by Anna Carven
Esania was so exhausted that she spent most of the time sleeping, but when she was awake, she and Sara talked, and she discovered there was a lot more to the human than what she’d thought. Sara was a stubborn, determined, deeply principled woman who hid her hopes and fears behind a half-serious mask.
They didn’t see Imril again until he suddenly appeared in the doorway the following afternoon, his expression stern, his golden eyes glowing with an intensity that made her insides melt all over again.
What had he been doing all this time? Hunting for their attacker?
“Ooh,” Sara whispered, her voice loaded with irony as she spoke in Modern Galactic, a language Imril definitely wouldn’t understand. “Look who’s come to visit. Your not-so-secret admirer. ”
Esania resisted the urge to elbow Sara in the side. She wasn’t used to being teased.
Imril gave them a pointed look, one golden eyebrow lifting in what might be amusement. He might not have understood Sara’s words, but he would have understood her sarcastic tone.
Imril ignored her, his golden eyes fixing on Esania. “Come with me.” His deep voice was as smooth as silk, threatening to drag her into its dark undertow.
“I’ve been summoned,” she said drily, trying to hide the thrill of anticipation that coursed through her. Following a winged Drakhin through a mysterious abandoned fortress wasn’t exactly her idea of exciting, but when it was Imril… anything could happen.
Esania rose to her feet and made her way across to where Imril stood. The wide doors stayed perpetually open now, and Imril had given them access to a winding stone staircase that led down into a small, overgrown courtyard where they could sit and enjoy the morning sunshine.
The rest of the fortress, however, was off limits.
Imril kept a safe distance from Sara, obviously not wanting to absorb even a wisp of her energy.
That quiet consideration surprised her a little. Clearly, there was more to this fierce Drakhin than just violence and hunger. He followed a certain set of morals.
They were safe… for now.
Esania nodded and followed him wordlessly, ignoring Sara’s curious stare as they left the room and navigated the winding corridors. They ended up a small, sparsely decorated chamber. To one side, a massive open window revealed an impressive view of the glassy lake. There was no glass in the window, just a stone arch through which a cool breeze flowed. The sun was beginning to set, infusing the afternoon light with a hint of crimson.
The room was utterly bare except for a large bed covered in rumpled white sheets that was shoved against a bare wall.
It was so different to their expansive chamber with its fancy ceilings.
Is this where he… sleeps?
Forbidden thoughts entered her mind. “What do you want, Imril?”
When he turned, there was something in his hands—a container of sorts. “Paint my wings.” A hint of a smile played across his pale lips.
“What?” Was she hearing correctly? He wanted her to paint him?
“This is nightblack. I made it from algae I scraped off the bottom of the lake. You need to coat my wings in the stuff until not a single area of bare skin remains.”
The thought of touching the thick, leathery membrane of his wings was strange, but… exciting. For the first time, she became aware of his outfit—a matt-black version of his scaly armor… or was it his original armor, painted? The contrast with his pearl-colored skin was striking. He looked like a character out of some ridiculous Earth film; an otherworldly Hell Knight.
A pale demon.
An emperor without an empire.
Only there wasn’t anything remotely ridiculous about him. “What’s this all about?” she asked.
“I’m going on a reconnaissance mission.”
“This has something to do with the one who attacked us yesterday?”
“I will handle him,” Imril said softly, his voice low and dangerously cold. “Do not worry about him, Esania. I won’t let him hurt you.” He flexed his wings. “Unfortunately, my unique coloring tends to stand out against the night sky. My wings are too visible.” He raised them and spread them wide, claw-tipped ends touching the walls on either side of the room. “This is camouflage.” He handed her the container, a small round box with a grey metal lid.
It was surprisingly warm to the touch. Esania opened it and found a blob of some sort of black greasy substance inside. “There’s no brush or applicator. How am I supposed to apply this? With my bare hands?”
“Your tongue would also be acceptable.” He smirked.
“That’s not going to happen.” She couldn’t stop the heat from rising in her cheeks.
“You do not take well to orders, do you, human?”
“Primean, actually,” she snapped, correcting him. “And no, I’m not used to taking orders from anyone.” It was one thing to lay down her pride and become food-on-tap for this powerful Drakhin, but to be at his beck and call as if she were nothing but a simple servant; to be summoned at his every whim, to be toyed with like this…
She was a Primean senator, used to wielding power. Could she really adjust to this new role, where the Drakhin saw her as inferior? The irony of wasn’t lost on her. All her life, she’d been treating humans as if they were some sort of lesser species.
That meant nothing here.
Calm down. Esania took a deep breath, reminding herself that Imril had helped her, had protected her, had kissed her…
Damn it. Bit by bit, he was wearing down her defenses.
“Primean, then,” Imril murmured, his lips curving into an almost-smile. Smug. All-knowing. In control. It infuriated her. “Do you care to enlighten me on what that is, exactly?”
“Does it even matter to you?”
He dropped the smug look then, his expression becoming perfectly serious. “Of course it matters. This is going to be a long-term arrangement, Esania. I need to know everything about you.”
“For your own amusement?”
