Kingdom of Fire

by Ana Calin

  He takes a bit of distance, giving me that smug grin again. Even though he’s burning to fuck me, he’s no longer the dedicated lover he once was. He is an irresistible bad boy that will take everything from me like I’m just a wench. But the biggest problem is that it doesn’t bother me at all. On the contrary, it turns me on.

  “Go ahead,” he says. “I don’t suppose you expect me to look away, do you?”

  Realms. I want to resist, keep my dignity, but I yearn to explore these dark sensations, I want to know what it’s like to be taken by him the way he used to take women before he fell for me. I yearn to know what it’s like for him to fuck me asserting his power, not his love.

  “Of course not,” I breathe, and start to undo my suit at the back of my neck. I stand and turn around, draping my braided ponytail over my shoulder, and offering him my back. “Would you mind?”

  He pulls the zipper down slowly, exposing my skin to the cold kiss of the Winter Realm air. My skin pebbles as he strips the suit off me. When it’s rolled at my feet I cover my breasts with my arms, and turn around to face him. I press my legs together, instinctively trying to hide my pussy, but when his eyes move down my body and rest on it, it’s enough to make me squirm.

  It’s disturbing, realizing that all the King of Flames needs to do in order to turn me on beyond rhyme or reason is to look at me the way he does now. There’s hunger and base need to fuck in his eyes as he licks his dark red lips. Standing here, completely naked in front of this leather-clad king, at his disposal, it sends the blood humming through my veins.

  He starts to take off his leather armor, but I stop him.

  “No,” I breathe. “I want you to take me as you are.”

  He cocks an eyebrow, lowering his hands slowly. He takes a step closer and reaches for my pussy, his fingers sinking through my curles into the wetness of my arousal, his leather wrist guard brushing against my mound. My eyelids flutter, hooding my eyes, and I surrender to the cocktail of sensations that my fated lover’s touch sends all through me. This might well be the last time I get to feel him, and I’ll make the best of it. I don’t care where we are, what we’re doing here, or even if our mission will be successful or not.

  He sinks one thick finger inside of me, pushing deep. I buck and grab his thick, leather-clad wrist with both my hands, losing a hiss between my teeth.

  “You like this, yes?”

  I whimper in response, rolling my hips to meet the movement of his hand inside my pussy. He reaches deep, to my sweet spot, but he’s careful not to over-stimulate it, even though I’m begging for it with every humiliating roll of my body. I gyrate on his hand, holding to his wrist, but it’s him that plays me. I lift my face to look at him, to beg him to let me come, but his expression sends the blood running even more savagely through me. His jaw is tight, and he looks at me like he could eat me alive.

  He pushes another finger inside, curling them and causing a shattering orgasm that has me tremble as if electroshocks were traveling through me. He presses me against the wall with his other hand on my mouth to dampen my scream, my butt on the cot and my legs up in the air as he fucks me with his hand, the leather brace of his wrist brushing through my curls against my mound.

  I scream into his hand, enjoying beyond common sense how Xerxes makes me feel. I come for long moments, my limbs softening and trembling as Xerxes eases his hand out and starts to pull away from me. But I reach out and weakly grab him. My cheeks are burning, and my lips are hot.

  “Put it in my mouth,” I whisper. “Fuck my mouth.”

  Hellfire flares in Xerxes’ eyes. He unfastens his belt and drops the holster around his hips that holds a row of throwing knives. Oh, yes, I want this killer king to have his way with me, shamelessly so.

  He frees his huge erection, that big bronze, throbbing cock, the crest glistening with pre-cum. I lean forward and grab it in my hand, staring up daringly into Xerxes’ eyes. I squeeze the root of his big cock, breathing in his scent of man, realizing just how much I’ve missed it. I can read want in his face, the muscles in his jaw tight, rippling. He would never admit how much he wants this, but he sure as fuck does.

  I raise my hand and trace the leather straps on his chest, opening my mouth and sliding it down his cock. He hisses, fisting my ponytail around his hand, and I love it. I sheathe my teeth and suck with all I have, my jaw hurting from his size. But his cock throbs in my mouth, tasting of him, his veins filling with fire, and I never want to stop. Those veins feel hot on my lips, but his skin insulates his lava-like blood, so it doesn’t burn me. But even if it did, I wouldn’t stop sucking until his sperm fills my mouth.

