The Raven Chronicles Ch. 03

Meet the final two POV characters. After this, you should have a good idea as to everyone's backstory and motivations, and their plans are in motion.

CHAPTER TEN

THE FOMORIAN COURT

BRES

Bres lay on his bed, running his fingers over his bare chest. In the pitch black of his windowless tower room, he couldn't see the scar, but he didn't need to. Instead of flattering, his nickname of The Darkly Beautiful was now a taunt.

The perfect looks he was so proud of -- high cheekbones, long, sleek black hair, big blue eyes, and ethereally glowing skin were traits he'd from received from his Fae mother.

All of them meaningless with the single, ugly slash across his chest.

On the giant-sized Fomorian stature he'd inherited from his father, the scar was barely noticeable. The physical wound The Morrigan inflicted on him during the last war had healed, but the reminder left behind felt like failure.

The Fomorian side of him was proud of the mark on his flesh. Many warriors wore their battle scars with pride. But the Fae side of him detested the lack of perfection. After all, he'd become king when the ruler before him lost an arm fighting for the Fae, and was therefore disqualified from ruling because his body was no longer perfect. The Fae admired ideal beauty almost to obsession.

His magic was even slower to recover than his body. The Morrigan had struck him with the Sword of Light. She had not only marred his skin, but drained his immortality until he'd been hardly more than human, and left him to die. He should have. That he survived was surely a sign he was meant to rule. His powers, years later, were almost to the point of fully restored.

He longed to return to the forest of Inisfail Fae territory. Toraigh, the island he'd taken refuge on after the war, was windswept to the point of no trees at all. It was a cold, lifeless expanse of rock. Appealing to the Fomorian side of him, but not the Fae. It seemed like the two halves of him never agreed on anything.

But the time to repay the crow was rapidly approaching.

If he could find her.

And a treasure.

The sword was out of reach, wielded by Fechin. Bres had no desire for another taste of that blade. He wasn't likely to survive that again. Three other treasures were fair game, though, their locations lost.

The stone.

The spear.

The cauldron.

Possession of any one of them would strengthen his claim to the Inisfail Fae throne -- especially if he found the Stone of Destiny. It sang for true kings. No one could deny his right to rule when it sang for him.

Of course, an heir wouldn't go amiss.

The treasures were lost -- had been for centuries -- but now that his magic was restored, heirs he could do something about immediately.

Bres rose from his bed, pulled on his leather pants, and headed up the stairs of the tower barefooted. Torches mounted on the walls burst into flame as he approached, illuminating the dark corridor as he spiraled to the top floor and opened the wooden door, locking it behind him.

Windows allowed moonlight to stream into the room through the bars. A fire warmed the open space, filled with a couch and a couple of chairs arranged around a low, rectangular table that held the remains of dinner.

Three doors, to two bedrooms and a bathroom, led off the main area. While his prisoners couldn't leave, they lived in relative luxury. They had comfortable furnishings in clean surroundings. Meals prepared with the best foods. Nice clothes of the richest and softest materials. Books and art supplies to occupy themselves.

The sisters, twins with red-hair and glowing fair skin, watched him with wary expressions. The look of dread on their faces when they first saw him always gave him a thrill. They were right to be worried. He kept his treatment of them random -- kind, cruel, loving, impersonal. They never knew what to expect from him, or what they could do to influence him.

He couldn't blame them for being confused -- from day to day it was a mystery to him how he'd react to them. Some days he saw them as beautiful women he cared about, and others they were just reminders of what he'd lost.

Meghan wore a floor-length gold silk dress while Morgan wore a green long-sleeved shirt, black pants, and boots. She sat on the floor in front of Meghan as she brushed her sister's hair. They jumped to their feet as he crossed the room.

"Meghan. Morgan. How are you tonight?"

"Release us, Fomorian." Morgan glared daggers at him. She was the more spirited one and always made the demand.

Bres flashed a grin at Morgan and turned to Meghan. She tried to back away, but he stretched out one long arm, palmed the back of her head, and forced her to him. Bending, he pressed his lips to hers and breathed magic into her.

Between heartbeats, she stopped fighting him and parted her lips with a needy moan so he could slide his tongue inside her mouth. She wrapped her arms around his neck and went soft against him.

