Dominique's Release: A Captive Souls story

by Kimberly Kaye Terry

  Dominique moaned mewling cries as he gave her his thick shaft slowly, inch by inch, until he was balls deep inside her.

  “Only you can release me,” he spoke sharply, his hold on her hips becoming painful as his fingers bit into her flesh.

  His words beat inside her mind as hotly as his cock beat within her pussy, hammering away at her, demanding that she accept what was hovering inside her, what had been building inside her from the moment she was born. The knowledge shamed her, of how her own cowardice had made her afraid to reach out and take what was hers. Angry at herself, she took it out on him, beating her fists against the granite wall of his chest even as she rolled her hips against him, grinding her pussy into his hard, pounding thrusts.

  Colors danced and swirled around Dominique, smells heightened and she became hyperaware of even the air around them; sultry, thick, it invaded her lungs as he invaded her body.

  “No!” she screamed, frantic, fear returning as she tried to get away from his driving hips, the sinful pleasure of his deep strokes inside her body.

  But he refused. Ignoring her pleas, he continued to pound into her slick heat, angling their bodies into perfect symmetry. Shifting her to better accommodate his thrusts, he plunged and retreated, over and over, driving into her until she was mindless.

  Her orgasm was hovering, just out of reach. The amulet scorched her skin as she fought against what he was pulling from her; with every thrust inside her body, he was forcing a part of her, buried deep inside, to crack free.

  Dominique sensed a part of herself she’d glimpsed over time, a small glowing ember burning brightly within her body begging to be free. She threw her head back, shut her eyes tightly and ground herself against him, reaching for the elusive part that she’d both felt and dreaded for as long as she could remember.

  “Let go!” he demanded, and she did. It blossomed, unfurling until it eclipsed her soul, her body on fire, she allowed it to consume her.

  “Yes!” he roared; his thrusts became harsher, deeper, his body slamming into hers as fiercely as she was grinding against him, until she nearly detonated.

  Then as quickly as the euphoria flooded her, she felt as though her soul was plummeting, her energy draining; as quickly as the blossoming flame ignited, she felt it dwindling.

  Lost within herself, in the feeling of Bacclum stroking into her with wild abandon, she began to fight against whatever it was attacking her.

  When she heard Bacclum’s roar she forced her eyes open and glanced into his face, stunned.

  The muscles in his neck stood out starkly, the veins in his face and throat pulsating as he stared down at her, his eyes eclipsed red, his nostrils flaring. His arms were tightening on her, painfully constricting.

  He was the cause, the source of the drain she felt on her spirit.

  When one final, hard thrust slammed into her clenching heat, Dominique screamed, the orgasm completely engulfing her body even as her mind protested.

  “NO!” she screamed, fighting against his hold on her, sexually and spiritually. “Bacclum, stop…please, whatever you’re doing…stop.” She gasped the last plea even as she became drowsy, her body completely limp; her spirit drained, she slumped against him.

  Bacclum felt the demon within his own body take over as he plunged inside Dominique. The more she protested, the more he wanted…needed, to take her. Mark her as his. Take what she had. And then he would be satiated, full.

  He had to drain her, only then would he have the power needed to finally be able to claim what was his…

  Even as he felt her power infuse him, make him stronger, a part of him fought against what he was doing, fought against taking what he needed from her. Sweat dripped down his face in rivulets, obscuring his already compromised vision as he gazed down at her.

  Her long lashes fanned against the upper swell of her cheek, her pretty brown skin, her chest barely moving with her shallow inhalations. With each thrust inside her body, he continued to gaze down at her, his nostrils flaring, his breaths coming out in harsh gasps.

  The shadowy features of the others—those malevolent beings whose power he’d taken, beings who would have stopped at nothing to take his power had they been powerful enough to do so—superimposed over Dominique’s face, a face now a grayish pallor.

  She wasn’t like the others. Her power was not his to take.“Fuck!” He gritted out the expletive. “What…what have I done?” he whispered hoarsely, pulling out of her now limp body and bringing her close. With his renewed strength, a thought transported them away from the den and back into his domain within the room, his powers returning, stronger, enabling him to perform the magic easily.

  With guilt he realized his renewed ability had been at Dominique’s expense.

  Chapter Eight

  Her chest still heaved from the turbulence of her orgasm as she lay back against the pillows.

  “What…what happened?” she mumbled to no one in particular.

  “Don’t move. Rest,” she was told in a clipped voice.

  She turned her head swiftly to the side to find Bacclum in the dark room, and quickly regretted the action when the ache inside her head increased tenfold.

  Immediately she recalled what happened, the pull, the draining she’d felt and the strange lassitude, the need to give him what he wanted, whatever he wanted.

  Despite the pain in her head and the complete exhaustion she felt, she raised her body, grasped her amulet and pinned him with a glare.

  “Don’t fucking come near me.” She hissed the words and grasped the amulet. She felt a sense of triumph when energy surged into her.

  The very hairs on Bacclum’s arms were sticking straight up in response.

