Battles of Salt and Sighs (Rise of the Death Fae Book 1)

by Val Saintcrowe

  She decided to pretend she was on her couch in the darkness, touching herself. She chuckled inwardly a little at this, because when she touched herself, she usually drew up some fantasy—lately the fantasies all involved her being someone else, some woman who had never been captured by fae.

  Maybe she could do that now, too.

  Yes, she would pretend that she was willing, that this was her choice, and that she was excited by this, by the way she was bent over and on display and jammed full of hard, hot flesh.

  Something quickened in her.

  She let out a little gasp.

  Larent made an answering noise, and then thrust in her.

  She liked that. He was stretching the center of her pleasure and stroking it from the inside of her body.

  He grasped her by the hips, pulling her hips tighter against him, going even deeper into her.

  She groaned.

  He groaned.

  Now, his fingers were reaching around and stimulating her just where she liked it, and it was good. Rapturous. Perfect.

  She floated, nothing but pleasure, and she didn’t care what was happening to her, not at all.

  THE FIRST MOMENT that Larent felt her warm wetness surround him, he thought he was going to fall apart. The entire situation was unbearable, but this—her—he hadn’t expected—

  It’s a cunt, Larent, of course it feels good.

  Yes, but not like this.

  I’ve been inside her before.

  But not like this.

  Sacred magics, she felt perfect. He was bent over the table, holding himself up with his palms, which were flat against the table’s surface, and he was only inches from the laces of her corset. He could see her bare skin above that, her shoulders, her fair hair. He had the urge to put his mouth to her, to kiss her shoulder blades and to fit his tongue to the curve of her spine. He…

  I want to worship her.

  Larent didn’t know how other men viewed sex, but he suspected it was different than he viewed it. Other men seemed to have this notion that they were owed women’s orifices, that they could just take them if they pleased, and this was their right to do so, as if the entire act was nothing.

  And Larent always felt, whenever he was inside a woman, that he was somehow privileged to be there at all, that a woman would allow him to penetrate this intimate, sensitive, secret part of her, and that she’d do it for his pleasure, that she’d give him…

  This isn’t a gift.

  No, he knew that. But for some reason, it still felt to him like that same kind of sacred joining, that same kind of privilege, and he still felt humbled by it.

  Before, when he’d taken her before, it had seemed so ugly to him, and he’d had to divorce his mind from his body, to separate himself so that he had barely been present, but that wasn’t possible now, and—

  I’m not even moving in her.

  He made a thrust, and it was too good, too much. He felt his balls tighten, his body go taut, and he let out another noise. The noises were embarrassing, and Akiel was watching, was right fucking there—

  She made a noise too, a ragged kind of noise, a noise that made him thrust again. He pushed his hands off the table and put them on her hips, pulling her against him.

  She doesn’t want this, and she doesn’t like this, and you should be quick and finish and end her misery.

  He tugged her further back, so that her pelvis wasn’t resting on the table, and so that he could get one of his hands around her, the one on the opposite side from where Akiel sat, so that Akiel wouldn’t see when Larent put his fingers on her clit.

  Shouldn’t do that. Last time, you made her cry.

  He was doing it anyway, because he wanted her to make noise again.

  You’re despicable.

  She did make noise.

  He had his hand fanned over her hip, and only his middle finger went low enough to dip between the place where her lips parted, to nudge her in her most sensitive place, to rub her there, and when he did, she moaned.

  He had been making shallow thrusts, but at the sound, he went faster, deeper.

  Her breath seemed to catch the rhythm of his movement.

  He thrust.

  She gasped audibly.

  Repeat.

  On and on, and every thrust was hot, slippery bliss.

  “Turn her face toward me,” came Akiel’s voice.

  Larent turned on him, startled, but not enough to lose the rhythm of his thrusts.

