Embracing the demon celeste king

Embracing The Demon Celeste King

Visit to download the full and correct content document: https://ebookmass.com/product/embracing-the-demon-celeste-king/

EMBRACINGTHE DEMON

Copyright©2023byCeleste King

Allrights reserved.

Nopartof this bookmaybe reproducedinanyformor byanyelectronic or mechanicalmeans,includinginformationstorage and retrievalsystems,withoutwrittenpermissionfromthe author,exceptfor the use of brief quotations ina bookreview.

Sighupfor mynewsletter athttps://www.subscribepage.com/celesteking

JoinmyFacebookgrouphere!

DEDICATION

This book is dedicated to Kaylee, Emily, Taylor, Jordon, Melanie, Jamie, Jennifer, Hannah, Donna andthewhole“ProjectProtheka”family.Thanksfor believingintheworld.

BOOKSINTHEWORLDOFPROTHEKA

OrcWarriorsofProthekaSeries

MatesoftheBurningSunClanSeries

DarkElvesofProthekaSeries

Thoruk’sPrize: AMonster Romance

Naga’sofProthekaSeries

Minotaur’sofProthekaSeries

Demon’sofProthekaSeries

VampiresofProtheka

GargoylesofProtheka

THEWORLDOFPROTHEKA

ANASTASIA

s anyone there?” I whisper, peering into the dark. I can’t be sure yet if I’m inviting trouble by speaking, butItake the riskanyway. Itall depends onwhether a friend or a foe lurks inthe shadows. Still,Ikeepmyvoicedown,testingthewater.

No one answers. I wait, listening to the silence that surrounds me. It never breaks, and I finally decidethatImustbealone.

Alone. Whether that’s good or bad, I do not know. I suppose it depends onwhatever has brought metothisplace.Or wherethisplaceevenis.

I pushmyself upright, fromwhere I layonthe cold stone floor. Wipingthe sleep frommyeyes, I scan over my surroundings. The only light is one small candle, far away, which doesn’t do much to reveal thesetting.It’shardtosee,intheinkyblackness,butit’salmostcertainlyanother dungeon.

Butitseems utterlyunfamiliar. Atfirst, Ithinkitmightbe a differentside ofthe dungeonthatI’m used to. The one that I’ve spent months in. Perhaps I’m still there, just seeing the view from a differentangle.

The more my eyes take in, however, the more I become convinced that this is someplace new. I lookdownatmybodyfor clues, tryingto piece together whathas transpired inthe pastfew hours. At least, Ihope I’ve onlylosta few hours. Itcould justas easilybe days, and Isuppose itdoesn’treally matter ineither case.

Whenyou’reaprisoner,timestartstoloseall meaning.

The only thing revealed by my limited examination is that I am naked. I tenderly feel over my body, trying to judge what has happened to it when I was unaware. Nothing significant jumps out at me.

No mysterious fluids or sticky thighs. I feel some bruises, but I’m pretty confident they were alreadythere.It’snotlikemylastdungeonsettingdidn’tleavemarks.

Still,itdoesn’thelpmesolvemycurrentmystery.WhereamInow?

I remember, of course, the raid on my work camp. I’ll never forget that – that nightmare will be imprintedonmyminduntil thedayIdie.

Of course, that could be any day now. In many ways, I’m surprised it hasn’t come already. Sometimes,IthinkthatI’dgreetiteagerly.

Life under the dark elves was not easy, but somehow it only got worse. We were used to being forced to work nearly to death in the camp. I suppose once, young and naive, the women all would haveagreedthatnothingcouldbeharder thanthat.

But then the demons came. They kidnapped us and forced us back to a strange floating island,

hoveringinthe skyover Protheka. Whattheywanted us for, no one reallyknew. Torture seemed to be theonlythingontheir minds,andperhapswewerejusttheeasiesttargets.

We had been, for the dark elves, after all. Maybe the demons thought it was their turn. And it turned out that they proved one thing – what we considered suffering under the dark elves was only thebeginning.

The demons, now they were the true experts of misery. Every day was cruelty for the sake of cruelty.I’vemanagedtosurviveitthislong,butfor what?

“Ouch,” I breathe out, my hand reflexively covering my neck. A sudden, sharp stabbing pain interrupts mythoughts. Ifeel a strange substance hitmyfingers, somethingwetand tacky, and itsinks intomyhazymindthatit’sdryingblood.

Suddenly, it all comes back to me in a flash, like a thunderbolt. This is the piece of the puzzle I needed.Myfoggybrainjerksintooverdrive,suddenlyalertasthefloodgatesofmymemoryopen.

I remember the King drawing a lottery, essentially raffling off the women to his favorite supporters. The cruelty and abuse had lessened in the past few days, though never stopped completely, once the King realized that human women could serve a purpose. That is, other than entertainingdemonsastheywatchusscream,cry,anddie.

Humanwomen, it turns out, are more fertile thandemonwomen. We have a missionnow – to be farmedoutlikebarnyardanimalsandusedfor breeding.Wewill bear their children,likeitor not.

Because otherwise, the demons are in danger of going extinct. Their women simply cannot keep up. It takes themfar too long to reach child-bearing age, and too long to give birth. The rate of live births doesn’t match the foolhardy ways of the male demons, intent on killing themselves faster than theycanbeborn.

Half-demonchildren,plunkedoutover andover byhumanwomen,are better thannone.There’s a silver liningto that terrifyingthought, however. Namely, that humanwomenat least have some value now.We’reworthmorealivethandead.

The demons won’t be kind to us, but at least they’ll thinktwice before theymurder us. And, like anybarnyard animal, we canexpectto getthe verybasics required for sustaininglife. Adequate food and water, rest, the things thatsound so small and yetcanbe so veryvaluable. Things we were never abletotakefor grantedaresuddenlyagiven.

It’sastepintherightdirection,anyway.

I recall the demon who ‘won’ me in the lottery. The King announced him as Volikan. He approached me with greedy, flashing eyes, looking as if he could devour me whole. Even now, the thoughtsendsachill racingupmyspine.

“Ialwaysmarkmytoys,”Hehadhissedatme.“Holdstill or I’ll doitfor you.”

Frozen in terror, my entire body had locked up. Not because of his threat, necessarily. It was simplythephysical betrayal ofamindthathadrunoffscreaming.

