Chapter 51
Aryana
Aryana drew the weft through the tapestry, nearing completion. She sat back and admired her work. It was an image of her and Zarathos standing in the night, surrounded by flames. She smiled at the golds and reds surrounding them.
She felt the moment he appeared through the shadows. His arms came around her and she leaned into him.
“You finished,” he said.
“Almost finished. I have a few more rows left to do.”
“I’ve never seen its equal.”
“You would say that about a tapestry with you in it.”
He released a dark chuckle. “Does it have a name?”
At first she’d thought it would simply be a tapestry of the demon arch king, but then she’d seen more. She’d seen her and Zarathos. “Love From Flames.”
“It’s perfect. Come, I have something to show you.”
He took her hand, and she turned to face him. Her lips parted. Zarathos had already dressed for the evening in ebony pants and a tailored suit jacket; his hair was combed back, cascading to his shoulders. Gods, he looked perfect.
He tugged at her fingers, urging her down the steps.
“I have a question,” she said. “When you were in the arena and you transferred my bargain to Pohan. How was that possible? I mean, can a kalator really have a kalator?”
Zarathos shrugged. “I assume the council never even considered such a scenario, so the contracts we signed said nothing about it. If the contract doesn’t forbid it, I don’t see why it isn’t possible.”
She expelled a slow breath. “I’m glad everything worked out in the end.”
He squeezed her hand, glancing back at her. “Me too, Vampress.”
They came out into their shared bedchamber, and she released a small gasp. On the bed lay the most lovely gown she’d ever seen.
Zarathos observed her reaction carefully. “I had it specially made.”
She walked over and studied the gown. It was a crimson satin masterpiece adorned with stars and silvery stardust sewn into the fabric. Golden threads wove along the hemline, twining elegantly between the celestial details.
“Golden threads?” She looked at him in question.
“They’re yours. I may have taken a couple when we spun, feeling they were my due. But now I give them back to you.” He reached and touched her hair, staring into her eyes. “Trauma marks us, but also makes us beautiful. You are beautiful,” he murmured. “My vampress, queen of the night.”
“I love it.”
He smirked. “It’s not too scandalous for a vampire?”
“I’m not only a vampire anymore.”
He leaned forward, his lips brushing her ear, sending dark shivers down her spine. “May I dress you, my queen?”
She nodded and then his hands were on her, loosening her clothes, running over her skin, his claws scraping ever so gently across her entire body.
Her dress hit the floor, and he drew her near, fingers twining in her hair as he tugged her into a kiss.
She pressed into him, meeting the cool pressure of his mouth against hers with her own heat.
“I want you,” he growled against her lips. “I want you now.”
“But you’re all dressed for the ball.”
“I don’t give a shit,” he said, reaching for his trousers and dropping them to the floor. “I need you on that bed and my cock inside you.”
Her eyes dropped to between his legs and a smile came to her lips. She extended a finger and ran it up and down his length. “Hard for me already, Zarathos?”
He tugged her close and kissed her, his tongue sweeping into her mouth, his tail brushing against the inside of her thigh, against the Bloodbound mark that had ignited like wildfire.
He pushed her back onto the bed and she went willingly, letting him drink her in, his eyes glowing with a heat that sent her heart racing.
“I’m always hard for you.” He crawled after her, wings spread out behind him, and stared at her, his hair falling on either side.
The shadows spiraled around him and she felt them graze along her skin in a cool misty caress, then drifted up her legs and brushed her center.
She let out a slight gasp. It was cold, yet gentle, and it swirled at her core in a way that brought out a primal moan.
“The question is, are you ready for me?”
The space between her legs pulsed, an ache building from the anticipation. She wanted him to plunge in and out of her, threading himself into her body. Like the weft being battened down to remain irrevocably in place, he belonged to her forever. “Yes, please, take me.”
And so he did. She arched as he thrust into her, loving how he filled her, how his shadows closed around her so all she could see was the intense light of his gaze, giving herself over to him, to every part of him.
She let him take her over and over, both of them tipping over the edge so many times she lost count.
Until a knock came at the door. “Um, Your Majesties? The festivities have begun. The dignitaries are wondering where you are.”
“Tell them to go to hell,” Zarathos snarled.
Aryana reached up and took his face in her hands. “We must go. I promise, you can toy with me all you want after the sun has risen.”
