It took one second for her to awaken and for a shriek to escape her mouth in one long howl.
Before Fade could silence her, a hand swept out of nowhere, dove between his legs and this time, it was Fade who crumpled to the ground.
In agony.
Chapter Three
Even though her entire body ached like a bitch, Heather couldn't help the silly grin that literally cracked her face in two.
She'd done it.
Whoever the guy was, he was no longer threatening her. And when he did eventually wake up, he'd still be in pain. That's what she called a score. As well as girl power. Being raised in one of the toughest neighborhoods in the toughest cities in America had taught her a lot. The Big Apple was no place for pansies. Strength, guts and courage were the requirements for city survival and while she'd removed herself from the big bad world and transplanted herself into Boggarty, Pennsylvania, it certainly hadn't been removed from her. Ha.
She sat up even though her bones protested and grimaced as her muscles began their own complaint too. Adrenaline took some of the pain away, so tomorrow, she'd undoubtedly feel like a pile of shit- now, she just had to deal with the big piece of crap slumped over on her kitchen floor. As her body recalibrated itself, and she managed to lean her torso on her arms to keep her upright, Heather studied the man lying prostrate before her.
He was handsome. She had to give him that.
In fact, he was movie-star good looking. The kind of man that doesn't really exist outside of a woman's fantasies. His hair was shoulder-length and rippled with a wave that would have cost a fortune at a salon. Blacker than black, it was like ink and in the overhead light it shimmered glossily, a sure and certain sign of good health. His face was an odd shape for man, almost like a heart, with a wide forehead and equally wide cheekbones and a pointed chin. His jaw was strong though, chiseled. His heart-shaped face should have given him a delicate, effeminate look - but combined with that granite jaw, effeminacy didn't stand a chance. His facial hair was a sooty black. Slashing eyebrows were puckered in a frown, that told her of his pain even in his unconscious state. Hell, she must have more power in her fist than she'd ever realized. Score another to her.
His eyelashes curled against those ice-sculpted cheekbones and underneath his golden skin, a five o'clock shadow was making itself known. His nose was a fierce, slashing line and it topped a rose-pink mouth. His lower lip was full and rather wide, but the upper was thin and almost entirely free of a cupid's bow. She recalled the moment his eyes had caught hers and she'd felt as though she'd been caught in a raptor's gaze. . . . Golden-green eyes. A peculiar shade.
As she studied him, he moved and his hair tumbled to the floor rather than partially cover his face as it had been. Her eyes widened as she saw his ears and her hand crept up to rub at her own. Her ears had always caused her embarrassment. Sure, they'd never stuck out or anything. They weren't bad enough to require a visit to a plastic surgeon, but the upper curve had always a gentle point. It wasn't entirely freakish and was easy enough to cover with her bob, but she'd always felt like something out of a fairy tale.
As odd as she felt the shape to her own ears was, that was nothing in comparison to this guy's ear.
"Christ Almighty.” Her words were swallowed by the yawning silence in the kitchen. But she didn't notice, her concentration was entirely fixed on the man before her.
Her gaze fluttered from his ear to what now seemed to be an odd shade of skin and her memory once again recalled those eyes. Inhuman eyes. Animal eyes.
A grunt escaped her as she curled on to her side and almost fell on to her knees. She crawled towards him, coming to a halt as she neared him and knelt on aching knees to study him more. Her fingers trembled as she reached out and brushed her hand against the knobby curve. His ear was almost as long as his face. Thin, but pointed on the upper curve and also at the lobe- there wasn't a soft, fleshy pad, but another long spindle. The 'lobe' was decorated with a silver tube. Almost like an elongated ear cuff. The silver was engraved with black shapes, that looked to be letters, but she couldn't make them out, they were apart of no language she'd ever seen. Almost like a mixture of Mandarin and Arabic.
The upper curve was just as spindly but free from adornments and she brushed her finger along the length. Her hand swept up so that her fingers could brush her own ear and it felt the same. It wasn't cartilage, like the rest of a human's ear. It was bone. As was this man's.
