Eternal Damnation: A novel of the Amagarians

by Reid, Stacy

  Her hand flashed up and pressed against his chest. That heated, delicate sensation jolted through his body, set his heart pounding, and heated the blood in his veins.

  Her breath caught in her throat, and she stilled within his arms.

  “Unhand me, Lachlan Ravenswood.”

  How brave she tried to sound, but her eyelashes held the sparkle of tears, and her fear turned acrid. Lachlan had endured centuries without contact with others, and now he craved to feel her skin beneath the tips of his fingers and the glide of his tongue. For so long he’d kept all emotions and needs tucked away, lest he tempted the darkness in him to rise. And now with such little effort, this delicate yet exquisite creature captivated him.

  He was not going to give in to the rush of heat, the need riding him harder than he had ever imagined possible. He didn’t need. He didn’t crave. Never had he allowed himself such sentiments, not after the slaughter of his family by his father. Except earlier with her, he’d had a sublime fleeting moment of stolen kisses and petting. But that was not enough to abate the emptiness yawning like a tremendous endless hole threatening to swallow him whole. What would it be like…to taste, to indulge, to take a woman after so long.

  And not just any woman…her.

  7

  Her hair was seized in brutal hands arching her neck at a painful angle. Shilah flared out her powers brushing lightly against his mind and recoiled, slamming up her mental shield. Never had she encountered such malignancy and venom before and she had only scanned the surface of his aura. Everything about him was different. The sleek contours of his muscles now bunched, still supple but more intense. His beautiful tawny eyes now had the cast of a serpent’s. The edges were golden, but the inner ring of his eyes, elliptical in shape had seven different colors. She had never seen eyes so beautiful and strange, and it seemed as if he had some sort of coating over them that had been absent before.

  His hands tightened sinking claws deep and letting blood.

  She could feel the rapid thud of her heart, pounding like a war drum. “Release me,” she said and pushing the command to his mind with all her waning strength.

  “Silence.”

  His voice throbbed with violent power, deep and absolutely petrifying. He would kill her, she saw it in his eyes, and even as an Imperial she was defenseless against him. Death at the hands of a Darkan would not be easy. They savored pain and agony, prolonging the death of their prey so they could feed on that dark negative energy. She was in for a long and painful death. She punched hard and deep with her telepathic powers, breathing raggedly through the pain of the violent emotions that were a part of him.

  “Release me now!”

  His hot breath washed across her face as he leaned in closer and she tightened her eyes more. Then he smelled her…again. His hands dropped from her throat as if the hottest fire had burned him. His head canted left as he stared at her, seemingly fascinated by her.

  She stumbled, pressing against the iron wall. “I am sorry I shattered your barriers,” she said her heart beating so painfully. “I did not know…. I…I did not know.” Her throat burned to recall Lachlan’s roar of pain and denial as the malevolence of his demon’s chakra had burned through him.

  “You freed me,” he said, his voice a rumble of power and darkness and satisfaction.

  She blinked at that unexpected admission, confusion bursting in her heart. “You are not angry.” And instinctively she knew it was the darkness within him that was pleased.

  Lachlan smiled, a barely-there movement of his lips, and for a timeless instant, she forgot to breathe. How could anyone seem so deadly but so sensual? Unfortunately, nothing about that small smile rendered him approachable, he reeked of brutality. He took up the entire space, the very air, with his power and remorseless energy.

  Those soulless eyes settled on her face. “You taunt me to madness with your scent. You need to leave.”

  “Perhaps it escaped your notice, but I am trapped in a cage,” she whispered furiously, not sure why she had lowered her voice or where she got the will to be snarky. But how she loathed the terror in her heart.

  He leaned in again as if he could not help himself and inhaled her deep into his lungs as if he wanted to trap her scent. Though her mind was not connected with his, she could feel the monster in him stretch and roar. Something had irrevocably changed within him and how uncomfortable it was that he could not stop smelling her. Her heart leaped, stuttered, and then began to pound. Survival instincts shrieked at her to pull away, but she stood her ground. He appeared like a wild animal gathering itself for a strike. He tugged her body as close to his as possible, fitting his larger frame around hers almost protectively. She peered up at him in confusion. What is happening?

