Page 87 of Heart of the Shadow King

The destroyer of Mythanar.

Release quakes her small body, a powerful force emitted from so delicate a frame. It carries me away with her into the glory of her ecstasy. I’ve known no greater pleasure in life than the pleasure I’ve given to her. But even that I must now question. Even that I must now hold with suspicion. Does my need to please her only confirm her guilt? Is it more proof of the enchantment she wields over my mind and will?

In this moment, I don’t care.

She is still shaking, rocking in her chains, when I draw away from her sweet center. Still kneeling, I turn my gaze up to her, drinking in the sight of her elongated form. I cannot see her for what she is: the murderer, the witch. I can see only my bride, the dream of my heart.

I’ve sacrificed everything for her sake. My people, my kingdom. My honor.

She cannot find her footing when I rise. Her knees quiver, and she sags in her chains, drunk on the bliss I have given. She is a sight to behold with her bared breasts heaving, her golden hair fallen across her face, her lips parted and panting. I should flee her presence. I should try to reclaim whatever virtue I have left.

Instead, I reach for her. Let my hands shape her hips, glide over the warmth of her breasts. My fingers trace her throat and finally grip her cheeks, dragging her mouth to mine. Let her taste her own desire on my lips as my tongue enters her mouth, lashing and ravishing. She does not try to pull away. Her legs wrap around my waist, pulling me to her, and her hips move as she rubs against me, craving that friction. My body, already tight with desire, throbs in response, a fiery agony akin to pain.

She gasps, pulling her mouth free of mine. “I need you, Vor,” she pants. Growling, I devour her jaw, her throat, her breasts, ungentle in my fervor. Her body arches into me, surrendering even as she pleads, “I need you inside me!”

Even now, I could resist. Whatever magic she uses, I’m not so completely enthralled that I might not turn away and flee this cell. The choice remains.

But I choose her. Damn the consequences, I choose her.

It is the work of a moment to loosen my trousers, to take hold of her thighs. To guide my swollen manhood and enter her. She cries out, whether in pain or delight, I cannot say. Her head rolls back, her damp hair wafting behind her, her fingers tightening around the chain links. “Look at me!” I snarl even as I thrust.

With an effort she pulls her head up, lifts her gaze to mine.

“Is this what you wanted?” I demand through bared teeth. “Is this what you need?”

“I need you, Vor,” she breathes, then lets out another cry as I thrust deeper still, driving inside her. “I need you! I need you!”

She has me. All of me. For good or evil. No matter what she’s done, no matter the cost. I hate myself for my weakness, despise this unruled hunger that drives me to give myself to her. But it will change nothing. I am hers. Forever.

I cry out at the pinnacle of heat, my roar muted by the close walls of the cell. The flood of release fills me, and I stagger. But I do not lose my hold on her. Her legs squeeze my waist, and I hear her gasping, feel her body vibrating as though she too experienced my crest. Or perhaps it is only her gods-gift reawakened, responding to my sensations.

When the flood has passed, I draw a great breath and look down into her face again. Her strange eyes, one blue, one gold, blink up at me. Alight and alive with . . . what? With love? Can she still feel something so holy, so sacred? Or am I fooling myself, desperate in the face of all I’ve lost?

I step back, escaping the circle of her legs. She catches her breath, staggering to find her footing. Her body sways heavily in those bonds. I open my mouth, but words freeze on my lips. What is there left to say between us? We both know this moment should not have happened. But with the imminent end of the world fast approaching, what does it matter anymore? Both our souls are damned already.

Pulling up my trousers, I turn away from her and fasten the laces, avoiding her gaze. She must go. Which means I must find Sul, retrieve the key to her shackles. There is no time to waste. Wordless, silent, I take a step toward the cell door.

“Vor.”

The sound of my name spoken with such agony is a knife to my heart. I stop, catch hold of the doorframe, bracing against the urge to flee. What good is flight? I’ve already revealed everything. Bound or not, her power over me is absolute. I am her slave, enthralled to her will.

“Whatever happens,” she says, the words tumbling from her still panting lips, “whatever fate may come, I want you to know . . . to know . . .”

“What, Faraine?” I growl, not looking around.

“I want you to know how grateful I am. To have known you. To have loved you.”

“Loved?”

“Yes,” she breathes. “Loving you has been life. Everything else was mere shadow. A cold phantom of existence without color, without depth. Without warmth.” She chokes on a sob, and my heart constricts. Gods, does she even now seek to manipulate me? Do I care? “Oh, Vor!” she sighs, a desperate, broken sound, before her voice drops, and I strain to discern her next words: “I would have given anything to be what you needed. I would have become anything—”

A rumble grinds below.

At first it is merely a low murmur, but it grows, swells. Becomes a roar. The room shakes, the floor ripples. I grip the doorframe to keep from being thrown off my feet and turn, eyes widening with horror. Faraine swings helplessly from her chains, feet scrabbling for purchase. Thelorststone, discarded on the floor, bumps and rolls, wild flashes of light adding to the chaos. “Faraine!” I cry, lunging for her. But I’m hurled to the ground and cannot right myself. Something breaks overhead, and dust falls in my eyes. I throw my arms over my head, braced for the end.

The quake stops.

Beyond these four walls, the world groans. But here, in this small space, all is momentarily still.

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