by Tara West
After Evander escorted Marcello out of the throne room, Milas left, glaring at frightened servants while storming down the hall and taking the stairs to Demendia’s dungeon. This was all her fault. If she hadn’t been a second-rate mage, that Fae bitch wouldn’t have stolen their life water. Now they were both fucked, and he intended to make Demendia pay for her carelessness. He wouldn’t attack the mage physically, for her magic could still do him harm. He’d do something far worse. He was going to break her heart by fucking her servant.
MILAS FOUND THE OBJECT of his desire, Demendia’s demure slave, Sylvia, whose jasmine scent tempted him the moment he entered the chamber. She jumped up from her cot when she saw him and straightened her coarse gown, eyes turned down.
“I didn’t mean to startle you, child.” He crossed the room with long, urgent strides, his cock hardening to iron as her scent assaulted his senses. “Where is your mistress?”
She nodded at the pit, where low snores resonated through the cavern. “With her dragons, My King.”
“How old are you, girl?” He reached for her. His cock throbbed when she yielded, her lithe body bending toward him while she placed a slender hand on his chest.
“Why do you care?” Demendia shrieked behind him.
He hadn’t heard her approach, but he was no longer concerned. He held up a silencing hand. “How old?” he asked the girl again.
“Sixteen, My King.”
So young, so sweet. Her pussy would be tight and wet, unlike Demendia’s dried up, and crusty, hollowed out gourd. He dragged knuckles down her smooth cheek. “You’re sleeping in my chamber tonight.”
Demendia let out a shriek that sounded part dying cat and voracious dragon as she jumped between them, pushing Sylvia onto the cot. “You would be unfaithful to me?”
“I have needs, Demendia, and you will be too busy getting the dragons off the ground to attend to me.”
Her eyes dripped black ink. “I will make time.”
“Because of you, I have no life water.”
That startled her. “What?”
“Our plot failed. The Defenders came to her aid.”
“Ergor?”
“Dead.”
She poked him hard in the chest. “You’re blaming this on me when you let that bitch Fae sleep in your bed.”
He smacked her hand away. “Yes, I’m blaming you. Your spell was weak.”
Nostrils flaring, she growled like a dragon. “My spells are anything but weak.”
The scent of jasmine hit him again, and he could hardly focus on anything beyond screwing the girl, Demendia’s wrath be damned.
He pushed the mage to the ground. “I’ve grown tired of fucking you. I need a girl, someone I can control.” Smiling at Sylvia, he held a hand down to her.
She raised a shaky hand, then snatched it back when Demendia jumped to her feet.
“You sick bastard!” she screamed, charging him with fingers curled into claws.
“Go ahead, I dare you.” Raising his sword, he aimed it at her heart, knowing he took great risk, not only with Demendia’s magic, but with her dragons. He didn’t care.
Demendia backed down, slumping in defeat, and he held a hand out to the girl once more. “Come. Tonight you have the honor of servicing your king.” His chest swelled with pride when she slipped her slender hand in his. He’d done it! Soon, he would be buried inside her, and he would hopefully sate his long-suppressed desires.
He escorted her from Demendia’s chamber, one eye trained on the mage should she attack them with a spell. By the time they reached the outside tunnel, his cock ached so badly, he thought he would spurt the moment he slid inside the pretty servant. How did this girl make him so hard? Was it her jasmine perfume or was it simply that she wasn’t Demendia? His love life hadn’t just grown stagnant, it had become unbearable. What was the point of living forever if he couldn’t enjoy a good fuck?
“If you do well,” he said as they walked up the narrow stairs, “I shall reward you. If you disappoint me, I will let Demendia feed you to the dragons.”
JUST AS EVANDER HOPED, the king had retrieved Sylvia from Demendia’s chamber. Her idea to triple the Allura potion had worked. The entire castle smelled so strongly of the jasmine odor, even his dick had involuntarily hardened, though the spell had been directed at the king. So far their plan was working perfectly.
“Evander!” The king hailed him with a broad smile. “There you are.”
