Page 457 of Evil Hearts

And Corel wants to desecrate it.

“Look there,” Lyone says, pointing, his voice still not above a hushed whisper.

It is a clearing. Not large, but it looks almost deliberate, with the tree branches connecting to make a sort of canopy. No direct sunlight will enter here, so at night it must be impossible to see without magic, or being a vampire.

There are boot prints. Apparently some of the Isfolk like to come here. Perhaps to have alone time? The village seemed pretty desolate since we got here, except for the angry mob who greeted us.

Corel turns to me and makes a pushing motion with his hand. The wind obeys his command and pushes me against a snowcovered tree. I hit it so hard, snow shakes and falls from the branches.

“You took charge today as if you actually have a voice here in this little group,” Lyone says. “You acted like you had authority over us.” His sneer shouldn’t have been sexy, but it was, damn him. “Now it’s time to remember to whom you are in service.”

He flicks his fingers and my blouse is open. I feel the cold against my now bare breasts — damn built-in bras — yet it doesn’t bother me thanks to Lyone’s charm earlier. My jeans are also mysteriously gone. I’m sure Lyone will return them once they’re done, but as for now, clearly he believes I don’t need them.

Corel approaches first, looking at the tree above me. He holds his hand out and an icicle breaks off, landing in his grip. It’s thick, maybe as thick as Lyone, and the tip looks sharp.

No.

He’s not.

He wouldn’t.

Oh, who am I kidding? Of course he would. And he is.

Here’s the thing about elves. Their gender is determined sometime when they begin to grow. They have no reproductive organs. Any member of the species can be impregnated, so for a demon to have done so to create Corel, the demon was clearly determined to have a half-elven child.

So to get pleasure, elves need to use nature.

And an icicle is, I suppose, part of nature.

Fuck, I am never going to complain about the vines or branches again.

Corel trails the icicle down my cheek, my neck, running the tip over my bare nipples, causing them to harden even more.

I close my eyes as the trail ends where my legs are parted, held there by the wind he commands.

The coldness runs along my slit, over my clit, and swift as a bird, he uses the icicle to enter me, and I scream, the sound ringing out unnaturally in this beautiful forest. Corel groans in pleasure as he thrusts the icicle deeper, and pain blossoms as the sharp tip pierces something inside me.

The warmth of my blood trickling down wars with the coldness in the air.

“Fuck, you always feel so good,” Corel comments, holding the unmelting icicle there, deep inside me. He thrusts it in and out again, and the pain mixes with pleasure, as if something broken inside of me likes this torture.

“Stop,” I beg. “I’m bleeding.”

“I know,” he replies. “Shed your blood for us.”

As he moves, the icicle tearing into me, I feel myself get closer and closer to the edge, until Corel pitches over the edge first, and the icicle bursts inside me, melting quickly from my body heat before it can do any more damage.

With it now gone, blood flows more freely.

The wind holding me up vanishes, and I try to move, but I’m too slow.

Lyone’s massive wings pin me against the tree. They’re almost as big as his entire body, smooth and batlike underneath, and covered with thick, gorgeous raven feathers on the outside.

Now they hold me immobile as he bends down before me, and his forked tongue enters me, drinking the blood that spills from my wounded pussy.

He licks my thighs, my lips, my core. Then I feel his snake’s tongue wrap around my clit and I cry out.

“Come for me,” he rasps, pulling away just a little. “Come on my tongue, let me taste more of your sweet blood. Every part of you belongs to us, even that which gives you life.”

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