Aisyx - Christmas Preview

by Poppet

  Shaking, erupting, I force my eyes open to kiss apology on her lips, “I'm sorry.” It comes out coarse and chaffed, a beastly grunt.

  Wide alarmed eyes stare up and into me, “Nada hurt you?”

  Oh god, please can I keep you?

  It makes me laugh, shattering the potency, vanquishing the guilt. “Oh baby. Never, just not possible.” Still rigid on my arms, so afraid to hurt the delicate goddess, I beseech her with my tone, “Did I hurt you?”

  “Ne. Ees hot and hard, Nada feel it move... here.”

  She shows me her curvaceous stomach with its lean muscles and... no belly button. She has no navel!

  Holy fuck, she can feel my orgasm as it courses into her? That's awesome.

  “I apologize. I should have spent far more time in foreplay but you just feel so damn good... and I've been single too fucking long... and...”

  Two soft hands clamp my face, pulling me down, warm precious lips pushing fervently into mine, “Feel good!” Her jubilance is contagious, and I wonder why the fuck I worry so much.

  Chapter 4

  Ryan:

  Arms folded, every instinct yelling at me to abscond and go after Phoebe, I'm stuck staring at the demon sitting opposite me in the privacy of my quarters.

  “Ryan, I know this is a difficult situation for you–”

  “It's not difficult, it's so simple a child could fathom it. Phoebe's in danger and you've decided to assist a vampyre in destroying her, and by default that action will impact this entire planet.”

  “It's unlike you to wallow in melodrama,” he says, with a shit eating smile.

  The problem with Arsay is he's possibly the most powerful and dangerous being on the planet. It's suicide to cross him. I would be an idiot to entertain the thought, but right now I'm seriously considering doing just that.

  Like all demons his hair is black, his skin the hue of almond flesh, and his eyes vary between being utterly missing, to having eyeballs which are completely black, sometimes with blue irises, without pupils.

  I've known him most of my life as he tends to circulate through the supernatural world like a warlord, as if to remind us of his presence and his ever vigilant surveillance. In fact, he's got eyes everywhere. He knows things no one could know, but somehow he always knows the most private of thoughts and the most clandestine of actions. It's left a doorway open in the curiosity aisle, in a store of mysteries. This male is more than he pretends to be, which is why I know I need to stay put if he tells me to stay put.

  However, the heart I left on Phoebe's neck is screaming through my insides with anxiety. I'm linked to her emotions and it's killing me experiencing what she's going through.

  Sitting here, staring at the almighty superpower, all I want to do is stand up, tell him to go to hell, and go after her. I wonder if anyone's ever crossed Arsay? If they did, they did not live to tell anyone about their victory. That would be a negative then.

  It's unlike me to wallow in melodrama. This isn't melodrama, it's a damn war.

  Sitting forward, trying in vain to keep my body from combat mode, I give my adversary the same foreboding smile, “Arsay, spit it out.”

  Either way it's going to be venomous.

  “How much do you know about the vampyres?” he asks, standing, strolling to look out the window, stopping there with his hands linked behind his back, his stature enormous and proud.

  “You're going to have to be more specific if you expect an answer.”

  Still with his back to me, he says, “What does Phoebe have which Arelstin does not?”

  “Well for starters they are opposite in gender–”

  “That means you do not know why he took Phoebe,” he cuts me short, turning slightly to peer at me out the corner of his eye.

  It's ominous.

  Flopping back heavily into my chair, I lift my hands, “Then by all means put me out of my ignorance.”

  “She has a spirit. He has no spirit.”

  “That wasn't a problem with Seithe. He never hurt her.”

  Turning to face me fully, his eyebrows quirk, “Didn't he? How would you know? Perhaps he did more harm than good.”

  It sounds like an authoritative statement.

  Pausing before speaking, I consider those words. This gives me reason to think that this isn't about Phoebe at all. This is really a lesson for Arelstin, not Phoebe.

  “Where is she?” I pry, needing the intel.

  “Somewhere isolated and cold.”

