46. The Dark Mother
The Dark Mother
CASPIAN
Ethereal beauty once existed as a mere concept, a definition applied only to the three goddesses responsible for the motherly curves of our landscapes and the splendor of artistic horizons.
That was until Rohen walked into my life, a torrent of wrath and lethality wrapped in an exquisiteness that rivaled the gods.
She was unorthodoxly breathtaking, from the layers of freckles dotting her porcelain skin to the deadliness that coated her tongue, and I wished for nothing more than for her to learn the natural elegance she carried.
She was more than worthy of worship, and every ounce of me longed to map and memorize each inch of her.
To carve them into the depths of my subconscious with the same intention I planned to cradle her with.
There was no denying her vivaciousness, just as it was impossible to overlook her vulnerability—something she had blessed me with.
Tucking a fallen strand behind her ear, I admired the serenity that clung to her sleeping frame.
Lips slightly parted, the gentle rise and fall of her shoulders confirmed her exhaustion.
Tracks of her sorrow stained her cheeks, but the newfound peace blanketing her eased my concerns.
In my arms, she had been able to release some of the undeniable weight she carried, and even if it were only a fraction of all that swam within her, I would take it.
Anything she would give me, I would accept without pause or hesitation. For she deserved the sun, stars, and moon, and nothing would stop me from ensuring she got them.
“Ro,” I muttered huskily, my voice still rough from lack of use.
Stirring slightly, she nuzzled her face into my chest. “Hmm…”
“It’s dawn.” Tracing the sun’s split rays on her back, I kissed the top of her head. “We should probably get up.”
Her question came mumbled, “What if I say no and that I wish to spend the day curled up with you?”
“Then I suppose I could not deny you. Though I cannot guarantee Syoran won't rip us out of bed.”
“Oh gods,” she laughed, the sound more radiant than any of the musicians who had visited the palace during my imprisonment. As she shifted slightly, her nose brushed against my jaw. “I suppose”—her breath ghosted my pulse point—“we should join him on the deck.”
Heat bloomed in my lower abdomen, and I swallowed the moan that threatened to fall. “Fuck. You can’t…”
Smile prevalent in her cadence, she asked, “Can’t what, Caspian Vayne?”
By the grace of the gods, she will be the death of me.
“Tease,” I huffed, fingertips trailing her waist.
“Oh?” Nipping at my neck, her timbre dropped. “This isn’t anything, treasure, for if I wished to drive you mad, I would cuff you to this bed and take my time with you.”
My mouth opened in reply, but an unrelenting force collided with my chest, preventing my utterance. As the air evaporated from my lungs, my vision darkened, and haunting yet familiar imagery returned.
Standing before a vast citadel carved from obsidian and flame, my gaze settled on the blazing torrent cascading from the crown-like structure above.
Lava plummeted from its jagged shape, illuminating towering pillars that vanished into a haze of smoke and ember.
Coating the air, the combination of ash and emanating heat threatened to devour my essence with its fury.
Encapsulating the desolate landscape, all that existed were hues of orange, red, and black—the colors of Wraelira becoming nothing more than a distant memory.
Nausea bloomed in my stomach as a presence manifested behind me, her voice thick with indignation and humor. “How many times do I have to remind you, Caspian Vayne? You are mine, and mine only.”
I spun on my heel, weaponized words at the ready, but Sorva’s fingers clamped around my throat, preventing their escape.
Hoisting me from the ground with sickening ease, my attention fell on the fresh carvings etched just above her collarbones.
Each was a pattern I’d never seen on her skin before, skin she had forced me to revere through the bind engraved beneath my branded chest.
The first was clean and symmetrical, centered on a single vertical laceration.
Sharp geometric shapes layered with smooth arcs, paired with long diagonal lines that extended outward, while circles and short horizontal marks framed the top and bottom.
There was something about it that was familiar, as if I’d known it or witnessed it somewhere else.
But when I moved to the second, a deep-seated knowing billowed within me.
The structure of the sigil relied on a vertical spine with smooth, flowing curves branching outward.
It featured a circular element near its peak, delicate crescent-like arcs, and subtle horizontal accents that gave it its otherworldly edge.