Then he sank his teeth into my neck, biting hard enough to draw blood. He threw me over his shoulder,andIsupposeImusthavepassedoutinfright.Andnow Iamhere.

Wherever ‘here’is.

Ishiver andtrytohunchdowninawaythatkeepsasmuchofmybareskinoffthecoldstonefloor as possible. It’s an awkward squat, but it helps somewhat. At least until my thighs get too tired to supportmyself.

There’s nowhere else to sit, nothing warmer. At least, nothing that I can make out in the nearcompletedarknessofthedungeon.

Iwrap myarms around myself, tryingto retainas muchbodyheatas Ican. There’s no tellinghow

longIwill bedownhere,andeventheair is cold.IfIletmytemperaturedrop,itwill bemuchharder toreturntonormal.Better tosimplyconserveheatnow.

“Mother,”Ibeginmyprayer,resortingtotheonethingthathas always carriedmethroughdifficult times. “Your humble servant is here to offer gratitude and thanks for preserving me safely this far. Helpmetoremember that,asyour follower,Imustbereadytobendtoyour will.”

Ipause, tryingto banishthe fleetingthoughtinmymind thatscoffs atthe idea ofhavingsexwitha demon.Ifthe Mother has ledme here throughsucha wild andunpredictable series ofevents,whoam Itoquestionher ways?

Iclear mythroat,resolvedtocommitmyselftoher plan.Whatever thatmaybe.

EvenifIhavetobeabroodmare.

“Whatever it is that youdesire of me shall be done. Provide me withthe guidance to understand your ways, and the ability to recognize your divine intervention when it appears before me. I pray, Mother,thatyougivemethewisdomandstrengthtodowhatmustbedone.”

As if on cue, I hear a scraping sound, wood dragging over stone. My ears perk up, listening, as heavy footsteps come down a staircase. The sound gets louder with each step, moving closer and closer.

About halfway down the stairs, he passes the stone ceiling that obstructs him from vision. The first thing I see is the light from the torch in his hands, my eyes immediately drawn to it. It looks warm,andbright,andmanagestolightuphisdemonfacesothatitlooksalmost…handsome.

He continues downthe staircase, stoppingrightinfrontofme. His eyes rake over me, and Iknow thatIshouldbeterrified.

Butall Icanthinkis thatnow, withhimhere, Icanfeel the warmththatradiates fromthe torch. It takesthechill outoftheair.Icanfeel mytightmusclesrelax,reflexivelybecomingmorecomfortable.

It feels as though it could be a sign fromthe Mother herself. I asked her to show me the way. In walks a demonwitha torchthatmakes himthe mostvisible partofthe room. The onlythingIcansee clearlyishim.

Ishould be terrified, but the thought cheers me. Ilike the idea ofhavingclear instructions, ofnot havingto puzzle this outanyfurther. Maybe we reallydid come here and go throughall this horror to savethedemonracefromextinction.

I can’t imagine why, as theyseemto be utterlyhorrid creatures. But I’mnot here to questionthe Mother,amI?

He smiles atme, his white teethglowingagainsthis dark, ashenskin. Eveninthe dark, his purple eyesstartlemewiththeir strangeglow,andIfindmyselfcaptivatedasIstareatthem.

“Good,”hedeclares.“You’reawake.”

Asmilepulls atthecorners ofmydarkgraylips.I’mnotabletoholditback.Iwantedtotakethe womaninthecarriageonthewayback,butshe’dpassedout.Now isthehour ofmyreward.

I hold the torch up to take her long, flowing curves in. The Blackwell woman is of good stock. Honey-brown hair and hazel eyes as stern as steel. She’ll make good spawn, and I have high hopes for her toproducemanyheirsfor me.I’veearnedit.

Moving closer to her, she flinches against the wall. Her legs cover her honeypot, and one arm covers one of her breasts, but almost by accident, as if she’s simply laying on the floor, back to the wall. She’s playingtimid, possiblyhopingto softenme to her womanlycharms. Good. Her screams will be all the sweeter when she realizes that she will have no such soft treatment from me. I do favor the ones who think they’ll be given preferential treatment as long as they’re submissive. Everyone is submissive eventually, Anastasia.

As Islowlywalkcloser,showingoffmyhard,scarredbody,Iadmire her supple shape.Ienjoyed her soft, pleasurable mounds whenIremoved her dress before placingher inhere. Itdelighted me to know thatshewouldbemine.Icouldhavetakenher then,inthecarriage,inanyoftheroomsIpassed whilebringingher downhere,or righthereinthis darkdingycell,butIdidn’twantto.There’s nofun inplayingwitha limpdoll.Iwanttosee the lookinher eyes whenIslide intoher,claimingher body asmyplaything,asmybreedingvessel. Breaking her shall be fun.

I move to stand directly above her, holding the torch over my horns to throw a dramatic fix of shadows across myhard features. Deep scars appear deeper, dense muscle shows throughmyashen skinwitha harsher cut. Ipour power into mypurple eyes so evenwhile castinthe darkestshadows, theyglow. Three… Two… One…

Nothing.

Nothing? Wh Why isn’t she screaming? These tricks always work on the humans. She’s likely never seen anything so horrifying in all her life, but she just stays huddled on the floor? No, she’s tryingto playto her submissive nature. Yes, that’s it. She wants to endear herself to me. That makes sense. With such large, soft eyes and soft body it only stands to reason that she leans into the hopes of my being merciful. While I hold no mercy in my heart, I can’t actually hurt her. The king wants her alive to breed, as do I. A little pain won’t…hurt. Poor choice of words, but I know what I’mdoing.

Iraisemybootover her headandsnarl indisgust,pretendingthatI’mgoingtosteponher,butshe continues togaze upatme,almostlike a scoldedchild.There’s a fear inher eyes,tauntingme,telling me it’s in there, but it’s not dread, it’s not hysterical nor deep seeded, it’s simply the fear of

uncertainty.

Iput myfoot downand crouch, tossingthe torchoffto the side. Igrab mylong, blackbraid over myshoulder and stroke itwithbothhands, squeezingit, showingwhatmyhands will do to her ifshe doesn’t give me what Iwant. Istudyher for a moment, loweringmyhead close, trappingher inwith mytall horns. The four points branchout and scrape against the stone wall above her. Beinghard as onyx,theycutintothestone,showeringher withgritanddust. How is she not screaming? How is she still only looking at me as if she’s worried about what punishment will befall her. Does she have no regard for her life?

