Desire, page 15
Kylan sighed, defeated. There was no way he could convince Alana to have sex instead of this torture. “To be silent and put out the flames if needed.”
Alana nodded and waited for him to start. The seconds stretched into minutes, but she didn’t say a word, or move a muscle. She just waited like she had all the time in the world.
Annoyed at himself for being a coward, Kylan closed his eyes and loosened the Rune. Then, since there was no disturbance around, he managed to step out of it.
The breathtaking, heart squeezing emotional pain burst from the depths of his soul and he fought it hard, but only after a few seconds he couldn’t bear it any longer and he used the Rune again. He’d take his father’s whip over this at any given time. He could handle the metal teeth biting into his flesh because that pain was temporary. This wasn’t. This never faded.
He peered at Alana, but she sat calmly. Kylan closed his eyes again and tried to step out of it. And he failed. Again.
In and out, over and over again, for more than an hour. He couldn’t take it anymore. Despite the room being cool, a thin layer of sweat covered his skin. The names glowed on his chest, although he tried to loosen it as much as he could.
The lamps flickered when lightning crossed the sky. A storm reached the city after sunset, but Kylan didn’t hear anything; Tish’s spell worked perfectly.
Alana sat within arm’s reach on the carpet in silence.
“I can’t do it,” he whispered.
Alana reached for his hand. “Yes, you can.”
He shook his head. “It’s too much.”
“A few tries before you could stay out of it for almost a minute. You’ll get there.”
Tears tried to fight their way through his anger and exhaustion. He swallowed before he turned away. “Maybe tomorrow.”
Nervousness, fear, and doubt crossed Alana’s face before she reached towards him, determination filling her eyes. “Give me your hands.”
“Why?”
“Let me help you. I’m not sure it will work, but it’s worth a try.”
Kylan shrugged. He had nothing to lose.
She smiled, encouraging him to trust her. And he did. Hesitantly, he placed his hands on hers. Her palms were soft under his callused hands, and her fresh flowery scent filled his mind. But his earlier desire to be with her, to claim her light, was nowhere. The only thing he wanted at this point was to sink into the numbness and sleep.
But he had promised Alana he would do this, and Dorian, so kindly, had given him an impossible deadline. At this point, sleep was a luxury he couldn’t afford.
Slowly, he let go of the Rune, freeing his soul. He concentrated on Egon, his teaching, his endless patience, his knowing smiles. Alana’s hands were anchors in the storm of emotions. Screams, blood, and death filled his soul and mind. Torture, begging, and pain washed away his memories of Egon.
He shook his head and reached for the Rune. Before he could dive in and bury everything under it, Alana’s presence entered his mind, bringing the pictures of Egon onto the surface.
He jerked away, opened his eyes and dove into the Rune. “I don’t want you in my head. Especially not right now.”
“I won’t peek. I promise. I’ll only concentrate on your happy memories. I’ll shut everything else out.”
“I don’t want you to know the things I did.” The Rune kept his panic, his guilt, and his shame under control; but those emotions were strong and pressed against the spell inside him.
“I won’t. I promise.” She reached for his hands again. “Let’s do this one more time.”
Kylan took her hands, trying to play it cool. “Okay, but don’t peek. There is a lot of ugly stuff inside.”
Once again, Alana nodded.
Kylan closed his eyes one last time. He chose a more recent memory with Egon. The one when they had talked before he had come here. He let it go, he stepped out of it and, as always, his memories, his feelings, overwhelmed him. Alana’s presence grew stronger as he lost control. She pulled him back and didn’t let him sink back into the Rune.
Another memory surfaced. When he had first seen her in the mansion. When she had bumped into him, turning a corner. Her eyes had widened, and her face had blushed. And from there, his memories boiled up. Her little smiles and laughter, her anger when he had acted like an asshole, her tears when he had been rude. Kisses and caresses. His fear when the demons had attacked her, and when Eero had visited. The passion of their last kiss. But it wasn’t just his memories, his feelings. Somehow, it felt more like he was seeing the past through her eyes, through her emotions.