  Xerxes grunts, thrusting into my mouth. He can’t hold back, and when his seed explodes into my throat, he loses control, thrusting hard. It’s so sexy that I come as well, rubbing my pussy against the cot. But before I’m done his hands slide under my armpits, and he knocks the cot to the side with his leg.

  He takes me up against the wall, pushing his cock inside of me, filling me so deeply that I scream while he thrusts with all he’s got.

  “You will always be mine, woman,” he growls. “You’ll never leave me. I’ll die before I let that happen. I’ll imprison you in the Fire Realm and take you as many times as I please, in the filthiest ways. If you won’t be my wife, you’ll be my own personal whore.”

  Sensations explode inside me at his words, and I come, screaming and holding tightly to his shoulders. He gives in to our passion, too, forgetting all about our cover. When we come back down from our orgasm, we realize—we are no longer alone.

  CHAPTER V

  Xerxes

  NOW THIS IS AWKWARD. I’ve been around for thousands of fucking years, but I was never caught in such a sensitive situation. Taking a woman against a wall. And not just any woman. The only one I’ve ever loved, which means I can’t allow her to be exposed even if it costs my life. Jealousy at seeing their eyes slip down her body, desiring her, it would hurt and enrage me so badly that I’d lose my head, and attack stupidly.

  She unwinds her legs from around my hips, removing her arms from around my shoulders and hiding at my chest, so that the intruders don’t see her.

  I spin around, shielding her behind me. A blade of fire forms in my hand, my fangs lengthen, and I growl, running my tongue along them as my muscles flex, ready to take on my opponents.

  And it’s not just a few of them. It’s a group of winter fae soldiers, dressed in shiny silver armor, blades of magic ice gleaming in their hands. The room is packed with them, and it’s all love’s fault. Taken with my beastly desire for Cerys I lost control, and got too loud.

  I turn the blade in my hand, making sure that Cerys is completely covered behind me, and waiting for the first one to attack. I will cut them all into pieces, if I have to, even though that would definitely turn what’s left of Cerys’ love for me into hate. If she still feels some love for me. But if she doesn’t, why did she give herself to me the way she did? I didn’t sense in her the desire of a wanton, devoid of essence or depth. On the contrary, it was like her entire body had turned into pure love, enveloping me, and driving me crazy with its scent and its magnetic pull. I could have lost myself in her forever.

  A sharp pain slashes my shoulder, and I realize the first guard struck. Cursed realms, I have to snap out of this damned love, or it’s going to be the death of me. My eyes blaze at my attacker, and I hiss so menacingly that he starts shaking from all his joints. He’s young, I can see it through the cross-shaped slits in his helmet that allow him to see, breathe and speak. Probably equally inexperienced. I can smell his fear, and his desire that he hadn’t done what he just did, but it’s too late.

  Fire gathers in the back of my throat.

  “Xerxes, no, just tell them why we’re here,” Cerys shrieks behind me, but the ball of fire is already ripe in the back of my throat. I release the fire onto the ground, a wall of flames surging between the guards and us. It won’t kill them, because I didn’t spit fire directly at anyone, b
ut it will confuse things, giving us the chance to disappear.

  “Come on.” I make sure she’s got her silver suit on, and pull her to my side. I wrap an arm around her shoulder as Nazarean jumps off a ledge above us just before the flames lick at it, and settles into her arms. “Take a deep breath and, whatever happens, don’t let go of me. Keep yourself and Nazarean pressed to my body.”

  Holding her tightly, I flex my legs and jump through the flames that are already consuming the room. Beams fall, the flames roar and soldiers grunt behind us, but they can’t see us, and even if they could, they’re too busy trying to save their own lives to chase after us. I expand the fire-proof protective field around my body to include Cerys and Nazarean as I jump through the flames as they consume barrels and goblets.

