Dragan

by Plum Pascal

  “Does it bother you that Dragan… had me?” she asks.

  “You mean does it cause me jealousy?”

  “I guess so.”

  I cock my head to the side as I consider the question. “I don’t know. I don’t believe so.”

  She nods but says nothing. I continue. “It bothers me that Dragan doesn’t know how to handle you, that’s what bothers me. I don’t appreciate nor do I approve of the way he’s treated you since he discovered what you are. After all, the same shadow magic that runs in his blood now runs in yours.”

  She nods. “I’ve thought the same thing more times than I can count.” She chews on her lower lip as though she’s deep in thought. “It bothers Dragan that we’re in this… room together.”

  “I know.”

  “He’s jealous and possessive of me and yet, he hates me just as much as Cambion does.”

  “For different reasons,” I say. “Both bred from fear.”

  “You don’t hate me.”

  I shrug. “Why would I? You and I are one and the same.”

  She nods again. She’s been long aware of this fact as well. “I thought you hated me after I destroyed the Transmutation Stone.”

  “Let us just say you weren’t exactly my favorite person. For perhaps a few minutes. Until I realized what the stone was doing to me. And then I was grateful to you.”

  She smiles slightly and then grows silent, glancing down at the water that steams inside the tub.

  “Eilish?” I say and she looks up at me, reminding me of a frightened rabbit or fox. It’s her eyes—they’re so large in her small face. “Do you want to feel me inside you?”

  A blush crops up immediately on her cheeks and her eyes go even wider. She holds my gaze as she opens her mouth and then closes it again. She appears completely flummoxed. Finally, she says, “yes.”

  “Then carry on.” I motion to the tub.

  She appears confused for a moment or two, but then lifts her bound wrists and allows me to pull the dress down her stomach and her hips, until it pools at her feet. She steps out of it and lifts a long, slender leg over the edge of the tub and sinks it into the water.

  I feel my eyes raking her nude shape. Her breasts are full, her nipples small and pink. Her waist is small but flares into broad hips and thighs. There’s no hair covering her mound, and her lips are swollen and prominent. I imagine she’s already wet for me.

  She hisses as she slides her other leg into the hot bath. Then she sits down, relaxing against the back of the tub. Her eyes drift closed and she lets out a breathy moan that sounds filthy on her lips. When those beautiful eyes open, she lifts her bound hands above the smooth surface of the water. She glances down at them.

  “You can’t wash yourself,” I notice.

  “No,” she says and then looks up at me.

  “Is that a request?”

  “Yes.”

  The redness around her wrists where the rope bites into her flesh shouldn’t be tantalizing, but it is. I like to think of her in pain. I like to think of her being punished, but only by my hands. I could give her that—pleasure that makes the pain exquisite.

  I drop to my knees beside the tub and roll back my sleeves. Her eyes drop to my forearms and lust causes her pupils to dilate.

  Perhaps taking her from Anona’s enslavement was crueler than Dragan imagined. A Succubus can find happiness fulfilling the duties of a whore. But I suspect it’s the angel within her that gives her the air of innocence that beguiles me. She watches my hands as I reach for the oils and soaps, as well as a rag beside them.

  I lather the scrap of fabric with a generous amount of soap and begin to work it into her shoulders as she leans forward, allowing me to reach her lower back. The suds chase away the muck and grime that has built up over the course of our journey.

  “Stand,” I order, and she finds doing so difficult with her hands bound. I don’t offer her any assistance, but I watch as she pushes off the lip of the tub and stands. Her round, wide ass is directly in my face now and I continue with my ministrations, scrubbing her backside, down to her legs.

  “Turn around,” I command next, and so she does. Her mound is now at eye level. I lather the rag again and bring it up each of her legs. When I reach her abdomen, I push the fabric between her legs, rubbing it against her clit as she closes her eyes. No sound escapes her lips, though I can see the desire in her expression. I wonder if she’s afraid to alert Dragan. Probably so. I rinse the rag and lather it again, this time leaving her vagina and moving upward until I reach her breasts. I stand then and tower over her, enjoying the fact that she’s so much smaller than me.

