Storm of Pleasure

by Eve Bradley

  She saw Sarth winding up to retort, and she gripped his shoulders firmly, forcing him to face her. When he tried to ignore her, she used her faerus to make him look into her eyes.

  “No more,” she warned him.

  When she finally released him, she tried to calm herself. Was there even hope for them to escape? She was not sure of anything. The glow of the afternoon's reprieve had been lost, and what settled there was a cold, hard ball of worry. Would the Vulzonic demons even come? Could the earth keep them trapped there? And if it did, how long would it take for them to escape the sands?

  If they fled, the Vulzonic’s would eventually catch up, and in their trek across the lands, they could possess and kill countless others. Malavash was directly west. The lands were chock full of farms and small villages, homes, holdfasts, and house upon house of families. If they didn’t stop the armies here, they could disperse and spread their disease across the land.

  It was not only this, but she was now responsible for feeding, clothing, and keeping alive the last living Djinn in an environment they were unused to. She sighed. She’d have Maru check their wellbeing. She would have Darrian and Valryn assemble the soldiers the Sultan had offered her. Glend she would have check the amounts of food they had. Could they even make it across the desert back west? A thousand questions raced in her mind. And no answers came.

  “Kalif...I believe you’d also been offered in the Sultan’s generous exchanges,” she shook her head to be rid of the thoughts, boldly claiming that he belonged to her.

  “Take him,” the Sultan flared. “I cannot stand to look at him.”

  He stared down at her and he grimaced, and she swore she heard him cursing her in his mind.

  Lucarian

  Raspandian Encampments, Near the Citadel

  Lucarian Valindrad, King of Raspandar, walked through his encampments. His shining black boots squelched over mud and trampled grass. The air smelled of horse shit, human piss, and the heat that troubled the sparse forestry along the southern tip of Malavash made him sweat. He wasn’t used to sweating, and his shirt pinched and rubbed his skin raw. If this weren’t bad enough, there still was no sign or word from Zothar and his clansmen. He pretended to be inspecting his men as they worked tirelessly on building siege weapons and more ammunition. They could never be too prepared. He wanted to come in and slaughter them all as easily as he had the Evanonan villages.

  The banging of hammers and the din of men pumping themselves up like peacocks before the battles made him roll his eyes. Everything hurt his head. Every night they’d been on the road, every night they’d been settled there under the veil of forest and hills just outside of the Citadel, he’d had nightmares. Nightmares that had caused him to awaken in fitful cold sweats. Sometimes it was unknown entities. Other times it was his sisters and mother circled around him laughing, but more often, it was Margaret’s innocent face turning devilish and then she betrayed him by sleeping with a ring of men. They consumed his mind, and she sniffed loudly as he walked past a group of men sitting around a fire drinking out of leather wineskins.

  “Your grace,” one bowed low, and the others followed.

  “What is the meaning of this?” Lucarian stepped forward and smiled charmingly, plopping himself down on the makeshift bench beside them.

  His servants, squire, and personal guard stood to wait for him as he cozied in.

  “You know I enjoy my ale as much as the rest of you,” he nodded sympathetically, hands fixed just above his bent knees. “But I’m curious...how many of you are ready...at this moment, to fight the Peacequeen’s Yamarian army?”

  There was a bumbling silence, and the men swayed drunkenly in their seats.

  “You know the gods will want us done away with, don’t you?” he reminded them, peering at them all, trying to catch their gazes. “You realize what we’re doing here...we are creating a new world! I think that should warrant a bit of excitement. It should curry a bit of fear in your that we are not yet prepared for what the wench will bring westward, once she’s finishing kissing the asses of the Yamarian royals?”

  One of the men cleared his throat and nodded agreeably.

  “Yes?” Lucarian reached out and gripped his shoulder. “You have something to say, Sir?”

  “Forgive us, my King. We were only resting for a moment. It will not happen again,” the man muttered, unable to meet his gaze.

  Poor pathetic fools.

