29 #2
“Mind if I speak with Kripot?” I ask, smiling. Darya nods slowly and steps away.
“Do whatever you truly desire, Kindra.”
With that, he turns away from me.
I look up at Kripot. My mentor stands there like a pillar, unmoving. The only reaction he has is the tightening of his arms across his chest.
“So?” I begin. “Don’t you have something to tell me?”
Kripot swallows hard, and as his throat thickens, an unpleasant image surfaces from the depths of my memory – me trying to strategize against the cyclops when fighting it.
But somehow, I feel challenged again, not offended.
Not frightened. The giant bites into the inside of his mouth and sighs heavily.
“So…rry,” he croaks, and I wave my hand dismissively.
“No worries,” I say, and Kripot’s emotional range visibly expands as he arches an eyebrow.
“Actually, yes. I’ll forgive you if you tell me why you won’t give Nárs a chance.”
“He’s just playing.”
“What do you mean by that?”
The cyclops sighs heavily.
“No one could truly love a monster.”
Unconsciously, my gaze shifts to Darya nearby, who converses silently with Sylla. Facing the red eyes doesn’t bother him at all.
Monster.
Kripot is wrong. It’s very easy to fall in love with a monster.
“How…?”
When I look back, Kripot has vanished from my sight. I turn back to Nárs, and recoil. The green gnome stands just an arm’s length away.
“Hello, hello, Pandora!” he addresses me, and the name evokes warmth, petals, and peaceful emotions in my heart. With every word from the creature, his curved back trembles as he leans heavily on his rickety staff, sharp axe beside him.
“Hepotis,” I sing his name, and his wrinkled eyes widen. “Can I help you?”
Green light dances before my eyes as I look at the gnome. He grins with yellowed teeth.
“You know, I-I made her, the one who’s now y-y-you.”
I tilt my head to the side.
“Pandora!” he shouts, slamming his staff on the stone. “I-I brought her out of the ground and cre-created her, w-when she was ch-chosen.”
Dizziness washes over me, and I sit back down next to Nárs. The gnome follows.
“So, you mean you… shaped… her appearance?”
He nods vigorously.
“I-I’ll s-s-shape you…”
“What do you mean?” I ask the green creature, but before he can answer, Darya appears.
“He means that, when you become one of us, he’ll help create your demonic form.”
I don’t want to be a demon , a quiet voice says within me. But you do, counters another.
Before I can decide which one to side with, Darya puts his wrist to my lips again. The warmth of the blood awakens me; I’m myself once more. I smile as the Demon King removes his hand.
“If I truly become a demon, you should really take me dancing,” I say. Darya’s grip on the armrest tightens. He exhales too slowly.
“When you become a demon, one dance won’t be enough .”
“It’s not enough right now .” I laugh, licking his cheek.
He tightens his grip on my throat and leans me back against the chair.
His kiss is wild and overpowering, and I smile.
I kiss him back fervently. I can’t fear Darya.
The demon extricates himself from my embrace and looks at me sternly, but I keep smiling.
He grunts and strides down the stairs to the stone corridor that rises from the ground.
I can’t take my eyes off his sculpted back muscles and the scars left bare by the short leather jacket around his waist. He rakes his silver hair with his sleeveless leather gloves, then stops at the foot of the stairs.
In a tone I’ve never heard before, he bellows. Every demon turns to him, the music fading.
“émías nosoik!” he declares. “Let the ritual begin!”
Excitedly, Nárs taps my shoulder.
“What did he say? What did he say?” he asks.
I study the demon’s hazel eyes attentively.
“Why do you like Kripot?”
“Did he say that? Did he really say that? I don’t believe he said that, but I also don’t understand why I wouldn’t like him?
He’s so handsome and smart – seriously, Lily Girl, you should see how he strategizes when we have to fend off the herebias.
Even Lizander gets hard when they’re in the same room, and despite his denial, I can feel what he feels.
He usually stands at the table, silently, with strong arms, and his thighs tremble against mine when… ”
“Have you told him this?”