She compared her own flesh, which was by no means golden, but almost lily white. Kevin, during one of his phases, had likened it to the glowing moon. She'd rolled her eyes at the description, but had felt more discomforted than anything else. Her skin did glow. But she'd always put it down to the fact that her beauty regime was top notch- not a day went by where she didn't apply olive oil to her skin in the shower.
And her own eyes weren't as oddly hued as this man's, but another boyfriend had jokingly told her that she had the eyes of a husky. Piercing blue. Blended with an almost silvery-white.
The hair on the back of her neck stood on end and she shivered. The fine quiver raced along her nerve endings so that every part of her felt as though an electric current had brushed it.
"Calm down, Heather. You're just freaking yourself out.”
The words didn't help, she felt more freaked out than ever. She reached out again, her fingers running along the length of the silver cuff-tube and then curling over the long, thin hearing organ. Almost like it called to her, they were drawn to the upper spindle. Even though her mind registered the fact it would likely wake him, she let the digits have their way as they rubbed and gently caressed the odd bone.
He groaned and rather than make her fingers still, she licked her lips. She didn't understand, felt confused more than anything else, when her heart began to pound and a slight flush overtook her, until every part of her felt a little damp. Including her pussy.
The thought had her freezing for a second, but the man's body seemed to writhe on the floor at her touch. She'd never seen anything like it and her eyes were fascinated as they ran down the length of his frame. It was incredible that she only just realized he was wearing a full suit of armor. Of the medieval variety. But even that didn't have her stopping, especially not when she noticed the area she'd just congratulated herself over hurting, was stiffening. His groin was covered in a thick leather, something she knew after grabbing his cock and squeezing it as though it were an orange in need of juicing. Only that part of him, and obviously for bathroom breaks, wasn't covered by cold steel.
Saliva suddenly drowned her mouth and she swallowed noisily as her eyes took in an erection to end all erections, which didn't seem to stop growing. The thick leather had already tented until she felt sure the material would start to creak as the seams protested such pressure. And still it seemed to appear. Eight, nine, ten. . . . inches. How the hell would he get all of that in her?
She froze in her tracks. Her? Was that some kind of Freudian slip? Because surely, she'd meant how would he get that monster inside any woman's body?
Freudian or no, her pussy seemed to weep out a call of its own with the amount of juices with which her panties were suddenly dampened.
The fingers of her other hand tingled with the need to touch herself. To rub her clit and cum as she watched this man grow all the more aroused at a simple touch to the ear, but something inside her urged restraint and even though it was one of the hardest things she'd ever done, Heather managed to stop.
She retracted her fingers and rested her hand on her knee. She had to imagine that it was glued there, because it wanted to snap back to his ear to see if she could make that whopper grow anymore. It had to be at least twelve inches and wide with it. Christ, if they ever did have sex, he'd probably split her in two.
Heather cringed more at the idea of wanting to have sex with a maniac simply because his cock was the largest one she'd ever seen, than she did at being split in half. Hell, what a way to go. Her virgin pussy concurred as it seem
ed to ripple with a sensation that had Heather's eyes fluttering.
"Don't stop.” The voice appeared out of nowhere and her gaze snapped to the strange man's. Those animal eyes were dazed, but they shone with an emotion that left her flushed. Realizing how stupid she'd been, and too late, Heather scrambled backwards and grimaced as she backed into the stove.
As the stove's handle dug into her ribs, she gritted out, "Who are you? What are you? And why are you here?"
One of those pitch black brows arched and then dropped into scowl as he sat upright and cupped his cock. His lips twitched as he saw her eyes widen and her mouth fall open in shock. "If it wasn't bad enough you bruising it, now you've made it hungry.”
Heather glared at him. "Answer my questions.”
She wanted to yell at him for talking to her that way, but how could she? She'd encouraged him by caressing a part of his body, when she should have left well alone. Hell, she hadn't given him a hand job, but the way he'd reacted, she might as well have done. How could she ask him to refrain from such talk, when it was her fault such a topic existed? She should never have touched him and Heather bit her tongue in an act of self-recrimination.
