Join me in night painted with crimson and black.

He never truly cared for food. Even as a young autumnal prince, he ate scarcely, now, when he fed on the gods’ power, he didn’t need anything other to nurture himself. His vein were filled with liquid magic and his body was slowly refusing to accept anything more. Darkness circled in him, feeding all his needs for food.

But he had one weakness.

The apples from the core trees. The beating veins of Dal’coler. Their taste was like a spell itself and poured over his throat like a flood of sensations which evaded comprehension. Their texture was another thing, too. Soft, like made of storm clouds.

And it was filled with pure blood.

The blood of the Ain’asel and everyone it devoured, which beat in the heart of his castle. Growing on the glimmering branches, bound inside by higher magic.

He took one of the apples in his fingers and his gaze drifted on the woman, who just emerged from the darkness which was only meekly alight with the fairylights, dim and casting shadows on the walls.

Lorian leaned in his seat, his lips curled in a vicious smile.

Nymre looked stunning tonight. Her white, lilac-touched hair was falling in cascade over her naked arms, a small tiara – which he gifted her – adorned her temple, gleaming above her beautiful, wide, blue eyes. Her slender body could be naked, that revealing her robe was – a gossamer of white thread, a stark contrast to her black wings, which now spread behind her, moving slowly… she knew he liked the touch of her feathers, and she tempted him with a promise of a caress – and he couldn’t not admit that it works on him.

She slowly approached him, coming more into the fairy lights, which were surrounding him, attracted by his shadowed magic. They desperately wanted to light it up, following their inner instinct. Lorian felt as their glimmering and soft magic tried to hush his power, but failed miserably.

“I see you like  their attention” purred Nymre and her fingers closed over one of the lights. It started to pulse in her hand, trying to escape. “Maybe I should be jealous.”

“You blame the creatures of light to be attracted to darkness” his smile playful, a spark dancing in his black eyes.

“Perhaps. Too many of them wander in this palace” laughed Nymre… and released the light, which started to dance frantically in place.

“I prefer… less pure” his features darkened but a smile still present on his lips. “More depraved.”

Of course he liked pure, though. They were more delicious to deprave. But Nymre didn’t need to know that. Now, only her and him were important. He enjoyed giving her all his attention.

“Oh, so you think of me as a depraved fairy” she teased him and slowly, her hand ran through his chest. Pressed his abdomen. Lingered there, to tease him and test his patience. And landed between his legs. His eyes crossed with her gaze and she slowly started to caress him, deliberately, with precision, that – to be completely true – only she possessed.

He felt he was becoming harder. His need grew, fast. Her caress each second slower and more tasty.

He bit through the flesh of the apple he held.

It hit him with a wave of pleasure, the soul of Dal’coler  flooding his tongue with blood, and all hopes and fears of its victims. It was not a caress, it was a lustful explosion in his mind. Something  only high fae could feel, and he took it all in, allowing it to spread over his body with hot crimson.

He pulled Nymre closer, dragging her between his legs. She willingly complied, he felt her pulse beat faster, in her mind – a delicious scenarios, which worked him up even more. He smiled even more hungrily, blood trickling slowly off the corner of his lip, and staining his fingers.

“I think you really need it now” he purred and dragging her even closer, he offered her the apple. She laughed darkly and slowly started to lick his fingers which held it. She was good at it. Doing it in such a tempting and perverse way. Her eyes never lost contact with his, to catch every change caused by lust, which could appear in them. Until her tongue found the fruit and she voraciously bit into it. He could see how strong sensation ran through her body and he released tendrils of darkness; they slowly crept through her skin, entering through her pores and Nymre wailed.

He loved it when she was doing it. No one cried like Nymre, when the pleasure was coming. He caressed her face, leaving blood droplets and she leaned to his touch, a sigh escaping her lips.

“You were right,” she murmured. “I really needed it.”

“I always know what you crave for” he was aware that she can clearly see how that worked on him. And he enjoyed letting her know.

“I know so well what you need, my beautiful lord.”

She descended, each move a caress for the eyes. Her hands slowly started to untie his trousers, her tongue licking off the blood from her lips. He had to admit, she was stunning. He never loved any of his lovers. But he loved her, both her inner darkness, and her tempting beauty. When she pulled him out, she cocked her head and purred seductively.

“I think it lusts for invigorating treatment too” and her bloodstained tongue ran over his skin. He felt himself throbbing already and it was such a good thing. He never had enough of it. Of her soft tongue, of her sucking lips, of her supple fingers. And it all was his.

