Stone Queen

by Michelle M. Pillow

  His nymph gasped. Fire came from his shaft, reaching toward her sex. The orange flames narrowed around her clit, heating it without burning, roaring around the bud until it was so sensitive she jerked. Sweat beaded on her flesh and the grip on the knife weakened but didn’t let go.

  “Ah, ah,” she panted, her voice lost in the breath.

  “Beg me to let King Ean live.” Lucien drew his hips closer.

  “If you kill him, ah, the war will end.” She spread her legs wider.

  Lucien grinned. She did still care. “You are not as broken as you pretend to be.”

  “Aren’t you going to chain me? Make me beg?”

  “Nay, I’m going to prove to you that you want to be here, despite what you know to be right and good. I’m going to make you respond to me, love me, beg for me. Succumb to me completely and willingly, sweet nymph. You are damned. Nothing you do can take the blackness from your soul, not even death.” He drew the fire from her sex. His erection was painful, stretching the limits of his flesh and it would only continue to grow as the beast clawed its way to his surface. “Show me how much you need me. Pull me into you.”

  “I hate you.” The words lacked venom, but for the first time he felt she might truly mean them. It wasn’t like the times she’d said it in the past, hating herself because she dared to feel love for him.

  The chamber was hot, but the heat didn’t bother his chilled flesh. Fire did not burn him. Love did not affect him. Duty did not chain him, not in the ways it did other men. But her hatred, the hint of it, wounded him more than he would ever tell her.

  “You do not mean…” For once his confidence was shaken. Lying, he said, “I smell your love for me. It’s why you hate yourself.”

  “I used to look into your eyes, Lucien, and think I’d catch glimpses of something redeemable, no matter how small a part of you it was.” Even as she spoke, her legs stirred in bodily desire. “I used to tell myself there was something in you worth caring for. It was the only way I could stand existing as your slave. It was the only way I could forgive myself for succumbing. But there is nothing redeemable in you, is there? There is nothing worth loving. At most, you are a shell of something that once was, long ago, the man before the beast consumed it. Just like King Ean was an elf before being King of the Blessed. Just as Merrick was before being Unblessed. You started as something else, a non-demonic being. But all real traces of whatever creature that was, are gone now, Lucien. You are a shell controlled by a pure demon. If you feel anything, it’s only your vanity being affronted.”

  He merely stared at her, his naked body poised for entrance, as he waited for her to accept him willingly, to draw his hips forward.

  “It’s the way magic works, isn’t it?” she continued, her hands at her sides, not reaching for him as she had in the past. All damnation for herself was gone, all self-hatred. “You are the demon. You are the pure one who put the dead Lucien shell on to rule, mimicking emotion and feelings when you have none. You were the shell because it allowed you to exist in the realms. You are the thing, the nothingness, the pure evil feeding on the emotions and dark deeds that will forever burn regardless of the shell that carries you.”

  She was wrong. He did feel, though not as one with a soul did. He wanted things, desired them, craved them. Part of the man he’d been lingered still and what he carried couldn’t even be called a real demon. Although it was the easiest way to describe what he kept leashed, what he carried was more than a demon. It was the darkest magic. The evil was because everything else was and it needed someone to carry it.

  And, yet, she was right as well, for he did feed on the dark deeds, dark emotions. For that reason, he could not have a soul. It would burn up in an instant should he even try to possess one.

  “Believing you still carried a man inside you made it hard for me to hate you, but now, understanding and accepting that there is nothing more than a shell filled with evil, allows me to. I needed to think there was a man inside the darkness—a man worthy of love, one I could care for. But, it was a lie. I know you feel nothing either way, only get pleasure and power from my torment. So, my Demon King, I finally accept. You are what you are and you will feed off my self-hatred no longer. Take my broken soul and be done with it.”

  “What do you want from me? A declaration of love?” He laughed, shaking his head. “Do you think this pretty speech of yours will spill flowery passions from me? Or do you think I will beg you to love me?”