  “There is no time to rest when the unknown threatens to knock back our efforts. We want a godless world, don’t we men?” he stood, raising his arms. “A godless world without anyone to tell us what we can and cannot do? What we can and cannot have? Freedom for me means freedom for you! And we create our own freedom through abolishing the superstitious, suppressive hand of the gods! Their tie to the world, in the form of this revoltingly powerful woman who is at this very moment securing her validity through one of the richest kingdoms in the realm. Who knows what she will return to us with.”

  Lucarian spun around the circle of men, passion ringing in his voice.

  “We demolish the Vault, and take what is rightfully ours! These peaceful fools will bleed for her, and we will make everyone in the realm understand that if they do not conform to the godless revolution, more blood will spill. And their blood will be on her head!”

  Crows cawed overhead, and he let out a malevolent laugh.

  “What do you say, men, are we godless?”

  The men stood and banged their chest plates.

  “Godless!” they began to chant, eyeing one another mischievously. “Godless!”

  The chants rose like a cloud of thick smoke in the air, and they raised the attention of everyone around. Others chimed in with valor. Lucarian shut his mouth smugly. Fucking cunts. They’d need to remember just how important this was. They were starting a revolution that would change the history of the world forever. And he’d be forever hailed as the King who achieved something all believed to be impossible. How much glory could one man bear? He would gladly shoulder all of it.

  Just as the enthusiasm was reaching its full height, a soldier came running through the camp.

  “My King,” the man came and kneeled before him quickly as if he didn’t have time for all the formalities. “We’ve captured Yamarian scouts. Leftover ambassadors protecting Athos. We only just apprehended them.”

  Lucarian shrugged his shoulders back and shifted his cloak. He tried to contain his glee, but a frosty smile came to rest on his lips.

  “Take me to them.”

  Lucarian followed the lone warrior. The armor clinked gratingly as they walked towards a tent situated at the back of the encampments. The air smelled of fresh blooms. It was nearly sweet. Nothing like the bitter cold of the north. As he followed through the open flap that the soldier held aside for him, he smelled it immediately. Blood. It didn’t bother him much. In fact, he relished it.

  Now, blood was the smell of victory.

  He stared down at four dark-haired, gold-skinned men in a line on their knees. They each had injuries, nicks and bruises. One of them shook violently. Lucarian quickly realized that there was a wet piece of jagged bone sticking out of his arm.

  “What happened to him?” he asked, brows raised. He crossed his arms and ran a finger over his lower lip.

  “His horse fell on him,” one man explained.

  “Ah,” Lucarian smiled stiffly, and stepped forth.

  He loved how they were nearly whimpering. There was nothing better than this. Than the feeling of being in utter control and power. Knowing that you could exercise whatever justice you desired, and that they would have to accept it. They’d have to take it. Fuck, it nearly turned him on. How he wished Margaret were there so that he could feed off of this feeling. The other whores were too weak. Too afraid. She was strong and took it well. He kept a few whores at his disposal in his tents now as men always did. It was expected, still, he couldn’t help notice the hole of dissatisfaction panting in his chest without her.
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br />   “I want to know...what you think we’re doing here?” he asked them.

  The man with the awkwardly angled bone was swaying, his eyes fluttering and rolling back in his head. Lucarian sighed as if this were quite irritating. Without thought he drew his knife from its sheath and let the blade slice through the man’s neck. The skin parted with ease, and he watched unfeelingly as the man fell flat on the floor before them.

  “Apologies,” he played as if they were waiting for him, and he was merely there to offer them a nice supper. “As I was saying...I’m curious. Why the scouting? Why the intrigue? Have you discovered what you came to discover?”

  One of the brutish dark skinned animals had the audacity to spit at his feet.

  Lucarian shut his eyes for a moment, trying to contain his rage. When he opened his eyes, he saw the soldiers in the corners of the tent holding their breath, watching with unflinching stone faces.