He wasn't called the Master of Love Spells for nothing. "Show me how much you missed me."

Meghan leaned into him, her long red hair falling forward to tickle his skin. She pressed a feather-light kiss on his mouth, then on his chest as he urged her head down. Small, delicate hands caressed his shoulders and chest. Kneeling in front of him, she trailed her mouth over his abs. Meghan's clever fingers undid the laces of his leather pants and freed his cock.

Her palm encircled him, fingers exploring the length of his semi-hard dick. He lifted his gaze and met Morgan's icy, emerald eyes as her sister stroked him to full hardness. The pressure of her hand was just right, the speed and rhythm steady.

Under his influence, she would have no memory of doing this for him unless he wanted her to, but she remembered how to please him. She and her sister had pleasured him often since he'd taken them as tribute when he was king.

Meghan's lush, pink lips wrapped around his cock. She opened her eyes and looked straight at him, pure lust in her gaze. Each stroke, lick, and suck brought him closer to the edge. He thrust his fingers into her hair, guiding her. Slowing her down just enough to stop him from going over, but still sending zings of pleasure up and down his spine. He didn't want to come in her mouth tonight.

Bres pulled Meghan to her feet and gave her a playful swat on her ass. "In your room, little one."

"You bastard." Morgan stood, fists clenched.

"Don't be jealous. You'll get your turn." The door clicked behind him.

Meghan's room, in feminine in shades of gold and dark pink, smelled of vanilla and roses. She pulled her dress over her head, dropped it to the floor, and waited by her canopy bed, sighing when his hand found her breast. Her dusky nipple hardened under his fingertips and his body throbbed.

Bres shoved his pants to the floor. Covering her mouth with his, he kissed her, tasting and teasing, his teeth gently biting her lips as his hand slipped down her stomach and between her legs. She opened to him, gasping when he slid one finger between her folds, her heat and moisture tempting him to bury himself inside her right then.

He lowered her to the bed, and she spread her legs wider as he took her higher and higher with gentle strokes of his finger.

"I -- oh!" Her lips parted as he replaced his finger with his erection and teased her clit with the head of his cock until she was moaning and gasping.

When she tumbled into orgasm, crying out his name, he grabbed her by the hips, and buried himself deep in her.

Meghan's eyes opened and locked on his, a look of pure ecstasy on her face. Underneath him, Meghan moved her hips, little movements that drove him just a little deeper inside.

He filled her up, seating himself fully inside her. Hauling one of her knees up, he pushed further, making her cry out as he thrust in deep. Closing his eyes, he moved slow. He wanted to feel everything, linger in the feeling of being inside her, so he took long, leisurely strokes.

She groaned, her hips lifting to meet his, urging him to move faster. Not yet. Bres gritted his teeth, wanting this feeling to last longer, but losing that fight. He picked up the pace, leaning down so he could kiss her mouth. Her neck.

With a groan of pleasure, he rolled onto his back, taking Meghan with him. She let out a little cry of surprise but straddled him, his pulsing member still buried deep. Eyes wide with the shock of fresh pleasure, she lifted herself, then sank slowly back down. He grabbed her hips and lifted her, driving himself into her as her mewls of pleasure reached his ears.

As she rode him, the spiraling pleasure consumed him, the feel of her welcoming body taking him higher. She opened her eyes and looked down at him, her mouth slightly open, little cries of pleasure escaping her lips.

Putting her on her back, he pinned her wrists above her head and indulged in taking her.

"Oh. Yes," she murmured in a breathy tone.

Her legs wrapped around him as her hands roamed, touching his face, his shoulders, trailing down his back. He buried his face in her neck, inhaling her scent deep roses and vanilla scent.

"Yes, yes," she moaned against his ear as he ground into her deeper. Their moans, sighs, and groans filled the room, the sounds of their lips and skin slapping together. He held her tighter against him and pummeled into her. Kissing and licking every bit of skin he could reach as her body shuddered with pleasure. He reached between them to pluck at her clit while continuing to fuck her.

Her tight sheath clenched around him.

"Yes, that's it, beautiful," he urged between thrusts until squeezed him tight. He rocked into her again, staring into her forest green eyes, as she looked back, eyes glittering with lust.