Her work on him was so sloppy when he took him into her mouth. She knew exactly, oh how well, how he loved that. Being sucked loud and filthy. He allowed her to do it to him, feeling more and more tension between his legs. He knew she would adore it, if he came into her mouth, but he didn’t intend to. It would be too fast. Way too fast.

“You are so thirsty” he sighed and when she nodded and released him from her mouth with a loud smack, he knew he couldn’t hold the need anymore. He wanted to fuck her, just as she liked most, just as he liked most. Their tastes in sex were similar, both liked rough.

He wanted to fill her up.

He took a bite again, hungry one. The bleeding juice poured and dripped on her face, her smile becoming wider, pure lust. He pulled her and his lips met with hers. She tasted of the core apples’ flesh, so much. Everything in her tasted of blood. A beautiful and sinful taste of pure magic. Darker than starless night. More dangerous than the rotten branches that grew off the decaying tree.

“Lorian…” she sighed into his mouth and he raised up, lifting her with himself, her blue eyes alit. “Do it. Hard. Crave me.”

He chuckled. Oh yes. He never wanted to do her otherwise, not when living spells circled in his veins. He pulled her up so their hips aligned and he carried her on the bed, to lay her there and again join her in a kiss, stained with blood. The already tasted apple still in his hand, pressed the skin on her stomach. He quickly, hungrily, removed the gossamer dress of his way, her chest heaving in anticipation, her skin glestening in faint light.

He took the apple and, looking into her eyes again, intensely, he squeezed it over her breasts. She gasped as the blood dripped onto her skin and began to trickle down.

“You look stunning in crimson,” his voice was deep and seductive, like the murmur of a distant and impending storm. He lowered himself and began to lick the blood from her, feeling her body tense at the touch of his tongue. His fingers slid between her legs, slowly massaging her. She was so heated. And so was he, for her. He took the trickling strand of blood and guided it to where she felt it most. The sound she made rewarded him a hundredfold.

It was so delicious. He wanted to please her until she collapsed beneath him, exhausted and sweating.

His shadows released tendrils again, and they danced across her wrist. Her smile widened as they closed on her hands and bound them above her head, intertwining with the bed frame. She could never escape from this bondage, even if she wanted to.

But she didn’t.

He felt it in his mind, her desperate thoughts sending lust through his veins. Her wings curled over his back, drawing him closer.

“My beautiful lord,” she murmured into his arm.

“My hungry raven,” he replied with a vicious grin and thrust into her, hard and deep.

He loved it when her legs wrapped around his hips and pulled him so close. His hands left slight traces of blood on her skin as he moved inside her, pulling away from her walls and licking her from the inside out.

“Fuck me, Lorian,” she moaned, her voice deep and almost threatening. And he loved that too. His need grew even more, pulsating in his groin, as Nymre tried to wriggle her hands free of his shadows, to embrace him.

“You’re trapped,” he huffed into her ear, his hands moving up her arms and higher until they reached her palms and stayed there, holding her in an even tighter embrace.

“I love it,” she grunted. Her wings closed completely over him, her legs spreading further to allow him to go deeper.

She was all his. Her body, in adoration of him, at his disposal. Her mind, now swirling with wild thoughts, feeding his desire. And even her soul, it was his too, forever. It was so good to lose himself between feathers and skin, to feel the soft flesh stretched over him, welcoming him inside. He loved her and her bright darkness, his beautiful shining side of the moon.

He felt the pleasure building inside him. How he throbbed and how it worked on Nymre. The scent of blood and magic was stronger now, as their mixed auras began to absorb each other. He felt her pale glamour clinging to his skin as his darker power travelled over her body, pressing into her, making her feel everything he felt. It was intense in the best of ways.

He knew she was close, he felt it both in her mind and in the way her folds began to cling around him. He buried himself deeper, so deep, even deeper. She moaned again, a sweet, almost pained sound that he liked so much. And she came, closing over him, pulsing in delicious synchronicity with his own throbbing.

“Come, come…” she urged him. “Fill me up.”

His last thrust buried her deep in the sheets, pinning her to them as he released. The sensation was so strong that his form flickered and his shadow self slowly began to emerge from a deeply hidden place. His form changed, for a second, for a moment, and for that moment he was nothing but pure, solidified night, a beast of shadow and darkness.

A form Nymre loved.

Her legs buried in the night that washed her in moonlight and stars, white and shining. Just into her. Filling her until she dripped.

