Page 19 of Fear No Hell

Calliope

I’m in a dark room with no idea how I got here.

It’s brutally quiet, the kind of silence that has its own sort of sound.

With each passing second, my awareness of my surroundings increases until my skin is crawling with the paranoia of something watching from the shadows around me.

I reach out, my hands scrabbling in front of me blindly, searching for something, anything, to help me gauge where I am. I find nothing. Only emptiness.

“Hello?” I call. “Is anyone here?”

There’s no response from the all-encompassing darkness, not that I expected one. Knowing it’s a bad idea, I shuffle forward, scuffing my feet against the floor since I can’t see where I’m going.

Is this what it’s like to be human? Helpless and lost in the dark?

I don’t know how far I’ve gone when I hear a hiss emanate from behind me.

Whirling, I cry out, “Who’s there?”

The voice that responds is one I never expected from this void.

“Lila?”

“Sam?” Panic turns my blood to ice. Before, it didn’t matter what was happening; it may have been unsettling, alarming even, but it wasn’t dire.

There are few things in this world that can kill me.

Now, with Sam close, I’m terrified. I need to get him out of here.

No matter where we are, my well-honed instincts scream at me to protect my precious mortal.

“Lila?” he calls. “Where are we?”

“I don’t know.” I shuffle back in the direction I came from. “Keep talking, though, so I can find you. We have to get out of here.”

Not that I know where here is. I ignore the thought. We can cross that bridge when we get to it.

“What do you want me to talk about?” he asks.

“Anything, my darling.” I press forward, more recklessly this time, less attentive to where I’m walking. Which may be why my foot strikes something solid, sending me pitching forward. I yelp, Sam’s shouted, “Lila,” echoing in my ears as I tumble towards the floor.

As my hands make contact with the ground, the lights blaze to life with a radiance that blinds me to everything around me. It’s only as my body completes its collapse that I realize where we are.

I’m in Arthur’s living room, surrounded by the remnants of the partygoers.

There’s blood everywhere, far more than I remember from that night, its metallic tang an angry sting in my nostrils.

Limbs and entrails are strewn as far as I can see.

When I glance down, streaks of crimson are staining my naked body.

I’m horrified by what I’ve done. Mostly. Somewhat. Underneath the shame I should feel are tendrils of lust, unfurling slowly, heating my blood and sending warmth racing through me.

I did this. And I would do it again.

I freed myself from my oppressor. An animalistic sound rips out of me as I stare around the gore-filled room. I am so much more than my captivity.

Hands wrap around my forearms and lift me easily.

Although the sudden movement startles me, the person holding me doesn’t. I know these hands better than my own. It’s my Sam, and he would never hurt me. Even in my heightened state, I know this.

I turn away from the carnage to face Sam. This time when I gasp, it’s in real horror.

“What?” His eyes narrow in question, but they’re not the warm, caramel-colored hazel I know so well.

Instead, his eyes are swirling pools of black, the only color in them a small circle of caramel where his iris once appeared.

Ragged lines the same dark color as his eyes arch across his eyelid, up onto his forehead, and down over his cheek.

The blackness tracks along the veins of his arms and onto his hands, and the shadows drape around him from behind like a lover.

My fangs drop, prepared to tear and annihilate at even the thought of another person touching him in that way.

He’s mine.

My hand raises to caress his cheek, my thumb rubbing over the black webbing on his cheekbone. “What happened to you?”

“I’ve become who I was always meant to be.” He leans down and rests his forehead against mine.

“But… how? Why?” I sway into him, instinctively seeking the firmness of his chest against my softness, the press of his arms around me. It doesn’t matter if he’s different; he’s still my Sam.

“For you, sweetness,” he rasps. “It’s always for you.”

His words tear something loose inside of me, and suddenly, I’m crying, weeping against his chest, as confusing arousal pushes against my skin, the need for release dark and curling.

All this time I’ve been thinking I’m unworthy of love because of what Arthur did to me, that no one would ever want me. But Sam… he’s choosing me.

“Hey, hey, don’t cry,” he rumbles, tilting my face to his and wiping my cheek with a hand veined in black. “I don’t ever want to be the reason you cry.”

Tears still coursing down my face, I push away from him, cocking my head to the side to gaze up at him as desire punches through the other emotions overwhelming me. “Would you like to be the reason I scream?”