The mixture of their feelings strengthened his love for her, his need, his desire. The storm inside him turned into a breeze and he could bear his demons. Kylan fought the urge to pull her close and kiss her to help him keep that peace, to use sex to keep the dreaded memories and emotions at bay, and somehow, he managed. Because now he didn’t just know it was wrong to take from her, he felt it too.
When he had control over his emotions, he opened his eyes, but he didn’t let go of her. “Thank you.” His voice was barely a whisper.
Alana’s eyes were filled with tears, but she smiled. “I knew you could do it.”
Her presence faded in him, slowly, gently, like silk sliding along bare skin then falling. Dark memories strengthened the moment their connection vanished. He shut his eyes and squeezed her hands as he fought for control. After a few deep breaths, he regained control and looked at her again.
“Sorry.” He let go of her hands. “I didn’t want to hurt you.”
“You didn’t,” she replied, flexing her fingers. “Are you okay?”
“I’ll be fine.” He cracked a smile, trying hard to look carefree, and stood. “What did you see?”
“I was focusing on Egon and, well, me.” She looked up at him. “I didn’t know your memories about me were this strong.”
“Me neither.” The lie left a bittersweet taste in his mouth. “Is it okay if I go to sleep? I need to be alone for a little while.”
“Of course,” she said. “If you need me, you know where to find me.”
Kylan escorted her to the door. “Thank you. For everything.”
She looked up at him, her eyes radiating the same feelings he felt. She wet her bottom lip before saying his name. “Kylan.”
“Good night, Alana.” He leaned in, brushing his lips against her cheek. It took him every bit of self control to pull away and close the door, but he did.
If she knew, truly knew, the man he’d become, she wouldn’t look at him like that. It was better if he kept his distance because he wasn’t sure he could bear to see the disappointment in her eyes when she learned the truth about him. He was a lying bastard, driven by only one goal. To become king, and finally get rid of his father.
Chapter 21
Faelyn
Opening the secret door in her bedroom, she hurried down and squeezed her way among the cages to the working table to grab a package of sleeping powder.
She’d been busy in the past weeks, proceeding with her plans, preparing Ethan and Nadav’s body. They needed to be ready to take in such a powerful soul as Donovan, and thankfully, the changes were already visible in them.
Capturing the last Thinker to make everything ready shouldn’t be difficult. But Darthos kept his Thinkers under close surveillance. They didn’t go anywhere without bodyguards and she had to be careful not to get caught.
Leaving the house was easy. Eero kept Nadav close, organizing patrols, and adding extra security to the palace. With half of the men gone to fight the rebels, all guards worked double or triple shifts.
She remained close to the edge of the demons’ district, where a few humans ventured, to not be too suspicious. Her hair was carefully tucked away under her hood, making sure it wouldn’t give her away. The Thinker she found headed towards one of the bars, but because of the early hour, she didn’t find the opportunity to attack.
The alley across the bar hid her well, but she cast a spell, calling for the shadows, just in case someone looked more closely as she waited for the Thinker to finish. But the demon wasn’t in a hurry.
Faelyn started to lose her patience. The demon she found had been drinking for hours, its bodyguards started their third fight out of boredom.
“Drunk bastards,” she muttered, just when the owner picked up a battle ax.
The owner had enough of the bodyguards’ destruction and threw them out. The two, seven feet tall, gray skinned, muscular demons walked a few steps behind the Thinker as the tiny creature wobbled on the dusty street.
Faelyn followed them in the shadows, keeping a silencing spell around herself to mute her steps. When they reached a less frequented street, she stepped behind them, blowing the sleeping powder at the demons. They collapsed the moment the dust entered their nostrils.
She walked to the Thinker’s little body and drew a rune-circle around it. Looking around, she reached for more magic to prepare the teleportation spell. Drops of sweat rolled down from her temple when the demon’s body vibrated and disappeared with a loud popping sound.
