21. Kai’rin
21
KAI’RIN
B lood drips from my split lip as I slam the door to my room. The metallic taste lingers, familiar yet infuriating. My wings ache from being twisted during the match - a deliberate move by Raxus that went beyond our usual sparring protocols.
I strip off my torn training leathers, each movement sending fresh jolts of pain through my ribs. The bastards got their hits in today, more than usual. My reflection in the polished metal surface shows fresh bruises blooming across my torso, stark against my skin.
"The mighty Kai'rin, brought low by a human whore." Raxus's mocking words echo in my head. The mirror cracks under my fist, splitting my reflection into jagged shards.
My wings flex involuntarily, sending a shower of loose feathers to the floor. They're dulled from their usual ash-gray to an almost muddy color from being ground into the dirt of the training yard. Another deliberate slight - targeting a xaphan's wings is considered the height of disrespect.
"Can't even focus on a simple drill anymore." Merith's sneering voice had cut deeper than his blade. "Too busy thinking about your little pet."
I'm glad Vhex and Mykael weren't there today to witness it.
But they're wrong. This obsession doesn't make me weak. The prayers, her devotion - they feed something in me I didn't know was starving. Let them mock. Let them attack. They don't understand the power in owning something so completely, in having absolute control over another's spirit.
I press my fingers against my split lip, relishing the sharp sting. Pain grounds me, reminds me who I am. What I am. A warrior who breaks spirits, not the other way around.
Let them think they've won this round. I've learned patience in breaking slaves. I can wait to show them exactly how wrong they are about my supposed weakness.
A soft knock at my door pulls me from my dark thoughts. Without waiting for permission, Aren slips inside, carrying her familiar wooden box of healing supplies. I'm honestly surprised it took her this long to seek me out. Her dark waves cascade over one shoulder as she takes in the destruction around her, but her expression remains carefully neutral.
"You're bleeding." Her voice carries no judgment, just quiet observation. One she should be used to by now.
"Leave it." The words come out as a growl.
She ignores my command, moving closer with the determined grace I've come to expect. The hem of her simple dress pools around her as she kneels beside me, opening her box of supplies.
My fingers snap around her wrist before she can touch me. "Why do you persist in this?" It's a question that's been plaguing me as she cleans me up each day. "I've given you no reason to care about my wellbeing."
Her deep brown eyes meet mine, unwavering despite my grip. "Because you're hurting, and I can help." Such a simple answer, delivered with the quiet dignity that drew me to her in the first place. "Let me ease your pain."
Something cracks inside my chest, a fissure in armor I've worn for centuries. My grip loosens but doesn't release her entirely. Her pulse flutters beneath my fingers like a trapped bird.
"I don't need your pity." The words lack their usual venom.
"It's not pity." She shifts closer, her free hand hovering near my split lip. "It's purpose. You gave me purpose when you claimed me. Let me fulfill it."
My wings twitch, sending another shower of dull feathers to the floor. Her eyes track their fall with an emotion I can't - won't - name. The crack in my chest widens.
"You think tending my wounds gives you purpose?" I bare my teeth, but she doesn't flinch.
"I think helping you makes me stronger." Her thumb brushes over my knuckles, still wrapped around her wrist. "And I think you know that."
Aren’s fingers are gentle as they clean the blood from my lip. I watch her intently, but every flicker of emotion across her face is a mystery I can't solve. Her mouth moves silently, her lips forming the words of a prayer, a devotion so earnest it's almost tangible.
"What are you praying for?" My voice is rough, edged with the pain still simmering within.
Her deep brown eyes meet mine. "For you." No hesitation, just quiet certainty.
A shiver runs through me, a mix of anger and something else I refuse to name. "For me?" I mock. "You think your prayers can heal me? Save me?"
She doesn't flinch at the venom in my words. Instead, she dabs at a cut on my cheekbone, her touch as light as a feather. "Not save. Guide."
And I want to fight her on it. I do.
But I also want her so damn bad I can't think straight. Maybe I am weak because in this moment, I'm ready to give into her. I'll let myself slip a little deeper into this addiction just to have the taste I've been dying for.
Her fingers trail down to my jaw, wiping away the last of the blood. I catch her wrist, holding her gaze. "Show me," I demand. "Show me how devoted you can be."
Her eyes widen slightly, but she doesn't look away. There's a beat of silence, a moment where her breath hitches. Then she nods, a small, determined movement.
I release her wrist, leaning back against the wall. She shifts closer, her hands resting lightly on my thighs. Her touch is tentative, yet there's an underlying strength, a resolve that's as alluring as it is infuriating.
Her lips press against a bruise on my chest, the warmth of her breath sending a jolt through me. She murmurs something, a prayer or a plea, I can't tell. Her mouth moves lower, tracing the lines of old scars, ones earned long before she entered my life.
My breath catches as she trails kisses down my abdomen, her dark hair brushing against my skin. There's a reverence in her touch, a devotion that's both intoxicating and terrifying. I fist my hands in her hair, guiding her but not forcing. She resists just enough to show she's doing this by choice, not coercion.
Her hands undo my laces, and I hiss when she wraps one around my cock, stroking the length. I tug her head back so she looks at me. "Think you can take me?" I grunt as she swipes her thumb along the head. "Or do you want to beg for mercy?"
"I can take whatever you need to give me," she says, still stroking me.
I grunt, the images in my mind filthy. "Open your mouth."
She sticks her tongue out, head tipped back, and I lean forward, spitting into her mouth. She swallows without command and the sight makes me harder.
"Show me." I push her head down. "Show me how much you want to please me."