Meghan arched off the bed with a moan. Her orgasm set off his, her sweet pussy milking his aching cock. He grunted as he thrust deep, feeling his balls drain dry as he came and filled her with his seed. His vision went white, and spine-tingling pleasure coursed through him. He collapsed atop her, savoring her body against his, wishing any part of it was real.

With a sigh, he pulled away and left her to sleep. In the bathroom, he showered and opened the door to reenter the living area, raising one hand to catch the candlestick Morgan tried to implant in his skull. It was always something -- a fork from dinner. A chair. A shoe. She'd even tried to strangle him with curtain tiebacks and shoelaces. Morgan was imaginative.

He took a step forward, and Morgan backed away. She had more fire in her than her sister, and he liked to play with it, unable to ignore the urge to get burned.

Had they found themselves in different circumstances, she might have ruled beside him in Inisfail. But the timing had never worked. She'd loved another, then he'd had to marry for political reasons. His wife and son were dead now, and Morgan had been betrayed -- handed over to him as tribute he'd never wanted.

Yes, when he was king, he had treated the Dagda and Ogma badly, but the men had always been cruel to Bres. Nearly dying changed a man's way of thinking, though. Not about the Morrigan -- Bres' blood burned with the desire to kill that crow -- but about his actions. He could free the sisters, but a part of him couldn't.

Plus, they'd be killed if they returned to Inisfail. The Hunt would run them down. Their father had killed a Wulven woman, which caused her mate to go insane. He'd taken over The Wild Hunt and repurposed it to seek revenge by wiping out that entire bloodline. Morgan and Meghan were the last two descendants.

Bres had sworn an oath as king to protect them and not reveal the danger to them. Of course, he'd sworn it to The Morrigan, who had then later tried to murder him, so maybe he had been released from that vow. Part of him wanted to be honorable, though. The Morrigan had tried to kill him, not released him from his promise.

"Come here, pet." He couldn't resist taunting her.

"Don't call me pet." Her lips curled in a snarl.

"Remove your clothes."

She tilted her chin in defiance and took another step back as he closed in.

"Do it yourself, or I'll do it, and make things worse for Meghan." Threats were the only way to get Morgan to react. He detested her impassiveness and disgust. He'd rather have her passion and anger.

She pulled the shirt over her head and dropped it to the floor, pulling off her pants and boots to reveal her lush figure.

"Get on the bed." He reached for her.

She didn't. Morgan bolted for her bedroom. He knew she would. She always did.

Bres lunged after her, catching her and taking them to the floor. With his heavy, giant-sized build, he easily pinned her beneath him. She lay on her stomach, with him pressed against her backside. Her body trembled, but not in fear -- this was rage directed at his control over her.

Morgan needed to feel like she fought as hard as possible before she succumbed to the pleasure he gave her, so he offered her every chance. In truth, even if he let her run, she couldn't escape the tower or leave the island.

He'd just emptied himself into Meghan, but his cock hardened against Morgan's ass.

Bres kept Morgan trapped under him until she stopped struggling and let her feel him loosening his grip a little at a time so she could move, but only as far as he let her. He lifted his thigh from her legs and pressed his body away from her, not touching but keeping her aware of him and caged.

"There is nothing like the feeling of being inside you," he murmured. "I know you feel it, too."

"I hate you."

"I know. That makes how good you feel so much better. I love that you hate me, but your pussy gets slick. I love that your mind fights while your body surrenders. The sweetest things you give me are the parts of yourself you'd rather keep."

Morgan threw her head back. Her skull struck his chin, and she made a break from him. There was her fire.

He caught her again, putting her on her back and pressing her into the floor with the length of his naked body against every inch of hers.

She screeched in anger and frustration. "It means nothing. You're using magic. You can make us want you," Morgan sneered, "but at least you can't get us pregnant. It's the only blessing in this place."

Bres laughed. That was true before, but with his body and magic restored, he could most definitely get the sisters pregnant now. Meghan probably already was. "Is that what you think? I control how your body reacts to me. I control when you orgasm, how you pleasure me, if you remember what I do to you, or make you do to me. You think I can't control your body as to if you get pregnant or not?" He spread his palm over her flat stomach.

Her eyes widened. "No."

"Yes." He sat back on his knees. "Look at me."

