Chapter 6
Nyssa
The stifling heat wakes me. I turn over to see that Dastian is still next to me, not asleep, but resting.
“How do you sleep with all that heat?” I grumble as he rolls onto his back.
Despite myself, I cuddle up next to him, my head on his chest.
“Don’t feel it.”
“What do you feel?” I ask, suddenly curious, and a little embarrassed. “We kind of went about this arse backwards. Sex first, getting to know you, non-existent…”
“I know you.”
“No, you don’t. Not really.”
“I know more than you think.”
“This isn’t about me,” I chide. “What makes Dastian tick?”
“Chaos.”
“Apart from that, Captain Obvious.”
He snorts but then goes serious. “I feel the static,” he murmurs finally, his fingers tracing the line of my spine under the oversized t-shirt.
“The potential energy of the universe waiting to snap. It’s loud.
It’s always screaming.” He shifts, pulling me tighter until I’m practically fused to his furnace of a chest. “But when I’m with you, it quietens down.
It focuses. It’s less about burning everything down and more about keeping one specific flame alight. ”
I blink, surprised by the sudden depth. “That was actually quite sweet. For a walking disaster zone.”
“Don’t get used to it. I have a reputation to maintain. And to answer your other question, I tick for the unexpected. Order is boring. Shadows are gloomy. Wraiths are depressing. But chaos is a surprise. It’s the universe giving you the finger at your plans.”
“Yeah, I feel like I’m being played by the chaos. Along with plagued.”
“You’re the only thing I’ve ever found that I didn’t want to break just to see how it works.”
“How long have you been the God of Chaos?”
“Five hundred years.”
I chew the inside of my lip. I mean, I knew they were ancient, but hearing it out loud, I guess, makes it more real.
“I’m twenty-eight.”
“I know. We were watching, remember?”
“That must’ve been hard. Being able to see the mortal world move on, but not to be able to touch it. To see the changes, the advancement. Last time you were here, it was all peasants with pitchforks, mead, and wenches with big bosoms bustling about.”
He chuckles. “Ah, the good old days. Apart from the smell, it was a better time. Simpler.”
“I can’t even imagine it.” I hesitate to ask my next question.
“Spit it out.”
“I know you had parents, from when Voren said his dad was killed by the slayers. How does that work exactly?”
“It’s less biology and more event planning,” he says, staring up at the shadowy ceiling where Dreven has thickened the gloom.
“We don’t get born, Nyssa. We manifest. Raw energy coalesces until it gains enough consciousness to decide it wants a name and a bad attitude.
We arrive fully formed and generally irritated.
Think of it less as parenting and more as a mentorship with extremely high stakes and lethal inheritance issues.
But to answer the question behind the question—we form attachments.
We function like families because eternity is boring without drama.
But we don’t have DNA. We have domains.”
“So, if Aethel was Dreven’s mum and the Wraith King his dad, who were your parents?”
He laughs, a rumble that vibrates right through my ribs. “Bold of you to assume anyone would claim credit for this.”
“Fair point,” I mutter against his skin. “You are a bit of a handful.”
“I didn’t have parents, not in the way Dreven or Voren did. I was a spontaneous combustion. A friction point between reality and the void that decided to grow legs and a sense of humour.”
“So, you’re a cosmic accident?”
“I prefer serendipitous catastrophe. I hold the raw creative spark. Fire, storms, the impulse to push the big red button just to see what happens. No one taught me; I just was.” He pauses, his fingers stilling on my spine.
“It’s why the Order hates me most. You can bargain with Shadows.
You can plead with Death. You can’t reason with a dice roll. ”
“I don’t hate you,” I whisper, the admission slipping out before I can check it at the door.
“Give it time,” Voren murmurs from the foot of the bed, though his eyes aren’t as glacial as his tone suggests.
“She’s had time,” Dastian counters, tightening his hold on me possessively. “She died and came back, and she’s still cuddling the disaster zone. I think she likes the heat.”
“I like that you’re a portable radiator,” I correct, yawning as the heavy blanket of exhaustion pulls me back under. “Don’t read into it.”
“Too late,” he whispers against my hair.
After that, I’m unable to sleep. I roll away from him, trying to get comfortable again, but the moment is gone.
I sit up and stretch, feeling for the aspects of the slayer that I’ve lived with for so long, and I find them, but they are both more and less.
It’s hard to describe, and I don’t want to unpack what that means yet.