Ifthat’sthecase,I’ll havetoshow her thereareworsethingsthandeath.Delicatelythough.

Myhandlashes out,grippingher throat.Istandtomyfull heightandslamher againstthe wall,my knuckles takingmore ofthe impactthanshedoes.Shegrunts inpainas her feetdangle several feetoff the ground. I’mcareful not to choke her exactly, but I applypressure to make her squirminmysteel grip.

Thesquirmingisgood,butit’sstill notscreaming. What is wrong with her? Is she addled? Ineed her toscreamtofuel myberserker blood,tofeel it’secstasycoursethroughme.

“Screamlittle dove.Screamor be impaledbymyhorns!” Ismashmyheadagainstthe wall above her,shakingthestonewall.

Sheflinches,butnothingmore.

“Not scared?” I lick her face, the taste shockingly delicious. I’m tempted to do it again but it would ruin my momentum. “Your screams will nourish me.” I punch the wall next to her head, crunchingthestone,butearningmenothingmorethanawince.

“Ah! Youknow I wouldn’t hit your head, too fast, too easyof a kill. Smart. But what about your soft little belly.” I press three fingers into her stomach, while loweringmyhead to hers, gougingthe wall withmyhorns.

Shegrimaces,butstill deniesmethescreamsI’mlookingfor.

“PerhapsIshouldwear your gutsonmyhorns.Theyshouldmakefineadornments,no?”

Shebitesher bottomlip,still strugglingwiththehandather throat.“L Letgo.”

“Let go?” I roar, pressing my forehead against hers. “You think you can give me an order? That youcantell me whattodo? You belongtome,woman!”

Ipull her fromthewall.Evenwithall myshouting,shestill hasn’tshedatear.“Fine!I’ll letgo.”

Istompfromthedungeonblockbackupthestairs,draggingher inmygrasp.

Inthe dark, she tries to stand onseveral occasions, her legs flailing, buteventhoughmyarms rest atmyside, Iuse a small amountofmuscle to keep her fromstanding. Eventually, she succumbs to her fate.

At the top of the stairs, there’s a four-waysplit. Up leads to the manor, right leads to the kennels while left leads to the torture chambers. I drag her to the left, and down the stairs to a chamber as largeastheonewewerejustin.

Torches line the walls to keep the room nice and bright, making it easy to see all the different devicesIhaveatmydisposal.

Whips, daggers, brands, hooks, insertable rods and other tools of the trade hang fromthe walls, while the corners of the room hold the larger devices. Centerpieces, each in their own right, promisingpainanddeath.

I pass my favorite, the iron matron, a metal holding structure with only no way out once the wingeddoors are closed.The metal is castinthe shape ofmymother,her beautyforever enshrinedin the deadlydevice. Once the doors are shut, and the victimis unable to move, spikes slowlyprotrude

intothewailingvictim.Iclimaxeverytime.

Ican’tuse thatone. Ican’tuse the second one either. Aguillotine thathas a setofbreaks so Ican drop the blade, stop it, and thendo itover again. The terror as theywatchthe blade plummetto their throatisorgasmic,butthebreakshavefailedonoccasionandIcan’ttakethatrisk.

I also can’t use the pendulum. She’s proved that the threat of pain isn’t going to be enough, and that’sall itwouldbe,butthestretchrackwill do.Icancausepain,butnotkeepenoughcontrol sothat she’ll staysafefor breeding.

Islapher ontoarack.Thelongtableistiltedatathirty-degreeangle,andIfastenher wristsfirst.

She doesn’tputupmuchresistance,reallynone.I’mactuallynotsure ifthat’s because she’s given up,or ifshe’sjustthatweak.

Regardless, Imove the base ofthe rackand strap inher feet, lockingeachlimb inplace withmy key.OnceIplacethekey’sleather cordaroundmyneck,Ipull thewenchtotightenher bonds.

She groans and I inhale as if the sweet aroma of burning flesh reaches my nose. But it’s not enough.Iwantmore, need more.AndIshall haveit.

Once her limbs are taunt,Ipull another crankthattilts her up,till the boardis flatand she lifts off itbyacoupleinches,suspendedintheair byher armsandlegsinthecontraption.

She grunts inpainagain, butthenshe laughs. Asmall thingatfirst. Justa little shadow ofa noise, a trick of sound really. It could be the chains rattling. But no, it grows. It grows till she’s tilting her headback,laughing.

“What Stop it! Why are you laughing?” I move like a specter, sliding up to her with my eyes alight.“Whatiswrongwithyou,woman?Whydoyoulaugh?”

Her laughdies off, butonher owntime. She lifts her head, her cheeks rosyand her eyes faded as ifshe’sdrunk.

Thatdoesn’tmakesense.She’shadnowine,noale.How isshepossiblydrunk?

Anastasiastaresintomyeyes,hersstabbingintomelikedaggers.“Youneedmewhole.”

VOLIKAN

nsolentworm!Idon’tneedyouwhole.”Ileaninwithagrin.“Ineedyoubreedable.”

Her eyeshardenbutshestayssilent.

“Youdon’t need fingers for that, or hands.” I grab her fingers and bend themback, careful not to applytoomuchpressure.

Shestill doesn’tgivemewhatIwant.

“Hmm. Maybe you don’t care about your fingers much either. How about your knees?” I squat downand lickher calf. Fuck! What is this woman? Fucking candy? “Best to get a taste now before they’regone,yes?Suchsupplemeat.AndmyUr’ginwill lovethebones.”

Shequiversatmytouch,butstill noscreams.

I stand, trailing a finger up her naked thigh hips and belly before gripping one of her breasts. “You’ll onlyneedoneofthesetofeedthespawn.”

Her eyes light on fire hot enough that I want to jump into them and bask in their warmth. “You needmewhole!Youwill nottakeanythingoffme.”

How dare this insolent creature speak to me in such a manner? My eyes glow fromtrue anger rather than any intimidation tactic. I should crank the rack till her arms pull from their sockets! Fuck her while her hips are dislocated! We’ll see how much she talks then.