Time stopped. As it always did when he changed. It felt like eternity as he felt her gaze penetrate his darkest form and bury itself in his soul. He felt with clear intensity how wet it is, how she pulsates slowly, how the blood of the apples fills his veins with strong sensations, circling in him with damned souls that he himself ended.

It was perfect, hot as a white flame. It was him. It was them. Two dark creatures feeding on each other’s pleasure.

When he re-formed, she lay beneath him, just as he had wished – exhausted and sweaty, her white hair scattered untidily across the bed.

He grinned wildly at her, hunger never leaving his lips.

“Your night… it’s enticing,” she smiled, a tired, contented smile. “Darkness that suits me so well. I can’t say no.”

“Why should you?” he ran his fingers through her hair.

“I don’t have to,” she smiled even wider. “And that’s the best part of all.”

His shadows danced against the candlelight, shaping reality with light and dark, intertwined like he and she. Bending the night to their will.

They were like those candles… hot, blazing and burning fast in their passion. It ate them, like a carnivore. And they loved to be devoured by it… to the very last bone and drop of azure blood.

The only thing they were prey to… only because it allowed them to be predators too.

Temptation Waits

Lady Nymre was not gentle and sweet, the truth she showed her was more than obvious, in every way. A brutal, deadly truth, stripped of all finesse.

Leira had almost expected that. But now she felt naked and exposed. If Nymre wanted to make her suffer, she would. She doubted that she feared her lover. She was a promise of pain, a promise of fall. She would do it, just to claim Lorian again. He might be angry, he might miss her, his spy… but she would not punish Nymre. Leira knew their relationship and their bond.

Her life in Dal’coler was no longer terrifying and now it was back – the feeling of powerlessness. She hated it. She was the one who dealt the cards for so many others. But a jealous lover could be her final end.

Just because she fought and lost.

Her footsteps were silent, leading her to a secluded balcony, separated from the winter cold by a magical barrier that allowed only slightly chilly air.

Her breath caught in her throat, she could almost feel all the threads slipping from her fingers, the lost path of someone who thought she had only one thing to fear.

Being boring.

She laughed, bitterly. You were never safe.

You were delusional, thinking you could get close to him, not annoy her, not make her jealous. You thought you could play with shadows and not be strangled. They were Fae, they were inhuman in every way. Possessive and dark.

She felt deflated. Maybe because now she had a life she didn’t want to lose and was hoping… for something. Something elusive, as out of reach as it was close, falling into her hands with poisoned glitter.

She breathed in the fresh night scent that the barrier let in. The night thrived outside, wild and pure. It came to her with the scent of fresh snow and pine.

And the scent of violets.

And jasmine.

A bile rose in her throat. Almost choking her.

Lorian approached, quiet as a cat, his handsome features lit from within by a strange inner light. His posture was not threatening, more… relaxed. And he looked slightly different. Something was off and yet completely in place. She realised she was looking at him and lowered her eyes as quickly as she could.

“You’ve never come here before. This is your first time. Is your head so full of nightmares that you need a beautiful sight?”

She found herself shocked by this approach. Normal. So normal. As if he had shed his cruel, calculated skin, leaving only a shimmering afterglow.

He had to get into her mind to see how often she hid in places like this. She knew he sometimes did that instead of asking – it was much easier for him, and he didn’t bother to be an invader of privacy. But that was not what suddenly made her uneasy. There was something else about him now that… frightened her.

It was almost inappropriate, his casual behaviour as he leaned over a balustrade and looked at her with a playful, natural smile. Somehow it scared her. This was not normal, strange. He was going to say something terrible, something twisted. With a second, darker meaning.

But he…

… was just smiling beautifully, looking at her with his usual intensity. She couldn’t help but look, secretly. Out of the corner of her eye.

“If it’s your place, my lord…”

“It’s a place for anyone I choose. It can be yours too,” he summed up her concerns with a raise of one eyebrow, his tone amused. As if he were not over a thousand years old, but barely twenty.

She felt… a little unreal. This was unreal. He never met her like this. Why was that? She could never imagine him being so normal, even if she knew he was capable of it.

“You, Leira, are an enigma,” he mused, looking up at the stars, slight shadows dancing in his hair. “I like riddles. More than open books lying in the candlelight.”

“I’m glad you find me interesting, my lord,” she said, her senses alert.

“Oh,” he chuckled, darkly, a bit of his normal self surfacing. “You really are a good, devoted servant. One that any sane fey would want to push on the path to eternity. And you… you are eternal, Leira. Like Fae. Like me.”