“Not yet,” Dastian murmurs, pulling me back towards him and then lifting me to straddle him. He is rock hard, and it sends a shot of lust careening through me. His hands trail up my skin under the tee, pushing it up until he is cupping my breasts.
“I want to fuck these,” he murmurs, a wicked glint in his eye.
“Titty fuck? When you can get the real thing? Insulting.”
“Who said I wasn’t going to take your cunt as well, slayer?” he growls, his expression turning darker. “This is just the appetiser.”
He rolls me onto my back and drags me down the bed, shoving my tee up around my neck. I leave it here. I look like a desperate whore, and that’s just fine by me.
He unzips his pants as Voren and Dreven watch, riveted.
“Push them together,” Dastian rasps, straddling me.
I do as I’m told, shoving the mounds together.
He spits on me, creating a lube that should gross me out, but instead, the filthy action makes it hotter.
He slots himself between my tits and grinds, the hot, heavy length of him sliding between them. The noise he makes is filthy, delighted, and I feel it in my stomach.
“Gorgeous,” he rasps. “Tighter.”
I squeeze tighter. He thrusts, slow at first, then faster. My nipples peak in the cool air, and the obscene slurp of spit and skin goes straight to my clit.
I open up, tongue out. He drags the head over my mouth, smearing pre-cum across my tongue.
“Say please.”
“Please,” I grit out, because I’m shameless now and he knows it.
He feeds me the tip. I suck, hard, and the sound he makes is pure worship.
He rocks, fucking the tight channel of my breasts, nudging my lips every other stroke.
I chase him with my tongue, wanting to taste him.
His hand comes up to my throat, not choking, just holding me still while he fucks me in this way.
Voren moves closer at the foot of the bed, blue eyes bright with frost and hunger. Dreven’s presence is a cold line along my flank, his shadows licking my ribs.
“Look at you,” Dreven murmurs, voice a blade against silk. “Our greedy girl, letting Chaos use her.”
“Fuck this,” Dastian croaks and scoots back to push my legs further apart.
He buries his face between my thighs like he’s starving. The first lick is obscene. Broad, hot, and indecent. I jolt, grabbing a fistful of his hair.
Dastian sucks my clit, and I forget all words.
Voren’s fingertips ghost over my ribs, cold trailing heat. “Breathe,” he instructs, voice a frost-bitten caress. I do, because he tells me to and because Dastian has me right on the precipice with a wicked curl of tongue and two fingers that slide into me like they were cast for the job.
Dreven’s shadow cuffs my wrists above my head. Not tight. Just there. His hand skates down my throat, cold under my jaw.
“Come for him,” Dreven orders softly, shadows humming with his command. “Then I will take your mouth while he ruins your ability to beg.”
“Oh, my gods,” I gasp, and Dastian laughs against my cunt, the vibration tipping everything. The edge hits like a tidal surge, and I go with it, clenching around his fingers so hard he swears and rides me through. Pleasure tears me open and pours me out, slick, messy, undone.
“Good girl,” Voren says. The praise is a brand. He brings his thumb to my lips, icy, and I suck it on instinct. His eyes flare.
The shadow-cuff at my wrists tightens, just a reminder, just enough to make my pulse trip.
“Open,” Dreven murmurs, his cold palm on my jaw coaxing it wider.
I do, and the head of his cock brushes my lips, cool as winter glass.
He doesn’t push in. He waits, a ruthless gentleman.
I lift my head the slightest bit, take him, and he exhales a curse that sounds like worship dragged through gravel.
Voren pulls his thumb from my mouth and replaces it with two fingers, icy and firm, pressing my tongue down so Dreven can slide deeper.
My eyes water; my body lights up. Dastian laughs against my clit again, and it’s obscene, how easily they string me up between hot and cold and something like adoration.
Dreven slides in slow, controlled, letting me feel every cold inch, and I moan around him, eyes prickling as Voren’s fingers keep my tongue obedient while Dastian eats me like he’s clocking overtime.
It’s absurd how quickly I climb again. Dastian twists his fingers. My hips jerk; his palm pins me to the mattress.
“That’s it,” Dreven murmurs, the words vibrating through me as he feeds me his cock in steady, ruthless strokes. “Take. Breathe. Obey.”
I do, because I can’t do anything else. A low, humiliating sound crawls out of my chest. Voren pulls his fingers from my mouth, replacing them with his thumb at my chin, guiding the rhythm, cool and unyielding.
His other hand drifts down my stomach, rests low over my pelvis, anchoring me to the pleasure.
Dastian groans into me. “She’s going to gush for us.”