He dipped his head, his expression softening. “I am sorry. The passage of time has spoiled me. Cynicism is a bad habit of mine. Please continue. I didn’t mean to upset you.”
When he apologized like that, going from asshole to sincere in a heartbeat, how could she be angry with him?
Esania took a deep breath as a warm feeling spread through her, right down to her bare toes. The words started to flow before she even realized what she was doing. “We consider ourselves a different species,” she said, reciting what she’d been told from day one. “Homo primus. We’re descended from humans, but we’ve inherited highly engineered genes that give us certain advantageous traits. We are smarter, stronger, less vulnerable to disease, and less prone to being influenced by emotion. We live longer. We heal faster. We are…” Superior. Esania trailed off as she realized how hollow her words sounded.
The Primean Manifesto was bullshit, and she knew it.
Imril stared at her intently as he brought his wings down, curving them around her. A pale, leathery cage. Or cocoon, depending on one’s point of view. “You are a made race, then?”
“You could say that.” Unnatural. That’s what Primeans were. They didn’t even reproduce the way nature had intended. They didn’t have sex, didn’t share intimacy with each other.
They thought they had transcended all that.
“Then we are similar, because I am a made creature too. Come now, Esania. The sun will set soon, and I need as much of the night as I can get. I have a lot of territory to cover.” Imril nodded at the container in Esania’s hands as she tried to understand what he meant.
Made creature. Huh.
How could something as perfect as Imril be made?
“You couldn’t just get Rau to do this for you?”
“I could have,” he said, that infuriating half-smile playing across his lips once again.
Why were there butterflies in her stomach?
What the hell… here goes.
In her heart of hearts, she wan
ted to do this.
Slowly, Esania dipped her finger into the nightblack and traced a line down Imril’s wing. The surface was warm, smooth, and slightly velvety, and to her surprise, touching his wing didn’t result in a sudden drain of energy from her body to his.
But he tensed, and she could see the bulge in his pants.
The thought of his arousal sent a little quiver between her thighs.
Slowly, methodically, she smeared the substance across his wing, painting everything black. Imril said nothing, simply content to watch her as she worked. His intense scrutiny had a strange effect on her.
Her breath caught. Her heart hammered. His scent swirled all around her. She inhaled deeply. His nostrils flared. Once again, she became aware of how big and masculine and imposing he was.
“Keep going.” His voice was hoarse.
Esania pressed her palm into the black goo, which was warm. “What am I doing here, Drakhin?”
“What do you think, Esania?”
She already knew the answer, yet part of her couldn’t believe she’d just said that. It felt wrong and yet oh-so right.
The nightblack slid over her hand like a second skin, and she rubbed it over Imril’s wing. It dried instantly, turning his pale skin obsidian.
“I think you’re confused,” she said, stroking the taut membrane of his wings. Her fingers slid over long bones that formed an elegant framework, and she marveled at how otherworldly he was.
“Oh?” Imril inclined his head, patient, half-amused, his golden eyes smoldering. Dangerous.
“Right now, you’re having a biological reaction to me. You probably never expected to feel this way about an alien.”
“I don’t care that you’re an alien, Esania. You’re my Source.”
She said nothing as she ran her hands over his wing, but her heart was hammering wildly.
“It’s not just the vir,” he murmured, his voice dropping to a near-whisper. He gave her that look again. All-knowing, all-powerful. His ancient eyes were filled with darkness and secrets.
“I don’t understand,” she whispered, running her fingers up and down his wing. “We can’t touch for too long because you might kill me, we can’t biologically reproduce, and we’re completely different species, from planets at different ends of the Universe. What do you want from me, Imril?”
“Are you sure you want to ask me that question?”
“I’m asking you, aren’t I?”
“One thing you should know about me, Esania. I don’t lie.” He leaned forward, both menacing and irresistible. “I want you.”
She stiffened. “You want the energy I give off. Everything else is… impossible.”
“Your body tells me otherwise.”
She tried to fight the heat in her cheeks, tried to fight the warmth surging between her thighs, but it was futile. Her body was in overdrive, her most sensitive organs throbbing with need. How could she ever deny him when he could literally read her emotions?
“Stop this. We’re different species, Imril. This is unnatural. Biologically, we can’t even reproduce. We’re not supposed to—”
“Forget logic, Esania. I can feel your vir. I can smell your arousal. You can’t hide anything from me. Right now, I want to strip you naked. I would burn your clothes right off your body if I could. I want to touch you. I want to feed from you. I want to explore your body, find out where that sweet scent is coming from, and devour it. I am aching to bury my cock inside you.” He raised an eyebrow. “I assume your anatomy permits such things?”
She stiffened as Imril’s words washed over her. This impossible male was taking advantage of her vulnerability, and she didn’t like that. The power imbalance between them was just too great.
But she couldn’t forget the way he’d held her with such possessive tenderness, even as he sucked the very life out of her.
She couldn’t forget their kiss in the forest.
She was attracted to a monster, and he knew it.
She wanted him to bury his cock inside her, but he would probably kill her.
What kind of fucking torture was this?