  “You manipulating, sneaky son of a bitch! God, how pathetic am I that I got so caught up in sex I didn’t realize what you were really after?” She shook her head, angry with herself as well as him. “You need my power.” She wrinkled her brow, her mind racing, trying to figure out why until it dawned on her. “You need my power to release you and something more.” She shook her head again in self-directed disgust. “And you were willing to kill me, drain me, do whatever it took to get it!”

  All along she’d known there was something he wanted from her. He hadn’t been able to hide it, when they’d linked, his entire life had been an open book to her, just as hers had to him. She had no one to blame but herself for ignoring what she knew to be true.

  “I would not have killed you,” he answered, quietly.

  “Oh no, then what?” she yelled, then stopped. She took a deep breath, the realization of what had nearly happened totally wiping her out. “Just stolen from me the very thing that makes me who I am?” she finished in a near whisper.

  As she voiced the question, something inside of her began to crack open the smallest bit. The part of her that had been kept quiet, and she’d always been afraid to explore. That part of her she’d always forced into submission.

  A part now screaming at her to be set free.

  His somber gaze was on hers, the dark rings around his irises dilating and eclipsing his entire eyes until they were fathomless orbs that raised goose bumps down her spine, and made her recoil from him in fright.

  His nostrils flared as he noted her action. He advanced on her, keeping his gaze locked on hers, and Dominique felt trapped, unable to move until he was on her.

  His gaze softened and with a sigh that seemed at odds with who she thought him to be, he gently sat down on the edge of the bed and carefully brought her body to his.

  She pushed against the hard planes of his chest to no avail. As strong as he was and in her current weakened state, it was like trying to move a mountain with a feather. Completely ineffective.

  “Yes.” The admission was given in a low voice. “I was willing to do whatever it took, take whatever I needed, to find my family. And, if that meant stealing your power, who you are, from you…”

  She pushed away from him and this time he allowed her the distance. She knew he ne
eded her to be released from the spell. The fact that there was something else he needed, something to do with his family, didn’t mean anything to her. She wouldn’t allow it to.

  She scooted to the end of the bed, keeping her eyes on him. “Well, you can forget it, buddy. You’ll have to kill me first,” she said, infusing as much power as she could behind the promise.

  Bacclum watched her as she spoke. She exuded power and sexuality in such hot waves that he simply wanted to grab her, take her, fuck her until all the anger and mistrusts were forced from her. It took all of his strength not to do just that.

  But, he knew the time for that was not now. He owed her explanations. Although she had read his memories and knew who he was, what he was…it was now time for him to tell her who he was. For him to let down his guard and open up to her.

  No easy task.

  “My father was the right-hand angel to Azrael, so to speak. He was the one who reported directly to the archangel, the one who acted as the liaison between the archangel and the other guardian angels.”

  As he began to speak, to tell her his story, he sensed that although her guard was still firmly in place, she began to relax a small bit.

  Her brow furrowed. “Wasn’t he the first Grigori created?” she asked, bending her knees and wrapping her arms around them. Because of her family’s ancestry, she knew of some of the history of the Grigori.

  “Yes, and he was the first to be made an Archangel,” Bacclum continued, encouraged by her receptiveness. He paused, wanting to explain it all to her, wanting her to understand why he’d tried to take her power from her, know why he had done—or almost done—this to her.

  “The Grigori were the choir of angels created to be the watchers of man. They were to be the ones who communicated to God what transpired on earth, to report disturbances by both man and demon alike. To simply guard, but never interfere.” He stopped.

  “But?” she prompted when he remained silent.

  “Imagine what it would feel like to be left, century after century, forgotten by your Creator and left to live in a place that wasn’t home. A place where you were forbidden to interact with other living beings. A place where you were forbidden to love,” he finally replied.

  “What happened? I know of the lore, but not all. I’ve often tried to find more information, but there are so many stories…”

  “The Grigori were created to be the gentler of the angels. Not warrior angels. When they began to mix with man- and womankind, and produced offspring, God grew angry and sent down the edict to not only destroy the Grigori, but all offspring of the illicit matches with man,” he said, his jaw clenching in anger.

  “My father was one of the first to be killed in the war. Before he was killed he hid my mother and I among the demons, those demons who had, during the great split, not taken sides in the celestial battle but had instead become neutral. I was young when it happened, and my mother died not soon after my father. After my mother’s death I was left alone, and the demon who raised me forced me out on my own as soon as the war ended.”

  As he told his story, Dominique heard the despair in his voice, the utter isolation, and her heart cried out for him. Even as she knew he would have, had he not stopped himself, completely drained her to find his family.

  He went on to tell her that for years he wandered the world, looking for any other survivors, either Grigori or Halflings such as he, to no avail. It was by chance that he happened upon a demon who told him that his father hadn’t been killed, that he’d been taken to a separate realm outside both heaven and earth, but then laughingly told him that as a mere half breed he didn’t have what it took to find his father.

  “I’ve spent every waking moment since that time trying to find him. Although I thought no one knew of what I was doing, the method I was using to gain power, they did. A guardian—a gargoyle named Octavius—was sent to watch me, to try and stop me from what I was doing. But nothing would stop me.”

