Chapter 19 #2
Aryana flinched upon hearing Zarathos’s voice.
Only now did she register the faint sound of the door at the far end of the room opening and closing moments before.
He paused, as if momentarily thrown off by something, but she didn’t care.
She was shaking, trembling from head to toe.
What else could she do in the face of such relentless violence?
No. She forced the fear down. Whatever the demon king had planned for her, she’d endure it.
“Come to torture me, Zarathos?”
“I warned you, Aryana.” He sighed and stepped up to her, thrusting a small vial filled with a dark green liquid at her. “Take this.”
She peered at it and then at him distrustfully. Another potion. But this one she hadn’t seen before. “What is it?”
“You’re surprisingly resistant to fear. Though, I’ve just discovered, not entirely.” His gaze lingered on her, something taut in his voice. “Still, if we’re going to pull this off, I’ll need you in a heightened state.”
“And that potion makes me afraid?”
“Drought of Corruption renders you open to suggestion.”
She glanced out to where Xaphoron continued to shred Pohan’s wings.
The abaddon tossed the horn aside and drew his knife.
He pinned Pohan against the ground, against his shredded wings.
With a cruel glint in his eye, Xaphoron forced Pohan’s mouth wide and reached in.
The sickness inside Aryana twisted with a horrible realization.
The Aeria contestant was going to cut out his kalator’s tongue.
She averted her gaze. But that didn’t hide the sounds of struggle and pain issuing out from those in the arena, nor the scent of urine and fear, or Pohan’s helpless roars of protest.
She watched the undulating, raging crowd. “I will suck your cock.”
Zarathos froze, the potion still held out to her. “What?”
“That is debasing, right? Shoving your cock in the mouth of the vampire princess? It’ll be unexpected, humiliating…”
He stared at her. “You want me to humiliate you in that specific way?”
“I said anything goes, but…” She swallowed. After seeing the possibilities of what that could mean… “I’d prefer a sexual or mental debasement over… over…”
“Losing a limb?”
She looked out at the arena where crimson poured from Pohan’s mouth, causing him to choke. He laid there in utter defeat while the Xaphoron held his tongue up like a trophy, similar to how the champion before had presented Neri’s eye before eating it.
Her body shook, her fingers spasmed, sending her chains rattling, giving her away. “I want to have an idea of what is coming.” She glanced at the potion he clutched in his hand. “And if you can control how I feel through it all, then it won’t matter if I know, right?”
He pressed his lips, looking disturbed, even angry. “It is unique enough that the crowds might eat it up. But you’ll still hate it in the moment. With the potion in your system, there is no other way.”
“I just need to know I’m not going to end up like them.”
He turned his head, a low snarl issuing out of him before facing her again. “Fine, Aryana. You needn’t worry. I shall not do anything that isn’t necessary.”
Gods, did she trust him enough to believe that? And even so, what might he decide was necessary? Did it matter? If he deemed it necessary, then would it automatically become part of the bargain for helping him win?
“Zarathos—”
“Times up.” He shook the vial, sloshing the dark liquid. “Drink, or I’m afraid I’ll have to force you.”
“So the potion will make me more apt to do and feel what you say?”
“It’s quite powerful. It will cause you to be open to many things… including your own thoughts. But yes, you won’t be able to resist what I say.”
She was placing herself at his mercy. But she had been there before. Technically, she’d been at his mercy from the moment he’d kidnapped her, and somehow, despite everything, he’d always come through.
So far.
Not to mention, he wanted the scepter. Surely, he’d keep her alive long enough to get it. Only in what condition?
But Zarathos was right. Time was up.
She reached out and took the small vial from him and downed its contents.
There was no going back.
The noises around Aryana grew muffled and suddenly she felt very calm.
Zarathos stood before her. Damn, had she ever noticed how intensely handsome he appeared?
The sharp cut of his features, the way he held himself with unshaken certainty, like the world conformed subtly to his presence.
His eyes glowed when he looked at her, and something inside her melted. She liked it when he looked at her.
“Listen carefully, Vampress. I am your master and you are mine. You will do whatever I command you to do. Is that clear?”
Her first instinct was to refuse, but that was overpowered by a far greater urge. “Yes, master.”