  “That could be anywhere.”

  He swivels to look at me with a cruel smirk, “Precisely.”

  “And what happens if I go after her anyway?”

  “Reese has permission to use lethal force if necessary. You will remain here until you are given the all clear signal. Until then Ryan, you will do as you're bid.”

  “Where do you get your authority from? There's too much you leave unsaid and hidden, Arsay.”

  Everything about this demon is circumspect.

  Inhaling heavily through his nose, he gives me a curt nod, “I'll be taking my leave now. Don't be a hero. A dead hero is of no use to anyone.”

  He turns back to the window and walks through it, vanishing in a dramatic light flare and gradual dissipation.

  A polite cough behind me draws my focus.

  “What is it Reese?” I snap, kneading my temples to alleviate the mounting pressure.

  “I beg your pardon sir, but I'm to keep eyes on the target at all times.”

  By target, he means me. A prisoner in my own home. Fucking fabulous. This is a ridiculous charade which I should be meeting with lethal force of my own. “Well isn't this just nirvana. All we're missing are the rioting villagers and this hell would be complete.”

  “Sir, Arsay didn't tell you everything.”

  Exhaling annoyance, I look at the general of my task force, “Sit down. You may as well begin by filling the uncomfortable silence, before I start releasing my ire physically.”

  “Arelstin got to Božena. He drank from her neck while she slumbered.”

  “So?” From what Arsay just said that's not an issue.

  He clears his throat awkwardly, “Sir, Phoebe is different. Seithe somehow knew it and taught her in such a way that she believed the rules he applied to her apply to all humans, when in fact this is not accurate. It's unique to Phoebe. Her sisters are easily drained of light by a vampyre.”

  And the suggestion Arsay hung in my home makes sense. It's a gift from her, but robbery and violation when it comes to others.

  “I see,” is all I say, indicating for him to continue.

  “He absorbed a substantial portion of Božena's light.”

  “How's that?” I frown, the alpha in me rising up strong.

  “He doesn't need to go after Zaria, one because she's pregnant, and two - because Phoebe has Zaria's light already in her. All of it. He only needs Phoebe now, so you need not worry for Zaria.”

  He speaks as if Phoebe's predicament is inconsequential, and that alone ignites my rage. However, what he says has merit.

  It is true because Venix and myself replenished Zaria of light because she surrendered her plyx to Phoebe when Seithe died. I am aware that Božena managed to turn Darise into a mortal when Phoebe requested it. That may be the common denominator, Phoebe is the eldest and inherently contains the authority of the eldest – as an elder. How intriguing.

  Although, Reese just betrayed himself with a loose tongue and overactive ego.

  “Reese, you speak like a traitor. How would you know what Arelstin's intentions are?”

  “Ryan, my king, I am in possession of intel which goes beyond this day and this situation. For lack of a better term, I'm a bit of a mercenary for the other side.”

  “You're fired,” I snap, standing, pointing at my door. “Pack your things and fuck off, before I have you forcefully evicted.”

  “I am afraid I cannot do that until I complete this mission, sir.”

  He says sir with a good dose of sarcasm.r />
  A heavy silence falls between us, thick with antagonizing friction. I'm so close to going ballistic. Nothing about this situation is right.

  He gives me a cold smile, “Did you really think I'd leave you high and dry without backup? Ryan, I found a loophole in their master plan. We may not be allowed to go after Phoebe, but we have someone who can. Someone Arelstin will never question.”

  With my fists clenched tightly in silent aggression, I manage to breathe gutturally, “Who?”

  “Sir, please sit down. Let me start at the beginning...”

  *

  Zauran:

  Sweating bullets, I phone Sveta.

  “Da?” he snaps on answer, obviously being disturbed.

  “Brat, we have a major shitfest to clean up. If Ryan hears about this we're dead! Stripped of alpha status and more than likely ostracized.”

  “Why?” he says, his tone all business and suppressed alarm.

