a real event, frozen in time. The image is so realistic and erotic that my clit twitches and a small shudder rolls through me.
“Do you like it, my love?” Asmodeus’ voice startles me. “My thoughts were on you as I created it.”
My heart races as I meet his gaze and my breasts heave as excitement tickles my belly. He is waiting at the end of the huge table, as beautiful as ever, leaning against an iron dining chair. Even more startling than his voice, is his state of dress. Instead of his usual, stark nakedness, I am pleasantly surprised to see that my demon King has decided to play dress up with me. He’s wearing a black suit and dress shirt, with a red tie tucked into a vest with silver trimmings. He looks mouth-wateringly delicious.
All thoughts of defiance or escape flee my mind. Without hesitation, I cross the room in a few brisk strides and wrap myself around his hard body. Running my hand down his side and feeling bold, I reach down and squeeze his perfect ass through the soft material of his pants, while my body begins to heat up in anticipation.
“Well this is unexpected; I believe I have just been sexually assaulted.” His laugh is masculine and sexy beyond all reason.
Chuckling, my King lowers his head down to mine and pulls me in for an enthralling kiss. When we break apart, I am drunk from it, giddy and aroused. Before I can jump him again, he pushes me back gently and eyes me appreciatively from head to toe.
“This dress is quite becoming on you, dear one. I see you have made good use of your recently acquired power. The make-up is a charming touch... As is the blood.” His tone is amused; clearly he doesn’t care that I’ve just slaughtered one of his minions.
“Thank you,” I reply, as casually as he had spoken, “You don’t look so bad yourself. Would you like to know why I murdered one of your kin?”
“Please, do confess my pet. I am sure the tale is quite fascinating.”
“That it is. The little fucker tried to rape me.” I wait for this to sink in.
His smile drops quickly and his eyes spark. His playfulness is replaced by a scorching anger, so hot it would wilt a desert flower. The very ground we stand on rumbles and cracks and his fury unleashes his tremendous power. Anticipating this reaction, I step closer to him and place my palm against his chest, rubbing it soothingly and standing on tip-toes to whisper reassuring words into his neck.
“Don’t panic my King; I can handle myself.”
He reigns in his fury long enough to regain his composure and stop the quaking he’s subjected the cavern to. Releasing a gruff, ragged breath, the demon’s eyes soften as he gazes down at me and pulls me into a tighter embrace. Drawing back, with a hand on my shoulder he caresses my face and watches me with an expression of such pure love that I almost can’t stand it.
“If anything were to happen to you, my love... Or to...”
He breaks off in mid sentence, turning away from me.
Heart-broken at seeing my lover looking so dejected, I draw closer to him, running my fingers firmly down his muscular back.
“I’m fine, really. Look at me.” I push his arm gently, knowing that I could never use brute strength to get him to turn around.
Persuasion works though, and he turns back toward me.
“See? Not even a scratch.”
“And I suppose your new healing abilities had nothing to do with that?” he asks, anger only barely concealed.
“That helped of course, but to be honest the only thing bothering me physically at the moment are these stupid dry contact lenses.” I rub my burning eyes as I say this.
“Allow me,” he replies, cupping my face in his hands.
Pleased to be getting a reaction out of him, I smile and lift my face up to his.
“Close your eyes.”
Confused, I do. Soft lips press tenderly onto my eye-lids, one at a time. When I feel him drawback, I open my eyes again, only to find much to my disappointment, that the contacts are as painful and hindering as ever. Even worse, they’ve made my vision even blurrier.
“Um, I don’t think that worked,” I whine, rubbing my eyes hard.
“Remove those infernal lenses.”
Carefully, I do as he commands and am astonished to find that without my contacts I can see perfectly! Cursed with short sighted vision ever since I was thirteen, this is the first time in years that I can see clearly unassisted. Only people with surgically corrected vision would understand how truly liberating this is. Without hesitation I flick the soft plastic – which I had relied on so heavily these past years – from my fingers and marvel at the beautiful clarity in which I now see the world.
“Thank you,” I whisper as I meet my demon’s gaze again.
