Light and Dark Ch. 04

Ash

Her lips are soft and pliant against mine, and I pull her against me to deepen the kiss. She tastes so sweet and pure, it reminds me of fresh honey. She tastes like innocence.

And fear.

The flavor intoxicates me. She trembles against my body, her sleek muscles tense with anxiety and arousal. She's smart to be afraid of me- it means she has good instincts. She is so powerless the way she is now it would be easy for me to do whatever I wanted to her. I think about restraining her delicate wrists and stretching her over the arm of the sofa, losing myself in her tight warmth, making her submit to me.

She whimpers against my lips, and I realize that my embrace has become crushing. I loosen my hold, dropping a hand down to cup her tight bottom. She gasps quietly, and I use the opportunity to explore her, my tongue invading her mouth as surely as my cock will plunder her lithe body. I groan, unable to shake the image of her naked and beneath me.

Iris pulls her head back, breathing hard as her soft blue eyes look up at me with a helpless expression. She puts her palms against my chest, not really pushing me away, but clearly trying to maintain distance. Annoyed by the gesture, I immediately capture both of her wrists, pulling them around her back. She struggles a little, but I only smile, amused by her kittenish resistance.

"Let me go," she huffs, looking up at me defiantly. "You don't have to do this."

Interestingly, the energy in the room begins to shift, becoming charged with wild power. I smile again, pleased to see that she has some bite. The power she is calling on isn't focused, merely there, waiting for her to use it. Of course, she doesn't know how. It only incites me further, making me want to enjoy her helplessness while she is still completely vulnerable, like any mortal.

I use my free hand to run my fingers through her hair, breathing in deeply. Everything about her- her milky skin, her bright eyes, her dusky, feminine scent- it all draws me in. I haven't felt this way about a woman in centuries. Normally I like an experienced woman, someone that wants all of the intense pleasure and pain I can offer. Iris, on the other hand, is like a blushing maid. I am surprised at how much I enjoy the novelty and freshness of her reactions. Her humiliation, arousal, and fear are all clearly written on her face, her plump lips reddened from my rough kisses. Groaning in lust, I push my hips against her, letting her feel how much I want her.

Her eyes widen a fraction and her breathing spikes.

"I don't think you want me to let you go," I murmur, using my free hand to explore her body. I splay my hand against her side, feeling how her heart beats frantically, like a wild bird that's been caught.

"No. I mean, yes, I do want you to let me go." Her voice is strained and confused as she tries to turn her face away from mine.

I don't allow it, capturing her chin so that she is forced to look at me. "Is that right? You don't like this? You don't enjoy the way I make you feel?"

Stubbornly, she shakes her head, her frightened eyes downcast. She can deny it all she wants, but I have no doubt that she is feeling my thrall, the compulsion anyone, mortal or immortal, would feel in my presence. Royalty are the most mesmerizing, most arousing, of my kind. It is what makes us deadly.

"No?" When she remains silent, I slip my free hand up her shirt, sliding my hand into the cup of her bra. Her tit is silky and plump in my hand, her nipple pebbling against my palm. At this new offense she renews her struggles, but I merely press her against the back of the sofa, pulling her captured hands more tightly behind her so that her back is forced to arch. I lean in, kissing her brutally as I roll her nipple between my fingers. She cries out, but I capture the sound, deepening the kiss. I've never wanted to fuck anyone so badly in all my years. I can smell her arousal mixing with her sweet, feminine scent. Despite all of her denials, her body is making itself ready for me.

"I tell you what, pet," I whisper to her, biting her plump lower lip gently. "Why don't we see whether you want me or not? There's a way we can settle this fairly."

Her breathing picks up as she realizes my meaning, her eyes growing wide in alarm. "No. No. Let me go. I don't want this." Her voice becomes thick with tears as her eyes begin to mist. "Not like this."

"Shh, relax." I can't explain my desire to soothe her. Her unshed tears, shining in her bright eyes, brings out a strange reaction in me. I'm used to crying women; I'm usually the cause of their tears. But there is something more visceral about her resistance, her desperation to maintain her innocence. Some might not believe it, but I've never truly taken a woman when she didn't want it. Whether it was her desire or desire forced on her from my persuasive power is another matter. Either way, I am in new forbidden territory here. My powers don't seem to be affecting her in the way that they should. Normally, at this point, a woman would be putty in my hands, her mind too far gone to remember why she fought me in the first place.