Imove to the crank, situated rightinfrontofher and hold her eyes withmine the whole time as I cranktwomorerounds.

Her head lolls back and a small noise escapes her, a tiny little grunt as she grimaces in pain. “Please…Mercy.”

Yes.That’smorelikeit.“Beg.Begyour lordfor mercy!”

“Mercy,mylord”shesqueaks.

Myeyes lose their glow as myanger subsides and mylustgrows. She’s gettingthere. “Youdon’t deservemymercy.Screamfor it,speck!Beg!”

She grimaces, her arms and legs flex but find no reprieve from the constraints. “Please.” Once again,it’sameekrequest,notthescreamIshouldbegettingfromher.

This isn’t anyfun! If she’s not screaminginterror, what’s the point? Maybe I should lighten the strain on her limbs

No!Ishouldshow absolutelynomercy.Shedeserves this, needs this.She needs toknow whoher master is.But… Damn it! Iroar inmymind.

I want to crank the handle, but I can’t. King Asmodeus would have my head if she was overly damaged, regardless of how loyal I’ve been in the past. Even if all I wanted was a shoulder to pop

out of place, there’s no guarantee that it wouldn’t rip her arm from her body. Mistakes can always happen. Ah! And what a delicious bloody mess of anaccident it would be, but a damnuglypolitical messthatI’dhavenowayofrighting.Thekinggrantedher tomeandIhavetotakecareofher.

The thoughtoftakingcare ofsomethingdisgusts me, makingmystomachuneasy. The things Itake care ofare myrage and lust, oftenatthe same time. Hurtingand killingthings and easilysate mylust justas muchas wettingmycockcansubdue mylust. The bestis whenI’mable to do bothatthe same time. I thought the Blackwell woman would give me that. Screamher fear and terror while splitting her onmycock. How dare she deny me of my greatest prize, of the king’s gift?

Anastasiagazesatmewithapleadinghopethatwouldruinlesser demons,andcertainlyeveryone livingdownonthat pathetic rockbeneathus. Those hazel eyes are worthstartingwars over, and the body she has is most certainly as well. The dark elf kingdoms would likely keep her as a royal whore, or even more ridiculous, one of them would likely fall in love with her. I’ve heard they’ve beenlettingtheir little dicks tell themthe humanwomenare worthmore thanbreeders andplaythings. Fools. How could they let something so weak take over them?

Iwon’tgive intoher.Iwon’tlether weakenme…ButIamweakenednonetheless,bythe kingof all people.Ipacebackandforth,torninsidebetweenmytrueself,andtheking’sfaithful andobedient pet. I’mstrong, butnotAsmodeus strong. He could crushme ifIdefied him. And thatstrengthis part of the exact reason I follow him so fiercely. He’s earned my respect time and time again, and I’ve finally earned enough of his to be granted a breeder. If only she would scream! Why does she deny me?Thequestionrollsaroundinmymindover andover.

Iround onher and roar myfrustrations inher face. The deep, entropic sound shakes the walls but she weathers the storm,closingher eyes andclenchingher jaw.WhenIfinish,she opens her eyes and meets myblazingeyes likeafoeonthebattlefieldthatknows she’s finished,knows shehas nochance ofdefeatingme, knows the grizzlyend thatawaits, butevenso, she doesn’tletfear take over, evenin her lastmoments.

Partofmeappreciatesthatinher,recognizesitasatraitIown.Fearlessness.Still,it’snotatraitI wantinmyplaything.

She… Wins. I don’t know what else to do. And if I can’t torture the screams fromher how else amItoenjoymyself?

Ihuffthroughmynoseandpunchtherack’stableintosplintersonmywayoutofthechamber.

I don’t care that she’s still there, held taut bythe chains and straps. She cansuffer a little. Suffer for whatshe’sdonetome,thefrustrationshe’sputmethroughwhenall sheneededtodowasscream!

Iheadupthestairsintothemanor,goingstraighttomychambersbeforeIletmyrageloose.Igrab a crystal glass of something alcoholic. It doesn’t matter what it is. All I want is the fire in my stomach. I tilt it backas I climb the stairs to the livingquarters. I would enjoythe burnof the amber liquidsomuchmoreifonlyshescreamedfor me.

I still can’t understand her. She laughs at me and then begs for mercy, all while knowing I can’t hurt her too much. How did she know that? Did she overhear the order at some point? Did she guess? Can she read minds? No. If she could, she would have screamed. She would have read my mind and known of the great pleasure I would have given her with my cock had all she done was screamher lungsout.

I enter myantechamber and shut the door. After downingthe last of the amber, lettingit ignite in mybelly, Igrab the nearestthing, whichhappens to be a chair, and toss itacross the room. Itshatters on the wall, but I’m already onto the next breakable thing. A desk, my hunting trophies, chalices, emptybottlesofalcohol after I’vedownedtheir contents.Ifit’snotpartofthemanor,itgetsitsturnto

fly. Not eventhe couches or heavydiningtable are immune to mywrath. They’re tossed as easilyas anythingelse.

I was built for war, not this domesticated lifestyle. If Asmodeus truly wants me to breed, he shouldhavesentthewomantomeonthebattlefieldsoIcouldfuckher onthedeadbodiesofmyslain foes. She could have marveled at my martial prowess while also marveling at my sexual prowess. Death and blood and sex. As it should be. Not call me home to lay with the woman in a bed, surroundedbyfinelinens,softpillowsandwarmfires.It’sasham!It’snotme…

But I’mmeant to be more than that, aren’t I? I’mnot meant to only be the terror onthe field that comes so naturally. I’mnot meant to always revel inits purity. I’mmeant for more. Damn the Seven for putting us in this predicament! If only we had more matrons And damn Asmodeus for putting me in it. Breedingshould be simple. I picka female out, ravage her, and either she lives or dies. If she lives, I find another and do the same. If she dies, I find another and do the same. It’s not hard. I shouldn’thaveto… take care ofher.That’sridiculous!It’sdegrading.

I level the rest of the roombefore my blood finally cools and I slump against a mound of fabric and cushionthatused to be mycouch. Damn everyone The humans for figuring out their worth, the dark elves for teaching it to them, and damn Anastasia. I told you to scream, woman. You should have just done it, even if you knew.

