Chapter 61 #2
Her orgasm followed, crashing over them like a tide.
Awe so intense it brought tears to her eyes.
Every sound she made, every desperate gasp, Rune swallowed it as if it were holy.
There was a power in their union, relishing every second she gave herself over not only to his essence but to all of him.
And darkness help him, he was nearly out of breath.
Alora dropped beside him with a lazy smile. “We aren’t finished so soon, are we?”
“Greedy little thing,” he growled playfully, sitting up to hoist her on his lap.
Her eyes caught the golden light of the aphrodisiac liquid that coated on himself. And when he caressed her wet slit with both aching lengths before seating her on one. Alora whimpered, trembling around him.
“I love how well you take me,” he rasped, licking the sweat from her collarbone. “So beautiful. My deadly little flower, blooming for me.”
Rune retracted his claws and gently removed the shadows he’d left in her rear. Her soft gasp turned into a whimper two of his fingers replaced them.
She shut her eyes, breath trembling sharply at the pressure and invasion, but he had slid in without much resistance.
Then he moved, fingers and shadows working in tandem together, overwhelming her with pleasure, teaching her body to open for him. Patient, thorough, relentless until her whimpers broke into soft moans. And any tension Alora once felt melted into exhilaration.
“After tonight, there will be no part of you left untouched,” he rumbled.
Alora shuddered, her walls clamping down on him greedily. “Another,” she rasped.
Rune’s laugh vibrated against her chest, dark and delighted. “Can you handle that?”
“Yes!”
“You beg so sweetly, my queen. How can I deny you?”
He slipped a third finger inside. Her hips bucked and she mewled as the sensation coursed through the bond, sharp and wild. He watched her, reading every glimmer of pleasure on her face, soothing any discomfort with murmured praises and magic.
He worked that sweet little hole, preparing her in ways that made him so hard he teetered on the edge.
When she grew softer, he pumped deeper, and Alora’s cries answered.
He ached to sink into her himself yet reveled as her body yielded to him.
The claws of his other hand dug into the bedframe, splintering the wood as she dripped down her thighs, her intoxicating scent filling his senses.
Every fiber of him screamed to take her then and there.
Alora panted, sweating, convulsing on his sheets as her hips bucked into his touch, wanting more. Begging for more. The sight nearly had him coming again.
Her breath sharpened. “Rune…” she whispered, half protest, half plea.
She was ready for him now.
His chuckle was low, dark velvet. “Are you so impatient to be taken by all of me? I warn you now, after this you will be corrupted so deep the gods themselves would weep to look upon you.”
Her smile was enough.
It was everything.
Rune teased the ridged length of his lower length through her folds again, slow, deliberate, molten veins glowing like they meant to brand her. And he flexed his fingers only once.
Her cry filled the air, and it snapped something feral in him.
With a growl that shook the rafters, he pulled out and lifted her by her hip, lining himself at both entrances, pressing enough for her body to feel the impossible stretch waiting for her. She stiffened, eyes flying wide, shock and want colliding.
“Shhh.” His lips brushed her ear at her whimper. “You can take it, love. Breathe.”
Braced herself on his shoulders, Alora nodded.
Once she inhaled a breath, he eased into her slowly.
Agony and ecstasy braided together as the first head slipped in, the ridges catching deliciously against her walls.
She gasped, nails digging into his skin.
More of her sleek, delicious core took him in, and he groaned.
“Fuck… you feel divine.” He slipped in another inch.
And then he pushed a little more. Alora’s lungs seized at her loss of breath and her claws tore into his shoulders so deep he bled.
He gritted his teeth, growling a curse and that was part moan. “So fucking tight.”
Too tight.
Rune kissed her, holding her neck in place as he demolished her mouth until she was panting. He toyed with her sensitive peak and breasts, more of her arousal spilling over him. Her body relaxed again, releasing their vice grip on him.
“Yes, that’s my good girl,” Rune said, equally out of breath. “You are doing so well.”
Then he plunged in further. He was halfway in.
Alora’s head fell back. “Oh gods…”
“No.” He pulled out and took her throat, making her dazed eyes meet his. “There are no gods here, songbird. The only thing you should worship is me.”
He dragged himself against her slickness but denying what she wanted until she nearly sobbed from the torture.
