Page 8 of Dark Fate

Her interest was piqued with a macabre curiosity. "Companions? Pray tell, do you mean more of your accursed kind haunts my domain?"

I opened my mouth to deny, to set the record straight, butLucian, ever playing with fire, jumped in. "Only the fairest damsel, lost and surely weeping. Your realm's dark charm probably spellbinds her."

I silently cursed, every muscle rigid with suppressed rage. His foolhardy jesting only tightened our chains.

Amara’s eyes narrowed, probing the veiled truths behind our facade. "And this damsel," she inquired like a cat toying with a corneredmouse, "what sorcery led her astray into my court's web?"

Lucian, undaunted by danger—hell, perhaps spurred by it—replied with a cavalier shrug. "Magic mishap—she's into that kind of thing. You know women and the supernatural."

His sarcastic twang did us no favors. I glared daggers at him—his tongue might well be our undoing.

Her despotic smile never wavered as she considered his words. "A curious tale," she concluded. "Yet such tales often mask darker intentions. The hunger of your kind is no secret."

Asserting my stance, knowing that this was not a battle of fangs and fury but one of wits and wills, I reaffirmed, "The histories of our kind are not our histories. Grant us passage, let us leave in peace, and your kingdom will not know our shadow again."

So here we are.

Gilded halls fill with writhing figures and the air pulses with primal hunger. Scantily clad Fae nobility indulge every carnal desire, passions amplified—orgies and bodies intertwining indiscriminately in ecstasy. Rapturous screams and cries of pleasure echo all around.

Amara trails covetous fingers up my thigh. "Mmm, yes, listen to them enjoy each other so thoroughly. Does it not tempt you?"

I grasp her wrist tightly, every muscle taut with revulsion. "I've no taste for such base debauchery."

Amara's eyes flash dangerously. Before I can react, her palm cracks against my cheek, claws raking blood. "You dare reject your queen?"

Cheek burning, I stare her down defiantly. "My appetites lie elsewhere."

With a snarl, Amara backhands me again. "Arrogant fool. You will submit or suffer dearly for defiance." I taste the metallic and swallow.

I grin mirthlessly through the blood. "I suppose we shall see, won't we?"

With a snap of the queen's jeweled fingers, two intertwined Fae males detach from their passionate lovemaking. Backs arched in ecstasy mere moments before now straighten obediently under her commanding gaze. Rivulets of sweat still glisten on their entwined forms as they disengage and pad over to kneel reverently before her.

It clicks that everyone here is dancing to her tune, leaping at her every command despite the clear reluctance in their eyes. Yet, for some reason, her orders bounce off Lucian and me like raindrops. It has to be the gift of compulsion at play here—and considering Lucian and I are pretty much-walking corpses, that mind-bending trick doesn't stick on us.

Eyes downcast, the taller of the two speaks. "How may we serve your pleasure, My Queen?"

His voice strains with unsatisfied yearning. The queen's ruby lips curl into a cruel smile. Then I fucking see it—the room's thick with her power, black smoky shadows coiling around her as she demands, no, commandeers their goddamn will.

With a painted nail, she indicates to me. "You will rut for my guest. Put on a stimulating show so he knows precisely what awaits those who refuse to submit to my will."

She's wielding some twisted, dark power shit. It's uncannily like Azrael's, complete with those same black, smoky-ass shadows.

Her words drip with mocking promise. I resist the urge to puke as the Fae males rise and move like zombies to position themselves before me. This perverse game revolts me, but I remain outwardly impassive.

At the fuckin' queen's command, the smaller Fae turns his back, gets on his knees, and spreads his legs. His taller partner wastes no time, eager as fuck to ride him, their last session leaving 'em both hard and throbbing.

As the tip of the dominant male pushes past the tight ring of muscle, the receiver lets out a moan of pure ecstasy. With agonizing slowness, the bigger male thrusts himself deep, burying himself balls-deep. Their obscene rhythm builds, the sound of slick flesh slapping together mixed with their cries of pleasure. All for that twisted bitch's sick amusement.

I squeeze my eyes shut, desperate to block out the sight. But her sharp command lashes out, thick, black smoke curling around her. "Watch! Or I will gouge out those pretty blue eyes that dare defy me."

Her guards wrench my face forward. Bile rises in my throat again as I'm forced to observe the two Fae males rutting madly, consumed by arousal. They are keen and grunt like animals.

The queen urges them on with graphic demands. "Harder! I want to hear the slap of your balls against his ass."

They go at it like rabid animals, whipped into a frenzy. Her cold, sick cackling slices through me worse than any knife could. She’s all about the degradation, the violence—flexing her muscles by breaking everyone else down.

I’ve gotta lock this shit out, throw up walls in my head, so I don’t drown in her filth.

---