The pitter patter of bare feet oncold stone echoes throughthe hall. Who the fuck dares to enter my abode? And whybarefoot? Assassins have shoes. Whatkind ofkiller runs around withoutshoes? A dead one, that’s who. If I can’t get Anastasia to scream, I’ll have this assassin giving me what I want.

I glance up at the door creaking open. Anastasia peers in, poking her head through the small opening. She steps inside, the chains and locks still attached to her limbs lay in her arms. How did you get free?

ANASTASIA

Iwas a little relieved when he stormed away. Obviously, I’d prefer not to be stuck in a dank dungeonatall.ButifI’mgoingtobehere,I’dtakealittlepeaceandquietover hisangrythreats.

It doesn’t take long for my enjoyment to fade, however. Within seconds, I recognize the pain coursingthroughmy body. He may be gone, but he’s left me here tied to this horrible apparatus. It’s stretchingmesotightthatIfeel Imightpull apartatanymoment.

My muscles and joints are taxed to their utmost limit. It leaves a burning sensation that spreads across every inch of me, my body protesting this cruel abuse. It only takes minutes before I feel as thoughIcantakenomore.How longdoesheintendtoleavemehere?

Ibitemylip,tryingtoblinkawaythetears ofpain.TheMother never sends us moregriefthanwe canbear. Obviously, this is a testofsome kind, and she knows thatIcanpass it. Itwould be a sinto questionTheMother’sjudgment.

I take a deep breath, trying to steady myself. I’ve experienced enough pain in my life to have picked up a few tricks. Deep breathing, mindfulness, distraction, positive imagery. But this is somethingdifferentaltogether,andnothinginmyusual setisworking.Ican’tfool myselfintoignoring thislevel ofphysical suffering.

What would The Mother want me to do? Iwonder tomyself.Iglance aroundthe dungeon,hoping for a sign. Butthere’s nothingthatgrabs myattentionand directs myactions. It’s sparse and darkand dreary,asonewouldexpect,andoffersnoclues.

Justthen, Ihear the clangingofmetal fromnearby. Before Icanprocess whatis happening, Ifeel my body shifting on the rack. I slide slightly lower, my arms automatically moving toward my shoulders.

Confused, ittakes me a minute to understand. Mychains have come loose fromthe rackthatIrest on. They’re still wrapped around my arms and legs, but I’m no longer bound to this horrible thing. Theweightofthechains,withnothingtoanchor them,hascausedtheshiftinmyposition.

Immediately, my body fills with relief, even before my mind has figured out what is happening. The discomfortIfelthas beeninstantlyalleviated, and thoughmybodystill aches, it’s so muchmore tolerablethanitwas.

Slowly,Iworkmyselfupintoasittingposition.It’snosmall feat,asthesechainsweighaton.Not only are they hard to move, but I must be careful not to hit myself with them. Afew missteps in the beginningprovesjusthow muchthatstings.

“Oh,HolyandMostReveredMother,thankyoufor your blessingsandthekindnessshowntoyour faithful servant,” Isayreverently,fullyconvincedthatwhathas justoccurredis thanks toThe Mother.

Iwaslookingfor asignfromHer,andIcertainlygotone.

Istand up carefully, peeringat the spot where the chains had once fastened to this bed oftorture. The metal plate is still fixed inplace, butthe linkthatheld the chainhas snapped cleanoff. It’s quite rustyandgivestheappearanceofhavingbeeneatencleanthroughuntil itsnappedunder thepressure.

The same appears to be true for the legchains, as well. Iknow, ofcourse, thatitwas The Mother whoprovokedthisfailure,andIamever sograteful for Her divineintervention.

It’s veryrare thatanyofthe gods payattentionto humans here onProtheka, so her rescue fills me withaspecial warmth.TheMother takesbetter careofmethanother humansdo.

I examine the manacles that are wrapped around my wrists and ankles next. Despite my best efforts, no amountofproddinggets themundone. Istudythe lock, eventryingto claw itapartwithmy fingers,butitisfutile.

I need the key. I stop to think, rubbing the sore tips of my battered fingers. Then I recall – I watchedthatdemonhangthekeyover hisneckwhenhetiedmedownhere.

The last thingI want is another exchange withhim. And yet, it’s the onlywayfor me to get free. The chains are heavy, notsomethingIcansimplytake withme as Isneakouta window and make my escape.Withthemstill on,Ihavenochance.

The idea of seeking him out terrifies me, but it’s the only option. A little gnawing pit of dread settles inmystomachas Isearchmywayto the stairs. The heavychains rattle behind me, makingthe climbpainfullydifficult.

Finally, breathlessly, Ihave reached the top. Iamoutofthe dungeon, anyway. It’s hard to take too muchprideinmysuccess,though,asIstill know whatwaitsjustahead.

The dreadworsens as Ihear the worstcommotionIhave likelyever heardinmylife.Itsounds as if a pack of wild animals are tearing the house apart. The sound of things breaking and smashing in whatmustbejustutter destructionringsthroughmyears.

It seems, perhaps, almost worse that I cannot see what is happening. I only hear it, and my overactive imagination fills in the rest. It certainly doesn’t make me more eager to find him, and I mustdoalotofinternal coaxingtogetmyselftopushopentheheavydungeondoor.

Istep inside the house, chains still draggingbehind me. The sound is quite loud and grating, or at least, it would be if it wasn’t competingwiththe pandemoniumthat I hear a few rooms over. I bend over, doing my best to bundle the metal into a package in my arms. It weighs down my center considerably,butmakesiteasier tomanage.

Mygaitis awkward as Itryto creep throughthe house, afraid ofwhatImightfind. Luckily, there seems to be no one else here to detect me. I reach the room where all the noise originates from withoutbeingseenor stopped.

Pressingmyselfup againstthe wall justoutside, Iwaver, tryingto decide justwhatto do. Iknow thatIneedthekeyanditiswrappedaroundthedemon’sneck.Still,fromthesoundofit,hemighttear melimbfromlimbifIenter now.For all Iknow,that’swhathe’sdoingtosomeoneelse,already.