His gaze now almost robbed her of all confidence.

It was tense, fiery. Tempting and tantalising, she felt as the night air became lighter. Not as oppressive as in the palace. Light, like far away, in her homeland.

Suddenly he moved away from the balustrade and came closer, a step closer, but it was too much for her.

Or too little.

She thought of Nymre. Of her angry eyes, trying to peel off her skin with just a look. Of her silent fury, capable of tearing her life in half if she chose.

She swallowed, hard.

This couldn’t be happening.

It was unnatural.

Dangerous.

Seeing her hesitation, maybe even fear, he formed a smile that looked youthful, mischievous and intriguing. How much had he read into her mind? How much did he know?

She found herself pressed against the balustrade where Lorian laughed lightly, a beautiful sound. Something that could lure a mortal into a pit of sin.

“So much fear. I think I told you once, long ago. That I would never harm you. But perhaps you hate me so much that even this distance is too much for you. You have a right to. After all, I loved it when you hated me.”

His eyes shone with delighted playfulness.

“I-”

She didn’t know how to react. He was so natural. So…

As if he wore a special mask for her… or had discarded all the others.

“Tell me, Leira…” his smile grew darker, but not in a way she expected. “Do you hate me, even a little? Would you prefer me to have fallen, to be dead? Or… would you prefer my soul to be swallowed by the gods?”

Leira felt him come closer. She had no way to escape.

And she didn’t want to.

Suddenly her world was turned upside down. His closeness frightened her, but at the same time it ignited something inside her that had been waiting for a long time, growing inside her, sending tendrils and roots into her veins, feeding on her like a leech.

“Do you hate me, Leira, with a strong, beautiful hatred?” he purred, his voice deep and seductive.

She still didn’t dare look at him. He could do that on purpose. To tempt her with normalcy, even with this sudden, unbelievable affection, only to crush her later against his cruel ways. But somehow she felt he wasn’t doing that. He didn’t, Goddess forgive her.

He was so close to her, she could look into his eyes and see every flickering spark in them, if she had the courage. He touched her face slowly, almost a caress, and it made her heart sink.

“Do not fear me. That is the last thing I would wish for you.”

And she knew she had lost. She hated him for it. She really did. But…

This was… something she imagined sometimes. Darkest dreams, darkest fantasies she painted in her head when she was alone, with wild, messy, dirty brushes. But she hated herself for it, for betraying her ideals, for even daring to think of it. For being weak and unworthy of being human, for taking pleasure in it. For being brainwashed by a deadly enemy who could kill her with a thought. For being a traitor who would rather fuck the Fae King than help those he had tormented.

She was twisted, after a long time of seeing things she shouldn’t have.

But it wasn’t love. It was a great need. A need that grew within her like his shadows.

It was pure lust. Lust for him that had awoken in her long ago.

And she had repressed it for so long that it almost hurt.

“I know you desire me, I can feel it,” he smiled, a smile of a dying star, a perfect collapse. “Do you desire me, Leira?”

She looked at him, hating herself but loving every moment of it. She lifted her gaze to his face. Forbidden, like the dark night itself.

“Yes,” her voice was muffled, low. She felt the world closing in on her. Like it was tearing at her limbs with a million claws.

Even in his pitch black darkness, his black holes glowed with desire. Fuck it. Fuck it hard. He wanted her. Perhaps now, in this moment, more than Nymre.

He was dark. He was cruel. But she wasn’t pure either. Not in any way. She did things that other people would find terrible. She became dark, just like this palace, just like this place, forgotten by the goddess.

And she didn’t want to be afraid anymore. She wasn’t weak. She sacrificed all her innocence to become strong, to stay alive. Fear was no longer an option.

He leaned over her, the touch of his lips so warm. She knew they would be warm, not cold, like the winter he ruled. His scent of violets was even stronger now.

Something wicked crept into her soul, a victorious joy, a forbidden rapture that she was supposed to soothe but didn’t want to. She wanted to feel him inside her.

And betray everything she believed in. Surrender to the darkness.

He lifted her dress and the light, cool air flowed over her exposed skin. She could feel the hard stone of the balustrade against which she was pressed from behind. His hands ran over her hips, caressing her thighs, slowly, with visible hunger. He pulled her close. Very close. Her breasts flattened against his chest, she could feel how warm he was, even through his clothes.

They didn’t need any foreplay. They both just wanted to fuck. Stripped of all thoughts, just carnal desire. She wanted him to have her, to melt her brain away and make her forget who she was.

