Sundered by Fate: Dark M/M Demon Fantasy Romance, page 17
Valerian traced a finger along Aric's lips, and in that instant they both seemed to know what came next.
Suddenly, Valerian's lips were on his, hungry and demanding. Aric gasped, his protest smothered as Valerian's hand slipped behind his neck, drawing him closer. It was a kiss that tasted of desperation and longing—of needs that had been denied for too long.
Aric sank into it, letting the fire burning in his veins consume him. This was what he wanted—what he craved with every fiber of his being. To be seen, to be desired—not as a tool or a pawn, but as something more.
And yet, as Valerian's hands began to roam over his body, Aric couldn't shake the feeling that this was all wrong. That this wasn't who he was meant to be with—that there was someone else out there, waiting for him. Someone who understood him in a way that no one else ever could.
He tried to push the thought away, focusing instead on the feel of Valerian's fingers working the fastenings of his coat. But then Valerian's hand found the hardness beneath his trousers, and Aric's mind went blank.
"You are a treasure beyond imagining," Valerian purred, his lips trailing down Aric's jaw to his throat. "Even more beautiful than the fabled Blade of Light. To possess you, to wield such power . . . It would be a dream come true."
Aric moaned, his hips bucking involuntarily into Valerian's touch. He wanted this, wanted to surrender himself to the promise of pleasure and power that Valerian offered. And yet, even as he lost himself in the heat of the moment, his treacherous heart still yearned for someone else.
Malekith.
The demon prince's face flashed through Aric's mind, those dark eyes boring into him with a hunger that made his blood sing. In that moment, Aric knew with absolute certainty that this was wrong—that he belonged with Malekith, not Valerian.
But oh, how he wanted it all the same. The desire was a physical ache, a throbbing need that threatened to consume him. Aric's body trembled as Valerian's hand continued its teasing caress, each touch stoking the flames higher.
"Tell me you want this," Valerian commanded, his voice low and seductive. "Tell me you'll be mine, and I'll show you pleasures beyond your wildest dreams."
Aric opened his mouth to answer, to yield to the temptation that Valerian represented. But the words wouldn't come. Instead, he saw Malekith's face again, those dark eyes filled with a longing that mirrored his own. Images flooded him—memories of another lover, another time. Dark eyes glinting in the moonlight, a sly smile playing on full lips. Hands that could be gentle or cruel, depending on his mood. A voice like velvet over steel, whispering promises in the dead of night.
Even now, Aric couldn't explain the pull he felt towards the demon prince. It was more than just physical attraction, though that was certainly a part of it. No, it was something deeper—a connection that went to the very heart of who he was.
And he knew, with a certainty that shook him to his core, that he would do anything to protect that connection. Anything at all.
"Aric." Valerian's voice snapped him back to the present.
Aric froze. He wasn't sure why—the dream he'd been clinging to had just burst in a shower of golden sparks around him.
He grabbed Valerian's wrist, holding it still. "I'm sorry," he said quietly. "I can't do this."
Valerian's expression shifted, the heat in his eyes cooling to a calculated anger. "What are you saying?"
Aric released his grip on Valerian's wrist, scrambling for an excuse. Anything to explain why the haze had broken suddenly, why he'd no longer been able to follow Valerian's touch so easily down that path.
But Malekith had burned through him like fire as soon as his hand had touched Valerian's, and nothing Aric could say could erase the hunger Valerian must have seen etched in his features before that. It would be so easy to seize this chance, the softening of Valerian's anger that whispered he might forgive him for this transgression if only he would give him the right words . . .
He did not know Malekith was alive, but . . . these memories were making him doubt.
"I'm sorry," Aric said again, turning away from Valerian and sitting up straighter. "I—I thought I wanted this, but it's too much. The memories of my time with the demons, the cruel games they played . . ." His voice broke on the word, and a shudder ran through him. "I wasn't—I wasn't prepared."