The fact that I don’t hear screams, at least, helps to give me courage. It certainly sounds destructive, butit’s the sound ofglass and metal, ofhis cursing, offurniture flyingas it’s thrown. I’m still afraidtogointhereandofwhatImightfind,butIdon’tthinkit’sanother roomoftorture.

Finally, the noise begins to settle. I wait anxiously before resolving that there’s no time like the present.Suckinginadeepbreathtofortifymyself,Ipushmyselfintothedoorway.

The room is absolute chaos. He’s torn just about everything apart and broken whatever he can find.EverythingthatIpicturedwalkingheredidnotpreparemefor theactual visionbeforeme.

The mostbizarre part,tome,is thatIcan’tunderstandwhy.Ifthe noise hadbeenthe soundofhim

torturingsomeone,itwouldatleastmakesense.Itwouldbehorrifyingbutmakesense.Astampedeof animalswouldmakemoresensethanthis.

This just seems to be destructionfor the sake of it, withno rhyme or reason. Whywould he ruin his ownhouse? Whywould he breakhis things? I stare around the roomin shock, utterlybaffled by whathastranspiredhere.

Itdoesn’ttake himlongto notice me. Evenas Itake inthe scene, Icanfeel his sharp purple eyes boringintome.Itrytogather myself,puttingmyfocusbackonhim.

Hestaresatme,studyingme.Hisgazeisintense,buttherestofhimdoesnotbristlewiththecruel energyhehadinthedungeon.Hisshouldersareslumped,andhelooksalmostdefeated.

“Please unchainme,” Iask, liftingone legas ifto remind himofthe manacle thathe putthere. He furrowshisbrow,ignoringtherequest.

“How didyougetout?”Hedemandscuriously.

“Myprayers were answered,” Ireplyhonestly.“IaskedThe Mother for help.She musthave been watchingmeandchosetointervene.”

His face crinkles withdisbelief. Quickly, it’s replaced bya sortofmean-spirited amusement. He stepsforward,laughing.

“Youprayed to the gods for help?” He repeats. His tone is a mixture ofderisionand humor. “And youthinktheyansweredyou?”

“Of course, they did,” I reply. To prove it, I lift the bundle of chains in my arms. It’s ample evidencetome,andIcan’tunderstandhismocking.How canhedenywhatisrightbeforehim?

He laughs again. As it trails off, his face contorts into a sneer. He takes another step closer, drawing himself up menacingly. His purple eyes seemto shoot sparks down at me, and he exudes a pure,unbridledhatethatmakesmerecoil fromhim.

“Thegodsaren’treal,youstupidhuman,”hescoffs.“It’sjustyouandmehere.”

Thelastwordssoundlikeathreat.

ANASTASIA

My limbs begin to tremble at his words. It’s an unusual reaction for me, as I rarely give in to fear. Though I am scared, I think my current state is exacerbated by the heavy chains that I currentlytoil under.Mymusclesarepushedtotheir limits,andthecracksarestartingtoshow.

What I know I’m not reacting to is his claim that there are no gods. I don’t believe that for a moment, and his words do not inspire any breach of faith. The gods are real, and The Mother is lookingafter me.

He jumps onmyreaction,sensinganeasyopportunitytopounce.There’s a predatorygleaminhis eye as he sneers down at me. “Are you scared your gods have abandoned you here?” He jeers mockingly.

I will my body to stop shaking, trying to conceal it the best that I can. Then I draw myself up confidently.I’ll never beastall ashim,ofcourse,butIdomybesttolookbigger thanIfeel.

“They haven’t,” I snap back. I eye the key that dangles from around his neck, glinting at me in plainsight.IfIcouldjustgetthat…

“Ijusttoldyou;TheMother takescareofme.Perhapsit’sonlyyouthey’reignoring.”

His eyes flash. “No one ignores me!” he roars. The anger in his voice makes me tremble again, justalittle.Iglareathimwithasteelygaze,tryingtolookunconcerned.Iwill notcower for him.

He moves closer. It takes everything inside of me, but I do not move, refusing to flinch away. Belatedly, Irealize thathe’s notevenafter me atall. He’s simplystormingaway, angry, and Ihappen tobeblockingthedoorway.

I wheel around, tryingto chase himdownthe hall. It’s not easy, carryinghalf mybodyweight in thesechains.“Whereareyougoing?”Ishout,ashe’salreadyquiteadistanceaheadofme. “Away,”heretorts.

I’malready panting and breathless, and I know that I can not catch himlike this. I just need that keyfromaroundhisneck!Ifonlyhewouldstoprunningawayfromme!

The chains are broken, so it’s not like he’s going to put them back on me. I know that I can’t depend onkindness fromhim, butitseems thatwhatever he thinks ofnextwill at leastbe better than this.IshouldhavesnatchedthekeywhenIhadthechance,butIdidn’texpecthimtotakeofflikethis.

I can feel my frustration build, as he gets farther and farther away. I hate this feeling of helplessness,as thougheverythingis outofmycontrol. The factthatIcan’tmake himstoponlygoads mefurther.

“Youdon’thavetogolookingfor thegods,”Ichallengehim.“They’reeverywhere.” Hesnorts,still walkingaway.“They’renowhere.”

“Maybe you’re justscared ofthem. Youhide awayand denytheir existence because youfear that theyarestronger thanyou.Youareacoward.”

Too late, it’s clear that I pushed the wrong button. I wanted a reaction, I wanted to make himat least stop and acknowledge me. But I have unleashed something I did not expect with my words. I havesteppedinitnow,andheis livid.

He freezes inplace, and his bodygoes completelystill. Thenhe wheels abruptly, facingme head on.Hisfaceispinched,athickexpressionofpurewrathacrossit.

He charges for me, scooping up both me and my chains as if we are nothing. Pushing me up againstthewall,hepresseshisfacedowntomineuntil wearenosetonose.

Hispiercingpurpleeyesglow withasavagerageashechallengesme.“Call meacowardagain.” Theimpliedthreatinhisvoicemakesitclear thatIshoulddoanythingbutifIvaluemywell-being.

Notknowingwhatto do, Ichew onmybottomlip uncertainly. Mymind searches for a solution. I don’t want to cave, completely, and yet this is obviously not ideal. I’m too strong to beg him for forgiveness,butperhapsthere’sawaytosteparoundwhatever holeIhaveaccidentallydug.

