Chapter 6
Chapter Six
For ten thousand years, he had walked the border between the living and the dead, harvesting the threadbare remnants of human existence.
He had felt the final, desperate gasps of emperors and beggars alike.
But nothing in all his millennia of existence had prepared him for the devastating shock of Clara’s climax.
When her magic fractured, it tore through his chest like a blade. The sheer, unadulterated purity of her surrender exploded outward in a blinding flash of gold and silver light, shattering the shadow-woven thorns he had bound her with.
She was free of her restraints, but she was completely helpless, her beautiful body locked in the trembling, helpless aftershocks of an intense release.
Her internal muscles were clamping around his length with a fierce, desperate rhythm, milking him, driving him right to the razor edge of his control.
His pulse roared in his ears like a coming storm.
His starved heart hammered against his ribs so violently it pained him.
He had intended to prolong this, to savor the slow, delicious corruption of her mortal innocence, but the taste of her untethered magic was a poison in his veins.
It stripped away his patience, leaving nothing but the primal, ravenous beast that lived in the deepest abyss of the underworld.
He didn't want to be gentle anymore. He wanted to consume her. He wanted to leave his mark so deeply embedded in her soul that no other entity in this realm or the next would ever dare look at her.
"Clara," he growled, the sound tearing from his throat, devoid of its usual velvety charm. It was rough, grating, and heavy with hunger.
She opened her hooded eyes, her pupils so dilated they nearly swallowed the green of her eyes.
She was dazed, panting, her pale skin flushed a dark red from the heat of her climax.
She tried to shift away, her body overwhelmed by the sensory overload, but he caught her by the hips before she could move an inch.
His fingers dug into the soft flesh of her waist, anchoring her firmly to the mattress. He pulled her body up, tilting her pelvis back at a sharp, demanding angle that left her completely exposed to me.
"Azrael... wait," she whimpered, her hands weakly pushing against his chest. “I can't... it's too much.”
"You bargained with Death, little doe," he rasped, leaning down until his lips brushed her burning earlobe. "And Death takes his full measure."
Without another word, he drove back into her.He didn't ease into it.
He slammed into her core with a hard thrust that made the wooden headboard crack against the wall.
Clara let out a choked gasp, her fingers instantly clawing into the muscles of his shoulders, her nails scratching against the glowing silver runes etched into his skin.
The friction was agonizingly perfect. She was dripping, slick with the proof of her arousal and the remnants of her broken innocence, allowing him to slide deep within her with a brutal friction.
He began to hammer against her, establishing a fast, punishing rhythm that left no room for breath or protest.
With every heavy, driving thrust, a low hum of dark energy vibrated through the room.
The shadows around them grew chaotic, twisting and churning, reacting to the sheer violence of his desire.
The temperature in the room plummeted further, frost rapidly spidering across the windowpanes and the mirror, yet where their bodies crashed together, the heat was suffocating.
Clara’s whimpers quickly turned into breathless, rhythmic groans.
Her head thrashed against the pillows, her dark hair splaying out around her like a halo of silk.
Even though she was overwhelmed, her body was betraying her mind, her hips lifting instinctively to meet each of his heavy, crashing thrusts.
She was addictive. The raw way she writhed beneath him was a sweeter nectar than any offering ever laid upon an altar in his honor.
He leaned down, pinning her arms above her head with one hand, locking their fingers together as he continued to drive into her.
With his free hand, he gripped her jaw, forcing her to look directly into his eyes.
His silver gaze was blazing, a wild, untamed fire reflecting the absolute ruin of his control.
"Tell me who owns you," he demanded, his voice a dark command that brooked no refusal. He delivered a particularly deep, bruising thrust that hit her sweetest spot, making her back arch off the bed. "Speak my name, Clara."
"You..." she sobbed out, her eyes swimming with tears of pure, unadulterated pleasure. She squeezed around him again an unexpected wave of arousal rippled through her walls. "Azrael...you do. Please..."
Hearing her sweet, broken voice speak his name as a surrender was the final blow to his restraint.
The ancient walls holding back his power crumbled entirely.
He let go of her hands, reaching down to slide his arms under her thighs, pulling her knees all the way up to her chest to open her as wide as physically possible.
He delivered three more frantic, devastating thrusts, burying himself to the very brim, feeling the tight, burning heat of her core engulfing him.
A guttural, non-human roar tore from his chest as the dam broke.
He froze inside her, his muscles locking into rigid cords of stone as his release ripped through his frame.
It wasn't just a physical ejaculation, it was a total transmission of the veil.
He poured his cold, dark essence deep into her womb, a flood of obsidian magic that merged instantly with her golden witch fire.
The force of his climax sent a violent shockwave through the house, the remaining glass in the bedroom window cracking under the pressure of the weight.
He held her pinned beneath him, shuddering violently as he emptied centuries of starved, locked-away desire into her. Clara screamed against his shoulder, her body convulsing in tandem with his as the dark energy washed over her, sealing their pact in the most intimate, irrevocable way possible.
Slowly, the roaring in his ears began to fade back into the quiet of the night. The chaotic shadows subsided, returning to the corners of the room, leaving only the sound of their frantic, ragged breathing.
He relaxed his grip on her thighs, letting her legs fall softly back to the mattress. He shifted his weight, collapsing beside her, but he didn't pull away completely. He kept one heavy leg draped over hers, keeping her anchored to him.
Clara lay completely still, her chest heaving, staring blankly up at the ceiling. She was marked. She was thoroughly taken. He reached over, his fingers tracing the line of her collarbone, feeling the new, dark pulse of his magic beating in perfect rhythm with her own heart.
She had saved her sister's life, yes. But as he looked at the beautiful, broken ruin of the witch beside him, he knew the truth. She belonged to the underworld now. And he would never, ever let her go.
The End