  “I already said I know you—”

  His look cut her off, for suddenly he felt it, the thing she was trying hard to hide, to kill. A small glimmer of a feeling she carried for him still, the tiny piece of her self-hate because of it. Leaning toward her, his mouth hovering near hers, he said, “I will never release you.”

  Lucien pressed his mouth to hers, grinding his sharpened teeth along her mouth until he tasted blood—their blood, mingling together as she accepted his harsh embrace. He captured her moans with his lips, swallowing them as she gave in. Soft, warm hands ran up his arms, only to glide down his sides. For once, as they came together, it was only the two of them—mistress and Demon King. There were no chains, no knives except for the Unblessed Queen’s jeweled dagger she’d left discarded beside them.

  Her hands slid along his sides, even as her legs parted wide. She pulled his hips, leading his shaft to her soft folds. Lucien growled in the back of his throat as he felt the wet heat inviting him closer. Her shortened nails clawed the cheeks of his ass and he willed those nails to grow so they bit into his flesh, drawing blood. He resisted entering as she forced him forward, his muscles flexing into tight bunches. Lucien wanted her to beg for it.

  “Lucien, please,” she begged, mindlessly lifting her hips to his. “Please.”

  “Tell me you love me. Let me hear the words.”

  “I love you,” she mouthed, a tear streaming over her cheek. “Damn you, I love you.”

  Lucien thrust, a loud cry echoing off his lips. He didn’t care who heard his animalistic growls. The sound from the hall below, of fornication and pleasure echoed around them as he let them in. Grunts sounded, propelling his hips forward until she was stretched wide to take him all.

  He clawed at her gown, ripping it from her in hard slashes. A breast spilled forward between the gashed material. Grabbing it, he squeezed, letting fire heat his palm as the nipple budded against his flesh. Incensed with arousal, he thrust harder, pounding forward violently. His fangs strained.

  “Beg me to drink,” he ordered.

  She tossed her head to the side, offering it to him. Softly, she panted, “Aye.”

  Lucien bared his fangs, biting down on her neck. The taste of blood flowed freely into him and he swallowed in deep satisfaction. His member expanded inside her as the beast was unleashed. She moaned, her body tense as release finally came over her. He let her have it, not keeping her from the edge as he’d done often in the past. Pulling his crimson-stained mouth from her bloody neck, his eyes flashed with power as he healed the wound. He continued to pump until he too exploded, releasing his seed inside her.

  Breathing hard, he fell to the side. The dagger poked him in the back, but he didn’t care. “Arice. I rename you Arice.”

  She glanced at him, not showing pleasure as he granted her wish for a new name.

  “You are my Ari.” Lucien couldn’t stop himself from touching her cheek. “Mia is dead, as you wish. Your blessed past is no more. Now can you accept this life?”

  Ari didn’t answer.

  “I have guests to attend and the blessed guards are nearing Wolfe’s prison. You sleep. I will come back when my plans for King Ean are finished so that we may baptize you into this world properly.” Lucien stood, a dark long tunic and tight breeches forming over him as he moved. His bare feet hit upon the stone as he walked through the parted gauze toward the door. He felt lighter, relaxed.

  “I’m tired of hating myself,” she whispered behind him. He began to smile, only to stiffen as a sickening ga
sp sounded over the unmistakable stabbing of a blade. He turned in time to see her hand falling from the jeweled dagger. His expression fell. She’d killed herself.

  Violet eyes, the life ebbing out of them, stared blankly at him. Instantly, he lifted his hand, forcing the last thread of her life, her soul, to stay where it was. She jerked several times as he kept her alive, blood streaming from her parted lips. He held her in the pain, even as he rushed to her side to stop it.

  “You are mine,” he growled in anger, the beast consuming his features. He reached for the blade, jerking it out of her. Warm, sticky blood ran over his hand. “You are mine, even more as all remnants of Mia die at your own hands, Ari. But I will not take all of her soul. I let you keep half so that you may continue to feel. For if I cannot feel as you have said, then I will watch you feel for me. There is no escape for you, Ari. You are the Damned King’s mistress. You have not past, not future, only this. You will be worshiped for all eternity by demons. Like it or not, you are now a part of the darkness.”

