Seventeen #2
I halt my steps halfway from the fireplace to the door. My body instinctually freezing as if it is prey about to be caught. Staying perfectly still in hopes that the big bad wolf will dismiss me and move on.
For a moment trauma wars with this inherent reality.
Half of my life spent as literal prey, a weak and worthless being choosing not to fight back. Bracing in the face of a monster, which quite literally means I knew the hit was coming and still chose to do nothing about it. I was waiting for it.
Being a child means nothing when I still had my power at my fingertips. I could have burned his soul to ash the moment I looked into those dark, frozen eyes of his.
At least, that’s what I had thought for a very long time.
Then the other half of my life I spent in a brothel.
Watching women and men appreciate their sexuality and proving that being submissive does not mean you’re weak.
Being a female does not mean you’re weak.
Being smaller, more feminine, quieter, a bottom, willing to get on your knees does not mean you’re weak.
I survived something as a child that no child should ever have to go through.
And there are times where I still hate myself for not being able to get myself out of the situation faster, for how I react now because of it, for not being able to fully move on, for not accepting my own preferences when everyone else has.
There are times I hate myself because I still brace, but I’m working on that.
That was the other reason I chose Darian out of any and every other choice. Exposure therapy in a sense.
Right now, however, trauma no longer pertains to this moment. Not when I know, my body and my soul, that it’s Varian. The devil with red eyes encased in gold. He’s somewhere out of my line of sight, stalking my every move, waiting for the moment I’ll bolt.
That adrenaline rushes anew along with a heat sparking at my core. A wave of warmth rolling around my lower abdomen.
His scent gets stronger behind me and I shift my weight the smallest amount, waiting.
Curling my fingers hidden by the layers of fabric, I feel his exhale hit the right side of my head. His body heat consuming me in a small inferno as his life-smelling scent wraps around me.
“Bloodsucker,” he murmurs, his voice dripping with such male satisfaction.
And I smile behind my mask as I step my left foot forward, shift my right foot and hips, and swing my left hand fisted directly into my devil’s jaw.
The blow held none of my raw magic and it was nowhere near at the strength of what it used to be, but my form was solid and working out this past week while doing my minimized training helps to knock him sideways.
He stumbles and I take the second I have to bolt.
Slamming into the door, I twist the knob and yank it open. Only it doesn’t open and a weight presses into my back as hands grip my sides. His body pressing me into the door as I try to twist and jab my elbow into his side.
It barely does anything to him. His hands like vises around my waist, fingers carefully digging in and that slow burn rolling through me flickers as his warm breath whispers over my ear.
“Such a brat.” His hips and chest pressing into me from behind until I can’t move anymore. Trapped between him and the door I now realize is paired with a Devil’s Lock. “From day one you’ve given nothing but attitude to me.”
Fucking asshole.
He hums. “I could just fuck your asshole.”
I choke on quite literally nothing as my brain glitches trying to figure out if I heard him correctly. All while something drips down my thigh. I squeeze my legs together but he inhales sharply before his chest vibrates against my back and something hard presses just above my ass.
“It seems like your needs are not being met, bloodsucker.” I can’t tell if that’s actual jealousy in his tone or if I’m just projecting. In a twisted, lust-riddled way, I hope it’s the former.
His hand snakes around my front and splays over my lower abdomen, pulling me impossibly closer to him. My mask gets skewed as his nose buries into my hair. His hand inches lower down my front as his left hand tightens to the point where I wonder if there will be bruises on my waist.
A tiny, tiny voice I’m ignoring for the time being whispers that his marks on me wouldn’t be that bad.
Every point of contact with him burns with a heat like my fire.
A steady warmth igniting nerves I didn’t think I would enjoy feeling again.
My head lolls and lips press into the side of my neck in response as I feel two strong fingers curve down and pull.
The soft fabric of my dress giving barely any friction as I open my legs for him.
His lips trace over my neck. “So responsive to my touch.” My head goes fuzzy and my eyes flutter shut as I pant behind my mask. The air hot but I don’t want to move inch incase he chooses to stop.
God, I hope he doesn’t stop.
His chest rumbles again as his fingers slowly begin rubbing up and down and up and down, soaking the fabric of my dress with my wetness and that floral cutting scent. The bark and powder of no use now.
“You’d have to beg me to stop now, little bloodsucker.” His tongue licking my pulse point before his lips suck hard on my neck. It takes me a moment, trying to clear the fog of lust and arousal to realize he was responding to my thought, not my words.
In the back of my mind I know I need to remember to breathe and concentrate and keep those doors within me shut and locked.
In the back of my mind I also know I need to remember that I need to get away so I can win this game. But a little indulgence before the actual hunt can’t really hurt. I just need to breathe and control.
My aura that I had kept carefully hidden in my blood is climbing the walls and I can feel the strength of my magic through my eyes now. Digging my fingertips into the door, I focus just a bit of attention into myself and make sure my magic is still contained.
Varian’s fingers and lips make it harder to concentrate.
There’s no twinge of pain cutting through the pleasure like there is when Darian is helping me so it’s harder to focus.
Harder to remember as his fingers keep that slow, steady pace and that fire at my core stays at a simmer.
No spike with the promise of coming or fluctuation.
I try grounding my hips down into his fingers, but he only chuckles and tisks.
“Your punishment,” he hums, moving his fingers to keep that steady pressure and pace every time I try pushing for more. “For not wearing underwear.”
“Punish harder then,” I grit. Shifting my ass up to press into his dick and getting a small reprieve from his fingers. Dark little fantasies are coming to life.