  He smelled her again.

  “Stop doing that,” she snapped, hating that her voice trembled.

  He ran the tip of a clawed finger down her cheek before lowering his hand. Her stomach did an alarming flip even as confusion bubbled inside her. Not that she wasn’t grateful the Darkan was not ripping out her insides and feasting on her blood. The fact he stared at her as if enthralled as if awed by her was nerve-wracking. Shilah wetted her lips, and his eyes followed the movement.

  He reached for her once again, and she tracked that clawed finger, bracing for his attack. He cupped her cheeks, and her eyes widened. Shilah’s wits scattered in all directions. His touch was soft yet absolute in its possessiveness. Her head pounded, and her skin itched and felt too tight for her body. Energy leaped between them, fierce and passionate, dark, and mesmerizing. Shilah laughed, then sobered instantly sensing she was on the verge of hysteria. What was happening?

  “Mine.”

  The words were like a solid blow to the center of her chest, and her resolve to be brave. Shilah stared at him in acute shock. Had she truly just heard him in her mind? It could not be. Darkans were not telepaths, and the thread he used was unfamiliar...strange and far too intimate.

  “You are under my skin, and I’ve no idea how you’ve gotten there. I want to do things to you…”

  That dark rumble in her mind, along a pathway she’d never accessed before shocked her into absolute stillness. The words themselves made no sense. Her heart was beating loudly, a hard, steady rhythm. “Did…did you say something?”

  “You are mine.”

  A tremble worked its way through her body, and a fear burned through her.

  “Do not fear me little one, my life, my crown, and everything I am is yours. To harm you is to destroy myself.”

  “You have a crown?” she croaked unable to process anything else.

  I see upon your head a crown of snakes and thorns. She slapped her hands together, flaring her power and slamming up her barriers, blocking all possible telepathic pathways.

  “Why have you denied me?” His voice was dark, thick, his fingers tightening in her hair. “Open up your mind to me.”

  “No!”

  She glared at him, lifting her chin, anticipating his rage, preparing to fight to the death.

  His finger slipped down her throat and trailed over the swell of her breast. “Your heart beats for me.” His voice didn’t just whisper in her ear, but poured over her skin, touching nerve endings.

  “It jerks in fear.”

  “Why?”

  Was he serious? “You are...you are a Darkan.” He was feared and reviled by all Amagarians, surely, he knew of his kind’s fearsome reputation. “And from the evidence of your tattoo, you are fully bonded with a leviathan for a beast,” she pushed at his mind, testing to see if the telepathic pathway remained open.

  His head canted left as he considered her. “I am Lachlan Ravenswood, Archduke of the eastern quadrant of the Darkage, and I am your mate, and you are mine.”

  His words felt like a decree.

  She was still fighting to breathe, to shake off the trembling and fear and uncertainty. “Are you going to kill me?” she asked, ignoring that mate nonsense, truly too afraid to assess why he seemed
so possessive.

  She squared her shoulders, determined to show courage and the will to fight. From what she had heard in the empire Darkans respected strength and cunning. And her beleaguered appearance certainly did not say that, but she had to try.

  “Kill you?”

  How surprised he sounded. As if he was not the most menacing thing she had ever encountered. “Yes, kill me.”

  “No, I would not harm a hair on your beautiful head, but I am going to take you.”

  “Take me where?” she asked, hoping he had a plan for escape from the dungeons that would include her. Then she would turn her thoughts to escaping Amagarie to her realm.

  Immediately, raw, provocative, and shockingly carnal images blasted through her mind, as if she had not erected a shield. Heat flared through her as the image of her on her knees, her hips arched, sweat slicking her skin and wild cries coming from her mouth, his body blanketing hers from behind, and the thickest cock she’d ever seen thrusting in and out of her with savage grace, flowered in her mind.