“And Alora…” Rune rumbled in her ear, voice a rasp of shadow and flame, “Once you give me this, I will never have enough.”
Her breath stuttered, thighs trembling as his shadows forced her wide for him.
Both entrances were throbbing, silently begging for him.
Rune eased himself into her again. The sound she made, and the sensation of her heat nearly made him finish right then.
After a shaky breath, he continued slowly, nearly all the way in now.
“Oh!” She convulsed, her chest heaving with wild breaths. Alora clung to his shoulders, nails carving crescents into his skin. He was stiff beneath her, breathing so raggedly, his vision skewed. “I don’t know if I can.”
Rune kissed her temple. “Almost there, love. Take your time.”
Alora nodded, shaking against him.
Shadows surged again, guiding her, steadying her, coaxing her body to yield. And when at last he finally seated fully, buried to the hilt with both, her cry broke against his mouth as he kissed her, his devotion a storm in her mind.
Worship, hunger, ruin, love. Every emotion bled into him until he couldn’t tell which were hers and which were his.
And the world fractured into shadow and firelight.
Light lit up across the markings on her skin, flickering red. The power coursing through her body moved through him with a potent force that left him gasping. He didn’t thrust yet, simply left himself buried in her heat.
He shut his eyes, shuddering at the blessed sensation. His head fell back with a low groan. He would never be satisfied by anything else again.
“Is it too much?” she asked shakily.
Rune laughed, low and broken, his forehead pressing to hers. “No, love. It’s everything.”
At the first thrust Alora’s back arched in a broken moan and he groaned out a curse against her neck, his chest rising rapidly with heavy breaths.
“Fuck. I may not last long.”
It was her turn to laugh. “I never expected the King of the Netherworld to wilt so easily.”
“Wilt?” Rune growled. “Nothing is wilting here.”
Her giggle cut off at the next thrust of his hips. Every plunge was a claim, his ridges stroking against her. Fire surged through his body as he pushed deeper until Rune swore, he could feel her heartbeat in his chest.
Pleasure tore all resistance away.
Rune swallowed her moans with a kiss, tasting her tears as he plunged inside of her. Light poured from her, feeding him like a banquet. Shadows wrapped her tighter, stroking, tormenting until she was thrashing, begging, sobbing from the pleasure of it.
Her voice broke on his name, over and over.
“It’s only you,” he breathed. “Only ever you.”
Rune’s hips rocked into her deeply, dragging out her pleasure. The world blurred into sensation, the intensity of his hunger, and the wicked certainty that he’d never let her escape.
Her whole body went taut, every nerve alight as he pushed her further than he thought she could bear.
Stems of smoke stroked her skin like velvet, binding her wrists, caressing her thighs, heightening every spark.
She tried to wriggle away from the intensity, but Rune only growled, pressing her down as more of her arousal gushed around him, ceaselessly spilling.
The sounds of their moans, the wet sounds of their bodies meeting and the leathery flap of his wings echoed in the room. Her scent drowned him. Her moans like music. The liquid heat of her wrapped around him, and his thrusts grew erratic, slamming into her until he feared she might break.
“Rune—please—” she sobbed, half-fiendish.
His fangs scraped her shoulder. “Please what, little flame?”
When she couldn’t answer, shadows pinched her nipples, wringing a strangled cry from her lips.
Rune’s laugh was wicked, triumphant. “There. That’s the sound I wanted.”
Then he gave her everything.
No more restraint, no more mercy. His hunger consumed her in relentless waves, driving her higher until her cries echoed through the dark chamber. Pleasure blurred into pain, pain into rapture, her body seizing around him as if it had been waiting for this all along.
You feel so damn good. I want to live inside of you. Rune’s lips ghosted over her mouth, plunging into her so hard the bed creaked. Come for me, Alora. I want to feel you shattering on my cock.
He took her neck and squeezed.
Her climax hit like lightning striking bone. A scream ripped from her throat and her release gushed all over him, her walls clamping on him so tight he came immediately after. Shadows collapsed around them in a frenzy.
Rune panted as he drank in the sight of her, the bond searing every flicker of her pleasure into his soul.
“You did so well,” he breathed, kissing the tears from her cheek.