  I lather her breasts and watch her nipples bead into pebbles. Her eyes are still closed, her eyelashes fluttering against the highpoints of her flushed cheeks. She brings her roped hands forward and her fingers curl into the front of my shirt, soaking the fabric and causing it to cling to the muscles of my chest.

  “Please?” she asks as she opens her eyes.

  “What do you want?” I ask, my voice much thicker than I expect.

  “Take it off.”

  “What exists underneath isn’t attractive,” I assure her as my eyes dance back down her body. She is perfection. I am not.

  “I want to see you,” she insists, keeping her eyes locked on the swatch of skin at the neck of my shirt. I remove my hands from her body and place the rag on the lip of the tub. Then, I move out of her reach. Something feral dances across her features as I peel my drenched shirt over my head. Her tongue swipes out again, and I want to chase it, to taste her mouth. I stare down the length of my torso to see the numerous scars that litter my body. The one above my heart where Variant stabbed me.

  I return to the side of the tub. Her fingers brush the hideous mark, causing tingles to spread through my chest. The rag goes forgotten as I use my hands to wash her, feeling each twitch of her muscles and every shiver that racks her body. I watch her expressions as I lean closer, grazing my lips against her neck as my hand travels down her abdomen. Her mouth gapes open as her breathing becomes labored.

  “Please… Revenant.”

  I nod once and cup her mound. Her hips buck, but I use my free hand to hold her in place. My fangs scrape lightly at the pale column of her throat. I can taste her heartbeat against my lips. She makes light sounds as I stroke her folds, sliding a finger along the length of her opening.

  Her fingers flex and strain to touch me, but I shake my head. She pleads with her eyes. When the tip of my finger brushes against her clitoris, her head tosses back, and I press my lips against hers. I swallow her moan and she pants into my mouth, tongue catching on my fangs until it rips open. Her flavor explodes on my own tongue.

  Just that small taste is enough to cause me to lose control. I stand up and tear my trousers off, ripping them without a care in the world. I eclipse her with my body, pushing her against the wall, and she trembles as I slot my hips between her thighs. My engorged erection slides between her folds, stroking her weeping flesh and nudging her clit as I rut against her like a beast.

  Her nails score my back. She begs me to take her, to claim her with my cock.

  I deny us both.

  It’s another form of hunger I need to sate at the moment. I pull her neck back and I sink my fangs into it, lapping furiously at the blood that flows into my mouth. Her taste is exactly as I knew it would be—earth shattering. I’ve never tasted blood so sweet and I’m immediately intoxicated. I feel lightheaded, dizzy even. I feel as if I’ve been poisoned by one of my own tinctures.

  I pull away from her because I’m forced to. At the same moment, Eilish shatters beneath me, her moan caught in her throat. I sink my fangs into her neck again and follow her over the cliff, feeling her orgasm as though it were my own. It reverberates through me and I can feel her heart beating as though it beats inside me.

  After a few moments, she opens her eyes and attempts to catch her breath. I pull my fangs away from her and suck the last of her delicious nectar from t
hem, closing my eyes as I savor every last drop. Her taste is truly rapturous. I find words failing me.

  I take a step back and stare down at her in awe of the sheer power I felt as she climaxed. It wrapped around us like a cocoon and somehow… I experienced it just as she experienced it.

  No, I didn’t orgasm. I didn’t even fuck her. Proof enough is that my seed is still within my cock and my trousers are dry.

  But, I felt her orgasm. It’s as though I channeled her, somehow.

  I do not fully understand exactly what happened at the moment I sampled her blood, as nothing of the kind has ever happened to me before. I’m left struggling to understand.

  But, in that struggle, I recognize one truth for certain: she is addictive. Far more addictive than the stone.

  SEVENTEEN

  Dragan

  Earlann

  “Have you seen the others yet?” Cambion asks Raflamir as we approach the dining table before taking our seats. There are plates, silverware, and glasses set out for each of us. From the kitchen, the delicious scents of dinner reach my nose. My stomach growls.