  As soon as we get past the guards I retract the field back to my skin, loosen my grip on Cerys, and grab her hand. We run down the corridor toward the kitchens, where cooks and servers shriek and scream, dropping their plates and glasses. The sight of the Winter Realm’s longtime enemy may be short-circuiting their brains, but the fire rolling in after us must be the main attraction.

  “Can’t you put it out?” Cerys calls over the fire’s roaring, and the screams. Panic spreads through the ground floor of Lysander’s castle like wildfire, and I can’t deny that it gives me a sick sort of satisfaction.

  “The fire is the only thing that stands between them and us. It’s our only ally.”

  “You’re controlling it, aren’t you?” She looks behind as we run, the flames reflecting in her irises. “You’re making it destroy everything in its path.”

  I stop abruptly, and grab her shoulders, glaring daggers at her.

  “I didn’t just spare the guard who did this—” I jerk my chin towards the wound in my shoulder, blood trickling from the slash onto the studded leather of my arm like lava. “To get this from you. I spared them all, just to make you happy. But I can’t get it right with you, can I?”

  Her eyebrows rise. “No one died?”

  “No.”

  We start running again, Nazarean tucked under the messy ponytail draped over Cerys’ shoulder. We turn corner after corner, and I have no idea where we’re going, but the spreading fire is a good ally. I keep it burning and expanding, rising to the high ceilings, and keeping our pursuers off our tracks, basically walling us away from them.

  We’re back in the catacombs as distant thudding announces that soldiers are about to cut in our way. The fire protects us from those chasing us from the castle, but not from those cutting into our way from the front.

  We turn and break into a run, but thudding reaches us from this side as well. And from behind the next corner.

  “We’re trapped,” Cerys shrieks.

  The blade of fire forms in my hand, the flames blazing as I take a fighting stance.

  “Damn it, Xerxes you should have let me go to Samael, and none of this would have happened,” she cries.

  “I’ll die before I let that happen,” I say through my teeth just as the first group of soldiers round the corner, their armor and their weapons shining blindingly. I hiss and swing the fire blade, intercepting the first one as he launches himself at me. It’s a burly guy, with strength and experience, but not much agility.

  I swing the fire blade twice until I land a hit, the blade cutting his breastplate in half. He screams as it clangs on the floor, along with a bit of his flesh.

  Two more attack, and though I manage to get out of their way to avoid their dexterous jabs at my neck and face, what they think are my weaker spots, it’ll be harder to fight them without actually hurting them. The fire blade ends up slashing one’s arm off, his weapon falling to the floor, his screams filling the catacombs. I breathe fire to block another one from attacking, not burning him, but forcing him back. He knocks into the others, sending them skidding on their butts.

  But I won’t be able to get us out of here like this, without actually killing anyone, not with more and more of them cornering us in from all sides. I swing my blade, walking backwards, protecting Cerys and Nazarean behind me. I center all my focus on the battle ahead, and I’m ready, at least mentally, to take on an entire army. I am sure I’ll fall at some point, even though they won’t be able to kill me. They will hurt me, badly, and on a certain level that makes me happy. That way, Cerys will be free of me. Because I won’t be able to let her go if I’m alive and walking the realms. I must be at least imprisoned if she is to have a chance at a life outside our fated bond.

  The groups of soldiers converge, now approaching carefully, eyes trained on me, forcing us against the cold wall. This time I can’t wait for them to attack. I have to do it first.

  I lunge forward, right in their midst. I handle my sword with precise dexterity, cutting their armors off of them, but making sure not to do any deadly damage. Some scream in pain, and those whose armor isn’t part of their bodies start to retreat because, without any armor, they’re vulnerable. But that won’t help my cause for long. The bastards soon realize that one, two, or even four of them at a time won’t be enough to hold me down, but they might bring me to my knees if they jump on me in organized heaps.

  I breathe out fire, blasting them off of me, and the flames soon threaten to consume this whole place. It’s like a kingdom of fire taking over the ice. But this is, in the end, the Winter Realm. A row of soldiers in the back leave their weapons, remove their helmets and start humming, calling upon the magic of ice. A blizzard soon starts, snow swirling in the air. It all happens fast, and the impact is strong enough that a thick crust of ice starts forming on my face.

