Nymre’s head poked through the surface of the pond. Wet, pale strands fell over her shoulders, a slight violet staining them, like a hazy halo.
She felt unwell for few days, gut-twisting anxiety, fear of another kind. Leira, Lorian’s slaves, his playful infidelity… it all fell under the shadow of what he was about to do. The ritualists were summoned. Lorian started to prepare for beginning of a new era… or the end of all.
So many things could go wrong, her heart stained with the prophecy of the priest… “you will die” it rang in her head and couldn’t be hushed even by pleasures she was drowning in, which she was choosing to soothe her mind, almost subjecting herself to them. Lorian was feeding her with lust and pain… with fear and delight.. they both acted like the world was about to end and that was their last time together.
And perhaps it was.
She feared not only failure. If Lorian succeed, he will become a god. How it will change him? Will he remain her heart, he soul and her horror? Or will he become like snow he rules over, cold, indifferent, cruel monolith.
She feared death.
But she feared more that she could lose everything and be still fully alive.
The pond’s water in the heart of the secluded garden was freezing cold, but she needed it now. Not only to cool down the fever that fears caused in her body. To calm the fluttering mind, soothe the nerves, placate her light aura which was responding to her upset.
Do not die…
Do not wake them up.
She was aware that if they won’t try, the ancestors will awake one day and feast on their power, leaving them screaming and separated from their life force – magic. The fae couldn’t live without the source. And separation was a worst punishment someone could offer them. They still lived… but reduced to puppets, always in pain, always breathing air that was not meant for them. Eternal slaves to own demise, until they finished their existence themselves. They were moonlight and star dust. This was not their place… just like it was not place for the gods.
And they wanted to adapt it for themselves…
She plunged her head again underwater, to not think, let the coolness embrace her heavy mind and burst in her head with icy caresses.
When she emerged again, he was already crouching next to the pond edge, playing with one of the flowers that were leaning above it. She could sense the scent, parifas petals, mingled with his everlasting violets. Contradicting scent, when mixed… a peculiar feeling of something… rooting in the past. Something eternal.
Nymre took a breathe.
… let him wait…
She dived again. She will stay underwater longer. She needed it. Cool, soft embrace.
She closed her eyes, letting the water surround her, enter her and flood her with sensations. Her limbs lost pressure, her muscles relaxed. Slowly, she allowed herself for peace.
Peace.
Silence.
Eternal.
Like death.
She didn’t open her eyes, when she felt arms embracing her. The thick fabric of his clothes softly slid over her skin, when he pulled her body closer to himself. She felt the water mix with shadows, forming a sticky, warm, viscous form.
His mouth closed around hers, pushing her deeper into this almost alive fluid.
She lost her breath.
His tongue found hers. The shadows started to go deeper into her, through pores of her skin.
The kiss was soft, delicate but claiming. He pushed himself against her, eating her lips like they were a human blood.
She couldn’t breathe.. the shadows solidified with water. His kiss suffocated her, but she didn’t fight for air, she pulled him closer, wanting.
They emerged from the pond in the same moment when she gasped, her throat drew the air in, it almost hurt when it entered her lungs.
Lorian shadows swirled around him, calm and wild at the same time, heavy and light as a feather.
“You are desiring to kill me?” her voice shivered by previous turmoil. “If so, wait until we kill that silly vessel.”
His finger took a strand of her from her forehead, wet and slightly curving. His small smirk bloomed like a mask – hiding his own feelings. But she knew he is not as reckless to not feel similar doubts. The stakes were so high, that each insignificant mistake could be their downfall.
“I will kill you” he purred, shadows starting to shift, relocating, changing, slowly, lazily. “But I will do it properly… sinking in you, making you full.”
His form flickered. Her heart pounded, because she knew what that meant. Delight. Death. Night in her veins.
Maybe the last one they ever do.
His half-changed hands lifted her up, up, until she was placed on the edge of the pond, her legs instinctively opened, when the shadows caressed her thighs.
“You may fail” her throat closed.
“Yes…? Intriguing…” he moved between her legs, a shadow storm, changing further and further, his hair already a smoky cloud, shivering on the slight breeze from the garden. “… if I fail, we will all blossom with pain. If I fail, we will all scream.”
“How can you talk about this so lightly?” her tone half angered, half needing.
His face, shadowborne and beautiful in this wild way only forest predators have, got closer to the already exposed place between her thighs. His smile – she could swear it – was more cruel than when he tested the endurance of his slaves.
“Light is not the victor here” he pushed her back, she fell on the green.
And he latched.
His tongue was long, longer even than in his normal form. And she felt as it pours liquid night on her most fragile spot. Coiling. Withdrawing. Pressing. And filling. Eating her doubts, drilling the pleasure into her.
It felt like he rooted in her.
His tongues became a part of her, wildly pulsating, swelling with need.
Her wings batted helplessly. This was both too much and exactly what she wanted. He hit her with a hammer and pressed her into the grass, feeding on her eagerness like a hungry creature.
He entered her, deep. His tongues caressing all the right spots, all the most wanting ones. Her hands buried into the night that was forming above his head and she felt sticky darkness, in which she immediately abandoned herself.
“Eat… consume…” she uttered.
And he did.
He consumed and devoured, intruding her with pleasure, and tasting her lust.
Nymre knew what his shadow form feels like… but was never fully ready. She wanted to be swallowed. Til the last drop of her life and essence.
“Kill me… destroy me…”
Shadows crushed against her and she bent in half, not being able to stand the intensity, a beautiful torment, satisfying and violent at the same time. He was killing her. He was destroying her.
In his own, very own way.
She climaxed.
And he took that too. Curse him. It bursted in her, like a dying star. Flooded her. Almost immobilizing her for a small, terrifyingly white second.
He leaned over her, his smile like a beautiful storm ready to unfurl with a pure energy. The flesh between his legs separating, splintering into shadow forms, each cruel, full and fascinating at the same time. Punishment for an open flesh, eager to scream, shiver and writhe. Lustful forms shaped to possess and pleasure.
“Go on” she pushed through her teeth. “Fuck me with it.”
“You are such a bold raven…” he chuckled, his fingers finding her lip and sliding, in a caress she knew so well. Fallen gods, she wanted it. With both pleasure and pain. “Night doesn’t fuck. It eats.”
When he entered her, she felt as her world dissolves. Darkness crept even from the trees, from the flora and from the walls. And it wanted her. Only her.
He wanted her.
She groaned.
They pressed hard. Took her for himself. Filled with searing night. And relieved from fear. From doubt. She – for the small moment – was free from anxiety and from colossi that awaited on the horizon.
From the thoughts about Leira, court, Dal’coler and incoming end.
Now…
… she was the day.
Claimed by the night incarnate.