Valerian's anger faded, replaced by something that almost looked like concern. He reached for Aric's hand once more. "Aric, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to push you." But his eyes were sharp, assessing, and Aric had the sudden sense that he'd been found wanting. "It's just—after everything you've endured—I wanted to show you there was more to life than pain."
Aric fought back a wave of nausea, not from Valerian's touch but from his own self-loathing. He was poisoning this—he would poison anything good in his life because he was still so tethered to—
No. No. He couldn't think that now.
Not now.
"I should go," Aric said thickly.
As Aric prepared to leave, his eyes fell on a strange artifact on Valerian's desk. It was a small, intricately carved stone that seemed to pulse with an energy similar to the anomalies Aric had encountered. The stone was set within a larger object that resembled a royal staff, implying its significance to Valerian's ambitions. Valerian noticed Aric's interest and quickly moved to conceal the object, but not before Aric recognized symbols similar to those he'd seen in his dreams of the demon realm.
"Forgive me," Valerian said, his voice tight. "A personal matter I've been attending to."
Aric nodded slowly, his mind racing. What was Valerian hiding? And how did it relate to the growing magical disturbances?
"I trust you'll keep our discussions tonight in confidence, Solarian," Valerian added, his tone softening. "I'm sure you understand the need for discretion."
Aric forced a smile. "Of course, my lord."
But as he left Valerian's chambers, the image of the pulsing stone burned in his mind.
Back in his own quarters, Aric paced restlessly. His skin was still flushed from the wine—and from Valerian's touch—but his mind whirred with thoughts of the evening's revelations.
Valerian's ambitions were barely veiled; that much was clear. Despite his rhetoric about peace and unity, it was obvious that he saw Aric as a tool—a means to solidify his claim to power. And while his words had been seductive, promising Aric a place by his side as he reshaped their world, there was something cold and calculating in those blue eyes that made Aric's blood run cold.
He collapsed onto the chaise, burying his face in his hands. What was he doing? It had been all too easy to fall for the lord regent's charm, when what he needed was to learn the truth behind Valerian’s plans. Instead, he’d been pulled into the current of Valerian's ambitions, abandoning his own principles and dreams.
And for what? A taste of the power and passion he'd shared with Malekith?
Aric's heart ached at the thought of the demon prince. It wasn't just the memory of Malekith's touch or his intoxicating presence that haunted him; it was the bond they shared, a connection that transcended boundaries and worlds. A connection he now realized he'd never truly understood until it was too late.
Aric lay back on his bed. The pulsating stone, so like the arcane energies that had become both his burden and his salvation, lingered at the edge of his thoughts. But it was the memory of Valerian's touch, the promise of power and passion, that kindled a fire in his veins.
He closed his eyes, his breath hitching as he allowed himself to remember the taste of Valerian's lips against his own, the insistent pressure that had sought to devour him. It was a dangerous game he played, indulging in the phantom sensation of those hands roaming over his body, stoking the embers of desire that still smoldered beneath his skin.
Yet, as his own hand moved to the fastening of his trousers, it was not Valerian's face that swam into view behind his closed eyelids. It was Malekith—his dark eyes alight with an echo of Aric’s own soul, his lips curved in that infuriatingly smug smile that Aric had come to crave.
Aric's breath came faster as he imagined Malekith's hands replacing his own, the demon prince's skilled fingers tracing the lines of his chest, his hips, his thighs. He could almost hear the low, sultry purr of Malekith's voice, whispering dark, sweet nothings in his ear as they moved together in a dance as old as time.
His body arched off the bed as he gave himself over to the fantasy, his hand moving with practiced ease even as his mind rebelled against the betrayal it represented. He was caught between two worlds, two lives, two versions of himself—the dutiful mage and the demon's consort. And in this moment of weakness, he let himself revel in the dichotomy, to embrace the forbidden desire that burned within him.