“Anything, my love,” He swears as he strokes my hair lightly.
Anything? Could it really be that simple?
“Let me go home?” I ask in a small voice.
“Anything but that; I cannot let you leave.” His voice is hard and sharp.
Damn, I should have known. Silly me, stupid hope. More stinging and blurriness hinder my vision but this time it has nothing to do with contact lenses.
Sighing softly, Asmodeus wipes my tears away.
“Come now,” he chastises gently, “You must be hungry.”
Wow, now that was a subtle subject shift. Sniffling once, I remember my steel reserve and embody my earlier calm. Now is not the time to lose it; back to my original plan.
“I’m not hungry,” I lie, “Why don’t we skip straight to dessert?”
I reach for his leather belt.
It doesn’t take much persuasion on my part to convince my lover to take us back to his throne room. Along the way we leave a trail of clothing – mostly his – strewn on the hard earth, as I rip off each piece with relish. I’m not going to lie; although phase one of my plan involves seducing the demon of lust himself, that doesn’t mean I’m not enjoying myself a little. Tearing away at each other’s clothing is a fun little chore as we head over to the bed.
When we finally reach it, I admit that I am hungry, but for something a little more bestial than food. I devour his lips and drink in his lust, no longer the helpless virgin from the night before. I’m a stone-cold killer, a real femme fatale and I need a strong man to keep up with me. I push him forcefully toward the soft mattress and bless him, he lets himself flop down. A greedy smile plays on my lips as I take him in, in all his glory, lying spread-eagle across the bed, his erection at attention.
Mine. The thought flits through my mind and begins a hostile take-over, infecting every other belief I hold dear. Nothing else is important while he uses my lust against me and maddeningly, all that I care about right now is that the demon king is mine and mine alone.
I jump onto the bed without fear and climb over his taunt body, my hips straddling his. Slowly I position my entrance over his engorged penis and lean forward until my breasts brush against his chest. I lower my head further still and bite his lips in my eagerness. I want to take control tonight.
As my tongue lashes his, I impale myself slowly with his member. That wonderful heat and feeling of fullness makes me sigh with utter bliss. I ride him slow at first, then grind my hips forcefully against his, tossing my head back with delight; moaning and squeezing my eyes shut as I feel every rub of his sensitive flesh against mine. I curl my back, dipping my face down to meet his again and all the while I don’t lose the beat, making sweet music with my body strumming his.
Strong hands grip my ass from both sides, kneading them hard before they move up to my waist. I gasp as he thrusts his hips up suddenly, his hands on my waist pulling me down. I cry out helplessly as the pleasure smothers and burns me at the same time. The blazing heat of his shaft spreads through me as a hard thrust batters the raw nerves within me. Dizzy in my climbing ecstasy, I let him take control again, possessing the strength to do nothing other than to brace my arms against his shoulders as an earth-shattering orgasm consumes me. My cry of passion sounds through the room like a Valkyrie’s call to battle and once again, the cave shivers against my power.
Asmodeus turns us over swiftly, covering my shuddering frame with his solid body. I slap his chest with unconcealed displease at having been denied my chance to dominate him for once. I’m about to demand my rightful place astride him when the first boulder slams into his back, sending shockwaves through us both. Fuck.
“I’m sorry!” I cry into his ear as more and more of the cave’s ceiling assails my lover.
“Do not worry, my love, it was but an accident.” He grunts as a large chunk of heavy rock slams into his shoulder blade.
Horrified, I bring my hand out from under the shield that is his bulk; if I could start such a hailstorm of boulders then I must certainly be able to stop it. I take a deep breath and focus what is left of my energy, willing the deadly shower to an end. When it stops, my lover continues his vigorous propelling as if suffering a stoning is a normal occurrence during sex. My concern is forgotten in a matter of seconds as my lust builds again. This time, instead of playing with me, Asmodeus keeps up his superb pace and climax again with ease.
Spent, with my tireless lover still pounding away at my pleasantly aching body, I drift into a state of semi-consciousness, staring at the beautiful demon through heavy lidded eyes and gripping his arms weakly, letting the sensations wash over me. I reach another peak before Asmodeus is done and finally slump beneath him in relief. He eases down beside me, his movements stiff and his back rigid.