When she didn't, he put a finger under her chin and lifted her face to his. "I've told you, you belong to me. This body is mine to pleasure and take pleasure from. I have been enjoying you and your sister as you are. If and when I require a child from you, this body will provide me that pleasure, too."

So many emotions ran through her green eyes. Dread. Fear. Anger. Denial. "Just get it over with." Morgan spoke with a tone of resignation.

He resented when she tried to make their encounters something she had to endure. The darkest part of him was determined to make her enjoy what he did to her. What they did together. Make her see what happened between them, though coerced at the start, didn't have to be bad.

Bres took her hand and placed her palm flat on his chest. Morgan closed her eyes as he forced her to feel him. He let his eyes half close, savoring her touch as he made her small hand slide over his skin, down his chest and abs, until her soft palm settled on his cock.

He curled their fingers around his length, hating that even after all this time, she never touched him of her own volition.

Bres cupped her breast with one hand, earning a gasp of pleasure. His cock jerked in her hand at this small victory. She might not want to touch him, but he'd learned what touches she liked.

He brought her pleasure when he was with her. He could tell by the way she bit her lip. By the way she fisted the sheets. The way the muscles of her pussy clenched around him when she orgasmed.

But she would die before admitting it.

She shuddered as he caressed the tip of her puckered nipple, rolling it between his thumb and finger. Bres lowered his head to press his lips to hers, following her as she leaned away from him. He used kisses to transfer magic to Meghan, but he didn't do it now, although that's what Morgan expected.

Morgan turned her head and parted her lips, no doubt to give him a different sort of tongue lashing than he wanted from her.

He wrapped his hand in her long hair to hold her in place, taking advantage of her opened mouth to deepen the kiss before pulling away.

"Tell me you don't want me."

"That's what you want, isn't it? I won't give you any more power or enjoyment than you already take from me." Morgan glared at him. "Do what you like. You will anyway."

No, it was the opposite of what he wanted. Bres growled and lifted her off the floor. He wanted her to admit she felt pleasure from him. Speak the truth, so for once they could join as equals, not with him her captor and her his tribute. But the fire he loved in her made her stubborn. She would never volunteer those words. And in that way, she wielded more power over him than he ever could over her.

Well, tonight he was going to make her want him as a woman wanted a man.

She lay passive when he placed her on her bed and flinched when he reached out to tuck a strand of red hair behind her ear. That instinctive movement to avoid him enraged him and send a pang of guilt through him. He'd never beaten them or raised a hand to them in anger, even so, she feared his touch.

Bres wrapped his hands around her wrists and placed them on his shoulders. He licked a line over her collarbone and nibbled his way to her chest.

Morgan gasped as he tongued the underside of one breast and closed her eyes as his mouth closed over the tip and sucked. He trailed kisses from one breast to the other and nibbled at the sensitive flesh. Pushing the full softness of her breasts together, he held them to his mouth for suckling.

Her fingers dug into his shoulders as she gave him one reaction while trying to avoid rewarding him with another. A thrill of victory stole through him.

Bres gave her nipples each a sharp bite, then released her and moved down, kissing and nibbling his way over her belly. He drew a hand up her leg toward the apex at her center, wanting to feel proof of her arousal. Her body stiffened and her thighs slammed together.

When his fingers touched the hot slickness he wanted to find, his cock hardened even more. She turned her head away.

Forcing her thighs apart, he settled between them and lowered his face to her sex. Pulling her closer, he opened this fresh assault on her senses with gentle laps along the delicate folds of her pussy until she writhed against his mouth. He held her in place, giving his attention to the swollen nub of her clit.

Bres slid his gaze up her body. Eyes locked on hers, he licked her slick cleft, suckled her clit, and slid a finger inside her.

Morgan moaned, fighting his hold, not to escape, but to raise herself to his lips and every thrust of his tongue. Her face, unguarded in the moment of her orgasm, showed pleasure that was more honest than any words.

Pure male satisfaction flooded his already heated veins. He wanted to flip her over and ride her hard. Take out all his anger and bitterness toward the Morrigan by driving himself into the woman beneath him. Take her in nothing more than a mindless rut. Bury himself so deep inside her, she never forgot how it felt and couldn't deny him ever again.