Her mouth closes around the head of my cock and she sucks hard before bobbing forward. She works a strong rhythm that has my head falling back, groaning as my cock teases the back of her throat.
She coughs and gags, pulling back slightly, and I rip her off of me. Immediately, she tips her head back, tongue out, and I can't resist. I spit on her again, and then smack the side of her cheek, not enough to hurt her. But her eyes light up. It only makes me more feral.
"You take all of it." I drag the head of my cock along her tongue. "I want you so hoarse that you can't pray anymore. That you show your gods you gave up everything to me. I want you to use that pretty little lips for more than empty words until you are begging me to fill you with my cum-"
I nearly choke when she surges forward, her mouth enveloping my cock, straining against the hold I have on her hair. My cock slams into the back of her throat, but she doesn't pull away this time.
Blood pounds in my ears as Aren's mouth works me over, her lips stretched wide around my cock. I fist her hair tighter, guiding her head as I thrust deeper, hitting the back of her throat. She gags but doesn't pull away, tears streaming down her cheeks as she looks up at me with those deep brown eyes.
"That's it, little flame," I growl, my violet gaze locked onto hers. I smear her tears, spurred on by them. "Take it all. Show me how much you want this."
Her hands grip my thighs, nails digging into the muscle as she takes me deeper. The sight of her, on her knees, lips wrapped around my cock, is intoxicating. I can feel her devotion in every stroke, every choked breath. She's giving herself to me completely, and it's driving me wild.
"You want this darkness?" I demand, hips moving faster, fucking her mouth with abandon. "Prove it. Swallow every inch."
She moans around me, the vibration sending a jolt of pleasure straight to my core. Her eyes never leave mine, even as they water from the effort. She's a vision, a dark angel sent to torment me with her submission.
My wings flare out, casting a shadow over us both. The edges are ragged, scarred from battles won and lost, but she doesn't shy away from their broken glory. Instead, she reaches up, her fingers brushing against the sensitive membrane, tracing the scars like they're holy ground.
"Fuck," I hiss, the sensation sending a wave of pleasure crashing over me. My grip on her hair tightens, and I fuck her mouth harder, chasing the high only she can give me. "You're playing with fire, little flame."
Her response is a low hum, a sound of surrender that sets my blood ablaze. I can feel the power surging within me, the magic begging to be unleashed. But I hold back, not wanting to hurt her. Not like this.
"Touch yourself," I command, needing to see her pleasure, to know she's enjoying this as much as I am. "Make yourself come while you choke on my cock."
She obeys without hesitation, one hand slipping between her legs, disappearing beneath the fabric of her dress. Her breath hitches, her body tensing as she begins to stroke herself. The sight is obscene, and I can't look away.
"That's it," I groan, my body coiling tight with need. "Show me how you like it. Show me what makes you burn."
Her eyes flutter closed, her body rocking in time with my thrusts. She's lost in the sensation, her mouth working me over with eager abandon. I can feel her moans vibrating around my cock, her body trembling as she chases her own release.
"Look at me," I demand, needing to see her eyes, to see the fire burning within. "Look at me while you come."
Her eyes snap open, locking onto mine. There's a wildness in her gaze, a fierce determination that matches my own. She's not just submitting; she's claiming me right back, her darkness meeting mine in a dance as old as time.
And then she's coming, her body convulsing, her mouth clamping down around me. The sight, the sensation, the raw power of her surrender sends me careening over the edge. I come hard, my cock pulsing, filling her mouth with my release. She swallows it all, her eyes never leaving mine, a silent vow passing between us.
As the last waves of pleasure fade, I release her hair, my breath coming in ragged gasps. She pulls back, her lips swollen, her cheeks flushed, and a satisfied smile playing at the corners of her mouth.
I watch as Aren wipes her mouth with the back of her hand, her chest still heaving. My body thrums with satisfaction, yet something darker coils in my gut. The sight of her on her knees, lips swollen from taking my cock, stirs emotions I've spent centuries burying.
"Get up." My voice comes out rougher than intended.
She rises with that infuriating grace, smoothing her dress. A drop of my cum lingers at the corner of her mouth. Before I can stop myself, I swipe it away with my thumb. Her breath catches at the touch.
"You shouldn't-" The words die in my throat as she captures my thumb with her mouth, cleaning it with a swirl of her tongue. My wings snap out, casting shadows across her face. "Enough."
But she doesn't back away. Her deep brown eyes hold mine, filled with an intensity that makes my magic surge. Violet light dances across her olive skin.
"You gave me purpose," she whispers, echoing her earlier words. "Let me serve it."
I grab her throat, squeezing just enough to feel her pulse jump. "Your purpose is whatever I say it is." The words lack their usual bite. "Nothing more."
Her hand covers mine where it rests against her throat. Not pulling away, not fighting - accepting. The gesture sends a crack through my carefully constructed walls.
I shove her back, needing distance. My wings curl around me protectively, but her scent still lingers - a mix of arousal and devotion that makes my head spin.
"You think your submission makes you special?" I snarl, lashing out against this weakness she creates in me. "That it gives you power over me?"
"No." She steps closer despite my warning growl. "But your acceptance of it might."
The truth in her words hits like a physical blow. I turn away, unable to face the understanding in her eyes. She sees too much, this little human who kneels so beautifully for me. Who takes my darkness and transforms it into something sacred.
My fist connects with the wall, cracking the stone. Better to destroy something external than examine the war raging within me. But even as I try to push her away, my body betrays me, yearning for her touch, her warmth, her unwavering faith.
What is this human doing to me?