Entwined Fates

by Tiffany Roberts

  Volcair’s eyes remained on her, watching her every move with growing hunger, and her heart pounded as she watched him in turn. He stroked his palm over the bulge of his erection, clearly visible through his pants.

  She kept her knees pressed tight in front of her, not allowing him a glimpse of what she knew he longed to see. “Do you ache for me, Volcair?”

  He groaned. “Down to my very core.”

  “Then show me. Let me see you.”

  Volcair tipped his head back, eyelids fluttering, as he squeezed his shaft. He released another heavy breath—one she could almost feel glide across her thighs—and shifted both hands to the waist of his pants. Despite the need burning in his eyes and along his qal, he unfastened his belt and pants with agonizing, deliberate slowness.

  It only intensified the throbbing between her legs.

  Shifting his hips, he pulled his pants open. His cock sprang out, long, thick, and hard, twitching slightly as though with his rapid pulse. Her sex clenched as she remembered the feel of the nodules lining his shaft rubbing her inner walls in all the right spots.

  He wrapped his fingers around the base of his shaft and released a hiss through his teeth. “Spread your legs, Kiara. Show me your desire.”

  Kiara settled back against the pillow and headboard once more and parted her legs. Volcair’s eyes dipped and fixated on her sex. His features went taut, and he tightened his hand around his cock, making the muscles in his arm bulge.

  “Do you see how wet I am, Volcair?” she asked. “How much I want you, need you?

  He groaned again; this time the sound was more strained, more prolonged, more desperate. “I can almost taste it.”

  Kiara nearly closed her eyes at the memory of his tongue between her thighs, but she forced them to remain open. “And I can almost feel it.”

  “Touch yourself, Kiara.”

  Her skin prickled at the rough, raspy quality of his voice, and more liquid heat gathered at her core. Laying her hand on her belly, she slowly slid it down over her pelvis, past the small patch of coarse hair above her sex. She dipped her fingers between her folds, grazing her clit, before moving lower to gather and spread her slick. A shiver rippled through Kiara when she returned her finger to her clit, and her breath hitched as she leisurely circled it.

  Volcair stroked his fist up and down his length. His nostrils flared, and the intensity in his eyes only increased. “It should be my fingers on your slit. My lips and tongue. Were I with you now, I’d be devouring you, Kiara. You’re mine.”

  Kiara cupped her breast with her other hand and kneaded it, catching her nipple between her finger and thumb to pinch and twist as she continued to work her clit. Whispers of pleasure skittered through her, awakening every nerve ending and setting them ablaze. She caught her bottom lip between her teeth. This felt good, but it was nowhere near as good as his touch had been. Just as she craved his hands on her, she wanted to feel his heat beneath her palms, to replace his hand with her own, to feel his cock throb in her grasp as she pumped her fist up and down. To climb onto his lap and take his length into her body, centimeter by centimeter, until he filled her completely.

  A drop of moisture gathered at the tip of his cock, and she avidly watched as he ran his palm over it and stroked his hand back down his shaft. Kiara slid her finger lower toward her center and slipped it into her depths, pumping it in time with his hand.

  Volcair growled low. “Tell me you’re mine.”

  “I’m yours, Volcair,” she moaned as the pleasure spread through her limbs, pulsing outward from her core. “I’ve always have been yours.”

  “And always will be. Faster, Kiara. Deeper.” He sped the pace of his hand and bared his teeth. “Feel my touch. Feel me.”

  Kiara added a second finger, pushing them as deep as she could, imagining it was his cock shoving into her. She imagined his body covering hers, caging her in, imagined his heat surrounding her, his breath fanning over her sweat-dampened skin. She panted as the sensations within her core intensified. Her sex quivered around her fingers. She was close.

  Her eyes met his. His gaze was shuttered, but its glow was brilliant and focused solely upon her.

  “Come for me, Kiara.” His words were clipped, strained, but no less commanding. “Come with me.”