He pressed her harder against the balustrade, as if he wanted to squeeze her between the bars. She couldn’t help a deep, low moan that he swallowed with a deep kiss that tasted like frozen berries, like something very cold melting on her tongue in extreme heat.

Unreal.

Wrong.

Unnatural.

But she wanted it. She had wanted it for years.

She wanted to feel the darkness in her veins.

She quickly began to pull his trousers off, chaotically; he allowed it, with a hungry, evil grin. She was so ready, and she loved it, she loved that he could feel it. A visible display of her desire, the lack of any restraint. His finger trailed over her, just between her legs, his playful gaze fixed on her. Her hand landed on his, squeezing harder; she felt his fingers slowly massaging her and she kissed him again, wilder this time, almost devouring him.

Berries.

And the warm taste of his inner fire.

He lifted her up, rubbing against her with delicious precision. She felt him slide over her. Her moan was louder now, making him chuckle. She was so full of need. And she was beginning to lose any sense of guilt about it.

Her legs encircled him at the waist, just where he was hard, and he entered her, hard, his eyes fixed on hers, swallowing up all the doubt that was left in her.

“Then… open for me.”

His voice, low and deep, sent a shiver down her spine. His shadows slowly began to creep in, released by his desire, to dance on her skin.

His thrusts were perfect, powerful. He seemed to melt into her, draining her soul and replacing it with liquid darkness. As his shadows entered her alongside him, she bit her nails into his back and pulled him with her, feeling the tingling of the barrier on her back, opening herself more to him, allowing him to take her even harder.

She could feel everything he was feeling, his pleasure, even his thoughts swirling around her in a lustful jiggle. It was unreal, too, like being washed over again and again with tiny climaxes.

It had been so long since she had done this.

She had almost forgotten.

And now, of all the Fae who could desire her… she was with him.

His grin was seductive, alluring, swallowing all the light from her soul. Perfect. He wanted her and it was pure. He didn’t want Nymre now. He wanted her.

His hips drove him into her in a rhythm that dragged a muffled cry from her throat. She felt as the pleasure slowly became stronger. It was such a long time. So long since she had anyone. And it was perfect. He guessed her. She needed it. She needed him, of all.

He buried himself inside her with a hard, slow thrust and leaned over her, grabbing her bottom, his fingers digging into her skin. It was so good. She loved to feel him pressed against her, her dress lifted over her hips and her legs crossed over his back, forcing him inside her. Her tail wrapped around his legs, squeezing him hard; she hoped he felt it.

She melted into his hands as they moved over her body, tasting her curves and skin, holding her in a tight grip, pressing her against his chest, squeezing the pleasure from her that was slowly pooling between her legs, like the sweetest and darkest pleasure. Her moans were soft and desperate, filled with strong need.

“I admire you. I admire you, Leira,” he whispered and it was so real, the only thing she ever needed to hear. She closed over him and climaxed, pulsating around him. His sharp fangs suddenly drove into her just above her collarbone. And drew crimson. Blood pooled and Leira’s climax intensified, touched by Lorian’s shadow power, slowly penetrating the laceration on her pale skin.

She let it all in. Delicious as a liquefied midnight. His loins pulsed like a beating heart, and all she wanted was to be the cause of his pleasure.

“My lord…” she moaned as he pressed closer to her abdomen, thrusting one last time. He pushed her harder against the balustrade, his shadow talons buried in her hips, drawing droplets of red. Painful, yes, but somehow… making her want more.

She felt his release, hot, mixed with shadows and darkness, pleasurable. It spread inside her and she remembered, as if through a fog, that she hadn’t gotten the preventive tea.

But all sane and coherent thoughts were drowned in the pleasure he was giving her. Fuck it. Fuck it all.

So long. It was as if she was feeling this for the first time again, with someone, not with her hand or a pillow.

He admired her. This sadistic fucker admired her after all he had done. After taking her on the wildest, maddest trip, full of screams and night.

And she loved it, loved being taken against the cold stone.

She loved it, absolutely. She was not brainwashed, she was no longer a victim.

She was dark too.

And he knew it.

He knew she was dark and lost.

So he decided to show her the way.

His tongue, longer than any human’s, traced a path across her wounded collar, his eyes playful, but his aura gathering around her with pure darkness. Cruel.

Just as she loved most.

“More, my lord. Please,” she groaned. Her body aching for more of him.

And he gave her more.

Throwing her into the bottomless pit of no return.