He blinks at me in surprise.
“That I’m hard when I look at him? Of course.”
“Not that,” I say, smiling inadvertently. “But that you can’t articulate why you like him because you simply… love him.”
Nárs’s facial muscles twitch, and I hold my breath. Neither Nárs nor Lizander looks back at me – it’s someone in between the two.
I quickly intertwine my fingers with those of this someone, and lean in with a smile.
“Come on,” I say, planting a kiss on their cheek. “Let’s watch the ritual.”
The demon shudders, and a moment later, I know Nárs has returned.
A child appears, whom Darya transforms in minutes, and the weak Léthé sprinkles the River of Oblivion once more. The monsters roar, welcoming the child into the crowd, then techno music resumes.
Vines curl around my chair, settling next to my armrest, bearing clusters of grapes.
Smiling, I compete with Nárs to see who can eat the most. After another successful ritual, Sylla sits beside us, but I only notice her after hearing the hissing of her snakes near my ear.
Slowly, I turn my head to the side, gazing at the tiara on her head.
The red eyes watch me, but nothing happens.
I feel like something should be… something…
Bengt…
He’s my brother…
How could I forget about him?
I can’t figure it out. The Demon King steps up to me and presses his arm against my lips. A sip. Another. I smile again. The blood drips from the corners of my mouth, and I flash my iron-tasting teeth at Nárs, who oozes envy.
“Do you want some?” I ask, and without hesitation, he seals his lips against mine. The kiss is gentle, but his lips sting. We tilt our heads back simultaneously, leaning into each other, feeling the heat caused by the blood.
“Alright,” he begins, “if you don’t sleep with Darya tonight, I will.”
I laugh while opening my eyes to look straight at the Kraldem, who’s conversing with Kripot again. The Demon King doesn’t even glance at us, unperturbed by our earlier kiss.
“Why are they talking so much?”
For the first time tonight, Nárs’s face creases into angry wrinkles.
“The herebias. They’re breaking into Filizi from all sides. Kripot is helping to rally the forces, isn’t he sweet? Lizander helps during the day, but the matricide committer isn’t available right now.”
“Why did he kill your mother?” The question slips out of me.
Nárs crosses his arms and legs, shaking his head from side to side.
“That woman forced that wretched beast to feed from her tits until he was thirteen, then locked him in a room and gave him only a mirror. For years, he only had himself to talk to.” He flashes an evil smile at me. “Thus, I was born.”
A demon howls and crashes into the throne, the music still booming within the volcano.
“You… you know you’re not the original?” Until now, I thought Nárs had no idea he was a creation.
The man shrugs.
“I was born out of desire. Why wouldn’t I be original?”
I ponder this, and images from the Desire Mirrors flash through my mind.
“Nárs,” I say, addressing him. He looks at me. “I’d kill a mother like that, too.”
The man cackles loudly.
“Then I’d make your life miserable as well, Little Flower.”
Darya gives me his blood several times, and the more I get, the more I crave.
The ceremony is lengthy – the music thunders, the demons rave, and Nárs and I no longer discuss serious topics.
We mostly just sing, but sometimes discuss how we’d kill others.
I focus on Léthé, and Nárs listens with gleaming eyes.
The mermaid doesn’t stay the entire time; after the last child, a guard clamps the cuffs on her and drags her towards the door.
I laugh as I jump up and sit on Darya’s lap.
He pulls me close, breathes a kiss on my neck, and drags his finger down my thigh. I shiver.
“Bold,” he says. I feel like I’ve drunk too much blood, but I want more.
I cut his wounded wrist, getting a hot mouthful, and I simply laugh.
He whispers in an ancient language into my ear, one I don’t understand.
He gives more blood to my lips, then kisses them away.
I slide my hand down his chest, and he shivers at the touch, his hand digging into my thigh.
“Why don’t you want me?” I ask him, and the thin silver line appears in his eyes again, blinding me.