  Removing her slick covered fingers from her channel, she returned them to her clit and circled the tight bud in quick, rough strokes. That was all it took.

  “Volcair,” she cried as bliss flowered deep inside her, bursting outward until it possessed her. Her toes curled into the bedding, her core spasmed and clenched, and heat swept through her. Breathy moans escaped Kiara, and her eyes begged to close, but she forced them to remain open, to remain locked with Volcair’s. Her thighs snapped together, and her pelvis undulated; she needed more. She rubbed harder, faster, prolonging the overwhelming, nearly painful sensations.

  “Kiara.” Volcair’s lips peeled back to once again display his clenched teeth, and he released a sound that was the perfect blend of a pained growl and a pleasured groan. His whole body tensed, toned muscles flexing, as ropes of thick, white seed burst from the head of his cock. They rained on his hand and his sculpted abs. He neither slowed his fist nor broke eye contact with her. If anything, he pumped quicker, more forcefully, his every breath strained and rough.

  The sight of him coming undone was titillating and erotic, and she would lock the memory of it away to envision again and again. Volcair was beautiful, especially when his qal flared in unrestrained pleasure.

  When Kiara could take no more, she stilled her fingers and pressed them firmly against her abused, sensitive clit to soothe it. Her slick covered her inner thighs and had dampened the bed beneath her.

  Breath ragged, she relaxed against the pillow. The corners of her mouth quirked up into a smile. Volcair had stilled as well, hand now clamped around the base of his throbbing cock. His lips were parted with his panting breaths, and strands of dark blue hair hung in his face; he looked just a little like he had in the aftermath of their lovemaking back on Janus Six.

  Of course, he’d have been quite a bit more disheveled had Kiara been able to have her way with him.

  She longed to delve her hands into those blue locks.

  “We should do this again,” Kiara said, wagging her brows at him.

  He laughed, lips lifting into a wide smile. “Absolutely. But next time, I won’t just be telling you what I’m going to do, I’m going to ravish every part of you until you’re hoarse from screaming my name.”

  Kiara grinned as a shiver stole through her. She loved this side of him. He’d always been open and honest with her, lowering his guard and showing her parts of him no one else had ever been privy to. But this? This side of him was new and exciting. Though they’d been close as children, they’d spent so many years apart; they had so much to learn and discover from one another—about one another.

  And he’s once more so far out of my reach.

  She tilted her head and sighed, some of her humor fading. She pulled her hand out from between her thighs and rested it on her belly. More than anything, she wanted him here with her, holding her in the wake of what they’d just shared. “I miss you.”

  “Soon, Kiara. We’re almost there. The road has been far too long, but we’re finally almost there.” With visible reluctance, he finally released his shaft. He spread his fingers and looked down at the seed coating them.

  Kiara had the sudden urge to lick his skin clean, and only barely kept her tongue from slipping out. Were he in this room, she’d lick him clean of every drop.

  His eyes found hers again, and the look on his face softened as he lowered his hand. “It’s late for you, and I’m not far from Arthos. We both need to clean up, and you need sleep.”

  She stuck her bottom lip out in a pout. “Must you go so soon?”

  “Alas, my Juliet, but I must.” He smirked, but his eyes remained serious.

  Kiara chuckled; even all these years later, she remember those
conversations they’d shared while she was away in America. “Our story isn’t Romeo and Juliet, remember?”

  “It’s not. Ours is much, much better. And once I get back to you, there won’t be anything in the universe that can separate us again.”

  She smiled softly. “I love you, Volcair.”

  “I love you too, my mate.” He reached out as though to touch her, and her heart clenched. “I’ll call you the moment I’m out of Consortium territory again.”

  Though she knew these calls would always come to end, she didn’t want to say goodbye, didn’t want him to go. But very soon, they wouldn’t have to.

  Patience, Kiara.

  Unbidden, a yawn crept up, and she couldn’t hold it back.

  Volcair smiled. “Sleep, love. Dream of me.”

  “Always, my star.”

