Frost to Dust by Myra Danvers

11

“Ready to go, wildcat?” Marco asked, falling into step at my right, leaving Gabe to guard my back.

Pretending I didn’t notice Alicia’s absence, I held my chin high. Said nothing as they guided me through the ornate halls of the general’s manse.

Gabe chuckled. “Told you. Girl’s got a Marco filter. Just picked it up faster than most.”

“Not possible,” Marco returned. “At the very most, she’s just worn out from a day of training with Sasha. But”—he grinned—“it’s far more likely that the lady wildcat is just intimidated by my dashing good looks.”

We exited the manse to find a city consumed by darkness. Hours had passed in training with Sasha—in a windowless room—without my being able to take note, the entire day spent free of the captain… despite what had grown tacky and sour as it dried.

An ever-present reminder I could not escape.

Just as he wanted.

I shuddered, disgusted and ashamed. Taking small, mincing steps that kept my thighs together, the scent of stale semen trapped beneath the billowing layers of my skirts.

“Hold on there, priestess,” Gabe said, and set a restraining hand on my shoulder. “Can’t go rushing on without us. Captain’s orders.”

Frowning, I shook off his touch and turned my attention in, to touch that shining buffer of pure energy. Braced for the coming fight. To face the man who’d left me in ruins, who’d taken something precious and made it his own.

The streets were dark.

The air damp with the onset of night.

All around me the scent of distrust lingered at the back of my sinuses. Thick and cloying, an ominous weight that hung on the breeze as the soldiers scanned the streets for any hint of danger.

But I closed my eyes to all of it, feet silent on the cobbles as I followed without complaint. Too tired to do more than obey, I was enthralled by what Sasha had given me. Charmed, pacified by a thing of beauty no one else could see.

A thing that would ensure a measure of distance remained between me and the captain’s lewd intentions. A wall of protection granted by the Head Priestess herself.

And when the captain’s residence loomed dark and ominous at the end of the street, I dared a tiny, secret smile.

Things would be different this time. This time, he wasn’t facing some terrified, untouched innocent.

There was nothing left to lose. A new barrier between us that couldn’t be breached by mere flesh.

In the least traditional sense, I was armed.

Keeping me sandwiched between them, Marco and Gabe entered without hesitation and guided me through gloomy halls. And even in the dark, I recognized the way to the captain’s office. Knew the place where he’d first put me on my knees and introduced me to the monster lurking beneath the handsome veneer.

At the sound of a throaty, feminine chuckle, the soldiers paused. Content to wait in the hall until summoned.

“Well it was your slave who ruined dinner, after all,” she said. “I think the least you can do is treat me to a proper meal.”

The low murmur of the captain’s voice answered her, unintelligible at such a low pitch.

I frowned, glancing at Marco.

“Carina,” the soldier supplied, and didn’t bother to hide the exasperated roll of his eyes.

Teeth clenched, I nodded. Eyes adjusting to the low lighting as we stood in wait.

Silent.

Made to listen to the one-sided conversation until Carina said, “Mmm, well I have nowhere to be, Asher. I could stay for just… a little longer.” She giggled, and I turned my attention to the shield. Letting that soothing power wash my senses clean before I was forced to endure a Caledonian courtship in real time. “I could stay all night…”

But a few seconds later, the door swung open. Blinding us with a warm, yellow glow as Carina stumbled out, awash in a cloud of alcoholic fumes. Her elegance left rumpled and askew, the fine coil of dark hair mussed as if straightened in haste and without a mirror. And at the corner of wine-stained lips, a smudge of makeup and blurry lines.

It took a moment, but when she realized she wasn’t alone, her reaction was not one of shameful contrition, but instant haughty contempt. “What a surprise,” she slurred, taking a single step toward me. “Should have known I’d find Asher’s little pet lurking in the dark. Listening. I sure hope you learned something valuable,” she cooed, and jabbed a perfectly shaped fingernail into my chest. “Perhaps you need instruction, hmm?”

I said nothing. Offered her nothing but a slow blink. Distracted from my meditation by the lancing sparkle of pain as she scored my breastbone. And then her fingers glided up, to pinch at either side of my jaw, to hold me in place so she might watch and see the impact her words held as they struck my ears.

“He may be bound to you,” she breathed, stinging my eyes with the flammable quality of her breath, “but it’ll be my bed he seeks when we’re married. I’ll see to it. That you’re allowed to watch. To clean up the mess.” She smirked, smoothed her hair back into place, and adjusted her rumpled skirts. “Foreign pussy may be an entertaining distraction, but it takes one of his own kind to truly satisfy a man like that.”