  “I want to see her expression.” Akiel’s voice was dark and loose. He had one hand on the bare back of his girl as he pistoned his hips against her, and that—well, that should be disgusting, but it wasn’t, because Larent was inside the most perfect, wet cunny ever made, and watching other people have sex was arousing in much less stimulating situations, so the sight of it sent awful currents through him.

  “No,” said Larent, and his voice was loose too, and too defiant, but it was her cunny. Ancestors save him, if he was fucking this cunny, he answered to no man. He felt alive in a way he didn’t think he’d ever felt in his life, and that was disgusting too, and her little breathy gasps were going throaty as he rubbed her and fucked her, and— “No.”

  “Larent.” There was a warning in Akiel’s tone.

  Onivia turned her head. Her eyes were closed, though. She turned her face to Akiel, obliging and subservient, and it made Larent angry.

  It was better, of course, that she would obey, but he didn’t want to do this, any of this, and how dare Akiel demand any of this from him? Why was he listening to this man?

  Sacred magics, they were supposed to be free now, but sometimes, he thought Akiel had just become his dominus and he was no better off than when he’d been on the villa.

  And still he thrust, and her cunny clenched against him, and she was dripping wet—he had never felt a cunny this wet—and he wished she was naked and facing him, that they were in each other’s arms and he could taste her lips and her throat, and that he could watch her expression while he made her come.

  It was this thought that sent him over the brink, and he didn’t make her come at all.

  Instead, he dug his fingers into her hips and emptied himself into her, jet after jet of himself, every spurt making his eyes roll back in his head and his teeth clench at the power of it, the sheer goodness of it.

  He panted, holding onto her, frozen there with her bent over the table, and then he pulled them both down into a chair. His wet, softening cock slid out of her, and he gathered her into his arms and held her against his chest.

  She curled into him. She was shaking.

  He clutched her, gazing at Akiel. Akiel was still thrusting into his girl, grunting, and Larent watched that, and now that he wasn’t excited, it was only repulsive.

  Eventually, Akiel was done, and he tucked himself away, and his girl crawled off to a corner to curl up around herself.

  Just like Onivia’s doing, and it’s not any better in your arms, because you are no better than Akiel.

  He was flooded with shame.

  “Your little human slut likes fae cock a lot,” said Akiel. “Aren’t you lucky, Larent? Got that little eager thing. Maybe there’s something to that demand of yours, wanting one that wasn’t a virgin. I always think it’s better to train them to do what you want, but—”

  “She was a virgin,” said Larent.

  “So, you are lucky,” said Akiel thoughtfully.

  “We’re done here,” Larent decided. “And don’t ask me to do this again.”

  “I’m the princep—”

  “You need me, and you need my men, and let’s not pretend differently,” said Larent. “I’m not… I won’t allow you to…” He couldn’t find the words, and so he just stood up, carefully drawing Onivia up with him.

  That was when Larent realized he’d never even pulled up his trousers. He looked down at them, around his ankles, and let out a bitter laugh. So much for this speech. Nothing said I defy you more than reaching down to haul up his p
ants.

  But he did it, first making sure that Onivia was steady on her feet. He didn’t look at Akiel as he busied himself with his buttons.

  “You were saying?” Akiel was amused.

  He was utterly humiliated. He was defeated. This entire experience had been demeaning, and Akiel knew it, and he had done it on purpose. “Permission to withdraw, princep,” he said woodenly.

  Akiel smirked.

  Larent gazed at him, waiting.

  “Permission granted,” said Akiel.

  Onivia was closing her corset, fastening it with sure and steady hands. She looked at him blandly.

  Larent got the cloak she’d worn through the halls and draped it over her. When they’d walked before, he’d gone first and she’d trailed after him, but something drove him to put his arm around her, to pull her close to him as they walked.

  She didn’t resist.

  He didn’t let go of her until they were back in his quarters, and even then, he didn’t do it right away. They came in, and he closed the door and he walked her into the middle of the sitting room. He looked down at her.

