“To join me in the circle, you can’t be clothed.” I stated the fact as if I were reading a history book.
“I know.” He stood, kicked off his boots, grabbed the back of his T-shirt, and pulled it over his head.
My mouth dropped open.
His torso and arms were like nothing I had ever seen. Not in real life. Magazine covers maybe, but even those guys didn’t seem to compare…not to the High Demon King.
A tattoo coiled up the side of his upper body and onto one arm. I wasn’t expecting someone as controlled as him to have one. The black symbols of two flames set inside a triangle twisted into a gorgeous detailed pattern and crossed his heart to his shoulder. Twin flames. Probably representing his brother. Another symbol for fire twined down his torso, connecting the two together. I didn’t know what that one stood for, but they were both freakin’ sexy.
He cleared his throat, reminding me to return my attention to his face. A full smirk curved his mouth as he caught me ogling his body.
I rolled my eyes and looked over at the fire. What? I could appreciate an amazing physique, even if I didn’t like what was inside it.
He stripped off his trousers, causing energy to rush over my skin and tingle down my legs. Everything was taut and rigid from head to toe. Everything. My gaze dipped to the ground, but the need to see him was so strong, looking away was close to fighting gravity. My eyes traveled up, watching him slip out of his boxer briefs.
This was so surreal. Even a few hours ago, I would never have believed I’d be naked with the King of Dark fae, doing a blood ritual. And soon he would be drawing symbols over me with my blood, draining me until I was on the cusp of death.
Did I mention the gods and goddesses were horny, bloodthirsty, and deranged?
Lars grabbed the knife I’d stolen from Travil out of his boot. He smirked at it, then at me. Yes, poetic justice—he’d be using the knife on me I would have used on him.
Lars moved inside the circle, making my line of sight very problematic. “Sit. Please,” I grumbled, busying myself with lighting the last candle. “Are you ready?” I was formal on the outside, while everything inside was running and bashing into each other as though I was a burning house.
He got down on his knees next to me.
What was I doing? Was I really going to do this?
“I won’t let you die, Ms. Cathbad.” He tried to assure me.
“We’re sitting here naked, you’re going to slice me open, use my body as a painting canvas, and you still call me Ms. Cathbad?” My nerves shot out a snappy laugh. “I think we can drop the formality.”
“On the contrary.” His gaze dipped down my body, his voice gruff, sending fire through me. “Even more of a reason to keep it.” His eyes went back to mine, holding my gaze.
He was right. In that moment I needed to hold on to any bit of convention and reserve I had left. It reminded me this was just a means to an end for him. I was not a person but an instrument to get what he wanted.
I nodded and held a candle out for him. The metal glinted as he ran it through the flame. It was part of the ritual to purify the knife. It cleaned the weapon, but the heated metal cutting into flesh would be even more excruciating.
“Once the circle is closed, the ritual will start. You have any questions?” I pulled my hair over one shoulder, gripping the last candle as if I wanted to strangle it to death.
“No.”
“You act like you do this all the time.”
He tilted his head.
“Seriously?” I exclaimed.
His lips parted, showing his perfect white teeth. “No.”
“Shite, I was starting to think this was what you did to relax.”
“Minus the ritual and blood.” He lifted one eyebrow. “It is.”
I stared at him, trying to decipher if he was teasing.
“However, I do like it the old-school way,” he said evenly, but I had no doubt what he meant.
My lids shut, swallowing roughly. My body wanted to follow the old ways too, while everything else in me screamed to be revolted by the thought. He was my sworn enemy. The man I spent years plotting to take down. Except I wasn’t revolted by the idea, which made me more agitated.
“Let’s get this over with,” I snarled, lighting the last candle and setting it in place, the ring around us complete. I took a deep breath and lay down, closing my eyes. A hum developed in the back of my throat before the chant stepped off my tongue, snapping my magic in place.
I had never done this level of a ritual, but I heard it was extremely painful, and potentially fatal.