It happened in an instant.

In one breath, I was existing inside myself. Content to brush against the pure, numbing bliss that was my shield.

In the next, I lashed out. Using the cruel touch clamped tight about my jaw, I dove straight into the Caledonian woman towering above me. Flooding through her system, I mimicked what Sasha had done to me. Flush with excess, I was seduced by Carina’s unstable energy, meek an unappetizing as it was.

Mundane.

Almost indiscernible, it was utterly void of the intoxicating crackle of dark, elite flames. Bland and tasteless next to the wash of soothing, complex might of a priestess.

I felt the bruise still smarting on Carina’s shin and knew a brief flash of spiteful pride for having been the one to inspire it.

I swam through veins swollen with drink, explored old injuries, and grew intimate with a woman whose heart floundered at the thought of the man I hated most in the world.

All before Marco took his next blink. Before either soldier could do more than part their lips in my defense, I spun through her system and loosed the dark thing slavering for a taste.

A creature Sasha had provoked only to cage. Primed for battle, then denied.

The empath.

Newborn. Clumsy and curious, it pulsed from my skin into hers. Messy. Wreaking delightful havoc.

I drank her in. Watched her pupils balloon wide as a delicious tendril of fear spiked through her brainstem. Pulling at everything that went unseen, I took what little she had and made it my own. Patching the holes the captain had left behind with the vitality of his intended bride.

She staggered.

“Easy now,” Gabe said, and caught the fragile woman before she hit the floor. “Let’s get you home, eh?”

Panting through gaping lips, I blinked. Nipples tiny, beaded points that strained against the fabric of my silken dress. Sweat dotting all along my hairline as my vision grew swampy with a distorted haze, as the contact between us was broken and Gabe escorted the drunkard away from my presence.

I swayed, tongue thick and tacky inside my mouth. Cheeks flushed, my brain swollen, pressed tight against the inside of my skull in such a way that made my neck ache with the effort to keep myself upright.

Spinning and wobbly.

A rough hand settled on my shoulder blade.

Marco.

His identity flashed behind my eyes without my having to look, but was gone before I could reach for more.

Feet moving, I stumbled into the captain’s office at Marco’s insistence—and faltered when I saw a familiar head of ebon-black hair. Forehead resting on steepled fingers, the captain was dressed in the same clothing he’d been wearing when I’d seen him last.

But now he was rumpled. Disheveled.

His hair mussed, sticking out at odd angles.

Marco cleared his throat, drawing that inky gaze up to reveal bloodshot eyes both glassy and unfocused.

“Carina is a…” Marco trailed off, pausing to pull out a chair and fold himself into it, leaving me idle and swaying in the background, excluded at the fringe of their private chat. “She’s an… interesting choice for marriage, sir.”

The captain snorted, running long fingers through his hair. “She’s a toxic whore,” he said, “but she’s got good breeding.” Scrubbing one palm down his face, he scratched at his stubble then poured himself another drink. “Haven’t decided if I want to accept her proposal just yet.”

Marco snatched the glass of amber liquid, draining it in two messy swallows. “Seems eager enough. Comes with more than a few beneficial political connections.”

“Yeah,” the captain said, and set his lips directly to the decanter. “And it’ll tie me to the Savoy’s for the rest of time.” Tilting his head back, the captain drank. His throat bobbing as he worked, eyes drifting closed. Tight at the edges as if the mere thought of Carina left him in pain.

Wincing, Marco set both elbows to his knees and watched, waiting until the other took a ragged breath and cradled the bottle to his chest, before he said, “That wouldn’t be so bad, would it? Least the view is nice.”

“I’m too fuckin’ drunk for this.” The captain blew a noisy breath through his nose. “Or maybe I’m not drunk enough. Anything to report from the manse?”

Marco shook his head. “Aside from getting turned down by Alicia more times than I can count, it was quiet all day. No sign of Tilcot.”

Nodding, the captain set his bottle aside and placed both palms flat on the table. Fingers spread, he took a breath, then stood. “Won’t last. He’ll make a move. Just gotta be ready for it.”

“But a night off is nothin’ to sneer at,” Marco concluded, before he too was on his feet. “Have sweet dreams, old man.”

“Ha,” the captain drawled. “Remind me to kick your ass in the morning, hmm?”