Aric's breath came in ragged gasps as he lay back on his bed, his hand moving rhythmically over his throbbing cock. His fantasies were filled with images of the demon prince, Malekith's dark eyes and full lips igniting a fire within him that he couldn't douse. The memory of their passionate encounters, the way Malekith's hands could be both gentle and demanding, the taste of his lips, all of it swirled in his mind as he pleasured himself.
As his climax approached, a wave of guilt washed over him. He felt like he was betraying something - or someone. The confusion in his chest mirrored the turmoil in his mind. He was entangled in a complex web of politics, desire, and loyalty, and he had no idea how to untangle himself from it.
But even as guilt threatened to douse his arousal, his body betrayed him. His back arched, his hand moved faster, and with a strangled moan, he came, his seed spilling onto his stomach. His body trembled with the force of his orgasm, and he lay there, panting, his mind a whirlwind of conflicting emotions.
Aric lay in bed, staring at the ornate ceiling of his chambers. His mind was a whirl of thoughts and emotions—a tangle of desires, fears, and unresolved longings. Valerian's touch lingered on his skin, a cruel reminder of the passion he'd almost let himself succumb to. But even now, in the stillness of his room, it was Malekith's face he saw when he closed his eyes.
He was a fool—a lovesick idiot who'd let himself get swept up in the romance of forbidden love. He'd allowed himself to believe that what he and Malekith had shared was something real—something more than just a fleeting affair in the midst of war.
But it had been real. Aric knew that with every dark and aching part of him. And if there was any hope—any chance at all—that Malekith might still be alive, Aric owed it to both of them to find out.
The memory of the artifact on Valerian's desk burned in his thoughts. He knew it was a clue—another piece of the puzzle that might lead him back to the demon prince. But what did it mean? And how was it connected to Valerian's ambitions?
Aric's hand drifted to his chest, where the sigil blazed beneath his shirt. The damn thing had been nothing but trouble from the start, marking him as something other—something dangerous. But maybe it held answers too.
If only he could decipher its secrets before someone else did.
With a sigh, Aric rolled over onto his side, pulling the covers up around him. He needed rest—a reprieve from the chaos in his mind. But as he closed his eyes, all he could see were shadows on the wall, twisting and turning into shapes he couldn't quite make out.
A dark figure with wings spread wide; a crown of thorns encircling a brow. Eyes like pools of shadow, watching him from the darkness.
Malekith.
Aric's heart ached with a longing he couldn't name—a need that went deeper than any he'd ever known. He had to find him. Had to make things right.
Even if it meant becoming something else entirely.
With that thought burning in his mind, Aric let sleep take him once more.
Fourteen
By dawn, Aric's mind was no closer to finding peace. He sat up with a groan, rubbing a hand over his face. The image of the pulsing artifact was still burned in his thoughts, taunting him with its mysteries. Whatever Valerian was involved in, it reeked of danger. And if he was as serious about his ambitions as Aric feared, Astaria—and perhaps the world—could be caught in the storm.
But for now, he needed answers.
With an unsteady hand, Aric pulled on his clothes, doing his best to smooth them out. The artifacts and tomes were still strewn around the room, their power humming in the still morning air. Too dangerous, he thought—at least without knowing more about the sigil's purpose. He'd need help to uncover what Valerian was hiding.
The choice was easy. Or at least, he'd been telling himself that since last night.
Davin had always been Aric's anchor. Even during their years apart, Davin had remained a constant presence at the edges of his thoughts—a touchstone to keep him grounded when all else felt adrift. When they'd reconnected after his exile from the Silver Tower, Aric had worried their friendship might never mend—but Davin's warmth and understanding had chipped away at the walls Aric had built around himself.
But involving him in this meant risking that trust—risking his loyalty if Valerian truly did have more sinister motives than just consolidating power in Astaria. There was so much they didn't know about the anomalies; about the sigils and arcane forces that seemed poised to shatter their world once again.
Aric composed a quick message requesting they meet for breakfast and asked a palace attendant to deliver it. Then he waited anxiously for Davin's reply: I'll meet you at first light.