  “Someone filmed us tonight. We're exposed! The entire supernatural community is exposed! It's on Bootube and Zaria was ready to feed me my own heart when I got home because she's the one who saw it. How the hell do we get it taken down before the sniffers get wind?”

  “Sheeeeyit! Fuck Zauran, dude, the manure doesn't get any deeper than that. You're the alpha in charge of Belgrade. This happened on your watch, bro. Your neck is on the chopping block for sure.”

  “Shut up, Sveta! I didn't phone you so you could reinforce how bad this is. I know how bad it is! How do we get that movie off Bootube?!”

  “I might know a guy, but it'll cost you.”

  “Do it!” I snap, disconnecting and fighting the urge to smash my phone.

  *

  Zarak:

  Slumping on the leather chair facing the bed, swirling the Pyrolic in the balloon glass heating with a blue flame dancing across the red liquid, I stare at the woman wallowing in the depths of my subconscious.

  It tickles subliminally while my bed fondles her in the ghostly subterranean deep of her euphoric slumber. I just can't help myself, I want to hear her scream my name if only in her dreams.

  Knocking the heels of my boots together, brewing and stewing, I watch the bed in moody introspection.

  I kissed her. Why the hell did I wait this long to kiss her? She left Douglas behind seven years ago and went straight to Arelstin. I've screwed her before as a method of dominance and rehabilitation, but despite what I feel I have never held her tenderly or touched her the way I did tonight. Tasting her tongue sliding across mine was a delicacy not to be enjoyed once, but over and over again, for lifetimes.

  My obsession is back where she belongs. Staring at the unfocused pupils framed with red and ice-blue irises, fathoms below swirling plasma, my nerves ratchet.

  She's sedated while I top up on fury, compliments of the pyre potion we drink on a regular basis. I tap an impatient finger on the armrest, pondering the dilemma locked in the fiery ethereal stasis. A shift in the air current steels my attention and I launch out of the chair to face the incomer.

  “Good, you have her. Keep her here until I release the key,” he says.

  Glowering my dislike at the six foot six pipsqueak, I nod, not trusting myself to speak.

  “Zarak, you know the agreement. We have to set her free and all that entails, just as soon as we manage to get the knights to fall.”

  I will never free her. You had her for years, what about me? Huh? What the fuck about me?

  “Don't lose yourself to the illusion, Zarak. You must remain vigilant.”

  “Screw you, Guardian. Everyone's had a turn, when's mine?”

  “Demons do not get a turn, Zarak.”

  Squaring up, gripping the balloon chalice so tight the flames are licking over my fingers in virile violet heat, I swallow the chyme rising up my throat. “Angels shouldn't, but Guardian we all know how the fairer farce chose to bend the rules when it suited them. It's my turn to bend the rules.”

  Shatter them, crack the codex, smash the oath, and unravel the parchment.

  Fucking hypocrite. The flock mirror the madness of their liege.

  Unperturbed he strolls up to me, flicking his copper gaze at the bed, betraying their history in the motion. Halting in front of me he looks up, “Can she hear us?”

  “What do you think?” Annoyed, I toss the burning fluid into the chasm of my mouth, slaking my ire with a burn so cold it blackens. Refreshed, gritting my teeth to the nth degree of severing my jaw muscles, I reengage his arrogant visage. “You expect me to control what you never could, yet where is my reward?”

  He hyenas a mocking laugh into the silence of my cavern, “You've been here too long. The rewards are not physical.”

  “You expect me to abandon the treasures by fooling myself I'm waiting for paradise? You're more of an idiot than I gave you credit.”

  “Don't be stupid, Zarak.” It's a mercurial threat.

  Blinking, looking within and without I drop the glass and punch my hand into his chest, splaying talons through his heart, “Feel that, Sir?”

  He gasps, capillaries cracking open over the alabaster wasteland of his immortal face, “Yes.”

  “That's physical, Guardian. We're physical. We're omnipotent immortal beings. We're a contradiction of terms and I get as much of a high playing with the neuron fields as you do. Now fuck off out of my home and only bother me if you have an order.”