  “I have not,” Raflamir responds.

  “They must still be bathing and dressing,” Cambion answers his own question and his tone is one of boredom. At the thought that Eilish is bathing and dressing in front of Revenant… I feel my back stiffen as my palms fist. I have to pointedly remind myself to unfist them. The last thing I want is Cambion to notice how unsettled I am.

  He refuses to look at me, and that’s fine.

  Though we share a common enemy, Cambion and Revenant are not the kings I once considered family. At times, I feel as though I’m the villain in their story, and not Variant. He may have been the one to murder Baron and win the Great War, but I was the weapon he used to do so, through Lamia.

  Yes, I can see quite clearly that Cambion still blames me for losing the war. Perhaps Revenant would blame me as well, if he had all of his memories returned to him. From what I’ve been able to understand, the stone returned some of his memories but not all. As I would not describe Revenant as “chatty,” I’m left wondering how much he does know and how much remains hidden.

  Not that it matters. I’m still hell-bent on making him part ways with us. I’m convinced there’s little he offers in the way of man-power and owing to the fact that he refuses to call himself by his true name, that is proof enough he’s not the Baron we hoped he was.

  And then there’s the subject of Eilish, of course. I do not care for this newfound interest he’s displayed in her. I preferred it when he was cool and calculating and kept his distance from all of us, yes, but from her in particular. Now the two of them appear to be inseparable and I don’t care for it one bit.

  I don’t trust him and I don’t trust him with Eilish. I see the way he looks at her—yes, it’s the same way Cambion looks at her but Cambion is so concerned with his own pride, he’ll never allow himself to act on his impulses where Eilish is concerned. Of that, I’m fairly certain. Revenant, on the other hand. I don’t know who Revenant is. While he might have been Baron in another life, he’s clearly not the same man today. And I worry about his interest in Eilish.

  What does he want from her? Why is he trying to befriend her? Why the sudden interest when all along he acted the part of aloof and uninterested?

  Eilish is innocent and unaccustomed to the ways of men, I think and then stop myself as the irony of my statement dawns on me.

  Innocent and unaccustomed to the ways of men? What the bloody fuck is wrong with me?

  She’s Succubus, for fuck’s sake! At that thought, an image of Lamia and her daughters drops into my head like a bomb.

  My hands clench into tights fists at the memory of the Succubae queen. The memories renew my hatred for Lamia’s kind, as if I’m still tethered to her vicious spell. The feeling of a thousand insects crawls beneath my skin as I realize I’m no stronger now than I was back then.

  I couldn’t keep myself away from Eilish. And, dammit, but I fucking tried.

  And now…

  Now, she’s sharing a bedchamber with Revenant. The though makes me sick to my fucking stomach.

  The sound of footfalls echoes down the narrow staircase and into the hallway that leads to the dining room. I turn to see Revenant as he rolls his shoulders and turns his head from side to side. His hair is damp and he’s wearing a black tunic over his lean frame, tucked into a pair of black, leather trousers. Clearly, he’s bathed himself and changed clothing, but there’s something else different about him. Something I can’t quite put my finger on, but it’s there all the same.

  “Where’s the dem… the girl?” Cambion demands of him. He’s refused to call Eilish by her name for the last day or so which irks me to no end. Cambion is an absolute cock and I can’t fucking stand him.

  The vampire enters the dining room and doesn’t spare any of us a glance. Instead, he takes the furthest seat. “She’s coming,” he answers simply.

  “If she escapes—” Cambion starts.

  “She won’t,” Revenant interrupts. “She’s bound… how far do you suppose she’d get?”

  “I haven’t asked questions as to why the girl appears to be your prisoner,” Raflamir begins as Saevel fills each of our glasses with something that looks and smells like mead. She looks as if she wants to comment but holds her tongue.

  “It’s complicated,” Cambion responds.

  Raflamir nods. “I don’t want any undue attention.”