Couldn’t we go to a pub and have a beer instead?
Chapter Sixteen
Lars
Flames reflected in the blade I was holding as though I was about to slice into this creature with fire. Her magic swirled within the circle, stimulating my skin. Every part of me was aroused.
Druid magic was powerful, but it had never affected me as hers did. Whether it was because she was so powerful or because of her use of black magic, the sensation unsettled me deeply.
Music hummed from her like a song, as she called to her ancestors and the gods to help her create the link to the cauldron. Her forehead glistened with the first signs of power being siphoned from her. A few strands of her hair stuck to it, and I had this odd longing to brush them back.
No. I didn’t; the demon did. I furrowed my brow, not understanding this reaction. The demon did not care about being kind. It wanted power. To kill and fuck. That was it.
For the first time tonight, I really let myself look at her. She was so petite. Granted, she had a full ass, but she was flat and bony everywhere else. Not the type of woman I would ever be attracted to.
Aisling hadn’t been curvy either, but I’d found perfection in her tall, lean body. I had craved her like a fiend, and I showed my appreciation to her body.
Fionna’s long, shiny brown hair twisted down the side of her neck, covering one breast. Her arms were down by her sides, and her legs parted in a relaxed position.
Usually I didn’t even blink seeing a naked woman; most of the time I hardly noticed. Fae were all about being unclothed. She was no different. So why am I noticing her as if I have never seen a naked woman before?
Fionna’s words popped against my chest, drawing my attention back to her face. The corners of her eyes wrinkled in pain, her chant building aggressively, as the rising of magic pulsed out of her.
“Now.” She opened her eyes, breaking from the Latin.
Gripping the knife, I hovered it at her wrist. Her perfect ivory skin would be forever marred by this level of ritual.
“Do. It. Now,” she gritted out.
The blade dug into her fragile skin and slid in a straight line, blood pooling out from the deep trench. Perspiration trickled down into her hair. Her jaw ground together, and a slight hiss seeped between her teeth. Then she started her chant again, her voice thick.
If I were any other man, I might feel guilty for doing this to her, but I wasn’t. Too much was at stake.
I cut three curved lines, creating the Awen symbol, the mark for inspiration or spiritual illumination, used by Druids. Harmony between feminine and masculine. Blood leaked from the wounds, merging with each other. I repeated the same procedure on the other arm, her life essence dripping out of her onto the floor.
Her nose flared, tears leaking from her closed eyes. I had to give it to her; she did not cry out, but used the pain to fuel her spell.
Dipping my finger in the blood, I brought it up to her chest. The moment my skin touched hers, a blast of energy surged through my veins, bringing my body to life.
Fionna gasped, her back arched, and her chant stopped the moment I touched her.
The sexual charge spun my head, forcing me to gasp for air. My body’s reaction was instant. I had been aroused before, but I could ignore it and think about something else. Now I throbbed, hard as steel. A sudden desperation to use her for release was excruciating.
> Over the years, I had become schooled in my reactions and responses. My body did not overpower my will, no matter the pain, sexual need, or magic twisting it. Except tonight. The intensity was nothing I had ever felt. I had to close my eyes for a few moments to regain domination, my demon demanding to act on the impulse, to spread her legs more...
I growled. My desire for power had always kept me in order, even with Aisling. I had let go of myself with her the most, but never enough to misplace my need for power. It was the reason I lost her. However, whatever platform I stood on before was tilting, forcing me to scramble to stay on.
Swallowing, I began to paint another symbol over Fionna’s stomach, her breath deepening at every trace of my finger. With the spell in place, she only hummed softly to herself now, probably to distract herself from the pain as her blood flowed freely onto the floor.
I brushed her hair off her shoulder, needing to paint the cauldron symbol on her heart, to tell the goddesses and gods what she most desired. Lightly I guided the tip of my finger over her heart, her nipple hardening under my touch. She huffed, nipping her bottom lip, sending another dose of hunger through me and clotting my brain.