Designed like an arrow, its bottom half aimed downward, a hinted direction that gave way to its purpose.
The realm my father ruled.
As if sensing my wandering eyes, Sorva tightened her hold.
Nails piercing my flesh, anguish slithered through my veins, her corruption spreading like a virus.
“Would you like to know that, because of your inability to ward me off, not only have you harmed the woman your heart yearns for, but the very god with whom you share a lineage?”
“F-F-Fuck… you,” I spat, desperately trying to pry her polluted touch from my neck.
Her cackle pierced the air. “You are a na?ve and pitiful man. You keep playing this make-believe game only because I allow it. The autonomy you think you have exists only because I permit it. I’ve already consumed all you are, Vayne, and if I so much as desired to, I could damn you to this realm.
For it is where you fucking belong.” Tracing the line of my jaw with her finger, she grinned.
“You are your father’s son, and that is exactly why his essence is fizzling, because the two of you simply lie down and take it like the good boys you are. ”
Consciousness slipping, shadows blackened my line of sight, waiting to pull me under.
My frame slackened as she continued to pump me full of the maliciousness she led with, her tongue lapping up the side of my face as I straddled both light and dark.
While everything else faded aside from her grip, her statement chased me from the mirage she’d placed.
“The life she breathes into you is delicious, and that is the only reason I have not snuffed out your existence. But trust me, Caspian, when I desire your presence, obedience, and attention, you will arrive ready to provide.”
“Caspian!” Rohen’s plea served as my anchor, grounding me in the present as I sucked in a wavering breath. “Oh my gods, Caspian…”
With her palms settled on both of my cheeks, she loomed over me, fear pulsing from her in thick waves. Hair disheveled, the flush of her skin, and the disarray of her otherwise composed nature earned a weakened chuckle from me.
“I-I’m…”
“Don’t fucking bullshit me!” she shouted, her hands shaking with an intensity I hadn’t noticed at first. “You stopped responding, Caspian. You… You’re bleeding. It’s like… Wherever you went and whatever happened affected you here. Your veins… Sorva’s influence; it’s—”
Grabbing the back of her neck, I forced her lips to meet mine.
As my mouth overlapped hers, I drank her in, desiring to intoxicate myself with her essence.
She was unlike anything I’d ever tasted, anything I’d ever experienced, and if Sorva was going to whisk me away, I wanted Rohen to be the last thing I remembered.
As I deepened the kiss, it transcended everything that had come before.
Transforming into a claim, it served as a display of my guttural need for all Rohen was and all she’d become.
Spiced citrus and nutmeg swathed my senses, ridding me of the Dark Mother’s ownership and touch.
It was a cleansing, a coaxing from the reality that damned me and the implications of my tainted life force.
Tension dissipated in Rohen’s body, and she melted into my arms. Fingers clutching my face, her tongue swept across my teeth as each heightened inhale increased with her sorrow-laden desire.
Her touch was fueled by desperation and longing, each one whisking away the impending circumstances awaiting me as she explored my frame.
Still, the shackles of Sorva’s confinement closed around my wrists and ankles.
It was only a matter of time before the malevolent deity devoured all I was and crafted me into whatever she desired.
I knew she would weaponize my bind to ensure I did her bidding, to harm those I loved, just as she already had.
Their scars served as an incessant reminder of the poison leeching off my essence, of the venom rendering me incapable of escaping all that loomed over me.
That was, unless she granted me freedom or if death dared to caress me with an early embrace.
Offering Rohen a fleeting kiss, I loosed a sigh. “I’m okay, Ro. I’ll be okay.”
“No.” She settled her forehead against mine and shook her head. “Nothing about what is happening to you is okay, and I refuse to label it as such.”
I brushed her hair behind her ear with my thumb, fingers forming to her jaw. “I understand, but it has to be okay because there is no other option. Not now, anyway.”
“Then we fight for an option.” Chasing my touch, she rubbed her cheek against my calloused palm. “We fight, Caspian, and we do not give up.”
With a dip of my chin, I smiled softly. “Okay. We fight, and we do not give up. Whatever you wish, my little siren.”