She whimpered faintly as he carefully pulled out, his seed spilling down her thighs from both ends. She looked deliciously and irrevocably ruined.
He cleaned her gently with a damp cloth he summoned, then tucked her into the sheets. Alora curled into him limply, boneless and trembling.
“My darling flame,” Rune murmured, curling his wings around her. “You are my death and resurrection.”
And he meant it.
Every vow, every shadow, every scar inside him. She owned them all.
The shadows that had tormented her only moments ago now curled around her gently, like a soft blanket tucking her into the safety of his embrace.
Her lashes fluttered, heavy with sleep, though she fought it to hold his gaze. “I think I am the one who perished and resurrected.”
Rune chuckled quietly and brushed the sweaty strands from her temples. “Are you in pain?”
“Only a little,” she murmured, her eyes drifting closed. “But I like it.”
He grinned. Of course she did.
“Still have use of your legs?” he asked next.
“Hmm… I think so.”
Rune probed the bond, checking for any emotional distress. When he found none, his magic evaluated her body internally next, making sure he had not caused any lasting harm.
“I am fine,” Alora laughed sleepily. “Have you forgotten that I am part Primordial? I am much more durable than I look.”
Only then did he relax.
“Then I may not have done enough,” he teased, the words brushing against her ear.
Rune pulled her closer, so she was lying on his chest, magic easing as the last of the ache settled. Her body melted, boneless in his hold, exhaustion pulling her under. As he watched her sleep, he at last accepted what he could no longer deny.
Alora’s bloodline gave her a legitimate claim to the Netherworld.
A thought settled heavy and undeniable: the Dominions were right. Once the court learned of her lineage, they would rally to her whether he commanded it or not.
If the court must see her, then they would see her as his equal. They needed to feel her power. To see it sanctioned and crowned. Then they would understand what it meant to challenge her.
Kneel or burn. There would be no third choice.
He had wanted to keep her untouched by his world. Untainted by its violence. But Vorak was coming, and the age of secrecy had ended. Power alone would not shield her from what was to come.
But perhaps sovereignty could.
“Rest, songbird,” Rune said softly. “You will need your strength for tonight’s revel.”
“A revel?” Alora slurred with a sleepy sigh. “On what occasion?”
“For the Court of Sin and Ruin will gather to acknowledge their queen.”
The hall thundered with a clamor of roars, hundreds of red eyes alight as demons bent the knee before the dais.
And from his throne, Rune watched with pride.
Alora stood crowned in an obsidian circlet as sharp as blades, dark rubies burning like fresh-spilled blood against her brow, her power no longer restrained, no longer hidden.
A flowing gown of black silk clung to her form, glittering like crushed starlight.
Moonlight spilled through the open ceiling, casting her in an otherworldly glow.
Above, the screeches of the Drakon rang out as they circled the throne room.
Grace wove through every moment as she took her seat upon the jagged throne beside his and rested her hand on the Vareth at her side, black claws glinting like her ring. Shadows kissed her skin as though it had always belonged there.
She was terrible and glorious. Unmistakably his queen.
And the Netherworld knew it.
It sang for her.
Karag D?r hummed as the Gate quaked within its depths, and the court took up the call in a thunderous chant.
“Vaelith Nocthra va’thal!”
The Shadow Queen has arrived.
The words reverberated through Rune’s bones. It was a moment of triumph, yet a cold understanding settled deep in his chest.
Loving her openly was a declaration—and a weakness.
Every gaze that lingered too long on his imprint was another enemy learning where to strike. In the high gallery opposite them, the six Dominions watched in silence. Measuring. Calculating.
Rune vowed then that he would sooner destroy himself than allow any harm to come to her again.
Then Alora’s glowing eyes turned to him.
The bond thrummed, hot and fierce, her emotions crashing into his with a protectiveness that mirrored his own.
Not fear. Not hesitation. Promise. She would raze down the world to fire and ash for him as readily as he would for her.
His mouth curved, and the beginning of a smile that belonged to gods and the damned alike touched Alora’s lips.
He leaned back in his throne, tail curling lazily around her ankle, stroking her pulse.
Let them watch. Let them learn.
Together, they were inevitable.
And as the court bent beneath her name, Rune thought with quiet certainty, Did I not promise you, my deadly little flower? The world will bow at your feet.