Aric tossed the note into the fireplace, trying not to think about everything that could go wrong.
Davin arrived promptly at first light, concern etched on his face as he stepped into Aric's quarters. "Is everything all right? You said it was urgent—"
"Close the door, please," Aric said. As soon as Davin did, he gestured for him to join him on the settee near the hearth. "I'm sorry to drag you into this," Aric said, once Davin had settled next to him, "but I need your help."
Davin's expression softened, a touch of his old warmth there. "Of course, Aric. You know you can always count on me. What do you need?"
Aric took a deep breath, trying to organize his thoughts amidst the whirlwind in his head. "It's about Valerian. And what I suspect he's been researching."
He explained as best he could, describing the strange sigil and the peculiar energy surrounding it; the destructive anomalies he believed were somehow linked to the magic Valerian was probing; the fire artifact he believed was sealed away in Valerian's research room in the library's lower levels. All the while omitting any mention of his encounters with Malekith, or their connection through the magic he hoped to unravel.
As he spoke, Aric noticed Davin's intense focus, the way he leaned in slightly—close enough that Aric felt the warmth radiating off his body. It sent a flutter of tension through Aric, made him hyper aware of every minute shift in the air between them.
"I know it's asking a lot," Aric said when he finally finished. "But if anyone can help me uncover what's really going on, it's you."
A grin broke through Davin's concerned expression—a flash of mischief and promise that tugged at old memories in Aric's heart. "Snooping around in secretive research is basically my middle name," Davin teased. "I knew my skills would come in handy one day."
Aric chuckled, some of his tension easing at Davin's infectious humor. But when he met Davin's eyes again, they were serious once more.
"I'll do whatever it takes to get to the bottom of this," Davin said softly. "You have my word."
And though Aric knew full well he couldn't give Davin what he'd left behind—or whatever Davin wanted now—the sincerity shining in those verdant eyes reminded him just how much was at stake for both their worlds.
Aric and Davin spent the next few hours devising a plan. It would require stealth, misdirection, and impeccable timing. And it would have to be carried out tonight, before the ceremonial dinner and the Fullmoon Festival following it.
"I can probably get us access to the lower levels without too much suspicion," Davin said. "I've been doing some research of my own down there recently."
Aric raised an eyebrow at that but didn't press for details—yet. They'd have time enough to swap stories once this was done.
Once they'd finalized the last of their preparations, Aric reached out and gripped Davin's shoulder. The touch brought Davin's gaze up to his, a mix of vulnerability and yearning there that twisted Aric's heart.
"Aric—" Davin started, voice cracking.
"Dav," Aric replied, equally quiet. Once, there might have been countless things he wanted to say, to promise—but he couldn't; not while their worlds seemed poised to crumble around them.
They stood like that for what felt like ages—Aric drowning in those verdant depths as regret sliced through him. He'd never meant to hurt Davin, or string him along with hints of what might have been, if things had been different.
If he were different.
But the secrets wrapped around him like chains—memories of another pair of eyes that had pierced him just as deeply; a touch that still lingered on his skin even after all these years apart.
He squeezed Davin's shoulder once, fiercely, before releasing him. "Whatever happens tonight," Aric said, "thank you."
Davin managed a wry smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Save it for after we pull this off. We're not done yet."
With their mission weighing heavy between them, they parted ways—both determined not to let this be the end.
They set their plan in motion under the silver light of the full moon. Davin, ever the showman, created a commotion in the palace gardens with a flash of spellfire—just enough to draw Valerian's attention, as they'd hoped.
Aric watched from the shadows as Valerian and his guards rushed toward the disturbance. The sight of Valerian in action—his lithe form moving with predatory grace, his eyes alight with determination—sent a jolt through Aric's chest. But he shoved it down, focusing on the task at hand.
Once they were out of sight, Aric slipped into the manor. The corridors were blessedly empty, the guards all drawn away by Davin's ruse. Aric moved quickly but carefully, his soft boots barely making a sound on the polished floors.