  She closed her eyes, crying as she shook her head in denial. He stood again, taking the knife with him this time as he left her where she was—bloody and torn. With a wave of his hand, chains came up from the bed, locking her in place so she couldn’t do herself harm.

  “I told you once in another life and I’ll tell you once more in this new one,” Lucien said as he paused by the door. “I can give you everything or I can take it all away. The choice is yours, Ari. Believe me when I say, death is not the worst I am capable of.”

  Chapter Eight

  For once, Juliana did not hope that Merrick called her back to be with him. She missed him, missed his touch, but the Black Palace was becoming too dangerous. The spirits that haunted the stone halls grew in number and with each passing second they became bolder, reaching for her from their dark shadows with their rotting corpse hands. Their cruel hisses lifted over the hall, louder until they practically howled.

  “Unwanted. Unloved.”

  “Forgotten bride.”

  “Death to the queen.”

  “He doesn’t want you. Never wanted you. Join us.”

  “Death is the only escape.”

  Thinking of it made her walk faster through the stone forest. Her side ached, but at least the baby rested within her belly. The clack of her feet on the hard ground sounded over the silence, punctuated only by the occasional leaves breaking as she brushed against them. They fell hard to the ground.

  Behind her was the palace, and towering above that the mountains. The gray and charcoal landscape sparkled in the silvery moonlight. She was used to darkness following her almost anywhere she went, but there were strange periods of dawn and sunset that seemed to break the darkness, though the sun never shone as bright as it had over her childhood home.

  She hesitated, unsure if she should try to find Lord Kalen in the mountains where he lived, not that she knew where that was, or if she should wander the forest in search of the battlefront. With his psychic powers, he was the only one she knew of that could help her now. If Kalen couldn’t hear her, then she might really be trapped.

  Though doubt did plague her, Juliana tried not to succumb. Merrick would not have let her and their child slide into a dangerous world. Mayhap this was all her fault. Mayhap his witch, with his droplets of blood, could not be trusted.

  Above her, frozen in the sky, a flock of birds was suspended, their light blue a strange contrast to the normal gray. A squirrel sat unmoving in a tree, looking to eternally chew on a nut. Every detail of his small hands was carved to perfection, even the fur sticking up from his back. Suddenly, one of the boulders on the other side of the path began to move. A boulder next to a tree was suspiciously like a hiding chubby woodland gnome. Next to the rock sat a squat little man with round red cheeks, tiny features, a hat, jacket and a beard long enough to touch the ground.

  “Your mother is a fool, little one,” she whispered, rubbing her stomach. “I was so overwhelmed with the unblessed magic, I acted in what methought to be the only way. Instead, I should have talked to your father, pleaded with him, denied him, whatever it took to end the war. I should have been stronger. I’m sorry if I failed us. I wanted nothing more than to see you born, to see your face, to see you happy and safe.”

  A giggle sounded. Juliana tensed, looking up into the stone forest. The laugh rang out, louder than before. It was a child, a girl.

  “Ho! Who’s there?” Juliana trembled, nervous. She wasn’t scared, not of a child’s voice, but her baby hadn’t kicked for a long while and now, as she desperately wanted to see it, she heard beautiful laughter. Though she hoped for her child, she was anxious to see another face—a real live, solid person. Footsteps sounded over the forest floor and she moved to follow them. The laughter was her only answer, an impish giggling that rang so sweet it made Juliana’s heart ache. “Where are you? Please, show yourself.”

  “You are new to the forest.”

  Juliana turned, gasping as the sound came from behind. The voice belonged to a delicate wisp of girl with long blonde hair and soulful blue eyes. Her heart nearly stopped beating to see it and she imagined that the eyes could very well be Bellemare eyes, the hair could be from Merrick’s blessed side. The child smiled and curtseyed, gently lifting the skirt of her dark blue tunic gown. It was cut in the mortal style, just as Juliana would make for her own daughter.

  “Where did you come from?” Juliana asked, shaking. “Who are you?”