"Who am I? Fade Roban. I'm the heir to the Dark Throne. What am I? Well, I'm the same as you, but I doubt you even know what that is. . . ..” He paused, his eyes running over her with a gleam that made her decidedly edgy. "Why am I here? Ten minutes ago, my answer would have been, how the inferno should I know? But it would seem that destiny has brought me to this place. . . . Destiny in the guise of a meddling mother.” When she frowned at him, he clarified, "Yours.”
Feeling her skin blanch, Heather sucked in a sharp breath. "My mother died nearly two decades ago. She ceased to meddle as you so charmingly phrase it, the day a truck slammed into my parents' car on the freeway. I wish they could meddle in my life.”
"You might live to regret uttering those words, wench.” He held up a piece of parchment, something she only just realized he'd been holding as he'd crumpled to the ground after her attack. "According to this, Setta is alive and well and meddling.” He groaned suddenly and sank back down to the floor. Using his forearm to cover his eyes, he sank into silence.
Heather frowned and clambered back on to her knees. She crept forwards again and gently placed a hand on his arm. "Is something wrong, F-Fade?" Her tongue trembled over the name. She knew it from somewhere. The only question was where? Had she hurt him more than she'd imagined? She bit her lip at the thought, after all he had been attacking her. . . . Should she care so much that he was in pain?
She felt transfixed as his lips suddenly started to twitch and work as though he was gritting them to get through the pain. Her mind's eye easily saw them kissing her own. . . . and other, more intimate areas. Her thoughts shocked her. Where the image came from, Heather didn't know, but now it was there, she couldn't stop it. The image flowered and blossomed until she saw the pair of them on a divan. She, with her legs spread wide, as Fade plowed between them. That huge cock pumping in and out of a pussy that could only belong to him.
He groaned again and the sound broke her free from her thoughts. Fade shoved his arm and hers away from him. "Stop thinking that. How is my cock supposed to soften if you're thinking of me kissing or fucking your pussy.”
Heat flooded Heather's cheeks, but she poked her nose in the air and said, "I was thinking no such thing. You, sir, have a vivid imagination.”
He grinned, those thin yet fleshy lips stretching in a way that had butterflies twittering around her belly. "No, Heather of Jender, that is you. A vivid imagination is a good thing, I can assure you. But not when I can see every image you transmit and not when my cock is paining both from your physical assault and the other attack on my ear.”
Her throat closed at his words and the only thing she could think to say, the only thing she could choke out, was, "My surname isn't Jender.”
"You have no surname. You are a female princess. You are merely Heather of Jender.”
"A princess? Me?" Heather's words were swallowed by a choking laugh. "This is hardly Buckingham Palace, Fade whoever-the-hell-you-are.”
"No, it certainly isn't.” His eyes swept around the kitchen with obvious disapproval. "It is below the standard to which any Royal should inhabit, but it is filled with odd technologies, which I must admit, appear intriguing.”
"This is my house, you bastard. I'm happy here and I love it. By comparing it to Buckingham Palace, I must have inferred that I wanted to live there. Well, I don't. Give me my crappy condo over that pile any day of the week.”
Fade grinned. "I have no idea of what this Buckingham Palace is. But let me assure you, any Royal palace on Mearth, is akin to accommodation on Heathen.”
"Heathen? What is Heathen? And hang on a minute, Mearth? What the hell is that? This is Earth, buddy. God, you really are insane, aren't you?"
He studied her curiously and when he replied, ignored half of her statement and concentrated on her first questions. "Our afterlife, of course. You are named for it. Heather. . . .”
Before he could continue with his answer, she shook her head in immediate rejection. Her hair flicked her cheeks and the small whip marks burnt as she spat out, "It means nothing of the sort. It is a type of flower that can be found in Scotland.”
"I know not of this Scotland. Heather refers to those creature who live in Heathen. It is a precious name and suits you.”