Sylvia’s spell was more powerful than ever to have the mad human king smiling so. He had to know he’d die soon without his life water, yet he didn’t seem to care.
“Forgive me, My King.” Evander stepped in front of him, bowing. “What you do with this servant is your business, but she must be checked for weapons.”
“Weapons?” The king snorted. “I’m sure she has already been checked by Demendia’s guards.”
“I’m sorry.” Evander refused to budge. “She must still be checked by me. These are your rules.”
“Fine.” The king crossed his arms, a small bulge visible under his tunic. “Make it quick.”
Evander searched the servant, starting with her ankles and working to her waist. The moment their hands touched, a flash of steel passed between them, and then he continued to pat her down.
They shared a look of understanding before he stepped back and bowed to the king. “All done, My King. Have a pleasant night.”
“Believe me,” the king said and chuckled, pulling Sylvia into his chamber. “I will.”
The moment the door closed behind him, Evander took off at a run. He only had a short window of time to carry out the rest of the plan. If all went well, the king, his mage, and all her dragons would finally be dead.
AFTER WIPING BLOOD off his blade, Evander descended into the dungeon. He felt no remorse for the guards he’d killed; he’d seen them leering at the girl slaves, and he’d heard stories of what they did to them. As he sliced open the guards’ necks, their blood pooling around his fingers, he thought of their victims, each set of wide, fearful eyes while they clutched their bars with grimy fingers and cried for their parents. What happened this night was for all of the victims of the king’s cruel laws. He only had to free Demendia’s slaves before they could put the rest of their plan in motion. Marcello and the others were working on freeing the other slaves. Then they would steal away while the castle crumbled.
After heaving a shaky breath, he put on his stoic, obedient face and entered Demendia’s chamber with a confident gait. She was in her lab, black tears streaking her face while she mixed potions that smoked and smelled like rotten eggs.
He cleared his throat to alert her of his presence.
She looked at him with a snarl. “What do you want, Evander?”
“I’ve come for your slave girls,” he said. “By order of the king.”
Her eyes widened, then narrowed. “What does he want with them?”
“I don’t question the king. I simply follow his orders.”
She threw a vial of potion at the wall. He stepped back when it burst in a prism of colors. The girls in their cell left their straw pallets and huddled in the corner.
“That sick bastard. Take them, but the dragons get them when he’s finished.”
Evander bowed. “As you wish, Your Grace.”
When she handed him the long key tucked in her pocket, he prayed she didn’t see the slight tremble in his hand or the smatter of blood on his wrist.
After unlocking the gate, he let his pretended indifference drop for a heartbeat, hoping they saw his subtle smile. “Get up,” he commanded. “Your king needs you.”
To his dismay they cowered, refusing to leave.
“Go, you little sluts!” Demendia screeched. “Before I feed you to the dragons now.”
They raced from the cell, their heavy chains rattling.
“Their bindings must be removed,” he said to Demendia.
Her thin lips twisted into an ugly knot. “So they can escape?”
> “Nobody escapes me,” he said evenly. “The king needs them unrestricted,” he added, knowing it would fuel her rage but also relishing in tormenting the evil bitch.
Demendia’s face turned a deep purple as she handed him another key. “Hurry up and get out of my sight.”
He bowed again. “As you wish, Your Grace.”
After he’d unchained them, he herded them into the tunnel and whistled. The shadows at the other end whistled back. Crouching in front of the girls, he said, “Listen to me. If you want your freedom, you’ll do as I say.”
The tallest one raised a trembling hand. “My cousin Lea said we were to trust you. Where is she?”
Evander heaved a sigh of relief. “I helped her escape. Come with me if you want to leave, too.” Holding a finger to his lips, he ushered them down the hall. They were surprisingly quiet, creeping in the night like assassins. No doubt they’d had plenty of experience trying to remain unseen.
When they reached the end of the hall, he gave the signal.
“What’s that smell?” a girl asked, wrinkling her dirty nose.
