Xavir
Hearing her voice was an otherworldly sensation that no words could ever come close enough to describe in all its perfection. She was…
Mine.
Mine.
Mine.
And she wanted to meet.
Ever was I getting closer to conquering her heart, to making her my wife–and least importantly, of appeasing my Lord of Hell.
Yet…
My reflection stared back at me. A terrifying monster with sharp teeth and gray skin. Long, black hair slipped against my face, making me appear as though I were a fractured piece of stone.
Seeing how much I differed from the humans she was used to made something discomforting clench at the pit of my abdomen.
I knew hatred as well as I knew of torture and shadows, and for a moment, it seeped so deep into my core, the sensation utterly new and alarming. A hatred for my own face, my appearance.
“My wife feared me,” Nazzar had told Qanek and I. “She thought I meant to harm her. She was frightened of my appearance. Frightened that I had stolen her.”
Would my wife fear me too?
Mia Song.
Even her name was far more delicate than my own, as gentle as she was.
Would seeing me break her? Would she scream? Would she curse me to the depths of the Underworld?
I was not a coward by nature. One did not become the Second General of the Legions of Hell by being cowardly. Yet what else would one call me as I hid away in a dusty attic, too afraid to face the one person in the universe that was made for me out of fear.
Pathetic.
I could almost hear Qanek’s voice in my mind, his brand of violence spurring me into action.
I crawled from my hiding place.
My mate, my wife, wanted to meet me, and so I would meet her in the way that I knew best. Hidden in the shadows, away from prying eyes.
I was the spy of my legion, possessing the magic of the three lords of the Underworld within my veins.
The magic of shadows, gifted to me by Lord Kane, the King of the Pit, flowed through me.
He must have gifted me with his vicious thirst for violence and torture, because I knew that as surely as I knew my own name.
Though it was not violence that had me spanning my wings against the night sky and flying higher and higher towards my wife’s window. It was desire.
Foreign but there, gripping and biting at my heels.
I had never known true hunger until I laid eyes on her.
And I would lay my eyes on her again and feast over every inch. I would learn every dip and curve, every hollow on her lush flesh. I would know the exact shade of her skin and the precise curve of her lashes. I would learn every piece from afar until I could memorize the taste and feel and sound…
My body morphed into shadows, becoming wisps of night and air. Flying up to her window, I slipped inside as though it were a phantom and flung myself to the ceiling. The claws on my hands and feet dug into the wall as I clung there, staring down at her sleeping form against her blankets.
She appeared so peaceful in sleep. Her body splayed like an invitation to the husband she had no idea was watching, shrouded in shadows.
Almost as if she could sense me there, her body lashed out, kicking away her blankets and exposing smooth, white flesh.
Watching her made an ache build within me, one that would not cease until I had her. I had been content enough to watch from a distance. To pen letters in her language so that she may know me. But it was no longer enough. I needed to touch.
I needed to feel.
In sleep, my wife moaned, a light and airy sound that made my entire body prickle with feather-soft awareness.
I leaned closer, chasing the sound, hoping to hear it again.
Her black hair splayed beneath her in silky strands. When she moved, her hair did as well. Like silk filaments, it slid over her shoulders, appearing so soft I wondered what it would feel like, slipping against my claws, threading between my fingers.
I reached a hand out, claws reaching towards her. I was shadows in the darkness, air and nothing more. I could touch. I could give in to the urge, and she would feel but a caress. She would not see me.
This, I could allow myself.
I wanted it desperately.
My shadows slunk out like tendrils, reaching her body, sliding through her hair. She sighed into the phantom touch, seemed to lean towards it, a soft sigh slipping from her lips.
The sound was an immediate addiction, one I wanted to chase over and over again.
My shadows caressed the curve of her cheek. The warmth of her skin burned into me. It sizzled down deep to my core. It was not even the true form of my skin against hers, and yet…
She groaned, pushing her cheek against the shadowy palm.
It lit me.
Transformed me.
What would happen if I were to go lower? What sound would I wring from her lips, then?
I palmed her throat with my shadows, feeling the rapid beat of her pulse. I moved lower still, sliding those tendrils down the top curves of her small chest, slipping them over the lace of her garment.
I watched the change in her body with rapt attention, seeing the way sharp points rose, poking through the material of the top. I wondered at the changes in her body, the slightest pucker of those little nubs.
My phantom fingers reached for them, fingering over the raised bumps lightly before I grasped them between my fingers and twisted…
She gasped louder, curving up into my touch, seeking it out.
Seeking me out.
My breath caught at the sight she made.
My wife wanted me. She wanted me to touch her.
Her lashes fluttered and I paused before she settled back against her blankets. Even from the darkness, I could see the rising flush on her cheeks, the way it spread down her neck…
I touched her again, using the shadows to apply more pressure against those nubs.
I did not imagine the desire shivering through her body. I felt it vibrate against my own.
Every sound was delicious rapture. My mouth watered against the onslaught of foreign, delicious, sensations that coursed through me as my phantom touch traveled lower.
The silk garment moved as I bunched it up in my claws, exposing her skin even further.
There was a curious little hole in the center of her belly, further proving how different our anatomies were.
It was so small, I dipped the very tip of a shadowy claw into the groove.
Her body shuddered and squirmed in response.
Curiosity sated, I made my way down to the cloth that covered her lower region.
She stirred against the lightness of my touch, but seemed to curve into it as well. Her breathing hitched, the sharp points of her breasts poking against her clothing. I held my breath, swallowing the arising saliva behind sharp teeth to keep down the craving.
I slipped my fingers into the spaces of her clothing… and I found rapture.
Warmth that I longed to touch skirted along my touch. I could feel it like a whisper, but not the solidity of it. Still, I explored, shoving down the sleep shorts to her thighs, exposing my wife. She was bare for me. Her center weeping for a touch, a taste of her husband.
She was bare there. All smooth skin, wet and ripe for me. My claws slid down her slit, stroking a little button in curiosity.
Her body moved. Her mouth groaned. She heated, leaning towards me in sleep. Her gasps fueled me, and I slid my fingers further, teasing the wetness and smearing it across that little button once again.
My wife groaned, her body bowing.
And I wanted more of her. More of those noises. More.
So I slipped my fingers into her slit…
And I found heaven.