A pained groan rips out of him as his grip on me turns possessive. “If you’ll let me.”

“And if I order you to?” I purr.

“Lila.” His breath catches in his chest, and he goes deathly still. He doesn’t say anything other than my name.

“And would you make me scream if I ordered you to?” I lift an eyebrow at him. “Don’t make me ask you again.”

“Yes,” he hisses, the shadows behind him fluttering in time with his words. “Fuck, yes, please order me to make you scream.”

I step into him again, running my hands up his chest, around his neck, and into his thick, dark hair. "Such sweet manners."

“Lila, please,” he begs. “Please do it.”

“Sam. My beautiful pet.” I go to my tiptoes and bring my mouth up to his, until we're separated by less than a breath. We’re so close that when I speak again, my lips brush against his delicately. The words I say are anything but. “Make me scream.”

At my whispered demand, he rips his shirt off with one hand and tosses it away.

The second it clears his head, he’s dragging me back into him with one arm wrapped tightly around my waist. As his head tilts down, I catch a quick glimpse of a circular tattoo on his chest; I lose sight of it when his other hand cups the back of my neck, forcing me to look up at him, until all I can see is him.

And then his firm lips are crashing down on mine; any thoughts of the tattoo are driven from my mind as I get my first taste of Sam—fresh spearmint and rich darkness and completely mine.

It has been so long since my last kiss that my knees go liquid, the only thing holding me up Sam’s arms around me. I moan softly at the feel of him, and his tongue slides through my parted lips, licking at my own.

He pulls back enough to murmur, “You taste so fucking good, sweetness. I’m never going to get enough of you.” The words whisper across my lips before he closes the space between us again, taking tiny tastes of me with each brush of his mouth over mine.

It’s not enough. I want more. I want all of him, and I want it now. I nip hard at his lower lip.

For the second time in as many minutes, he goes still for the space of a breath.

Then the kiss turns ravenous, all teeth and tongues and barely leashed violence.

Sam is groaning into my mouth; my moans have turned into hungry snarls as I crawl up his body, wrapping my arms and legs around him, pulling him tightly against me.

I need him closer to me, inside of me, never leaving me.

I need him now.

“I need you inside me so badly,” I pant into his mouth. I’m rolling my hips, grinding over where his hard length is pressed between my legs.

Sam wrenches away, his lips shiny, his black void eyes hazy with lust as he drops his head to my neck.

”Please,” he whimpers into the side of my throat, the sound pleading, the arm banded around my back trying to keep me close.

He wants this as badly as I do, my sweet man who's so wrecked I’m not sure he’s even registering what I’m saying.

Despite being needy, wrecked almost beyond words, he won’t move any further until I tell him to. I know he won't with the same certainty I have for things like my own name or the burgeoning feelings I have for him.

I thread my hands through his hair and force his eyes to mine. “Pet.”

He shudders, thrusting his hips into me.

His pants are pulled tight over his crotch, his cock tenting the fabric enough that I know he’s going to reach every spot I need him to once he's inside me.

I can't stifle the moan at the feeling of him against him. There’s nothing but a thin layer of fabric keeping him from sinking into me right this fucking minute.

For the moment, he seems able to focus, his eyes heavy-lidded but clear. But his gaze keeps dropping to my mouth, his tongue swiping out to lick across his lower lip.

“Pet.” He doesn’t respond, so I tug at his hair.

His lips part on a heady groan that races through me.

“Sam,” I command.

As if all he needs is for me to dictate what he’s supposed to do, his body goes instantly still against mine.

I’ve always thought Nietzsche was an elitist prick what with his "if you gaze for long into an abyss, the abyss will gaze back into you.’" Wrapped around Sam, though, his arms secured under my ass, observing me with the endless darkness of his intense stare, I understand the lure of the abyss.

But Nietzsche got it wrong. The abyss isn’t dangerous. At least not for me. For me, it’s warmth and safety. It’s Sam.

The realization rocks me.

Like the good boy he is, Sam hasn’t moved an inch. There’s a frenetic energy surrounding him, practically shimmering under his skin, that speaks to how difficult staying still is for him right now.

“Sam,” I begin. None of the fears I thought would haunt me at this moment are present. Only a bone-deep certainty that this—he—is what I want. “I need you to fuck me right now.”

The sound he releases in response is guttural. It shatters me with its desperation. Makes me ache with the hunger in it.