“Vomva powder,” he whispered. “The whole dungeon is about to implode.”
“And the mage and dragons will be killed?” the tallest girl asked.
“With any luck.” He flashed a broad grin, relieved their plan was finally about to pay off. “Let’s go.” He waved them onward.
One of his spies appeared and lit a long fuse.
KING MILAS RAN HIS hands down the girl’s arms, inhaling the scent of jasmine wafting from her hair. “Take off your clothes,” he whispered, nibbling her ear, “then take a bath.”
She giggled. “If that is what you wish, My King.”
“It is.” Desire coursed through him when her eyelids shut and her full lips parted. “Do you intend to obey me this night?” He drew a thumb across her lower lip, his balls aching with need when she sucked on it.
Flashing a sultry smile, she swirled her tongue over his thumb before releasing it. “Of course, My King.”
His breath caught. Never before had he felt such a strong yearning. “Be a good girl, and I won’t let Demendia feed you to the dragons.” But he already suspected she would be good if she sucked his cock half as well as she had his thumb.
“Thank you, My King.” She bowed low, giving him a glimpse of her cleavage.
Her breasts weren’t large, but from what he saw of them, they were perky and firm and he would feast on them like a bee drawing nectar from a flower.
He took in her beauty. “I prefer my lovers a little older, but I’ve never wanted anyone so badly. What spell have you cast over me, my child?”
“Forgive me. I don’t know magic.”
“Of course, you don’t.” He chuckled. “Be quick with your bath.”
She bowed her head. “Yes, My King.” She moved toward the bath, slipping her tunic over her shoulder, revealing creamy, smooth skin.
He gripped the dresser, fighting to get control over his lust. He did not wish to bed Sylvia like a rutting schoolboy. He smiled at his unrelenting erection. The goddess had given him a gift, and he would not waste it. As he gazed into the mirror, he noticed another wrinkle at the corner of his mouth. The thought of Sylvia watching him grow old filled him with dread.
Releasing a measured exhale, he poured himself wine and enjoyed the fruity taste but took small sips, fighting the urge to turn around. Even when he heard her splashing in the water, he still would not look at her. He’d savor her naked beauty slowly, like the fine wine he was drinking.
He felt a sharp pain in his side. “What the devil?” There was blood on his tunic. He turned and looked into the smiling eyes of his attacker, hardly believing that his sweet Sylvia had hurt him.
Still wearing her servant’s tunic, she held a thin, curved dagger in her hand. The jasmine scent had soured, reminding him of fruit rotting in the sun. “You bleed black. It is as we suspected. You’ve been imbibing too much life water, you human fool.”
“You deceptive Fae bitch!” He reached for his sword, shocked to find the scabbard empty. Where had it gone? He swore when he spied it on the bed. Had she taken it from him while he was drinking, and why hadn’t he noticed?
He picked up the wine jug, swinging it like a weapon. “Evander!”
She ducked and spun, slicing open his other side. He stumbled, then staggered.
“You’re too slow, human.” She chuckled, dancing across his marble floors with the grace of a swan. “My blade is Venenum steel, Fae made. Your wound will not heal. You’ll suffer a slow, painful death, and you have no more life water to heal you.”
“Guards! Guards!” he screamed, clutching the side that throbbed the most, desperately trying to stop the bleeding.
“They can’t hear you,” she said in a sing-song tone. “They’re either dead, or they’ve betrayed you.”
“You fucking bitch!” He attacked her, crying out when she easily deflected his blow and sliced him again.
She twirled the blade like a baton. “We can go at this all night, My King. The faster you bleed, the sooner you die.”
Chest heaving, he clutched a bedpost, trying to remain upright. A loud boom rent the air and the ground shook. Falling onto the bed, he asked, “What was that?”
“My cue to leave.” Tossing her hair over a shoulder, she jumped on the balcony rail with the dexterity of a cat. “Have a nice death,” she teased and jumped, soaring through the air like a bird.
He wanted to chase after her, but another boom shook the room, and a wave of heat robbed him of breath. The bed split in two, and he fell into a cloud of smoke and dust while the roof crashed on top of him.