  She looked up at him.

  For several moments, they gazed at each other, and he wanted to kiss her. He looked into her eyes. He looked at her lips. Then back to her eyes. He imagined he saw some desire for him in her eyes that he knew wasn’t there.

  He let go of her then.

  She hunched into the cloak.

  Leave her be. Let her collect herself. Let her use the wash basin. Give her some privacy, since you’ve invaded every part of her.

  He didn’t move. He wanted to apologize, but the weight of it all seemed too much for words. An apology seemed too paltry.

  “I’m sorry.” He said it anyway.

  “I know you are,” she said.

  It was quiet.

  “I meant it,” he said. “If he asks me to do this again, I’ll refuse him, and damn the consequences.”

  She smiled faintly. “I’m so happy you’ve developed this backbone now.”

  He hung his head. What was he supposed to say? Yes, I found the courage inside your cunt?

  “I’m all right.”

  He lifted his head.

  She let out a harsh sound that might have been a laugh. “How it is that I come to be reassuring you, I don’t know—”

  “Don’t,” he said.

  “But I’m not broken. I have survived it. It was not…” She shrugged. “I closed my eyes, and it was as if he wasn’t there, that it was only you. And you are…” She blinked at him.

  He stepped closer to her.

  Her lips parted. The look she gave him was helpless.

  He lifted his hand and cupped her cheek with one hand. “Thank you,” he breathed. “For what you gave me, what you allowed me to take. I don’t deserve it, and you are…”

  But neither of them seemed to be able to say what the other were.

  Eventually, he let go of her, and he turned away. “I’ll let you have your privacy.” He shut himself in his bedchamber.

  But he had shut himself away from the water basin, so he couldn’t wash, and the scent of her was all over him, branding him.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CASSUS BLINKED AGAINST the light of the torch, which shone bright in his eyes. He had been asleep. He slept much of the time since he’d been locked up in this dungeon. It was a mercy, he thought, that he could sleep, because sleep was escape, sleep was a place where he could dream of Dominissa Cyria Magdalia, of her laugh and beauty and even her disdain.

  He craved that disdain now, and his terror was that it would be robbed from her, that somehow, these fae would take from her that assurance she had of her superiority to nearly everything on earth, and that she would be listless and dull and cowed, and if that happened to her, Cassus would not be able to bear it.

  He didn’t like to think of such things, of course.

  But that was the one problem with dreams. They could easily become nightmares.

  He wasn’t asleep now, however.

  “Here he is, centurion,” said a voice, but Cassus couldn’t make out a figure behind the brightness of the torch. There was rarely any light in this cell. What little light there was came in through the small barred window on the door, and that only came from torches on the wall—torches which were always snuffed out by drafts in the dungeon and rarely relit.

  “Excellent,” came another voice.

  “I’ll leave you to your interrogation.”

  “No, my apologies, perhaps I wasn’t clear. I am taking the prisoner away to interrogate him,” said the other voice, who must be the centurion. Cassus thought it was bitterly amusing that these fae used the imperial ranks in their own armed insurrection.

  “Away, centurion? Away where?”

  “Into the woods. I think the cold will be helpful in loosening his tongue,” said the centurion. “But you have no call to question me, militus.”

  “Oh, no, of course not. Apologies. I can accompany you to assist with the prisoner?”

  “Won’t be necessary.”

  Cassus thought it was all very odd that anyone might think he was a spy. As if the imperial legions needed to spy on the fae rebels. A ludicrous thought, far beneath them.

  However, he had to admit that the resistance had been more successful than anyone had ever dreamed they would be, even the resistance members themselves. He knew that his brother seemed to regard the new state of the capital with a bit of awed bewilderment. He had cast his lot where he had, his brother, so there was little he could do, but Cassus knew that when his brother saw the Croith riding through the streets of the capital, he was alarmed.

  It was one thing to say that slavery should be abolished.

