Page 21

Unraveled

VEYRION

I did so well—until I let myself approach her.

Yes, my staff throbbed like a living animal beneath my loincloth as I used the shadows to keep her trembling on the edge, withholding her release again and again.

But I held on to my composure, keeping my eye-glow dimmed so I wouldn’t see her too clearly—wouldn’t have to watch her delectable body writhe under my torture.

My mistake came in assuming my win.

When she flubbed the timing, I thought it safe to reengage my glow. To rise and savor her defeat as I traced a talon down her cheek and demanded the repentance owed to her Sovereign.

But instead of submitting... she kissed me.

And the control I thought was forged of steel snapped like a brittle taarhorn string.

She is conquered. Thrice. I could sacrifice her to Eryx now with a chest full of pride.

But my staff still aches inside her, unwilling to cede its prize—even in victory.

Then she whispers that she’s glad I took her virginity.

And something fractures inside my chest. Inside my mind .

Before thought can intervene, I drive my fangs into her neck—fangs forged for war, never meant for tenderness.

Her blood is sweet. And I drink it in heavy gulps.

By Eryx, she leans into the bite. Undulates her hips, drawing my seed out with every greedy slide of her sex.

I free her from my bite just as I release inside her?—

Her passage is impossibly tight. The first time I set her upon my staff, I barely made it halfway in. I had to use my hands to guide her silken folds up and down my length, afraid I might harm her if I allowed myself to drive deeper.

But each climax draws her lower down my staff.

By the time I come back down from my bite, I find her fully seated—her trembling sex stretched wide around my still-granite length.

This is when I lose all sense.

I seat her on my throne, grabbing onto a crystal to give myself the leverage needed to rut her furiously. The only sound is the slapping of me taking my human-shaped ruin without restraint, until my testes tighten and I spill another release deep inside her.

Only then do I soften and pull out.

The talons of reason claw at me. Tells me that the situation has gone beyond what I can control. That I should retreat, as my brother should have when he underestimated the might of Solmane’s army.

But then I make the fatal error of looking down.

Her sex still contracts with the force of her throne orgasm—pushing my seed out in sticky, glistening rivulets.

And a rage takes over me.

My staff thickens again, possessed by the primal need to replace what her body has expelled.

I rut her.

I rut her over the arm of my throne.

I rut her against my sleeping window, her breasts smashed to the glass.

Then, when I attempt to lay her on the taarhorn blankets so she can finally sleep, she makes the smallest sound of disappointment, and I end up rutting her again.

Earlier in the eve, I denied her climaxes. Now I cannot stop myself from giving them. Again and again.

I am crazed.

Her soft, helpless whines—each one begging for more—are my only reason for living.

My body is an inferno, burning solely for her.

And though she is conquered, I am the one who ends up begging.

“You must command me to stop,” I rasp, rutting her into the blankets. My voice cracks.

“I can’t,” she whispers, just as broken. “It feels so good. Like paradise. More, oh moons, more. I’ve never… I’ve never…”

Her eyes become glassy.

And then she comes again, crying out as her body seizes around me.

How many is that? I’ve lost count.

But she pulls me under with her—dragging me into her storm.

My body jerks, and I spill yet another load into the space that refuses to release me.

“Sire, Sallie Rose. I’m sorry to interrupt….”

There’s a voice beyond the never-ending ocean of desire crashing between my ears.

I look up to find my Door Gravel standing near the basin, her back respectfully turned.

Her wings are folded tight, fully retracted—so even Sallie Rose, with her weak human eyes, can recognize her.

“Rinthiah?” Sallie Rose murmurs beneath me. “What are you doing here?”

“The suns will return in only a couple ticks of the moons,” she answers gently. “Of course, I would never instruct our Sovereign, but I thought he might wish you to have another bath, given tonight’s…”

She pauses, obviously searching for a diplomatic word. “…many activities.”

She is only a Door Gravel, but shame, sharp and stark, cuts through the haze of obsession I allowed to overtake me.

“You are correct.”

I pull out of my obsession with a wet, obscene sound, and this time, I dim my eye-glow and keep my gaze averted. I do not allow myself to look at the glistening mess of her sex. I will not let myself see anything that might inflame me again.

I wrap her in a blanket. Not for warmth. For mercy, as a ward against my own madness.

By the time I finish, she has already fallen asleep, her face slack with a trust I do not deserve. Especially from her.

I have to swallow hard before I manage to say to my discreet servant, “Thank you for intervening.”

Rinthiah jolts at my words.

Gratitude is not something I’m in the habit of expressing… well, ever.

“So good,” Sallie Rose murmurs from inside the blanket. “I’m so glad I didn’t die a virgin.”

That line—knowing I fulfilled her dying wish—it drowns the fire inside me.

Completely.

I grit my jaw and grab my sword from its holder beside my throne. “Make sure she’s bathed.”

Then, thanking the moons I never removed my loincloth, I take my leave.

I put as much distance as I can between myself and the bride I will be required to sacrifice at the next moonsrise.

Still, my heart will not slow.

Not even after I plunge into the lake. Not even after I sit at its bottom, the liquid pressure bearing down on me from all sides.

Thoughts of the Eryx Bride… of the Oblation… continue to haunt me.

Until only one thought remains.

My Ironwing Commander was told not to expect me this eve. He believed I would miss the final drills as the warriors prepare their processional for the Sacrifice Ceremony.

So I am not surprised that he and the others jolt when I land in the courtyard without warning, dressed in nothing but my soaked loincloth.

“Sovereign!” Skorrin starts to kneel with the others, but I raise my hand.

“No need. Stay on your feet.”

Then I fix my eyes on him. “And you …”

He straightens.

“Who have you been grooming as your replacement?”

“Sire… I haven’t made a formal decision?—”

“Skorrin, I will retire you painfully right now if you don’t answer my question.”

“Kinnarick,” he replies at once. “He doesn’t know it yet, but I believe he’ll make a fine commander.”

“So do I.”

I clap his shoulder once before turning to face the rest of the warriors, hand still raised so they know not to bow.

“Kinnarick, with me,” I call to the Stone Warrior, whose long black hair is bound in a knot for training. “And the three who placed highest in the last flying-speed drills.”

Then I launch into the air, trusting them to follow.

I can only hope I complete my mission before the next moonsrise.