  Eleven

  Arthos, the Infinite City

  The sprawling cityscape of Arthos stretched to the horizon in all directions; there was no question as to why this place had been dubbed the Infinite City, even without taking into account that there were countless layers below the surface that were just as populated and bustling. The architecture and art of a thousand cultures was on display everywhere, all of it interspersed with fountains, waterfalls, pools, and lush vegetation from countless alien worlds. Buildings of every shape and size stood side-by-side across various tiers, interconnected by webs of walkways and terraces that somehow blended flawlessly without looking cluttered.

  Pedestrians of more species than Volcair could name filled the streets and walkways, and endless streams of hover vehicles sped through the air in oddly controlled chaos. The motion somehow only complemented the gleaming glass and metal of so many of the buildings.

  Volcair studied all this through the side window of the hovercar that had picked him up from the spaceport shuttle station only twenty minutes ago, feeling a contradictory blend of indifference and awe. He’d lived in Arthos for four years during his youth, yearning all along for a view of a far more primitive but more welcoming city—London. Whatever wonders Arthos held, he’d never been taken by them because it was never where he’d wanted to be.

  That sentiment was unchanged today, but—like before—he had no choice but to come.

  The conversation he’d had with Kiara just before his arrival, however brief, had bolstered his mood. As reluctant as he’d been to end the call, he’d felt good after speaking with her. She’d always been able to cheer him up. Of course, the other surprising but overwhelmingly pleasurable activity in which they’d partaken had helped that mood significantly. He was eager to have her back in his arms again, eager to truly touch her and taste her, to have her in every sense that he could.

  But now he was back on Arthos, and he couldn’t prevent his spirits from dipping.

  He turned his face forward to look out the front window. The Dominion embassy stood ahead, perched on a huge, raised platform that was adorned with carefully cultivated gardens displaying the natural flora of Korous, the volturian homeworld. The building itself was tall and sweeping, with numerous free-floating additions branching off from the top. Each smaller section bore the colors and patterns of an ancestral qalar and was joined to the main tower by delicate looking bridges, all of which were arched, enclosed, and run through with those qal like designs. All those patterns came together on the central tower, blending into an elegant, flowing combination meant to represent the unity of all the qalarin.

  Of course, the qalarin that had long ago been conquered by the tretin and bred into sedhi—half-volturian, half-tretin beings—were absent. Apparently, Ambassador Syntrell Vantricar Caltraxion had yet to fully succeed in repairing the age-old divide between full blooded volturians and their sedhi cousins.

  As the driver neared the embassy, something else caught Volcair’s eye. To call it a cluster of buildings would’ve been a gross understatement; that was how it might’ve appeared against the backdrop of a wider, seemingly endless city, but the area they covered had to be at least as large as Earth’s London. It was the uniformity of those buildings that made them stand out more than anything—they were all dark gray or black, dull but for the violet, red, and yellow lights that were sparsely spread throughout. Most of the buildings were tall and thin, and many had strange, asymmetrical adornments jutting from their sides and tops, some like twisted ladder rungs, most like vicious horns.

  That was the closest Consortium sanctum, a space reserved only for the kal’zik, one of the six unfathomably powerful races that had founded and still ruled Arthos.

  The kal’zik sanctum was a dark, foreboding place that always seemed under the grip of an oppressive gloom that directly defied the beam of intense quasar light which always kept the surface city brightly lit. It seemed fitting for Volcair to notice it just before visiting his father for the first time in more than five years.

  Stop it, Volcair. That mood will only make things worse.

  He’d come to Arthos for only one reason, and it hadn’t been to brood while taking in the sights. After having to leave Kiara twice, this should’ve been easy for Volcair. This should’ve been little more than another brief stop on his journey back to the one place that had always felt like home—Kiara’s side. Unfortunately, nothing had ever been simple or easy when it came to Volcair’s father.