I kiss her gently, looking into her wide eyes, trying to comfort her even as I hold her restrained, my body pinning her to the couch. Eventually her frozen lips begin to respond to mine, moving in a compulsive instinct. She sobs quietly against me as her fearful trembling begins to subside.

"Easy," I whisper, running a hand down her side, calming her as I would a wild mare.

She begins to squirm against me again when my hand settles at the front of her jeans. The tight muscles of her smooth tummy quiver as I pop open the button of her jeans.

"Please," she pants, her breathing panicked.

I lean in to kiss her again, my lips soothing. "Easy," I repeat, sliding my fingers over the fabric of her panties. She jumps as I make contact with her sex, and I groan to find her completely soaked through. My kitten lied when she said she didn't want me. I should punish her for that.

She cries out, her voice hoarse, as I begin to rub her through the wet material. She moves against my palm, unable to help herself, too overwhelmed to remember her resistance. "Good girl," I murmur, taking her sweet mouth again, pushing my tongue against hers. Her orgasm comes within seconds, her small body shuddering as she cries out. I keep massaging her through it, wringing her out, and I try to capture each and every sound she makes as I crush her mouth against mine. Finally she goes slack in my arms, and I move quickly to catch her as she begins to slump to the ground. Her eyelids flutter as I pick her up, her delicate body feeling almost weightless. I bring her to her bedroom and lay her down gently on the covers. Then I just stand back, feeling smugly triumphant that I subdued her so easily, and gave her more pleasure than she could take. My pet will have to build up her stamina for the plans I have for her.

She seems peaceful, but still so fuckable, with her eyelashes fanned against her cheeks, her lips swollen from my kisses, and her porcelain skin dewy from coming so hard for me. I stand for a while, watching her pillowy tits rise and fall underneath her t-shirt, debating whether or not I should tie her up, wake her, and fuck her until she begs for mercy. My cock is hard and weeping from arousal, and I let myself imagine what it would feel like to be inside her.

It is a good thing I'm almost a god, because it takes the will of one for me to step away from her and return to the living room. I start laying wards all around her apartment, calling on my ancient magic to protect her. I'm aware that this contradicts my ultimate mission, to kill her, but for some reason I'm compelled.
The idea of anyone else laying their hands on her, like Lien, fills me with uncontrolled rage. I want to know that she is safe from all others, so that I can be the one that decides what to do with her. Maybe I can fuck her before I kill her.

The idea of anyone hurting her, even if that person is me, makes my stomach turn. I've been telling myself that when he gave the command, he never said anything about dragging my feet. I can't imagine he would begrudge me playing with my food before I eat it. In fact, I think he would admire it. My father is as dark as they come. I am constantly trying to prove that I am worthy of him, that I am dark enough to rule.

I look towards the bedroom, where Iris is sleeping. Pale moonlight illuminates her body, and the way that her lush, light blonde hair and skin gleams reveals a little of her true nature.

I don't think I'm dark enough to kill her.

Instead, I want to keep her, and make her mine.

* * *

The warm, scented air of my home welcomes me as I slide through the mists, my mind still lingering on Iris and my desire to possess her.

It only takes a few seconds to recognize the cold raw power radiating from the cliff keep. It's a sickening aura that almost brings me down to my knees. I fight hard to stay standing, and even harder to begin walking towards the cliffs.

My father is here to confront me. Most likely about the girl, and why I haven't killed her yet. I wonder if he will have sent someone to kill her already. Perhaps he is here to simply deal with my rebellion.

Rage nearly clouds my vision when I think of one of his sadistic minions killing Iris. It would probably try to enjoy her before it finished her off. I snarl, my entire body vibrating with barely controlled anger. She is mine.

I hate my father with more passion than most immortals are capable of. Eventually, most feelings fade out until everything is grey, which is why most of my people are always pleasure-seeking, looking for something new to break up the monotony, no matter how dark it is.