“What my body is or isn’t capable of is none of your business,” she growled, peeling her blackened hand away from his wing. “Maybe you should get Rau to finish this job. This is draining for me.”
You’re such a prude.
That’s what Sara had told her the other day.
You Primeans need to get rid of those sticks you’ve all got shoved so far up your asses. Life is a lot more interesting when you don’t take yourselves so seriously all the time. What is even the point of your civilization if you don’t know how to enjoy anything? And I mean that in the nicest way possible, ma’am.
Oh, Sara was definitely a lot more free with her tongue now that they weren’t trapped within the artificial plas-domes of the Serakhine.
“No,” he said softly, curving his wings a little more so there was no way she could back out. She was trapped. “Rest assured, Esania, I am not going to mindlessly fuck you as if I were some impulsive youngling. That I will not force upon you. Ever. But you are essential to my survival. I need your vir. That part is non-negotiable, Esania.”
“I’m under no illusions about that, Drakhin.” She closed her eyes. Still, his scent and his overwhelming presence surrounded her, filling her with a strange kind of madness. “I suppose I should be grateful to you for not trying to rape me or kill me.” Her voice cracked slightly—a little defensive, a little hurt. She, who had never ever conceived of having any sort of intimate relationship in her lifetime, was suddenly hoping that Imril would turn around and… what?
Set her free?
She couldn’t be his slave and his concubine. She just couldn’t.
Shit. Esania didn’t even understand her own emotions right now. Primean life hadn’t really prepared her for any of this. She didn’t know how to respond to… or initiate any sort of intimacy.
“Esania, I would not do any of those things. Ever.” Imril’s voice was a low rumble as he brushed his wing against her hand. He almost seemed offended. “You know what I desire. If you want this, there is a way.”
She stared at him, a little shocked. “A way we can… Without you killing me, you mean?”
“Yes. You would have to undergo a transformation. It will be painful, and the changes to your body would be permanent, but the benefits are obvious.” He smiled, revealing sharp, brilliant teeth.
This was a revelation to her, but Esania wisely kept her mouth shut and her expression neutral. “Oh,” was all she said.
“You only have to say the word, Esania.”
Oh. In that instant, something changed between them. The balance of power shifted. No longer were they just master and servant.
It was a lot more complicated than that.
Hiding her confusion, she reached into the pot of nightblack and coated her hand in the stuff. Slowly, deliberately, she rubbed it across Imril’s wing, and she was a little surprised that her hand wasn’t trembling. Inside, her heart was going into overdrive, her body into near-meltdown.
He wanted her.
He wanted to make this thing… permanent.
Your mate.
Why did those two words simultaneously blow her mind and terrify her?
And why did this act of rubbing warm black goo over pale, leathery wings feel so damn delicious?
“I… will consider it,” she said, trying her very best to sound nonchalant and failing miserably. Imril’s wicked smile told her that he’d seen right through her.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Esania stepped back, admiring her handiwork. Imril’s magnificent wings were now perfectly obsidian, with not a single patch of pale skin remaining. His pale skin, golden hair, and golden eyes contrasted so starkly with all the black, making him look like a beautiful demon.
There was no way anyone would mistake him for an angel, that was for sure.
“Happy now?” she asked, folding her arms. The job had appealed to her me
ticulous nature, and she’d spent a long time making sure everything was perfect, something Imril seemed to approve of.
The whole time, he was consuming a steady trickle of her vir, just enough that she could sense it, but for some reason, she wasn’t left feeling as drained as before. Maybe her body was adapting.
As she worked, Imril watched her with a smoldering gaze that radiated power and desire, and despite her earlier reservations, she couldn’t help but feel emboldened by his attention.
But not once did he lay his hands on her.
“Impressive,” he murmured, his voice a tantalizing rumble. “You are something of a perfectionist, aren’t you?”
“I was brought up that way.” She couldn’t deny it. “Primeans don’t accept compromise, and we don’t settle for second best.”
“We are alike in more ways than you realize.” Imril brought his wings down against his back, pulling them so close that they seemed to disappear into his obsidian armor. Before Esania realized what was happening, he took hold of her hands, which were both covered in dried nightblack.
“I assume this doesn’t just wash off,” she muttered, keeping perfectly still as he ran his thumbs over her blackened palms. The nightblack had dried, and she wondered if it was ever going to come off.
“Soft hands,” he said quietly, studying her long fingers. “Not a worker or a servant. You are intelligent, calculating. Someone who sits in a position of authority.”
Esania hoped the heat in her cheeks wasn’t showing. So he thought she was intelligent, huh?
“Just because I have soft hands doesn’t mean I’m not used to hard work. I serve my people, Drakhin.” Nothing could make her forget the countless hours she’d spent poring over endless datastreams of Earth law and Primean law as she formulated complicated legal arguments for the Senate.
That had been hard work.
As Imril’s scale-covered hands slid over hers, a pleasant shiver ran down her spine. His hands dwarfed hers, and yet he was oh-so gentle with her. What would it be like when they were together in bed, their bare bodies touching for the first time? “I know you serve your people, Esania, but you can’t deny that I’m right about you.”