  The child’s eyes moved briefly to her stomach. Juliana’s hand followed the gaze, resting on her still baby. She’d been alone for so long, to see this child now made her ache and hope. Feeling a strange softness, she glanced down. Her own gown had changed, matching the blue the child wore. The linen was unlike any she’d ever felt, as soft as fur yet the fibers were short. The material was so light it was like air against her skin. The skirt split down the front, the blue pooling to the sides of her belly as cream linen was exposed down the front.

  “I’ve come to guide you, my lost lady.” The child turned, skipping into the trees. “I’ve come to take you home. You cannot stay here in the stone. The spirits know you are here and you do not belong. They will hunt you if you do not leave.”

  Juliana hurried to follow her, thinking of the dark spirits that swam through the Black Palace, the same that chased her out into the forest in search of Lord Kalen. “Wait. Who are you?”

  “I have come to lead you from the stone. I have come to show you the way out. There is only one way, one chance. Come with me. It is time to leave this place. Life waits for you on the other side.”

  Juliana followed the girl, desperate to believe. What other choice did she have? To not follow? To wander the forest alone for all eternity? To stay and be chased by the evil spirits that hunted her? Besides, the girl looked so innocent, so helpful.

  “Who are you? What is your name?” Juliana asked.

  “Do you not know who I am, Mother?” The child answered, pausing to tilt her perfect head to the side. She stepped toward Juliana, her hand lifted so that it pressed warmly against Juliana’s stomach when she neared. Her eyes sparkled like stars in the moonlight. “I am your daughter. Anja. And I’ve come to take us home.”

  Ari took a deep breath, feeling that Lucien was gone. Slowly, she shook, shrugging out of the chains he had tried to trap her with. The ache in her heart was gone the moment she had stabbed it, but within that knife’s blade, she saw its fate. It was always said that when a nymph died they saw what must be done, only then it was too late to do it. Mia had died, but Lucien brought Ari back, carrying Mia’s memories.

  In many ways, almost all, she was Mia still. But being Mia meant having the memories of a blessed life and Ari couldn’t do it anymore. She needed to cut that part of her past from her memory. She still felt, still had the partial soul, but to embrace the new name gave her hope of surviving the future in Lucien’s dark world.

  She touched her chest, healed from the wound. Lucien revived her body, just
as she feared he would. It was as he’d always claimed. Death could not claim her, not until he let it. She was his. Forever. Eternal. His.

  She slowly stood. Her gown healed itself from his claw marks and the staining blood dripped off it like water beading on metal, rolling onto the floor. Dark kohl lines drew over her flesh, twirling and winding along her right arm to decorate it in ancient vinework. The black lined her eyes and crimson replaced the smudged black Lucien had put on her lips.

  Ari moved through the hanging gauze, knowing her place was not chained to the bed as a slave, but in Lucien’s dark hall. She felt the palace guests, their darkness, and knew that Lucien plotted his evil plans. King Ean and his men were doomed. Queen Juliana and her baby were all but lost as the evil soothsayer led her to the Fire Palace. The Immortal Realm was crumbling all around them. Damnation was winning and her place was at its side.

  Adal crept through the bowels of the palace, glancing at the crudely drawn map in his hand. He motioned to the left, indicating that Brodor should go. The elf did without hesitation, his sword gripped at his side. Adal carried a dagger clenched in his fist as he moved to follow. Screams echoed all around them and he wished he could free all those who were being tortured. There was no time for such grand heroism. They were here to save Prince Wolfe and bring him safely home.

  Glancing at the map, Adal motioned to the right. The tiny hall led to a single door. Under his breath, he muttered, “This is it.” Brodor reached for the latch, but Adal grabbed his wrist, shaking his head in denial. “It’s a trap.”

  Reaching into his tunic, Adal pulled out the satchel of magic Ean had given him and opened it. He took a tiny bit of magic from its contents. Touching the soft piece of severed flesh to the door once, he put it back into the satchel, not liking the feel of dark magic on his fingers. The door creaked open and Brodor pushed it along with the tip of his sword.