  “Is that why you…why you tried to—” She stopped speaking, unable to continue. She felt his despair and even felt empathy for him, wondering to what lengths she would have gone through to find her mother if she’d been separated from her.

  “Yes.” He bit out the admission.

  Dominique closed her eyes and reached out to touch him. The moment she did, she saw what he’d done to try and get the power he needed. The many supernatural creatures he killed and whose power he drained until moving on to the next. She cringed as she saw his face, much as it looked as he thrust into her, flooded with intoxication with every kill.

  Bacclum inhaled a deep breath, but allowed Dominique “entry” into his mind. He knew that what he had done was horrific, the way he’d stolen power from those lesser beings at first, until he gained more and more strength and went after more powerful beings, otherworldly beings, demons, angels…it didn’t matter.

  When she finally broke off, she opened her eyes and stared at him. He turned from her, not wanting to see the condemnation in her eyes.

  She crawled over, saddling his thighs with hers, and forced him to look at her.

  “What I did…I’m not proud of—”

  “No, it wasn’t something to be proud of,” she said, brutal in her honesty, yet he saw the compassion in her eyes. “But, you never took from the truly innocent. Not purposely. The ones you stole from were not benign beings.”

  “No, in the end they weren’t. But, in the beginning I didn’t know any better. I took from good, bad, indifferent…it didn’t matter. I needed the power, got drunk on it until it consumed me. I stopped caring. Nothing was important but that I get what I wanted, what I needed.” He shook his head. “In the end I bit off more than I could chew…isn’t that how your generation says it?’ A humorless laugh tumbled from his lips.

  Dominique framed his face between her palms. “But you stopped yourself with me.”

  He stared at her, and whispered, “Just barely. I don’t know if I could hold out again.” The confession reached deep into her soul and Dominique wondered if she’d have the strength to stop him if he tried again.

  Chapter Nine

  After he had told her his story, Dominique had reached out to him, pulling him to her. Her fear that he would take her power hovered in the recesses of her mind, but she freely offered her body to him. Their lovemaking had been in direct odds with the fierce possession of before, his touch gentle as he made easy love to her.

  After her body had calmed, Dominique opened her eyes to find her head pillowed on his wide, muscled chest.

  She brought her fingers up to play with the dark sprinkling of hair covering one of his hard nipples, swirling her finger over and around the protrusion until it spiked and he groaned, his chest rumbling against her cheek.

  “You need to finish reading your father’s journal,” he said quietly into the room

  “No. I’ve learned enough,” she finally spoke, the euphoric feeling surrounding her evaporating at his request.

  “You must. If not, you will never find…release.” His phrasing was odd to her and she partially rose and stared down at the creature she knew, yet didn’t. His unfathomable expression disturbed her.

  “You read it then. I’m through with it!” The thought of finishing the journal, learning more about who her father was, was something Dominique dreaded, as much as she knew it was something she had to do, in order to learn who she was.

  “You have to do this, Dominique.” There was a short pause before he continued. “Stop being a chickenshit and read the damn journal,” he said, a deep scowl on his face, startling a laugh from her.

  “Where did you come up with that phrase?” She choked on a laugh.

  He gently tapped a finger against her temple. “I’ve been inside your mind. I’ve learned a lot,” he said, humor in his deep voice.

  Despite her reluctance to read the rest of her father’s journal, Bacclum had lightened the situation so that she no longer felt the heavy burdening weight of earlier. She raised a brow
when he opened his palm and the journal appeared. Although he hadn’t taken her magic, the link they now shared, which grew stronger with every sexual encounter, had given him some of his abilities back.

  She reluctantly accepted the journal while Bacclum adjusted them so that she was propped against him, her back to his chest.

  As she read, she was distinctly aware of Bacclum, so much so that she felt him in her mind as she read. The sensation was odd, yet strangely comforting.

  She continued to read. At the point she was now reading, it was obvious that Jean-Paul was utterly mad. Batshit crazy, to put it bluntly, she thought. She settled back and quickly scanned his scrawling print, reading how he believed the house had someone else living there with him.

  He wrote of the shadows that played along the walls at night, increasing so that he saw them during the day. At first he put it down to his imagination, until one of them spoke to him. At that point Dominique paused.

  She turned her head enough so that she could peer at Bacclum, her face scrunched into a frown. “Is that possible? Are there things, uh, creatures, other than you and the others, the demon and gargoyle here?” She was unsure how to continue. Bacclum had told her how the demon he’d captured had been a mistake, that he’d thought he’d conjured a malignant demon and had instead miscalculated and tangled with a much darker demon, one who had gone his own way, no longer concerned with the battle between heaven and earth.

  “Yes, there are other…occupants…of the mansion. Some visitors, others permanent residents.” She knew the permanent residents he referred to were the demon that bound him, along with his “guardian”, the gargoyle Octavius.

  At his claim, the feeling she’d had of late of being watched made her gut tie in knots.

  “When we were bound, remember, I had no idea who the demon was that bound us to each other, this place,” he reminded her. “It wasn’t until it was too late that I realized my mistake.”