  “Four. Four fools. Which one of you wants to deliver a message?” he tilted his head, attempting to discern the best choice.

  “Definitely not you, Sir,” he sent his knife gouging through the other man’s neck. The one who’d stupidly spat at him. “Definitely not you either.” He inclined his head towards the dead man lying on the ground in a contorted angle, blood flowing from his arm and jugular. Now two men laid twitching on the ground.

  “That leaves you both,” he smiled cheerily and lifted the blade to his mouth. He licked the crimson stains. The blood was metallic and nearly sickening, but it achieved the desired effect. The two remaining looked at him as if he were a lunatic. Gods, if only they knew.

  “Do I have a volunteer?” he asked them, his tone nearly grave now.

  “We serve Sultan Hajj Farhali. We will never help y-”

  Lucarian stabbed the man through the hollow beneath his chin, stopping him mid-sentence.

  “That leaves you, Sir,” he looked down at the shaking man. “You’ll live a long, happy life. What luck you have. Here’s what I want you to do. Return to Yamar. Tell everyone what you saw and heard here today. Find the Peacequeen...and tell her this from me.”

  Lucarian placed his hand on the man’s face and searched his eyes to secure his complete focus.

  “Tell her...King Lucarian has destroyed the Vault. Then tell her that we’re coming for her next.”

  He reached a hand out to the man and he took it. His face registered numbness and extreme shock, and he quivered as he stood.

  “Give the man a horse and some rations,” Lucarian called over his shoulder.

  One of his soldiers led the man out of the tent, and Lucarian looked up at the warriors lined up at the back of the tent. They stared at him, perhaps in awe, perhaps in disgust. But did it matter? He saw Peltyre in the corner, a grim twist on his mouth.

  “You always do it best, my King,” he said, but his tone was damp and dark.

  Catryn

  Jurdu Palace, Yamar

  Jurdu was in chaos. The Sultan had called their plan into action, and Catryn had been warned that he was preparing his people, the citizens that lived in the bustling city at the hem of the palace, for a near-impossible escape. But this was the only thing they could do, given that they had no idea if the Vulzonic creatures would be quick to escape the earth.

  Catryn battled the intensity of her emotions as she walked down marble aisles under the giant flower-heavy pergola that led to the inner bastion of the barracks and armory. The warriors given to her were assembling.

  They were a gleaming image of gold and purple. An obviously patented people. The snakes on their chests gave them away for what they truly were. They belonged to the Sultan. How could she make them loyal to her? The rest of her Malavashi men were posted in Athos, only a few hundred. Still, with this thousand, she had enough to be a threat.

  If she could keep them loyal.

  She bit down on her lip, hating that Sarth was being so bitingly stubborn. They could stop the demons if they could tap into their power, couldn’t they? She was almost sure of it. Beyond the gilt doors, she stopped, allowing herself to free a stagnant breath.

  She felt around for the magic within her. Once it had melded into her, it had quieted. Now it rested like a purring tiger. But when it woke...it could nearly destroy her. She listened for the archaic voices, the creaking and groaning that taunted her. The magic itself was more complete now. She could hardly see the difference between Astra and Vermora, nor Chronos and Faerus. It was a delicately mixed power. She was strong, much stronger than she’d been before. Her mind was clear. There was a sudden tug of fear in her belly when the gods pushed Lucarian, the wicked prince, into her mind.

  “Why?” she sighed angrily.

  She sensed someone approaching from behind. It wasn’t either of her convoy.

  Without thinking, she spun around and caught the person by the throat. Kalif.

  “I should have known it was you by the way you slither,” she sneered. “What do you want?”

  She released his warm throat from her fingers.

  Cat despised that she acknowledged him as austerely attractive. His black hair was thick and healthy, his skin only a few shades darker than hers. There was a reason he’d been promoted to General. He was careless, unfeeling, and did what had to be done. But he had an island of secrets. There was much he wasn’t telling her.

  “I have information,” he told her sleekly.