My skin was damp with sweat, the contact with her only raising the intensity instead of lessening it. Each time I painted a symbol on her legs, chest, or arms, my muscles became tenser and tenser until they were shaking. Want. Now. Take. The demon howled inside, jumping up and down frantically.
“Fuck,” I whispered to myself, my jaw aching from crunching it together.
The humming stopped, snapping my gaze to Fionna, our eyes locked. The demon went berserk.
Lust.
Need.
No. Unbearable need.
She no doubt was feeling the same. Her pupils dilated fully with desire, her chest rising and lowering in shallow breaths. Her lips parted in moans as I turned my attention to her hip, painting a goddess symbol on one, the god mark on the other.
Logic shut down, and I stared absently as my fingers moved lower, trailing softly down to her inner thigh. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Fionna’s head dig into the floor, her lashes fluttering closed, her back arching in pleasure.
What are you doing? Stop.
But I didn’t.
Both my palms flattened on her soft skin, skating down the outside of her hips, opening her up a little more to me. I licked my lip realizing I wanted to taste her, to savor her climax on my tongue.
Yessss, the demon hissed while a voice in the back of my head was hollering at me, trying to warn me. I couldn’t make out the words or understand anything except my lust.
Her moans turned to piercing wails. Pain. Torture. Pleasure. “Oh gods…please….” Her cries jumbled with pleas. “End this…please…it-it hurts…” Her nails dug into the floorboards, her body bucking against my touch, her legs opening wider for me. Her blood heaved out of her body, turning the small ponds into pools. “Please…Lars…n-now.”
We couldn’t stop or it would all be for nothing. Not that I even could if I tried, a power taking over me, one I was completely helpless with.
My hands wouldn’t stop caressing and smearing more blood over her body. Her shrieks seemed to only incite me to keep going. Greedy to keep touching her, to know every inch, I traced slowly over her stomach to her breasts. Every slip of my skin against hers created a greater desire roaring through my veins. I groaned, feeling heat spread up my torso. I wanted to fuck her. Deep and unrelenting.
Her back arched higher, her head tilting back, her lids shut, tears running down her face.
“Fionna…” Her name came from my lips with ravenous desire. I had never wanted to be inside someone more than I did her. A simple touch and I felt I was about to explode. Her legs spread to let me crawl between them, her body stilling as I slid over her. She let out a whimpering moan, then went quiet.
Her blood coated both of us similar to a Pollock painting. Being drenched in her blood only turned me on more. My cock was right at her entrance, only one word from her and I would thrust into her.
“Fionna.” Her first name once again fell from me with ease. She did not respond, and an alarm went off in my gut. I clasped my hands around her face. Even covered in blood, she was astonishingly beautiful. “Fionna?”
Nothing.
I sat back on my heels with a roar, my body straddling hers. “Fionna! Wake up.” I shook her, her body moving limply.
“Fuck!” I bellowed, fear clawing up my throat. I leaned over, plastering my ear to her heart.
Silence.
“No. No. No. No!” I had told her I wouldn’t let her die. I practically promised. I needed her. She couldn’t die on me. My hand swept up her wrists, closing the wounds with my limited healing powers. Druids were by far better, but being King did come with perks.
My palms went to her chest, pushing in, encouraging her lungs to start working again. Sometimes basic CPR was the only solution. I could not bring people back from the dead, no matter what energy I drove into them, because I might overdo it and fry her.
My arms pumped three times, and I leaned over to cover her mouth with my own. A faraway realization was Rez was the last person my lips had touched. And in the last year of our relationship, it became very infrequent. Our relationship turned more formal and comfortable in our roles than passionate. All the other women, I did not kiss. That was my rule.
Tilting her head back, my mouth came down on hers. Her soft lips crushed against mine.