The wildness in his eyes cooled at her touch. He emitted a sigh, but jerked out of her. “We will be there,” he called through the door. “Let me get my wife in a state fit to be seen.”
“You go,” she said, getting up and grabbing the gown off the bed, ignoring the cum pouring down her legs. Shit.
He frowned even as he pulled on his trousers and smoothed his hair, already flawless. “Mils.”
Mils appeared in their bedchamber. She bowed, unruffled as ever, as if Aryana wasn’t standing there naked.
“Draw a quick bath and then help Aryana get ready for the ball. I have to keep our dignitaries from eating each other.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.” Mils curtsied.
He drew Aryana into one more kiss. “I’m holding you to that promise.”
She grinned. “All day long.”
With a last, longing look, he stepped out the door, then pulled the shadows about him and vanished.
Mils wouldn’t let Aryana leave the room until she was finished.
After she was bathed and dressed, she styled her hair so that it hung around Aryana in soft silken waves curling inward so that the tips brushed her arms. A silver and gold tiara sat on her head that matched the accents of her outfit.
The gown fit perfectly, embracing her and hanging in gentle undulations down her back.
Her heels clicked against the stone hallway as she walked. Somehow Mils had even talked her into wearing soft silvery jewelry to match. She fingered the bracelet on her arm.
As she approached, the guards opened the doors to a vast hall.
Candles floated overhead, casting a ghostly glow on the obsidian walls.
Moonlight streamed through the tall windows, stretching in pale ribbons across the floor.
Demons moved gracefully in dark robes and gowns, far more refined than anything Aryana had expected.
Gold-tipped horns glinted under the light, and swaths of delicate fabric whispered over the midnight stone.
The entire scene was darkly beautiful, and she wouldn’t want it any other way.
Marbas stood at the door as if waiting for her. He bowed and then turned to the room. “Aryana, of the newly reestablished Kingdom Nocturne. The demon arch queen.”
Those in the room bowed as one and she nodded to them in return. My, how polite they’d all become on this occasion when they weren’t trying to rip each other’s throats out. And yet, she was relieved that no throats were in the process of being ripped out.
This celebration was supposed to be the start of something new, after all.
Zarathos came toward her. She craved the way his eyes roved over her, followed by the flash of awe and possessiveness that told her that he was hers and nobody else’s. He reached out a hand and together they faced their people.
After a bit of mingling through the crowd and greeting her mother, who was the new ruler of Kingdom Nocturne, Aryana heard stringed instruments playing. Her eyes met Zarathos’s in surprise.
“Music?”
“I had to pay some humans to perform for us, but I thought it was fitting. A show of the arts.” He offered her his arm. “Shall we?”
She eyed him. “Do you even know how to dance?”
“I figured you could lead this time.”
They moved out, and the surrounding demons watched. Aryana sent Zarathos into small, swaying movements, nothing too difficult. “Nobody has disemboweled anyone?” she asked.
He looked out over the crowd, eyeing them uncertainly. “The night is young.”
Several more demons came out onto the floor, swaying in slow motions, looking more like beasts about ready to smash one another than creatures with any sense of rhythm.
Although the vampires, who at times put together elegant dances to prove themselves above the uncultured demons they’d left behind, were moving about in a show of graceful force.
Zarathos urged Aryana closer. “Our bargain is fulfilled. You helped me win the trials, and I have implemented your rules to protect humans. You can kill me now if you wish.”
Her lips curved into a small smile. “When I first suspected you wanted to make a bargain with me, I thought you’d ask for something horrible, like my firstborn child.”
“What would I do with someone else’s child?”
She laughed. “I don’t know. Point was, I believed the worst of you. I never could imagine that you’d build something that I’d be proud to be a part of.”
“We are building something.” He leaned in and brushed her lips with his. “I have a confession to make.”
“What’s that?” she asked, a little breathless.
“I do want your firstborn child,” he murmured in her ear, pressing her closer, his touch running down her arms, soft yet claiming. “But I’d rather not make any bargains to bring about that result.”
“You have me, Zarathos Rumpelstiltskin,” she whispered. “I’m yours.”
He reached up and tenderly touched her chin, his claws tracing over her jawline like she was his most precious possession. “Always.”
“Always and forever.”
The End
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