“From the moment that we step out into that arena, you are going to be terribly and desperately afraid of me.”
Any resistance she possessed dissolved like mist. All she wanted was to follow him, to obey his every command. To become the vessel for his deepest, darkest desires.
“Yes, master.”
A light caress ghosted over her cheek. “Good girl.”
The announcer’s voice blared into their cell. “And last but certainly not least, our great arch king, Zarathos the Oath Forged One!”
Zarathos’s claws closed over her arm, giving her a tight squeeze she wasn’t sure was to reassure her or himself. His wings materialized from the darkness. “It’s our turn.”
And with that, he threw open the gate and tossed her out into the arena with such force that she stumbled and fell to her knees.
The crowd of demons were already in an uproar and when their demon king stepped up and grabbed Aryana by the nape of her neck and jerked her hair, forcing her head back, the roar sounded like a rushing of bulrushes in her ears. Then he pinched her cheeks, causing her mouth to open.
He gazed at her with eyes carved from stone, flat and inhuman.
A sickening cold bled through her veins, thick and consuming.
It froze her in place. Her body convulsed beneath his touch, trembling with the kind of terror that lived deep in the bones, but still she sat there paralyzed.
Her heart slammed against her ribs, each beat like a scream.
A strangled whimper broke past her lips, the only sound she could manage.
“Behold!” Zarathos shouted up to the stands as he wrenched her mouth open wider, revealing her elongated incisors. “The vampire princess is at my mercy.”
A gasp rolled up among those seated and then, like fire shooting up from the abyss, the shouting, hissing and cheers rose in volume.
Oh gods, his touch. Her breath clogged her throat.
She jerked from his grasp as tears stung her eyes.
She fell against the ground and twisted, digging her elbows and knees harshly into the dirt in a desperate attempt to flee.
Her chains clanked against her skin as she regained her feet.
The arena’s walls loomed a short distance off.
She didn’t care if they were too high to scale.
She only had to get away from him. Facing a crowd of raging demons was preferable to being at the mercy of the demon arch king.
A loud laugh escaped Zarathos, and he reached out, catching her chains, whipping her around. He lifted her off her feet, bringing her close. “Don’t try to run, little vampire,” he said loudly, his face a mask of cruelty. “You belong to me.”
He brought her closer. “Beg,” he murmured.
The threat in his eyes shattered what meager composure she had left. Her chest tightened as tears cascaded over her cheeks, her breath coming in ragged sobs. “Please... please don’t hurt me.”
Zarathos laughed again, sharp and full of dark promise, a predatory triumph radiating from his features.
And Aryana knew. He very much was going to hurt her.
Without another care, he dropped her to the dirt but didn’t release her chains. Turning, his wings flared behind him as he dragged her forward. Her back and ass scraped across the ground and up the steps of the podium.
This was it. This was how it ended. Horribly.
Terribly. Inevitably. She couldn’t believe she’d ever thought he might restrain himself.
She was the vampire princess, and he was the demon arch king.
He had no need for her in the trials. Vivane’s words had proven true.
Killing her now would be the most advantageous move.
When he reached the podium, he pulled her up the dull steps with him, then he flipped her around, dropping her at his feet.
Something angry and ferocious lingered in his eyes.
More tears slid down her dirt-stained cheeks as she lay there, her hair splayed about her, her silvery dress encircling her legs and released another whimper.
“Please, please…” she gasped. The air became thick with the scent of her own panic.
She lay there, exposed and vulnerable. Prey.
She was his prey. He was the predator who towered over her wounded, helpless body.
She was unable to resist, her will completely his, even while she awaited the final blow destined to end her life forever.
Drinking the potion had been a mistake. A deadly one.
The other demons in the arena watched, enraptured. The hunter instinct she aroused in them brought a ravenous hunger to their gazes. But none of them dared to interrupt the spectacle unfolding at the hands of the demon arch king.
Zarathos’s gaze met hers, and something dark and sinister flickered behind the golden glow of his eyes. Her heart thundered in her ears so hard she could barely breathe.
“On your knees.”
She did as he bid her. The heaviness of the chains pulled on her aching joints from how he’d dragged her across the arena.