As if I kissed an electrical fence, a volt passed through me, jolting me back with force. My ass hit the floor, crashing through the circle we created, bursting the spell like a balloon. My head cleared, logic and understanding cleaning out the haze as though a hose had blasted through my brain.
Fionna shot up. A scream ripped from her mouth as though I peeled back her skin like string cheese. It raked over my bones similar to chains while chills sprouted up my back.
The cry died away from her lips as she gasped for air, her eyes wild and bright. Blood covered every inch of her, knotting her hair in clumps as if she were a wild beast.
Our eyes found each other’s. We both stayed that way for several moments trying to take in what had just happened and at a loss for words to describe it. Okay, I was at a loss for words. Fionna looked down at her wrists then the blood staining the wood floor, her voice shaky and soft.
“I wouldn’t count on getting your deposit back.”
Chapter Seventeen
Fionna
Bloody hell.
It was the only thing I could respond with. My brain couldn’t seem to stop looping, repeatedly.
I had been completely unprepared for it. Practices like this were mostly instinct now, and growing up with a witch, not a Druid, my knowledge of them was even more limited. They weren’t something you found in books. What I did learn about blood rituals was only a glimpse of what my body and mind went through. Pain. Yes. Someone cutting into your flesh was excruciating, but it wasn’t the kind of pain that overwhelmed me. That would have been too easy. A lot less cruel.
Every touch from Lars was so intense and pleasurable it hurt like nothing I had ever known. It became torture. Blinding agony. As though someone was burning me alive inside—and the only thing that would quash the flames was sex. Endless, brutal, consuming, sex. And I’d wanted it from just him. My pleas to him were not to end the ritual or my life but to stop the burning inside. To take me.
The goddesses and gods were truly arseholes.
“I’m starting to understand the group orgy thing at the end,” I muttered to myself, not able to fully look at the demon. It was still too raw and new. Even though the spell broke and the crushing need had fled along with the pain, it wasn’t completely gone. If the blood caking my skin didn’t already make me feel dirty, the sensations still flittering inside did.
“Did it work?” Lars cleared his raspy throat. I looked up to see he was smeared in my blood from head to toe. I felt a strange intimacy with him.
I pu
lled my knees to me, staring at the fresh weeping scars on my wrists. “Yes.”
He moved quickly, sitting up. “What did you see? Where did they tell you it was?”
It happened so fast, just glimpses flashing in my brain. A tall lean man in a robe holding a thick tree branch for a cane stood on a cliff too far away to see his face. A river cut through breathtaking landscapes. Rocky green dramatic mountains, the cloudy sky patching the earth in shadows and light. Screaming and death. Pain from the victims pulled me down into the dirt. A small village, gravestones, a cave with a large keyhole opening.
Then the images broke.
I knew the exact place.
“Scotland.” I licked my lips, tasting the tang of blood. “The Highlands.”
“That is vague. It showed you more than that.”
“Glencoe.” I rubbed at my head, my fingers sticking to the strands. “Near the village, I think. That’s all it showed me.”
He stared at me for a long time, assessing whether I was lying. I challenged him, my eyes never leaving his.
“Go get cleaned up,” he ordered, getting to his feet. “We’ll leave in the morning.” He turned and leaned over to grab his high-tech mobile phone out of his jeans pocket.
It felt odd to see my blood covering his perky arse. I did not like it. Not the way my stomach dipped or the way my thighs tightened. It was too personal. This was not a feeling you wanted with your sworn enemy.
Stiff and achy, I got to my feet. The pulse in my wrists pounded against my tender flesh, but the pain was distant, as though it had been numbed. I scaled the stairs, heading to where I figured the shower was, breathing for the first time since “waking up.”
I had been on the cusp of death, walking the high wire, falling over. I’d felt the peace and quiet of it. Then it flipped, as though someone shoved a thousand volts in me, and unbelievable agony flooded my body along with the images of places I knew.
The Fall Of The King (Lightness Saga Book 3) Page 11