  He placed one palm against the bars above her head, effectively caging her in, his body language blatant, possessive, intimidating, yet appealing with its raw savagery. “There,” he rumbled, lust flavoring the chakra that leaked from him. “I want to take you there.”

  Shilah laughed then slapped a hand over her mouth, glaring at him, desperate to ignore the deep ache the raw pictures had painted and the fear at the blatant possessiveness in his tone. “I am Princess Shilah Malie Symonrah, rightful ruler of Dxyriah, and my hand is promised in marriage to Crown Prince Novar. You will not be taking me anywhere that resembles that.”

  A burst of violence blossomed over her, through her. The glow of his aura—black ringed with a deep red formed a halo around him, yet he was not the mindless monster she’d heard whispers of. He smelled feral, wild, dangerous. How did he have such control of the beast within?

  “Another thinks to claim what is mine?”

  His voice was a rumble of ruthless malice. She made a small sound of protest, of fear, but firming her lips and electing to not offer a rebuttal to his outrageous claim. I do not belong to you.

  A soft laugh echoed through her thoughts, and she froze. Had he heard her?

  His hand skimmed over her breast and circled her throat. She felt the surge of darkness, of danger, then his voice spoke in her mind. “You are mine.” Cold, and absolute.

  Power shifted inside her body, the tight coil slowly began to unfurl, to spread and grow. Then she slammed it into him, pushing him away from her. He flew back and thundered into the walls of the cage, rattling them. Then in a blink of an eye, he was once again before her. How did he do it?

  “If you had asked, perhaps I would consider your suit for you are a fearsome warrior,” she hissed, rebuilding her barriers. All ridiculous nonsense for never would she indulge the thought of courtship from a Darkan. She stabbed at his chest with a finger, amazed at the wall of hardness. “I do not belong to you simply because you said it. I belong to no man, and when I eventually do, it will be because I desire it. If you mean to...to kill me, get on with it.” Her voice trembled on that last bit and she scowled.

  “Any man who touches you will die.”

  Her chest became so tight she could barely breathe. His voice was an accusation she did not understand, a curse, a promise of dark retaliation.

  “Your claim is outrageous. I do not accept.”

  With speed she could not track, his hands lifted her to him, pressed his erection tightly against her feminine mound. “What—”

  Then his mouth fastened on hers and took possession. He was not breaking or rending her bones…he was kissing her? His need assaulted her senses, his energy a live entity that broke through her telepathic shield. His lust was acute and intense and threatened to consume her. She pulled her lips from his, breathing raggedly. “Lachlan, I—”

  He stole the air from her lungs by pressing his lips to hers. The warmth of his body drove away the shivering she hadn’t been able to stop since she’d shattered his barrier. Desperation drove her to open her psychic eye to read him and encounter a violent wave of molten lust and need for her. She absorbed the ferocity of the emotions, alarmed when she encountered the vermillion hue of desire and tenderness. She gasped, her distress allowing his tongue inside. These were not the seductive kisses she had received from him before; there was no gentle nibbling, teasing foray, sweet passion. The need of the man and beast were one, and they battered at her mind, replacing her fear with a torturous heat. He stole her breath, her reason, her fear, and replaced it all with a burning, all-consuming desire. He held her like that for a long while, kissing her, letting her feast on the petrifying sensations he was evoking.

  Shilah moaned as he slanted his mouth over hers roughly. Darts of fire raced through her bloodstream with the hottest arousal, frightening because she had no business feeling such need for the Darkan holding her as if he would never let go.

  She flinched and tried to draw back as sharp teeth sliced at her lips. The metallic taste of her blood filled her mouth. The snarl from his throat had her stilling as fear warred with lust inside of her. He swirled inside of her mouth, licking up the blood and sucking at her lips. The sting immediately stopped, and her mouth tingled. He had her pinned to the cage, and his erection felt hard and heavy against her stomach. His enormous strength was intimidating.