  I shield my eyes from the blizzard, trying to advance through the roaring wind towards the spot I know I left Cerys, but I can’t find it. I’m soon buried in heaps of snow, and in the distance I can hear the whipping sound of countless sharp objects flying through the air. By the time my irises have adjusted to identify them as killer icicles, they’re too close.

  I make peace with the idea that this is it, I will be taken prisoner. There’s no way I’m getting out of here other than in ice chains, depleted of energy, my heart still bleeding with the need to have Cerys close. But then the blizzard comes to a sudden stop, the icicles freeze in the air, and one second later, they fall on the bed of snow. What were deadly blades only a moment ago are now harmless little needles.

  It takes a few seconds for my ears to adjust to the complete silence around us. I start to dig myself out of the mounds of snow, and the first thing I see when the curtain of falling snowflakes disappears is Cerys’ face by the wall. She stares directly at me, and yet her sparkling honey eyes seem lost in the distance. The whirlwind has completely undone her ponytail, her bluish-black hair now a witchy mess. She’s holding Nazarean in her arms, by her chest, like she would a sacred animal.

  She resembles a High Priestess, a timeless one. Her skin glows with energy, the white, positive kind, it glows even brighter than it had before I came back from the first battle against Samael’s forces in the Fire Realm. Before her act of betrayal had taken the glow away from her.

  I step out from the snow and scan the place for the soldiers, and find them lying around on the ground like dolls.

  “Cursed realms,” I growl as I step among their completely still bodies. They’re not dead, but they’re not sleeping either. It’s like they fell in some kind of coma.

  “Did you—” I breathe, but Cerys doesn’t actually have to answer. I understand fully what she just did. Cerys is a magical energy worker that can replenish supernaturals’ tanks when they’ve been depleted of their power, but she can also drain them. My eyes rest on her glowing face.

  “Did you take it within yourself?”

  She shakes her head no, slowly. When she speaks, her voice is like that of an ethereal being, not a parahuman. The voice of a true priestess, a bridge between the world of matter and that of spirit.

  “The glow is the residue of their positive energy. I discharged it into the walls, so we better get going. We don’
t have long until this entire place starts turning against us.”

  But I can’t move an inch. I stand here, among winter fae warriors lying in a coma, the blade of fire retracting back into my hand.

  “But,” I whisper, the sound echoing against the walls of the catacombs. “Why? They wouldn’t have hurt you, in the end. You could have gone to Lysander, and from there you would have found your way to Samael.”

  She doesn’t reply. She just stands there, staring more through me than at me. Things just don’t add up. But just as I frown at her, determined to get the truth out of her somehow, a sensation burns my back, something like burning white light.

  I turn around just in time to see Lysander the King of Frost step out of the light—a portal—mail covering his warrior body, a sword in his hand. He stops, his ice blue eyes fixed on mine. For a moment he can’t believe I’m here, and I don’t really grasp that we’re face to face again either, not at first.

  “Xerxes,” he says in his deep, rumbling voice, as if to ascertain his eyes aren’t playing tricks on him.

  “Lysander,” I greet, his name almost a hiss from my mouth.

  His pupils zero in on me, as if hearing my voice was all the confirmation he needed. He raises his blade, the energy exploding from his chest releasing a shock wave that could knock down a small army. I take my fighting stance leaning forward, against the force field, ready to take him on. His golden-and-silver hair billows in the wind, and he raises his blade against me with a war cry.

  He attacks the same way he did the last time we met, and just like last time, I move out of the way. I don’t want to kill him now any more than I wanted to kill him then, so I plan to use my weapons on him as little as possible, hoping I can get him to listen as he tries to fight me. I usually see my next five moves in my head from the first moment I assess my opponent, and it all happens in a split second, but this time reality shifts.

  The situations when I can’t foresee or properly react to an attack are extremely rare, but how could I have expected that Cerys would throw herself in front of Lysander’s blade. Time moves impossibly slowly as her body flies in front of mine like a shield, death glinting in Lysander’s icy irises. I can see the flash of recognition in them, but he won’t be able to stop in time.