  “What could you have for me now?” she asked, pretending to be excited. “Are you going to tell me why you sent me to the Djinn?”

  “In order to connect a Djinn to yourself, you must conduct the Ritual of Servitude. This involves a simple action. Get him to wear something of yours. A bracelet, a necklace, a gown...whatever you desire. A Djinn will be unable to remove it until their master removes it for them. The gods made it simple for man to rule over Djinn because of their vast power. Man and Djinn were always supposed to mingle amongst one another.”

  Catryn was startled and crossed her arms before her.

  “What are you doing?” she demanded angrily, and shoved him back against the wall, pinning him there with the blade of her arm, keeping him unmoving with the magic that had roared to life inside her. “I don’t want any more fucking games. Tell me how you know this!”

  Kalif was silent and wouldn’t greet her eyes. She forced him to look at her; made his eyes move.

  He was breathless as he tried to escape her control.

  “It doesn’t matter,” he ground the words out through set teeth.

  If he wouldn’t tell her...she shut her eyes and began to invade his mind. If she could hear her men’s thoughts, if she pressed hard enough into the barrier of his consciousness, maybe she’d be able to take the truth. Vaporous magic went from her head to his. No matter how hard she tried to part the doors, she was unable. They struggled like this for a moment, forehead to forehead, until she realized that Kalif was aroused. His cock was brushing against the thick linen covering her thigh.

  “Well at least one of you doesn’t lie,” she murmured, sending wave after wave of magic to his head. Then she stopped, sagging against him in exhaustion.

  “You want to join us, don’t you?” she murmured. “You want me because there’s nothing else like me. I can give you the most pleasure you’ve ever felt...do you want that?” she hissed in his ear, and then moved her hand to cup his straining manhood.

  He let out a shudder, and she snickered.

  “I knew it.”

  Kalif used the slip in her magic to flip her around and press her into the wall as she’d been doing to him. She let him, amused by his boldness. If anything, teasing him could finally get her somewhere. If there was anything she learned from the pleasure house, it was that men had loose tongues after sex.

  His hand was at her throat. His inhuman scent confused her senses. He felt nearly like a Djinn, his aura emanating the same strange beauty and flawlessness. His fingers dug into the hollows of her throat as if he would choke her. Maybe that’s what he wanted, though. Her
death. He had sent her to the depths of a cavern where death and decay lived beyond the peaceful exterior. There was no doubt in her mind that he knew. But how?

  “You know nothing,” he said in her ear. “Catryn Islenes.”

  She couldn’t hold back the grin. Or was it a grimacing challenge?

  He settled there, leaning against her, his body racked with desire. She felt her own core stirring, but she’d never give herself to him. He was a lying snake.

  “You want to rule now, don’t you? Now that you have your power...you could take anything you wanted,” he spoke smugly. “You’re one of the ancients, now. It’s always been you against them. You either have magic or you don’t. Why should you have to be gentle with the mortals? You shouldn’t have to hold back in anything. Even sex. Yes. Maybe you don’t know what you’re missing there either...” he was nearly growling.

  “You just need someone to...” he reached down to her breast and squeezed. “Show you what it feels like at the edge.”

  Catryn hadn’t placed her walls back up. She was studying his aura curiously as he spoke. But then it hit her. At first it was a slow-rolling mist, then a tender, coursing river that trickled along her skin. Magic. Persuasion. Sexual tension. His sensuality had increased immensely, and this polarized her focus.

  “What are you?”

  She said it nearly in horror.

  Kalif’s slim mouth cracked lazily, and he traced her jaw with his thumb.

  “No one,” he spoke crisply.

  “You are magic,” she snapped and jerked against his hold. “Don’t play with me.”

  “If I were playing with you, I’d have my fingers in your cunt,” he told her simply. “You don’t know me. If you did, you’d know that I gave you that map because I hoped that you’d save them. Now, look. You have your magic. You’ve come into yourself fully. I gave you something you’d never have otherwise.”