He hisses and the hand at my waist disappears before reappearing around my neck. My mask slipping and falls off to the side. Cool air hits my face though it does nothing to dull that heat roaring inside me and my red devil nips the skin of my neck sending a spike of pleasure directly to my core.
“Darian says you need to breathe and remember control,” he grunts as I continue rubbing my ass against his hard length. “Close the doors of your magic. Now.”
I grit my teeth at his pompous fucking demand and snap the doors that opened, shut. “Now make me come, or I’ll go find the angel who always leaves me satisfied.”
A low blow, but there’s too much strain and heat and control and he does exactly as I want so I don’t care.
Growling into my ear, he squeezes the sides of my neck as I hear something rip. Then warm, rough fingers shove inside me and my pussy clenches so fucking hard as his fangs trace against my pulse.
Only Darian’s tongue has been inside me so Varian’s two fingers.
. . I can’t even think. So fucking full, so fucking good as I come.
Electric pulses cause my core to spasm and I see nothing, hear nothing, feel nothing but that climax.
A rush filling my veins and power like I’ve never felt before heightens every molecule of my being.
I feel like I’m ascending. A light beaming within as a key finally fits and a door I’ve never felt before unlocks.
Power, power, power.
It feels like freedom.
Like peace.
Like home.
It feels like –
I open my eyes up to stark gold. His hand is loose around my neck with his thumb stroking. His other hand still inside me, and despite my body needing more, everything else does dead.
My spirit and soul hitches in frozen shock as one of those lines within – red with thin ribbons of transparent black and twining lines of gold – is now tied.
“Say my name,” he whispers, but it is not fully Varian who whispers it. “I want you to say my full name.”
What have I done.
“Mavyllora,” he breathes. “Mavyllora Sanivin Tsukkenai. Say my name, please.”
Please.
I don’t think he’s ever said that word before. I can count on one hand how many times he’s asked something that isn’t a demand. He doesn’t beg.
Say my name.
He told me before what it means to say a devil or angel’s full name to them.
“I. . . can’t.”
The moment that word leaves my mouth I regret it.
Not because my soul dulls with an ache or because that string between us – our fate – vibrates with a pain of absolute emotional hurt, but because I watch my fated’s true form wince.
Varian’s true form – Varian Zhaeryn Asier – slowly recoils like a kicked puppy because to not say the full name of your true formed fated is a rejection.
He pulls his fingers from me which makes me wince and lets go of my neck as he steps back. The gold of his eyes retracting as his true form becomes contained. Revealing Varian’s pupil and red iris while stepping further back from me.
I push off the wall and spin to face him. Ignoring the wet mess between my legs with his name on my lips when his eyes flash in warning.
“Don’t you dare say it out of pity,” he rumbles. His voice dark but not malicious. “I’ll be ready when you are ready to be. You don’t need to accept anything right now if you don’t want to.”
That doesn’t matter much when I’ve already tied the bond between us.
Oh god. I’ve tied the bond between us.
That line within is drawn taunt, strong and sure, leading directly to him.
Tied directly to my soul, and I know if I don’t stay in absolute control of everything this is going to be irreversible.
Fated who have cemented their bond, when one of them dies it’s usually a hundred precent sure that they both end up dying.
No one cares when you’re young and stupid and think you have your whole life ahead of you, but me ripping my soul out is a form a death for myself and Callahan has already said there are times when it feels like I die when I hide my aura and if something happens to me Varian will –
“Mavyn.”
I can’t look at him. I can’t look at him because of what I’ve done.
I’ve cursed him.
I’ve cursed him and damned him and he is going to die. They’re all going to hate me even more than they already do.
“Look at me.”
It’s a demand. A force. He has a way with imbuing power into his tone while barely raising his voice and I’m a little jealous of it.
“Look at me while I suck my fingers that are coated in you,” he whispers.
My eyes snap up, unbelieving, but heat has replaced the rejection and warning that were in his red eyes as they devour me. Then he lifts his right hand and puts his middle and ring finger into his mouth. My juices being sucked off his fingers and the rest still running down his hand.
Just like he said he’d do.
Pupils blow to nearly consume all his red as he groans from my taste. Then he begins prowling towards me and I inch back until I hit the door.
His jaw is hard but his shoulders are relaxed. There’s no malice around him, just pure electric heat.
“Tell me you’re alright.”
Another demand but no power behind his words.
When he reaches me he keeps his hands at his sides and bows his head to keep holding eye contact. I can see his soul past and his true form there. A lump of shadow curled in on itself, rejected by me.
“Mavyn.”
It’s a plea now. Whispered in the space between us because I have not answered him and I can see him trying to see my own soul. I can see the begging – feel it – within him wishing to see my soul.
And that thought snags my depressive spiral happening because in order for fated to cement the bond between them they have to look and see each other’s souls. The only person who has seen my whole soul ever, is Darian.
“You haven’t see my soul.”
A muscle in his jaw feathers, but his eyes turn sad. “Not yet, bloodsucker.”
I shake my head and then place my hands on his chest and push as I step away from the door. He steps back willingly as I contemplate.
“You haven’t seen my soul,” I repeat as I look blindly around the room. “None of you have seen my soul.”
Our bond can’t be cemented because he hasn’t seen my soul yet. It’s not possible.
“Mavyn, what are you – “
There’s a deafening click that sounds at his door before it gets swung open. The result of someone successfully picking a Devil’s Lock. Then a god prowls in.