His arrogant remark had her flushing again. She wasn't sure if it was nerves this time or anger. "Why aren't you angry with me?" she asked, choosing a less volatile subject. Everything he said left her more confused and wanting to ask more questions. His replies tired her in a way she didn't understand. She possessed an above-average intelligence. Nothing had ever been above her understanding and yet now. . . . she felt dazed. Slightly dim.
And that, pissed her off more than anything.
Questions flooded her brain and she wasn't sure the answers would in any way calm her down.
Where was this Mearth?
He said her mother still lived. . . . was he simply being cruel?
And he had stated that he could see the things she imagined. Was that even possible?
Who was the crazy one here? Him or her?
"Angry for treating my cock as though it were dough in need of a good kneading?" He snorted and noticed the jolt his words had caused. At the center of his focus, she felt like hiding, but couldn't. Those eyes ensnared hers and there was not one ounce of insanity there. They were as sharp, as clear, as lucid as raptors. He wasn't crazy. And that scared her more than anything, because it meant she had to be, didn't it? His lips twitched again, and he continued, "I'll take my revenge on you- in ways that will have you screaming. . . . with pleasure.”
He added that amendment, when she paled.
Heather's mouth tightened. "You won't touch me. I don't even know you.”
"I thought I didn't know you either, but again, this note tells me otherwise.”
"What note?"
He held up the parchment again and she frowned at a certain tear, which she recognized from the paper that had been tucked into the box of doorknobs. "There is no note on there. It's blank.”
"Yes, it was blank. Until Elven magik touches it and then, Firfesh appears.”
"Firfesh? What the hell are you talking about? I've never even heard of such a language.” As her dazed brain further absorbed his retort, she sank back down to her heels and felt her gaze drift into a blur. "Elven?" she whispered, her eyes suddenly focusing with a sharpness that made them ache. She took in the grim line of his jaw, then took in that peculiar ear. That, more than anything contributed to her next action. In a louder voice, something that Heather would later admit to being a screech, she hissed, "Elven? Oh my God, I was right all along. You are crazy. Get the hell out of my house. How did you even get in anyway? I'm calling 911.” She jumped upright and then shook her head. "Why the fuck didn't I do that straight away? I need my head seeing to- although, you need i
t more, by the sounds of it.”
Any amusement on his face had drifted away at her reaction to his words, he looked grimmer than ever. That solid as a rock jaw had grown impossibly harder and his mouth had white striations about it. "I am not insane. You are, according to this note from your mother, my betrothed.” He sniffed, when she gasped. "It is as large a shock to me as I'm sure it is to you.”
"How. . . . Why?" She shook her head as though cobwebs had suddenly taken root in her brain and needed a good swat to shake them free. "Betrothed? That can't be possible. You're insane. Not only are you a housebreaker, you're pretending to be an elf. Is Bilbo Baggins about to pop out of a trunk somewhere? I mean, Christ.”
"I am as unhappy about this as I know you to be. Unfortunately, there is little that can be done if what this note states is the truth.”
"How do I know you're not lying about the note's contents?"
"You don't, but I have no reason to lie. A throne awaits me either way. Be it as your consort and warrior King, or as the King to the Dark Throne.” He shrugged and for a moment, Heather saw a look of weariness on his face. She frowned and he glared at her- obviously mistaking her slight show of silent concern as disapproval or anger. "What is wrong with you now, harridan?. If you don't believe me then, fine. And you do know Firfesh, so do not lie to me. You can read this and see its contents for yourself.”
"Of course, I don't know Firfesh.”
"In what language are we speaking then, wench?"
Heather's eyes grew round, she actually felt them widen and winced at the sudden brightness of the kitchen. Her hand clapped over her mouth and she shook her head, denying his words.
He nodded. Slowly. That angry glare still filled his eyes and he crossed his arms over his chest, obviously waiting for his obstinacy to overpower her own.
It did not take long. Her hand slowly retreated and she whispered, "We're not talking in English?"
"No. I do not know of this English. Here,” he muttered. "I must hold on to the note otherwise the lettering won't appear. But read, read of this freely and know that I do not lie.”
Dark Throne, The Page 4