  “An order...” he mulls, pretending the charred ciphers piercing his heart aren't hurting like a motherfucker suckled by Vlad's toothpicks.

  “I'm the riddle you have yet to solve,” I hiss into his sleazy face. Dismissing my nemesis, I blast him off my hand and into the brotherhood corridor. Lifting the blood slicked hand I proffer the middle finger at his receding energy signature. “Fuck you... Sir.”

  Sneering, the rage gauge churning my blood pops under the Kelvin of my stress, billions of pathetic years of flaccid patience have just expired.

  Snapping to the bed, wiping the blood off my hand, I broil the surface, vomiting Ellindt out of the sac and onto the liquid fabric, watching the birth of the goddess in her party dress with smug self-indulgence.

  Diving in, splashing through the scarlet creed woven from my dreams and eons of seethe I grip her hair and roll with her, the act that of a crocodile disorienting its prey.

  She mentally surfaces, lucid eyes widening with her mouth, yawing a terrified screech at me.

  The call of the vampress sulfurs my skin, prompting an everburning fire to ignite. Her eyes morph to red, matching my own... my baby's come home.

  “Fight me or die.” I release her, giving her three seconds to hightail it out of the trap. She looks around, the seconds fester, atrophy, terminating before she's moved. Gripping slender arms with all claws, I smile, “Too late. Die it is.”

  She head-butts me out of instinct, managing to make my nose throb. In retaliation I noose my arm around her neck and squeeze.

  Her choking wheeze bangs logic into my thick skull but before I can loosen the hold she's managed to vanish, reappearing at the far end of the vacuous underground sanctuary.

  She can't escape without my permission, bonus.

  “Why? Why the hell do you always want to hurt me?!” shrieks in a hollow echo back to me.

  I'm still finding my balance to climb out of the bed but her question stalls me. Why indeed.

  Stalking out of the diaphanous grotto with deliberate aggression I slowly troll toward her, flexing when I walk just to throw my weight around, because I can, and because her question pisses me off.

  I say as much, “Because your adherence to blind devotion irks my waning patience.”

  I'm 7'2 in diminutive form and built like a dimetrodon, she's 5'9. I want to visually remind her fighting me is a bad idea even though it kindles the chemistry always floating latently between us, whether she acknowledges it or not.

  It's ever present like kerosene waiting for a spark.

  Menacing, tense, every muscle aching with ire, my blood pressure gushi
ng through the mitral valve of my heart, I thunder to her with rage hardening my lips and yanking my brows down. “Because you are mine. Are you deaf, Ellindt? Or simply in denial?”

  “I am not yours!”

  “You're a trusting, gullible, idiot,” I spit.

  I halt in my advancing because I don't trust my volatile temper after I've been drinking Pyrolic.

  The temptress flicks long wavy hair behind her shoulder, so angry the veins are cording either side of her neck while blistering eyes skewer me with silver fire. “In what universe, Zarak? Tell me how your deranged head worked this out because from my perspective all you've ever done is treat me like your convenient all access whore!”

  That snaps my gossamer control and I launch across the remaining distance, body slamming her into jagged rock, pressing into her neck with my forearm harshly up in her throat, “You are so fucking thick. You're half angel and you can't figure it out? Tell me why you chose Arelstin when you had the choice?”

  Wheezing, her eyes water when she mouths a strangulated squeal, “Love.”

  Disgusted I cast her to the left, watching her stumble before smudging across the chamber to the opposite side.

  “Love?! Ellindt for fuck's sake, give me a break! Don't you get it yet? Arelstin is your physical guardian, and I...” I drum my thumb against my chest so hard it bangs a hollow resonance into the tension arcing between us, “I am your spiritual guardian. Spirit wins, Ellie!”

  Stroking her throat, she gasps, “What?” Her head tilts like a child examining its first rainbow, staring at me with vivid eyes pulsating vibrance.

  The precious frown furrowing her brow makes her look instantly docile and vulnerable. It makes me want to hold her, cradle her, kiss her worries away.