  The driver dropped Volcair near the embassy’s front entrance and departed silently. Though he’d just come from Korous, the ancestral homeworld of the volturians and the capital of the Entris Dominion, the nearby plants seemed alien after so many years in space, traveling between unfamiliar worlds. The vegetation made the air fresh and fragrant, but Volcair found himself longing instead for the sweet, earthy smells that surrounded Kiara’s childhood home.

  He forced himself forward, granting his nerve no time to falter; if he’d faced Kiara after so long, he could face Vantricar.

  Volturians of various qalarin were all around, along with members of a few different species, all of them walking, talking, or both. No one seemed to pay any attention to Volcair. He found it a welcome change, especially considering how recognizable he’d been as the commander of Janus Six. The anonymity of not wearing a uniform was something he’d forgotten about long ago.

  Entering the embassy for the first time in fifteen years was surreal. Part of Volcair felt like a lost, angry sixteen-year-old, bristling with anger he couldn’t fully express and having no healthy outlet by which to vent that frustration. He forced those old echoes of emotion aside and instead focused on the embassy’s lobby. The furnishings were the same as he remembered—flowing, elegant, and tasteful, the epitome of volturian class and style, featuring intricate, qal like glowing patterns to accent it all.

  The embassy staff informed him that Vantricar was currently in a meeting and offered to bring him somewhere to wait. To Volcair’s surprise, he was led to a familiar set of chambers on one of the upper floors—the very quarters he’d resided in with his father during his four years in Arthos.

  Like the embassy’s reception area, these rooms seemed unchanged by time. Being here was at once a blessing and a curse; he appreciated the privacy, but the familiarity of the place didn’t help him keep those old feelings at bay.

  The sitting room was quiet, lit only by a pair of lamps that didn’t quite fill the room with their luminescence, and eerily still. It was a place of bitten tongues and held breaths, of unspoken angers and hard, unfocused stares.

  No, that’s not right. That’s just how I used to see it.

  There were two matching chairs at the center of the room, angled slightly toward one another. He settled into the one of them and willed his muscles to relax. Even if this place hadn’t changed, Volcair had. He wasn’t that bitter child anymore.

  I suppose I’m a bitter adult instead.

  He couldn’t deny a hint of truth in the thought, but that only tightened his chest with a pang of sorrow. That’s not what he’d ever wanted to be. He’d never imagined that the frustration and hurt could eat him from the i
nside, could swallow him up, could push him to be so blind, so foolish. And yet here he was.

  He tilted his head back, leaning it on the headrest, and closed his eyes. The air in the apartment was a touch cooler than everywhere else, just as his father had always liked it, and it was spiced with a fragrance Volcair hadn’t smelled in far too long—jandori, flowers from his homeworld that had been his mother’s favorite a lifetime ago.

  A small smile curled up the corners of Volcair’s mouth. Though the memories that smell had once summoned were long since lost to the haziness of passing years, the associated emotions remained. Happiness, playfulness, security, love. Those had been the foundation of his earliest years. How could he have let himself forget that? How could he not have remembered when Kiara made him feel many of the same things—albeit it with unimagined intensity—during their youth, or while those feelings had grown along with him?

  He’d spent fifteen years serving the Entris Dominion. That time had been sparked by his resentment, but only now could he look back and understand his errors. Only now did he truly understand the price of a concept as nebulous as duty, though he’d been paying that price since he was a young child.

  “I do not think I have ever seen you smile in this place,” said Vantricar from the room’s entrance. His voice was a little rougher, a little thinner, but unmistakable.

  “Perhaps it is best you pretend you did not, Father. I do not wish to taint your memory of my time here.”

  “You always were sharp with your tongue, my child.”

  Volcair’s smile fell. He opened his eyes and lifted his head.

  Ambassador Syntrell Vantricar Caltraxion’s shoulders were unbowed by time, but his frame was thinner, and there were fine lines evident around his mouth and on his forehead. His skin was a little paler, a little grayer, and the color of his hair had faded from its old vibrancy. But his qal was as clear and bright as ever; Volcair ran his eyes across its visible portions, still able to pick out the pieces that represented his mother’s qal even after all these years.