  “She won’t cause problems,” Revenant promises. I don’t like the fact that it seems he’s taken responsibility for her. As far as I’m concerned, Eilish is still my charge.

  That’s when I notice Raflamir eyeing Revenant with a curious gaze. He recognizes him.

  “Why do you appear so familiar to me though I’m not certain why?” Raflamir asks.

  Revenant shrugs. “I couldn’t say.”

  “Your name?” Raflamir presses.

  I wonder if Cambion will spill the truth on this matter and I’m surprised when he allows Revenant to answer for himself.

  “Revenant,” he says.

  Raflamir nods but continues to eye the vampire. “You have a striking similarity to a man I… we all used to know,” he starts but then sighs deeply. “But a similarity is all it can be because that man has been dead for, lo, at least a century now.”

  At the sound of hesitant steps, I turn my gaze toward the stairs again and see Eilish and Flumph. I feel my heartbeat speed up as my eyes settle on the beautiful woman. Her damp, white hair glistens like silken moonlight, freshly washed. Half of it is fastened atop her head. Freshly brushed, it’s much longer than I realized and reaches her lower back. I can’t tear my eyes away as Revenant stands and walking towards her, grips the rope between her hands and leads her to the empty chair beside him. It also happens to be beside me, a fact for which I’m grateful. He sits.

  The light of a candelabra that sits in the center of the table reveals Eilish’s long and fitted gown is somewhat sheer, almost iridescent in places. The fabric is the color of earliest morning and the indigo blue complements her white hair. I catch teasing glimpses of her figure, making me think of all the vile things I wish to do to her.

  Fuck me but I still have it bad for this fucking woman. Beyond bad.

  She meets my gaze briefly, as though she can read my mind, but then she drops her attention to her hands. Moments later, her eyes flicker to Revenant. He nods to the chair beside him and holds it out for her. The action irks me. A green flash of envy settles in my gut.

  Eilish offers our host her gratitude. Raflamir just nods but it’s clear he’s as taken by her as we all are. Even Cambion, the fucking prick, is slow to pull his gaze from her. Eilish sits and Revenant pushes her chair back up to the table.

  My anger simmers.

  Raflamir stands and approaches the kitchen, apparently to help Saevel. Once he does, Cambion turns to me.

  “She shouldn’t be dining with us,” he says in a low and confidential tone as h
e motions to Eilish. “I don’t trust her with whatever information we discuss.”

  “She’s not a spy, Cambion,” Revenant interjects, taking the words right out of my mouth.

  I want to fucking punch something.

  “Who’s to say what she is?” Cambion demands.

  “I’m not a spy,” Eilish insists as her eyes narrow and she then refuses to look at Cambion.

  “She’s our prisoner for no apparent reason, other than the fact that she’s part Succubus when you thought she was a purebred angel,” responds Revenant with little interest. “Other than a fault by virtue of her birth, she’s done nothing to encourage you to believe she’s working for Variant—or anyone else, for that matter.”

  Eilish looks at him and her eyes fill with gratitude. I hate witnessing her expression because prior to this moment, I’d only ever seen it when she looked at me.

  “You better not be fucking her, asshole,” Cambion says to Revenant, his eyes narrowed and angry.

  My stomach drops at the thought. God, what if he just had sex with her? What if while Cambion and I were arguing about whether or not we should have come to Earlann, Revenant was buried deep inside her? Inside my fucking woman?

  I want to fucking punch something even harder.

  “You might not recall, owing to the fact that your memories haven’t been returned to you,” Cambion continues, addressing Revenant in that patronizing tone of his that makes me want to bitch slap him right across the face. “But the reason we lost the Great War was because Lamia had Dragan bewitched. That’s what Succubae do, Baron.”

  “I am fully aware of the power of the Succubus,” Revenant returns, his tone icy. “And my fucking name is Revenant, for the last fucking time.”

  Raflamir returns and Cambion clears his throat before revisiting whatever conversation they’d been having previously. A conversation I should have been paying attention to. But now, all I can focus on is what exactly happened behind closed doors between Revenant and Eilish.