My father and I seem to be exceptions to that mentality. Over the centuries he has maintained a single-minded focus on gaining absolute control and annihilating every enemy that stands in his way. In the history of our kind, we have never had a King that was so bent on gaining power. Usually they just participated in the dark revelry like everyone else.

I sometimes feel like I exist as his shadow, forever caught in his orbit. I'm a prince, but I am also a slave.

I take a calming breath as the runed doors open for me, only to find that the inner halls are absolutely empty. My father must be in a bad mood for everyone to have hidden in their rooms. His perverted power reeks, even from here, and I am sure that all of the cliff-keep people are dizzy and sick from it. It takes a very strong will to stay conscious and sane anywhere near my father. His power has been inverted, amplified, and spelled so many times that it is a monstrosity all on its own. It transmits his own insanity to everyone around him.

I make my way slowly down to my inner chambers, my boots feeling heavier as I walk, bile rising in my throat. As I approach the door to my rooms I break out into a cold sweat, and I bite my own tongue to sharpen my senses. You cannot show weakness. You cannot show weakness. You cannot show weakness.

I repeat the mantra until I've stopped shaking. I call out all of my inner power to shore up my will. I will be strong in front of my father. As always, he must not sense my fear. The only reason he lets me live is because he thinks that I am a useful tool. I need to appear strong, and, as much as it disgusts me, subservient.

Taking a deep breath, I swing open the doors. Without looking up, I drop to one knee. The stone floor is freezing, an actual sheen of ice having covered it despite the fire roaring on the other side of the room.

"My King. Father." My eyes roam, and I see his shadow wavering in front of me from the light of the fire.

"Son." His voice grates against my ears, and I fight hard not to cover them from the assault. "You may rise."

It is a relief to follow his orders because the compulsion in his voice is so strong. I mentally touch on my inner well of power, reassuring myself that I can do this, and slowly raise my eyes to meet his.

I almost, but not quite, fall into the abyss of the dark eyes that resemble my own. It's an incredible strain on my power to keep looking at him while staying composed, but I am able to manage it. When I was young I used to fall to the floor and writhe, feeling like a thousand knives were flaying open my skin.

We stare at each other for what seems a quiet infinity, both of us maintaining a careful impassivity. Internally, the weaker parts of me scream for an escape, for some relief from the dark pressure of his gaze. I lock up those weak parts of me until I am only the stripped essence of my power, purely elemental. It's taken me centuries to be able to stand in front of him and hold his gaze, and I will do it again today. My pride needs it.

"The girl?" His gravelly voice reverberates in the room, and I try not to flinch.

"Alive. I want to play with her first." To my relief, my voice is steady.

His gaze darkens. "Don't think to disobey me, boy. I want her dead. She is a threat."

I swallow thickly, trying not to puke. My father's anger is like a snake inside my belly, poisoning me from within. I struggle to speak for a moment, my lips like lead weights. "I will, father," I finally manage, my voice humiliatingly weak.

His hard look dissolves back to impassivity. "Good. Do it soon. Or someone will have to do it for you." His tone makes it clear that it won't be good for me if someone else has to do it.

"Who is she?" The question bursts from me unbidden, and I immediately seal my lips shut. I don't think I have ever asked him a question, and it would not be a good idea to start. It would imply that we were equals.

However, all I see is faint amusement in his gaze. "The princess of the light," he says, his voice continuing to echo as he vanishes from the room.

I drop to my hands and knees, dragging in deep breaths of untainted air, every ounce of my being wrung out from having to stand in front of him for so long. Having caught my breath, I lay flat on the floor, still shaking and just beginning to process my father's words.

I knew that Iris was light fey, but I had supposed that she was merely another changeling in a family line my father wanted to destroy. He wipes out entire families when only one member has wronged him, so it would not be strange. Other times he simply wants to annihilate an entire line because they have a power he finds threatening.

Iris is the light fey princess, and my father wants her dead.

I stay on the floor shaking, unable to get up yet, every part of me rebelling at the thought of what I'm going to have to do. Either I kill her, or he kills me.