Struggling out of my after-sex haze, I turn to him and gasp when I take in the ghastly sight of large purple bruising, standing out sickeningly well against his dark skin. I rub over them gently, whipping my hand back when he winces.
“I’m so sorry, Asmodeus. I didn’t mean to-“
“Do not dwell on your mistakes; for they are easily mended,” he interrupts, “these will disappear as I sleep. Moreover, my pet, I consider these love marks.”
He laughs so heartily that I can’t help but join in.
I quit laughing abruptly however when a sharp pain assaults my lower abdomen. The pressure is so sudden and so strong that I curl into myself, tears stinging my eyes and bile burning my throat. Asmodeus’s large warm hands are on my back and shoulder, soothing me as hurt increases. I feel as if I’m being sawn in half from the inside. Sobs of utter hopelessness stick in my throat, as every tiny movement increases the horror within me. Even sitting deathly still does nothing to alleviate my suffering. I moan my lovers name and feel him stroke my hair in response.
Why isn’t he helping me?
The agony lasts for hours, I know, as I feel every excruciating second. In all that time, kicked, screamed, swore, paced around the bed and lay writhing on the hard floor while the demon king watched. I think I truly hated him then.
Finally, after all my suffering I crawl back onto the bed, lying on top of the covers, drenched in sweat and too exhausted to do anything other than sleep.
* * * * *
When I wake, the pain is gone and Asmodeus is still beside me, rubbing pacifying circles over my tummy. Irritated, I shove his hand away and launch off the bed. He sits up and shoots me a look of resigned weariness, as if he knows exactly what is to come.
Too fucking right he should know.
“How could you just lie there and watch?!” I scream, seething at the man who confessed his love to me then watched me suffer.
“There was nothing I could do,” he replies evenly, rising from the bed to stand before me.
“Nothing? There was nothing you could DO?! I have seen the extent of your power my King,” I spit the words at him, “And I know that if anyone could have helped me, it could have fucking been you!”
“Yours is an ailment only time will mend.”
“Oh, so you know what’s wrong and you still did nothing? You disgust me.” I turn away from him, unable to bear the sight of him so calm; it physically sickens me.
“There was nothing to be done, my Selena. This is your burden for the next nine days.”
“Days?!” I whirl around and face him again, desperately gripping his arms and wishing he’d take back the words, “I won’t survive nine days of this! What’s wrong with me?!”
He cups my cheek with his palm and the gesture is so calming that I can’t help leaning into his touch. He kisses my tear-stained face quickly but instead on answering my question, he asks one of his own.
“When you first used my power, love, did you wonder why it worked for you?”
“What does this have to-” I begin, scared, angry and confused.
“Answer the question,” he commands.
“I didn’t really think about it. Didn’t you somehow gift them to me?”
He flashes an infuriating little smile.
“That would be an accurate assumption.”
“What the fuck does that have to do with anything?!” I yell, tired of his stupid games.
“Everything, my dear,” as usual, his answer is frustratingly vague.
Resisting the urge to crack a boulder over his head, I release a strained breath.
“Elaborate, please,” I plead through gritted teeth.
“It is really very simple my sweet, only those possessing my blood may possess my power.”
“So what? Because I bit you, I’ve got powers all of a sudden? What’s that got to do with the pain?”
“It takes more that the consumption of blood to grant the drinker permanent or strong magic – although, that does give one limited and temporary use of my power.”
“Quit with the mind games! Can’t you just speak plainly to me? I’m freaking out and I do not need this right now,” my voice breaks on the last word.
His gaze softens and he watches me with an expression of mild sympathy.
“Have you forgotten already, my love, why I stole you away? My power only channels strongly through those of my blood – or those carrying it within.”
He presses a hand over my womb; gently, possessively, as realization finally dawns on me. My throat closes with sorrow and shock, but I swallow it down. Really, how could I not have seen this coming? A voice at the back of my mind answers for me; of course I expected it, just not this soon...