With the spell done, she cut the bodyguards’s throats to make sure no one could reveal her identity, and headed back home to catch some sleep before she was needed back in the palace.
Quietly, Faelyn hurried through the corridors of their home. Before she could reach her room, a door opened in front of her.
“Where were you?” Nadav stepped out, his voice ice cold.
“In the palace.”
He slapped her. “Don’t lie to me,” he hissed. “Where were you?”
Faelyn ignored the urge to put her hand on her face and looked at her husband with tears in her eyes.
“I needed to take care of something.”
Nadav grabbed her neck and pushed her to the wall.
“One of my men saw you in the demons’ district. What were you doing there?”
“You’re hurting me.”
“I told you not to go there. Maybe I should teach you a lesson. Looks like I’ve been too indulgent with you.”
“Please, Nadav.” She gasped. “Don’t.”
“Tell me one good reason why.”
“I’m pregnant.”
He dropped his hand and his eyes softened. “Don’t ever sneak out at night again.”
Faelyn rubbed her neck and looked after Nadav. She only dared to move when the door closed behind him. She whipped her tears of anger and hopelessness and went into her room. The moment she was sure she’d succeed, she’d get rid of him. But until then, she needed him, not only to fit in, but as her backup plan.
When she managed to calm herself, she entered her secret chamber. The newest demon was still sleeping in the cage she made for it. Faelyn checked the protective runes around it and walked to one of the tables to mix another round of potion for Nadav and Ethan.
But first, she needed to protect herself.
She put some of the dead Thinker’s brain into a pot, added a pair of owl feathers and scarabs’s wings, then a few drops of wolf-demon poison. She mixed it with water and muttered a spell. When the lotion lit up orange, she placed a gold, sun shaped medallion in it. She needed to protect her thoughts from the telepaths if she wanted to succeed. She couldn’t fail this close to her goals. Now she needed to come up with a story about why she’d been in the demons’ district at night.
Exhausted, she went to bed to sleep a few hours before sunrise. Her lie to Nadav saved her this time, but she wasn’t sure how to keep up the lie. A few weeks, maybe a month, and she could tell that she miscarried. But she couldn’t calculate Nadav’s reaction to that. She had to be more careful.
Chapter 22
Eero
Eero kissed his concubine’s neck and grabbed her hips hard as he moved her on his cock, thrusting into her harder and deeper with every move. The red lines on her breast and the bite marks on her neck fueled his desire as he watched her body sway on his. His climax built up in his balls quickly and it ran through his body like electricity. With a final growl, he released his seed into her.
Leaning back, he patted her hip to move. Eero closed his eyes to think through what he needed to do. Thinkers were missing, eleven so far, and the rebellion was raging. Fucking his women was merely a distraction to clear his mind, to take the edge off of his need to inflict pain.
Someone cleared his throat at the door and a voice he knew all too well followed. “We need to talk.”
There was only one man in the country who had the courage to walk into his bedroom like this.
“What do you want, father?” Eero turned his head and looked at Egon. He stood tall at the door, his arms crossed, and without any sign of being bothered by what he just witnessed.
Egon leaned down and picked up the woman’s dress, holding it out to her. “Leave us.”
The woman glanced at Eero. When he nodded, she hurried away, grabbing her dress on the way out.
“Guard!” Eero called out, dragging his pants on.
“My king.” The guard entered the room, his face red, his eyes focused on the floor.
Eero poured a glass of wine and sipped from it. “What is my father doing here?”
“I don’t know, my king.” The man swallowed. “I didn’t ask.”
Eero put down his glass and picked up his whip from the glass coffee table. Running his fingers on the steel teeth, he asked, “Why is my father in my bedroom?”
The man’s eyes widened, his gaze focused on the whip. “He entered, despite my warning.” His knees trembled.
Egon took a step closer. “I don’t think this is necessary, son.”