“There are situations where even I can lose control,” he whispers in my ear, sliding his hand further up under my skirt, and I bite my lip.
I look around the hall. I feel like we’re ruling over all the demons.
“What are you thinking about?” Darya asks, his fingers dangerously close to my underwear.
“Power,” I whisper, tilting my head, looking down at the Demon King on his throne.
“I’ve never had power over anything. Ohh…”
Darya reaches under my dress and grabs the space between my legs. All the air escapes from my lungs. Every part of me burns, and when his hand clenches and releases me again, I tremble. Darya’s nostrils flare, and I know he can feel I’m aroused.
“What do you desire now?” he asks. “Besides me?”
“Let’s make a deal.” I lift my chin, looking down at the Demon King on his throne. “I’ll tell, if you do.”
Darya smiles darkly, slides his hand inside my underwear, and I moan.
He growls with satisfaction at how wet he finds me.
I look around the throne room, where hundreds, maybe thousands of demons move to the rhythm of techno music.
Most of them don’t care, but some are watching us. And that just excites me even more.
“Alright then,” Darya murmurs, gently circling my clit with his finger, and I have to bite my lip to concentrate. “You start.”
“Control,” I moan immediately, struggling to speak. “So I never have to… never…”
Darya stops circling and cockily arches his eyebrow. I’m still moaning but manage to speak.
“I never want others to control me again. My parents. The drugs. You. I want to be in control. Of myself. Of the drugs. Of you.”
Darya laughs deeply, softly. Pulling me against his chest, he places my head on his shoulder. His claws have disappeared, and he slides one finger into me. My spine tenses.
“Oh my God…”
“My desire, besides you finally becoming a demon and to be inside of you all day,” Darya continues, “is revenge. And for this, Kindra, I am capable of anything. Everything.”
He tilts my head back and kisses me, his finger sliding in and out of me. I moan into his mouth, and he pulls out his finger, but only to pinch my clit.
I see stars again.
“If power is what you desire, you can have it from me,” Darya says, and whispers something else in that ancient language I don’t understand. “Now move like a good girl so you can come on my hand.”
Oh God.
Desperately, I move my hips. Darya speaks to me in that ancient language, whispering dirty phrases that I only half understand. He speeds up, but before I come, he stops. His fingers trace up from below, calming me as I plead with him.
“Look at them!” he whispers sensually, turning my face towards the crowd.
I blink as Darya continues, and I pulse painfully between my thighs.
“Darya, please…”
“Look at them, Kindra.”
I swallow hard, doing as he says. I understand what he means. I am above them. Above the demons, on the throne with their king, who until now has not allowed anyone to approach us, not even Léthé. Maybe no one has ever reached his throne. And this. This is power.
I nod, and Darya begins to circle gently with his finger, causing me to tilt my head back again. It’s agonizingly slow, and I move my hips, prompting a soft laugh from him as he pulls me closer.
“Patience, little champion,” he says, softly kissing my neck, causing me to whimper.
I have no patience, but I can’t move either. Darya pulls me firmly towards him with his other hand, and I feel his arousal against my waist.
“Darya…”
And his finger is inside me again. I cry out, but the sound is drowned out by the music. I’m dangerously close to bursting, letting go of everything. Darya kisses my neck, whispers in my ear in that intriguing language, and I don’t know where it comes from, but I say it:
“ Kir ,” I whisper, and Darya grins.
I just blink, not knowing where that word came from, but Darya laughs contentedly and picks up the pace so quickly that I scream.
“Come, Lotte. Come in my arms, where you belong.”
And I collapse.
The orgasm is unlike anything I’ve ever experienced. It’s as if I’ve given something to Darya, and each scream just validates this sacrifice.
I slump onto Darya, who kisses my forehead.
“Good girl,” he sings into my ear.
I look at him, his lips dripping with his own blood. He strokes my hair, and my eyes slowly close.
His marble skin is icecold. The music is rhythmic. The monsters’ howls are homey.
I was wrong. Darya’s blood is much better than the drugs.