  It was another thing entirely for a one-handed fae to be sleeping in the csaer’s bed and drinking from the csaer’s cups.

  Cassus fully believed that his brother would relinquish his resistance sympathies if he thought it was safe for him to do so. As it was, however, any declaration to the contrary of his revolutionary views would be detrimental to his safety.

  Other humans, businessmen and aristocracy alike, had been stripped of their riches and possessions, sent scrambling away, running for their lives, which would be easily taken. The fae were not shy about killing humans.

  As Cassus was led out of his cell, he realized that might be what was happening to him now.

  He’d been questioned already, and the fae had used some force. They had used some of their magic on him, but nothing too deadly, only to make him tired and thirsty. He’d had nothing to tell them, though, and they’d seemed to recognize this and to then give up.

  Whatever this centurion intended to do with him, it would likely be worse, and he might not survive it.

  If he died, he didn’t know who would rescue Magdalia, but then, he was no use to her rotting away in this dungeon, anyway.

  He didn’t resist when his hands were lashed behind his back, and he walked along with the centurion as they went through the halls of the dungeon. The centurion led him outside, through the gates of the wall, and into the woods.

  He was not dressed for it. They had taken his cloak and his gloves and his outer warm layer of clothes.

  The centurion said nothing.

  They walked and walked, deeper and deeper into the surrounding woods.

  Finally, for no reason that Cassus could discern, the centurion stopped. He let go of Cassus’s arm and then went around behind him. Cassus heard the sound of a dagger being unsheathed.

  “You haven’t even asked me any questions!” he protested.

  The centurion chuckled.

  Cassus felt him take hold of the ropes that bound him and then they were cut free. He moved away from the centurion, rubbing his wrists. “I don’t understand.”

  “I made a bargain with Domina Prantia Onivia,” said the centurion. “I keep my word.”

  “But what are you doing to me?”

  “Setting you free, dolt.” The centurion gave him a wit
hering look. “Go.” He motioned for Cassus to leave.

  “But won’t… the other fae will suspect you.”

  “You’re concerned for me? How polite of you.” The centurion laughed again. “I’ll tell them I accidentally killed you and didn’t feel the need to drag your body back with me, so I left you for the carrion animals.” He smiled a nasty smile. “Well? What are you waiting for? Go.”

  Cassus hesitated. “Why are you making bargains with Onivia?”

  “Go.”

  Cassus realized he was being very stupid. He nodded. “Thank you,” he said. “And thank Onivia. Tell her I’m going to help Magdalia?”

  “I didn’t agree to be a messenger. Just go.” The centurion waved him off.

  And Cassus turned his back on the other man and ran, then, as fast as he could, off into the cold, night air.

  ONIVIA WOKE THE next morning sore in places that had never been sore. She wasn’t sure how the muscles in her stomach had been used the night before in Akiel’s quarters. By all rights, she shouldn’t have been moving any muscles. She should have simply been lying there and taking it.

  That was how she remembered it, anyway.

  Oh, is it? spoke up a knowing voice deep in her head.

  She shushed that voice and pushed it all the way down inside, burying it even deeper.

  I didn’t like it.

  Of course she didn’t like it.

  Like silk.

  Her stomach turned over.

  She didn’t like it. It had been a horrible, demeaning experience that had likely scarred her for the rest of her life. She would never be the same, and she never wanted to do it again. It was all awful.

  But, well, when she’d closed her eyes and pretended, she couldn’t deny that it had been physically pleasurable, deeply so.

  Even now, she remembered what it had been like to have him inside her, and when she did, it made her want to sigh and squirm and bask in how good it had been.

  It was killing her, truly, how it could have been such a horrible, disgusting thing and yet felt so good.

  She knew Larent had done that for her. He’d been under no obligation to figure out how to touch her body and to give her pleasure. And there was no reason for him to have found some way to stroke her as he drove himself in and out of her body.