Eero ignored his father. “Your job is to protect me, even if it costs your life. Is it not?” The man nodded. “Then why are you alive and my father is standing here without my permission?” Eero tilted his head. “Turn.”
“Son, please.”
Eero glared at his father, daring him to say another word.
Egon closed his eyes and took a deep breath when the young guard turned his back to Eero.
Fire ran along the whip, and Eero lifted it to strike. He watched his father every time he hit the guard. At first, Egon hid his emotions behind a mask, but as the man collapsed onto his knees, and his screams got louder, Egon’s face twisted into a grimace.
Eero stopped, quenched the fire and put down his whip. “We should talk somewhere else. This smell is unbearable.” He pulled on a clean shirt, grabbed his sword, and headed out. “Let’s have dinner.”
Leaving behind his chambers, and the smell of burned flesh and blood, Eero glanced at his father. It was strange seeing him here after all these years. Egon hadn’t been near the palace since the coronation. His sword hung on his side. He wore his red diamond ring, and his old uniform too. Which, despite his age, fit him perfectly.
“I’ve been patient with you, father,” Eero said. “Your actions have consequences.” He gestured to a servant who was unlucky enough to be in the same corridor as he was. “Clean my room and take care of the man inside. Tell the healers that he is to suffer, but live.”
The servant bowed deeply and hurried away, out of Eero’s sight.
Guards, concubines, and servants bowed as Eero passed by. As they left them behind, Eero felt their eyes on his back. They were probably asking the same question Eero was. Why was Egon here? Eero licked his lower lip. He had to be after power. Egon sensed that he was weakened, and he wanted what was his.
Egon walked a step behind Eero. Just far enough for Eero to not be able to glance at him without turning his head. If Egon stepped down as a Master, if he renounced his title, that would mean he could challenge Eero to a duel for the throne. After all, Eero’s mother, who’d been keeping Egon from reaching higher, was dead for sixteen years. And Egon had the skill set to rule. Eero could recall the times when he’d been young and reckless, and Egon had steered with an iron fist. Egon didn’t have forty-nine names because he was a peaceful person.
Eero forced himself to look straight ahead and not at his father to see if the names were glowing on his chest. But since Egon hadn’t killed anyone in twenty years, Eero was sure his father wasn’t using the Rune.
By the time they reached the dining hall, two sets of glass tableware with gold rims, and various appetizers were on the polished, hand carved table. A servant placed one last tray of freshly baked bread next to the other goods and took his place at the wall, almost becoming part of the interior design.
Eero took his place at the table and, without waiting for his father, he reached for the spiced butter and some bread. Even with his eyes focused on his food, he didn’t miss Egon’s head shake as he sat down and picked up the bone knife to spread some caviar on his toast. But he didn’t say a word.
As the moments passed, Eero’s confidence cracked in the heavy silence, and he emptied his wineglass before finishing the appetizers. The moment he put down his empty glass, a servant appeared with a jug and refilled it. On his right, Egon observed the trays with genuine interest on his face. His hand hovered between the black mussel and the salmon rolls, then picked up the caviar again.
“You wanted to talk,” Eero said when Egon finally finished with his toast.
“You didn’t have to whip that young man, son. You know as well as I do that he wasn’t responsible.”
Eero raised his eyebrows as he motioned for a servant to take away the appetizers and bring out the main course. “You can be whipped too.”
A small smile played in the corners of Egon’s mouth, but his answer was delayed as the servants placed roasted pork, grilled chicken, various vegetables, and potatoes on the table.
“I’d love to see you try,” Egon said as he put a slice of pork and a mixture of vegetables on his plate.
The urge to wet his lips, to chase away his tension, grew in Eero. To hide the movement, he filled his plate with food and took a quick bite. “And you wanted to talk about that?”
Egon cut a small piece of meat and speared some carrots with his fork. “Of course not.” He chewed slowly, making Eero wait.