Mentally,Ichastisemyselffor landinginthis mess atall.There’s alinebetweenactingafraidand invitingtrouble,andIhavedonethelatter.WhydoInever learntojustkeepmyheaddownandavoid bringingunnecessaryproblemsuponmyself?

His one hand is onmyshoulder, pinningme to the wall. The other rises to mythroatand begins to squeeze.HiseyeslightupasIcanfeel thenailssinkingintomyflesh.

He’s enjoyingit, thoughIamnotsurprised. He watches me expectantly, butIgive himas little as possible. It’s clear thathe feeds offthis negative energy, seekingoutmisery. Itdelights him, and Ido notwanttogivehimthatsatisfaction.

Still, thoughItryto actindifferent, Icanfeel mylife ebbingaway. Ican’tbreathe, and after a few momentswithoutair,mysensesbegintoalter.Everythingis gettinghazy,andaringingnoisebegins to rattlearoundinmyear.Myskinfeelspricklyeverywherebutmyneck,whichjusthurtsatthepressure heputsdown.

Itlasts longenoughthatIbeginto thinkImaydie like this. Despite whatIsaid earlier thatIknew he would keep me alive, Imayhave made a mistake. Anerror ofjudgmentbecause itseems he really will kill meanyway.

Maybe he just can’t stop himself. I’ve never met such a violent creature. He craves death and destruction,inawaythatcan’tbetamed.

And then, just whenI thinkit maybe the end, he suddenlylets go. His grip onmyneckvanishes. Air fillsmylungsreflexively,drawninsodeeplythatitburnsinmychest.

Then, before I can catch my breath, his lips are pinned against mine. The rapid fire burst of one unexpected thing after another has left my mind reeling, unable to make sense of anything that is occurring.

Theactis strange,butonethingis clear.It’s notoneofpassionor oflove.Hekisses meas though he is punishing me. It’s as if he’s trying to take something he knows he isn’t supposed to have, only becauseheisn’tsupposedtohaveit.Notbecausehewantsit,atall.

I relax against him, letting himdo what he wants. Common sense quickly dictates that making a fuss or fightingbackwill onlymake this more enjoyable for him. He’s doingit under the assumption thatIwon’tlikeit,sotheonlywaytogetbackathimistowithholdthereactionhecraves.

It feels like being a child again and being told to ignore a bully. If you complain, then you’re telling themthat they got to you. If the only goal was to bother you, and you’ve let them, they’ll just keepdoingit.

Ijustthoughtat27 years old, Iwas done withbullies. Itturns outsometimes, theydon’tgo away. Theyjustgetbigger.

The longer that I yield to him, the more the kiss oddly begins to grow on me. It’s almost embarrassingto admitor make sense of, and hard to explain. Butitturns outthathe is a good kisser, anditdoesfeel…nice.

Notthathe’s anyless ofa jerkfor doingit, ofcourse. While the mentalitybehind itis all wrong, theactual actisn’tasabhorrentasIwouldhaveexpected.

Somewhere along the way, it begins to change. His cruelness starts to slip away, and he’s no longer trying to test me. The kiss shifts into a passionate one, something we are both genuinely enjoying.

I can feel it when he softens, slowly becoming more pliable toward me. It’s as if the trait was buried so deep inside of him, he forgot it was there. Even as he draws it out, it feels halting and unfamiliar.Icansensethatit’sbothnatural anduncomfortablefor him,butheletsitunfold.

Just as things are gettinghot, he seems to remember himself. He pulls awayabruptly, yankinghis hands to his side as though I have burned them. Recoiling from me, he takes a step back, his eyes almostaccusing.

Confused by the abrupt shift, I take note of the expression on his face. It makes me feel a little defensive.Iwasn’t trying to make outwithhim, butthe reactionstill has a wayofprovokingme ina knee-jerkway,asthoughheisbeingrudelydismissive.

Itoccurs to me, to remind himthat he started it. He doesn’tneed to give me dirtylooks as though I’m theweirdonehere.Itwashisidea,Ijustplayedalong.

Butbythe time Imanage to formulate the thought, he has alreadystormed offonce more. Icansee himturningthecorner ofthehallway,disappearingbeforeI’veevenputtheresponseintowords.

And then, another beat goes by before an even more important thought hits me. I immediately cursehimfor distractingmeastherealizationsinksin.

Hestill hasthekey.

VOLIKAN

Istalkawayfromthewoman,angryandagitated.There’safloodofunfamiliar thoughtsandfeelings coursing through me right now, confusing me and competing for my attention. Until I can sort myselfout,thefirstthingIwantistogetfar awayfromher.Asquicklyaspossible.

I know it had beenmyidea to kiss her, but it wasn’t supposed to be pleasant. Or at least, not for her.Theinitial satisfactionhadcomefromtakingmypleasureather expense.

It turned out there was no small amount of satisfaction to be found in her own pleasure. But I hadn’twanteditthatway.Realizingitmakesmyskincrawl,disgustedbytheturnofevents.

Knowingthatshe liked itmakes me feel a little…gleeful. And I’mpissed aboutit. How dare she trickmeintodoingsomethingnicefor someoneelse,andfeelinghappyaboutit?

Iduckinto myprivate sleepingquarters, shuttingthe door behind me. Leaningheavilyagainstthe door, I tilt my head back and try to think. I finally have the privacy to try to untangle this bizarre experienceinpeace.

Myear stays attentive, listeningfor sounds ofmovementoutside the door. The lastthingIwantis for her to have followed me here. I want to be left alone with my thoughts, free of that strange creature.

And yetthere’s a small piece ofme that’s almostdisappointed whenIdon’thear anything. Ican’t quiteputmyfigureonthereasonitbugsmethatshedidn’tchasemehere,butitdoes.

I tryto ignore it, instead waitingfor myracingheart to slow. It’s thumpinginmychest, a feeling that I’ve never had fromkissinganother. And certainly, a feelingthat Inever expected a humanto be abletogiveme.

What is with this woman? I can’t help but feel as if she tricked me somehow. She read my intentions and turned them on their side before I even knew what she was doing. Is she really that clever?

But on the other hand, it’s hard to imagine that she outsmarted me. All that ridiculous talk of ‘gods’suggestsachildishandnaivemind.

