Chapter 14
Shadow
J asmine clogged my nostrils, reaching like hands down my throat, filling my lungs with its nauseating scent. I stood in the empress’s private chambers, beside a crackling fireplace, doing everything within my power not to toss myself into the flames.
Burning for the rest of eternity would be better than this .
I glanced at the sprawling canopy bed, the posts wrapped in silver-dusted filigree.
Furs were draped over it—they looked so soft, so luxurious, but I knew that was a lie.
The screams of a young boy sounded in my ears, and I forced myself to look away.
I hated that bed. I hated this room. I hated her —
The empress strode toward me, her hips swaying from side to side like a feline on the prowl, her sights set on me. “Do you like what you see?” she asked. The chains draped down her body swayed from side to side, catching on the firelight as she moved.
“You are the epitome of my desire,” I lied, my voice a sensual purr despite the granite I felt weighing down my chest. With each passing second, the flames looked more and more inviting.
“Such pretty, pretty words,” she said with a breathy, playful laugh.
She waved her hand, and in a swirl of soft light, a goblet appeared in it, which she raised to her mouth.
As she drank, her lilac orbs watched me over the rim of the glass.
Lowering it to her side, she nodded toward me.
“Take off the mask. Let me see the real you.”
I reached behind my head, unfastened the clasp, and took it off, tossing it onto the sofa.
Cool air swept across my skin. It felt so good just to be . . . free.
To not feel the hard, unforgiving mask clamped against my face.
It was the only positive about coming here.
The empress would often ask us to remove our masks, something we were only allowed to do when given her permission or if we needed to shave or wash our face or eat.
With the iron mask no longer on, virgin powers filled my person—ones I knew next to nothing about, regardless of how badly I longed to.
But the rules were clear—unless you were female, a stygian forgemaster, or an Ashamori, magic was forbidden.
“How does that feel?” she asked, swirling her goblet.
“It feels incredible.” I gave her an honest answer, probably one of the only truthful things I would say tonight.
“Are you going to thank me? ”
Thank her . . . Thanking her would be like thanking someone who had their foot on your throat and took it off for a brief moment, allowing you a few gulps of air.
She was the reason my nearly eradicated gender was forced to cover our faces.
I ignored centuries of pent-up anger and said, “Thank you.”
“You’re always such a good boy,” she cooed softly as she stepped into me.
Reaching up, she traced the macabre scars that marred my face, put there by her own hand.
“You are hauntingly beautiful, my champion. You have the bone structure of an angel, but the scars of a demon.” She paused briefly, a hint of longing seeping into her voice.
“If only I had been the one to create you. I would have placed my soul on my anvil, cracked it in half, and placed it right . . .” Her hand slid from my face, over my chin, down my neck, stopping at my chest. “Here.”
“You are the beautiful one, Your Majesty,” I said, the compliment poison on my tongue.
There was nothing beautiful about her.
“Avena,” she corrected. “When will you call me by my name?”
“When I no longer respect you,” I told her, adding to my pile of lies.
“A day that will never come,” she spoke confidently as she started toward the sofa. “Come. Sit with me.”
Obliging her request, I followed her.
The leather-wrapped cushion sighed under my weight as I sat down .
She placed the mask on the table and turned toward me, her blonde hair spilling over her shoulders.
Propping her elbow on the back of the sofa, she used her hand to rest her chin.
“The ladies were impressed by you tonight,” she said.
“Not that that should come as a surprise.” She took another sip of her drink.
“In fact, one of them made a bold request.”
“Oh?” I asked.
One second, she was reaching forward, sliding her cup onto the coffee table, and in the next, she was in my lap, her legs spread on either side of mine. She draped her arms over my shoulders. Leaning forward, she whispered in my ear, “She asked me how much it would cost her to ride you.”
Her tongue ran over the shell of my ear, the heat of her breath scalding against my skin. Unbearable. Yet, I sat there, pretending I liked it.
She pulled back, her eyes flashing with malevolence. “Do you want to know what I said to her?”
“Yes,” I replied, playing along.
“I told her that if she ever asked me anything like that again, she’d find a sword in her belly, not your cock.” Bolts of lightning sparked from the corners of her eyes, her immense power flashing throughout the room.
Instantly, the fire went out, as if it were scared to burn in her presence.
Her power recoiled and her expression softened. She held my face, bringing her mouth a breath from mine. “You are the one thing that I will never share with anyone. You belong to me, Shadow.” With a kiss, she seared her claim against my lips .
I closed my eyes, thinking of Avriel. I pretended it was her heart-shaped mouth I was kissing. I started off gentle, slowly building in speed, until it became rapturous.
“Mmmmmm,” the empress hummed in approval, taking me out of my fantasy—
No, it’s Avriel, I lied to myself until I believed it was the truth.
Until it really was just . . . us.
Avriel’s body began to move against mine, her hips grinding her sex against my stiffening cock.
My fingers ran up the length of her side, over her shoulder, bunching in her hair.
Gently, I pulled her head back, exposing her beautiful neck to me.
I licked and nipped my way down it, gently scraping my teeth along the sensitive flesh.
The empress moaned.
It’s Avriel! I roared inside my head, trying so fucking desperately to hold on to the lie.
“Open your eyes,” the empress rasped the command. “Look at me.”
Unwillingly, I forced them open, looking up at her as I kissed her neck. My teeth throbbed—not because I wanted to drink from her, but because I wanted to plunge them into her throat and rip it out.
“Always my good boy,” she purred. Her words made me want to throw up. “Now, it’s time for your reward.”
In a flash, we were both on her bed, the fur against my back and her on top of me—our clothes gone, swept away by her ribbons of light.
Her sex rested against mine. Her arousal leaked onto the base of my length, which was beginning to go soft—not enough that she would notice, but enough that I knew I needed to do something before she did.
The empress did not take kindly to males who couldn’t stay erect in her presence, her ego would not have it. Her rules were simple—no erection? No cock. No head. No soul.
Eager to keep all of those things, I began to stroke my length.
She ran her hand over my arm, her greedy eyes feasting on the sight before her. “You are so muscular,” she said, her hand moving to my length, slowly taking over. “ So masculine.” She hoisted herself onto her knees, aligning my crown with her entrance.
She moaned in delight as she lowered herself onto my shaft, seating herself to the hilt.
Then, she began to ride me.
And like the broken animal I was, I let her.
Later on, when I was back in my private chamber, I stood in the bathroom, snorting water up into my nose, trying to rinse out that fucking scent of jasmine.
It was everywhere.
She was everywhere.
Her hands wouldn’t stop roaming over my skin, wouldn’t stop touching me.
I grabbed the wet cloth and began to vigorously scrub, chasing after her hands and everywhere they had touched.
It wasn’t enough. I tossed the cloth onto the countertop and went back into my room, rushing over to my forge.
“Where is it?” I snarled, my hands smacking at hers, trying to get them off me. I looked through my tools, searching and searching. No, it wasn’t here. I went over to a bucket, grabbed the handle, and dumped the contents out. I knelt on the floor, looking through the various tools.
A breath of relief found my aching lungs as I spotted the wad of steel wool. I grabbed it and swiftly began to rub the abrasive metal against my skin, chewing through the layers of my flesh.
“Fuck,” I heard someone say from behind me, followed by fast footsteps.
Aryx crouched in front of me, his hand clenched around mine, the other grabbing the side of my face, forcing me to look at him. “She’s not here,” he growled. “Do you hear me? She’s not fucking here.”
I blinked, the haze slowly clearing. I looked down at my tattered skin, raw and full of abrasions, completely covered in my ichor.
Finally . . .
I couldn’t see her hands anymore.