Page 14 of Fallen: Darkness Ascending, Vol.1
A wicked snarl, and my breath returns as the hands are ripped from me, Cillian’s body shaking.
I can hear him laughing as he falls over, enough that I can drag my coughing self out from under him and see Stray finally gave in.
Cillian’s forearm is latched between the dog’s fangs as he tears side to side viciously.
I, at least, won’t hurt your dog.
I don’t really trust him to keep to his word, but survival instinct has me on my feet and frowning in despair as I flee, letting Stray grant me a head start.
I turn for that door on my right, praying it doesn’t lead to a closet, and I’ve got my fingertips on the handle when the wood just beside my face splinters and shatters, the loud pop of a gun and the spray of wood at my cheek making me shriek and throw myself away.
My back hits the wall, vision swimming with hellish illusions, and I close my eyes and clench my teeth to force my breaths through the nose, trying to stay calm .
Through dim, jerking laughter, “Good boy…”
I hear footsteps, so I wink an eye open to find Stray still latched on, Cillian standing and paying no mind to the dog being dragged along at his arm.
“I already said—there’s nowhere to run. No way to fight.”
I press against the wall, distress bringing me to the verge of tears, as the man comes closer. He breathes in my face for a moment and I’m just about to headbutt him when he turns to look down at Stray—something about the glint in his eye makes my breath catch.
“If you won’t let the fear take you to hell, then I’ll have to use pain. And it would be a shame to have to kill my own dog for getting in my way. It’d be a waste of his talent.”
I swallow at the dim threat. His eyes slide up to me, from the edge of his vision, and regard me darkly. The tiniest flick of a smirk, then, “ Yutlaqo. ”
I’m about to ask him what the fuck that’s supposed to mean, when the shaking of Stray’s bite stops, and his fangs come away. He whines and groans, but licks his lips and sits obediently, staring up at Cillian with a look in his little brown eyes like he’s waiting for further orders from his master.
A safe-word. A command I wasn’t told he had.
Cillian’s face turns slowly to me, his expression vacant and unsettlingly mismatched to the perkiness of his voice. “Isn’t he a good boy?”
The link of my handcuffs are seized, pulled, and he drags me around off the wall to dizzy me around until I’m pinned to the floor beneath him.
Stray whines at us, barking again, but doesn’t interfere.
I kick and struggle and try to fight, but it draws red into my vision and I don’t want to descend to hell again.
Not if that’s where Cillian—and, Cornelius—want me to be.
Not if it means dying in hell, my body defenseless in the real world, and then they can do whatever their hearts desire with me.
I have to resist.
Cillian’s hands are dragging my jumbo sweater up off my torso, his weight pinning my thighs to the floor, clothes and handcuffs all held in one, heavy hand at my throat to slightly pinch my air, too.
I scream as his breath runs teasingly over my stomach. I feel his deep, heady inhale, then the tiniest trail of a tongue-tip circling my navel as my body writhes and tries to escape.
“Your tummy is my favorite place to play in. So soft, so wide, like a sandbox full of buried little treasure to dig for and find…” Cillian lifts up a little, grinning at me, glancing to his hip and working something out of the tactical belt there.
The golden mask sinks down over his face, unnatural shrouds of black coating him like shadows, skin turning dark and demonic.
He licks his teeth, tongue forked and fangs crimson.
Then he opens wide.
Wider.
Wider.
The animal maw stabs into my soft side without mercy, the tips of hell now somersaulting vigorously into place as I scream and tear my throat.
Phantasmus moans approvingly on my body, and now that I’m safe to kill however slow he wants, the fangs fully clamp down, snap together, and take a gluttonous mouthful of me with them.
“There you go, Hope.” His voice chokes and gurgles. “I knew you could do it…”
I twist and struggle in the onslaught of pain, metal handcuffs at my wrists now tight streams of entrails binding my hands together.
He breathes over my crying face, claws slicing slow trails through my stomach to peel me open like slicing the soft dough of bread before baking it.
He groans across me, wrist turning, and a pair of fingers toy the slit of my stomach for a few moments before pressing forward, sinking in, sickly fingering into my gut and siphoning my warmth to fuel himself from that disgusting touch.
His hips flare up against me too, cock grinding against me, pressing hard on my clit, but it’s not enough pleasure to diminish the pain .
Certainly not when his breathless, hyperventilating, over-eager breaths cut off and his teeth sink into my throat.
Something about it reminds me of being eaten the very first time, as a kid.
His fingers slowly fuck into the gore of my stomach, curling and flicking upward to poke at my organs as though they’re my g-spot.
His erection grinds desperately on me, my warmth being stolen from there too, and my screams begin to slowly waver as my energy is drawn away.
My life force, eaten up by his penetrating fingers as his mouth distractedly gnaws on the muscles of my neck and he groans and moans away, indulging.
Phantasmus turns his body, a faint rush of hot air from the wings that strike out to the sides to keep us balanced, as he pulls me up to drape into his arms and lap much like tipping a cup to get the very, last, drops.
My hands can barely manage to lift to his shoulders, and weakly push against him. I don’t know if I’m breathing anymore.
I feel the siphoning slow, and stop. His fangs come away from my neck, his breath hoarse and heavy and demented.
He holds up my limp torso, gaze upward at me in a way that’s almost jarringly affectionate, lips smiling, before diving his bloody, forked tongue into my mouth and stealing the rest of my life from a kiss.