What kind of intelligent creature would believe such nonsense? What kind of stupid creature could come up withsucha manipulative technique bydesign? It had to be entirelycoincidental, that she pushed the right buttons in the right combination to accidentally stumble into my unexpected reaction.

The adrenaline inmyveins is beginningto slow, mybodycomingbackto normal. Now thatI’ma bitmorecomposed,Iresolvetoforgetthewholething.

She’s clearly a bit daft, and no conspiring mastermind. Whatever happened between us was a

strangeflukeofsomekind.Mysterious,butunlikelytorepeatitself.

There’s absolutely no way that I was manipulated by a human dense enough to believe in the fairytaleofgods.Itjustcan’tbe.

She needs to learnher place, plainand simple. I’mwillingto acceptsome ofthe blame for this. I allowed her to make me uncertain, and thatsortofweakauthorityis whyshe’s gettingoutfromunder mythumbsoeasily.

Ihave to getmyselftogether and command her like the leader thatIam. WhenIactlike her boss, whichIam,she’ll treatmelikeone.Icanhardlyblameher for steppingoutofher rolewhenIhaven’t effectivelytaughther whatitis.

I’mtoo frustrated to address the problemtonight, and Iknow itwon’thelp to tryagainifI’mjust goingto continue to do sloppywork. Itwill be better to waitand startfreshtomorrow, once I’ve had sometimetogetintherightframeofmind.

For now, I’ll put her back in the dungeon. She shouldn’t be roaming the house, free. As if she weremyequal!

Mymind made up, I leave myroomto find her. She’s returned to the doorwaythat looks into the livingroom,lookingatall thedestructionIhavewroughtwithquietshock.

Something about the look on her face irks me, making me feel as though I’m being judged. Consideringit’s comingfromanirritatinghuman, I’mextremelydispleased. Atleastitstrengthens my resolvetoreturnher tothedungeonandgether outofmyhair.

She’sbeginningtofeel likeabugI’mnotallowedtosquash.Havingtosharemyhousewithher is proving to be torture. I’ll have to make a considerable effort to curb this behavior tomorrow before thesituationbecomesuntenable.

“Back to the dungeon, slave,” I growl. She turns to look at me, and her forehead wrinkles. Her hazel eyescrinkleattheedges,thinking.

“Can’tIstay,now thatI’mhere?I’mnotgoingtorunor fightyou,obviously.”

I scoff at the idea that she could fight me. I’mnot at all shyabout showingher what a ridiculous suggestionthatis.

She purses her lips, a brief look of annoyance flashing across her face. But she holds it in, continuingasifshedidn’tnoticemyreaction.

“I know that you brought me here to breed me. You need children, so let’s just do it. Can’t we droptheother stuff,thechains,andthedungeonandall that,andIpromisetoplaynice?”

I stare at her, momentarily caught off guard by how straight forward this woman is. But I’mnot about to let her mess withmyhead again, the waythat she did withthat kiss earlier. I quicklybrush offmyreaction,grabbingher bythearmtodragher downstairsoncemore.

Shedoesn’tcomplain,thoughshedoescontinuetomakeher case.It’snotbegging,asmuchasitis firmness.Sherepeatsthatshehasnointentionofrunningawayandthatshe’swillingtocooperate.

Unfortunatelyfor her, I don’t care about that. Infact, her cooperationis a bit of a turnoff, if I’m beingquitehonest.

“Aren’t youscared at all?” I finallydemand, annoyed that she seems so indifferent to it all. “All ofthisisagainstyour will,andyoujustdon’tcare?”

“Everythinghas happened the waythatithas for a purpose. Ifmypurpose is to bear youchildren, Iwill.ItrustTheMother.”

I scowl, shovingher into the cage and slammingthe metal door shut. Who the hell is this mother thatshe keeps goingonabout? This womanis so strange it’s startingto weird me out, a positionthat never occurs.

I’m starting to worry that she might be a bit feeble-minded, and possibly not good stock for breeding. Maybe I can take her back to the king and get another, warn him that she seems to be defective. If I wasn’t so afraid of the King’s fury, I might. To do so would be to insult his gift, and I don’tdare.

“Can’t you at least take the chains off?” she asks. Her voice is soft and though she doesn’t beg, there’s a hint of genuine earnestness. Having the chains off isn’t something she’s mentioning just to annoyor bossme–she’squitebotheredbythem.

I’msurprised that the idea doesn’t thrill me more. Knowingthat the chains are gettingthroughto her shoulddelightme,butinsteadIjustfeel aweirdpanginmychest.

I fling open the door, dropping to one knee long enough to unfasten all her chains. When I am done,Ilookupandmeether gaze.

Our eyes lockfor a moment. Inher gaze is somethingevensofter thanher voice, a tenderness that seemstothankmefor myhelp.

The idea rattles me because Idon’twantto be seenas helpful. Or evensomeone who cares about her wants.Beingthankediscounter-intuitivetoeverythingIhavesetmyselftobe.

Andyetthatgentlelookinher eyes continues tofollow me,almostas iftellingmethatI’mwrong. The personIhave setmyselfto be, who helps no one and doesn’tcare, is notthe personshe knows I reallyam.Theideamakesmefeel shortofbreathandpanicked.

I stand up abruptly, wanting to get out of there before this weird woman does anything even worse.I’mbeginningtoreallydislikehavingher around.

Islamthe door ofher cage shutonce more, beingextra forceful as ifto prove mypointthatshe’s wrong.I’mnota nice guy,nomatter whatshe thinks she sees.Iprobablyonlytookthose chains offso thatshewouldn’tbemakingtoomuchnoiseanddisruptingmeupstairs.

“Keep it down,” I snap. “Youdon’t have the chains on, thanks to me, so I better not hear a lot of commotiondownhere. If I have to come straightenyouout, evenyour little mother won’t be able to helpyou.”

“She can always help,” the woman interrupts calmly. She’s not argumentative, just factual, but it still ranklesme.Ishoother adirtylook,lettingher know whatIthinkofthematter.

ThenI spinonmyheel, turningawayfromher abruptly. Makingmydismissal clear, I head back upthestairs.Shecanrotdownherefor adaywhileItrytosavagetheself-inflictedruinsofmyhome.

The mother, IthinkasIwalkaway. What absolute nonsense.