Chapter Twenty-Five
DEMENDIA HEARD THE thunderous boom moments before she threw out a protection spell. Her dragon Torin stuck out a wing, shielding her as the castle tumbled down around them. Had Mt. Olion finally blown?
By the time the smoke cleared, she saw that her protection bubble had only stretched around three dragons. The others were buried under columns of marble and crumbling stone, their necks and wings broken by the weight. A familiar scent hit her, and she recognized the residue of the explosive Fae vomva powder. Damn those sneaky bastards.
She turned to Torin. “Can you carry me out of here?”
He took her in his mouth and flapped his wings, creating a maelstrom of dust. In only a few days, her dark magic had transformed him into a mighty, winged leviathan, and just in time, for she would use him to take vengeance on the Fae.
Her dragons had to claw their way out of some wreckage, the collapsed structure having formed a dome, and as they were about to surface, she looked down and saw someone familiar under a broken column.
“Torin!” she cried, pointing to where Milas was buried. “Fly down there.”
After Torin had removed the column, she fell on top of the king’s body, unable to believe he was truly dead. For nearly a century she’d loved this man. He’d been a horrible, selfish devil, but he was the only man she ever loved, who understood her needs, who didn’t abhor her for using dark magic. How would she defeat the defenders and lay claim to their stores of life water without him? The people had never trusted her. They’d turn on her and back the defenders, who would slaughter her dragons. She needed the king beside her to fulfill her destiny. Clutching his lifeless body, she sobbed into his hair, which was coated with dust that made her cough and wheeze.
This couldn’t be the start of her demise. She had to find a way to bring him back but how? She clutched the vial of life water she kept in her pocket. She’d told the king it was gone, but she’d saved a solitary pearl of the elixir. One drop in the mouth of a dead man turned him into something unholy. She’d seen it in an experiment, a creature that had to be decapitated and burned after a dozen soldiers took him down.
A thought struck her. What if she blended the life water with the blood of a living being? She couldn’t use her blood, because it was black and could taint the spell. She rested a hand on Torin’s jowls
. His leg had been cut and was bleeding.
“Oh, my dear Torin,” she said, uncorking the life water and holding it under the flow of blood, filling it to the top.
She crawled back to Milas and pried open his broken jaw, then poured the potion into his mouth while reciting a rebirth spell she’d learned many moons ago.
She sucked in a hiss when his skin slowly transformed from dull gray to vibrant blue, the color of Torin’s scales. A barbed tail twisted down his leg like a vine. His arms and legs lengthened, and his muscles bulged bigger than any warrior she’d ever seen. His hands morphed into giant paws. Thousands of tiny blue scales covered his skin. Twice the size of a mighty defender, he was the perfect blend of mortal and dragon, and Demendia worshipped him. Mesmerized, she reached out to touch a scale, then jumped back when his eyes shot open, revealing golden, glowing irises.
“What happened?” he asked, his voice a deep, dark dragon’s rumble, and sat up.
She thought of Evander freeing the slaves moments before the castle fell down. Then there was Sylvia, tempting her king away with coy looks. Had he been in love with her or under a spell? Before that their life water had been stolen by his Fae bride. These events were related, and they smelled of foul Fae trickery.
Anger boiling over, she rose to her feet. “We were deceived by Fae spies.” Nostrils flaring, she looked at the mountain of a man before her. “They assassinated you. I had to use dark magic to bring you back.”
His clothes shredded, he stood and towered over her like a giant, blue god. He let out a scream. Hunching over, his spine ripped open and two translucent blue wings sprouted from his back. Jumping into the air, he burst through the debris above them like a demon escaping hell’s fiery pit.
She jumped onto Torin’s back and settled between his wings. “Follow him,” she implored.
When they broke through to the surface, the morning sun was peeking over the horizon, and hundreds of villagers had gathered around the castle’s remains, gawping. Demendia’s remaining dragons landed with heavy thuds behind the king.