  He found her throat, soft and vulnerable. Then a sharp pain lanced through her as he pierced her flesh with his fangs. Shock and arousal tore through her body in a whip of flames. His throat pulled, and the snarl of satisfaction washed through her. The pleasure so intense that she could feel her body gathering, chasing the violent storm stirring inside.

  * * *

  Hunger swept through Lachlan, a gnawing, clawing need that he feared would never be assuaged. His throat worked, and the princess’s life force rushed into his mouth. An exquisite, rare taste beyond anything he’d ever known burst through his fucking soul, trickling down his throat to seep into his veins, pouring through his body like the elixir of life.

  Find the Princess of Boreas’s Queen's guards, the witch, and take them with his mate from the dungeons. That should be his focus but need battered at him with such force. It felt as if the beast in him was trying to claw through his stomach. The princess stirred such depths of feelings after such a barren existence, it terrified him, broke him apart, and then melded him with the darkness. A terrible craving that tore through him, relentless, insatiable, he knew at this moment this yearning would never end as long as she existed. Sane thoughts caught at the sharp edges of his mind but couldn't carve its way through the dark mire of need and lust and pulse-pounding desire.

  She was his…and he would take her. She tasted like nothing he had ever had, and he never wanted to stop consuming her blood. Fire, hunger, need, obsession. All those and more she made him feel.

  Her taste was rich, dark, and evocative. He drank her blood, let the liquid slide down his throat, savoring the taste of it, and fed provocative images to her mind of what he wanted to do with her, of what he would do. She whimpered, and a growl rumbled from him as lust and fear wafted from her to him. The stench of fear from the woman he would give his life for was repulsive.

  “Do not fear me.”

  He pushed it along the mental pathway he could feel forming between them, their lei—the mental path unique to all mated Darkans. He could see the link in his mind and felt it anchoring their souls together, darkness and purity, a joining that should be impossible. Along the thread connecting their souls, bright, vivid lights of blue, gold, and silver danced over her thread, and hovering around it was a thread of oppressive darkness. It tried to seduce the light, but it fled from the malevolence. And he saw it as an omen for how their mating would be. She was not of his kind and would run from his mating until he would have no choice but to bend her to his ruthless will.

  “I cannot help but fear you.”

  Her response was a soft whisper along th
eir link.

  “You threatened to harm a man who was promised to me before you met me.”

  He retracted his fangs and released her throat, allowing her blood to trickle along her neck. Her skin was pale, almost translucent, her eyes enormous in her delicate face. She was everything he was not. Soft. Pure. Beautiful. And he sensed she wanted some reassurance from him, one that would lessen her dread, and it was beyond him to offer it. He would never lie to her.

  “I made no such threat. I promised to slaughter anyone who would dare.”

  Her eyes widened until they were enormous bottomless pools, stark horror staring at him.

  He lowered his head and licked her skin, closing the wounds on her throat, before reclaiming her mouth. He brushed his lips gently, almost reverently over hers, hoping to communicate that she would always be safe with him. Then he deepened the kiss, and with a muffled moan she arched into him, kissing him back with a beguiling clash of innocence and carnality. She was like a living flame, burning him with her sweet wildness. His body clenched into a painful, hard, unrelenting ache. He smelled her arousal, hot and spicy, and wanted to sink to his knees and devour the wetness he knew he would find.

  He showed her what he wanted to do, and she trembled in the cage of his arms, the hard points of her nipples stabbing into his chest.

  And yet…her fear never abated.

  “Do not fear me, even in eternity I shall belong to you.”

  Confusion now flavored her chakra, and he had no notion how to explain what she was to him and what she would forever be.

  “I…I do not understand. We do not know each other. What are you saying?”

  Instead of wasting time with words she would never understand, he spoke with his tongue, his hands as he used one of his hands to palm her breast and rolled her nipple between his fingers. Arousal rode her hard, and her thoughts spilled to him along their tentative link.