Marco saluted, tapping his heels together. “Absolutely, sir. I’ll be sure to book us time in the fighting pits. Right at the ass crack of dawn, so we can get a solid workout in before the day begins. Nothing better to cure a hangover.”

Squinting through bleary eyes, the captain chuckled. “You’ll need every unfair advantage you can get, boy. Mila, come,” the captain barked, and clapped one hand on the soldier’s shoulder before he exited the office.

I cursed, staggering along behind him on unsteady feet. Head sloshing about inside my skull, seized by his influence, I was given no choice but to obey. Was too disoriented from the rush of Carina’s boozy energy to fight.

Toxic, indeed.

Tasting her had left me without a tether. My senses dulled, swirling around my skull in a fog that tingled where it spread. Tongue tacked to the roof of my mouth, I was parched. Thirsty enough to demand, “Water,” and reach for the back of the captain’s shirt. “I’m thirsty.”

He hummed, fisting the railing as he stumbled up the stairs, turned a sharp corner, and clipped the door frame with the edge of his shoulder.

“Come’ere,” he slurred, flicking his fingers before my face. Grinning when my wrists and throat burned at his command—a dim glow lighting the gloom—he entered his private bath and kept me close. Even when he flipped the latch on his belt, shimmied where I couldn’t see, and emptied his bladder.

“Not exactly what I had in mind,” I drawled, cheeks flushed, scandalized, but unable to tear my attention from so intimate an experience.

A sinister gleam entered his gaze as inky eyes slid over his shoulder, but without a word, he reached for the tap at the sink and flipped it on. “Drink,” he said, and shook himself off.

All but dunking my head, I obeyed. Gulping at the flood of cold water with a moan of purest bliss.

Rough hands traced the length of my spine, he took advantage. My position an invitation I hadn’t meant to issue. “I would get the only priestess in the world who’s untrained,” he murmured, pressing a raspy kiss to the ring of bruises he’d left on my shoulder.

I shivered, hands shooting out to brace, but I slipped against the porcelain. Arching my back as he pressed against me, I hummed, flush with Carina’s toxic, spinning energy. Brave and confidant, despite the predator draped over my back. “Poor, pitiable Asher,” I cooed, and clenched when I felt him grow thick with interest. “What a tragedy for you. Such hardship.”

A grin whispered at my nape—I felt it twitch. “Mmhmm,” he purred, and let his pants drop to the floor. “And growing harder by the moment.”

“Go bother your intended wife,” I returned, knocking a jar to the floor when my head spun. The world tilting off its axis in such a way that left me clinging to the sink. Inhibitions washed away by the sloppy rush of intoxication I’d pulled from Carina’s body into mine.

He tugged at the ties keeping my dress in place. “Would you like that? Watching me bed another woman?” Shifting my hair to one side, he hauled me upright. Spun, and watched with a wicked glimmer as my dress fell, pooling in a puddle at my feet. As I was exposed. My nipples already pebbled. “Or,” he murmured, and sucked a breath between his teeth, “maybe you’re jealous?”

I laughed through a sneer, cupping my breasts in a delayed attempt to hide from that wicked gaze. Said nothing in response to such a ludicrous sentiment.

“So,” he said, and stepped into the narrow shower stall at his back, dragging me in with him. “What devious little plan have you and Sasha cooked up, hmm?”

“And what makes you think—”

“I may be drunk,” he drawled, and turned the tap without so much as a backward glance. “But I’m not stupid. And you know”—a spray of cold water struck his back, making him shudder as he took the brunt of the icy blast—“I’m almost eager for the challenge. I prefer a little more… fight in my pets.”

Recognizing the devious glimmer in those glassy eyes, I raised both hands and issued a warning. “Don’t you dare—”

He tipped to the side.

I screeched, coughing as glacial water washed over my face, my chest and belly. It warmed before I could muster simple speech, but still, I trembled. Cringing back in a vain attempt to evade the frigid water. Spine pressed to the tiled wall, hands cupping my nudity as I pranced in place. “You sadistic bastard!” I hissed, scowling and dripping.

Unrepentant, the captain licked his lips and produced a bar of soap, working it into a quick lather against his chest. The suds trickling over the bumps and ridges, the pebbled flesh that rippled over his chest. A lure meant to draw my eye… lower.

Without a word, he pressed the soap into my hands. Head tipped back as he washed, he watched me from beneath hooded eyes, but didn’t touch.

It was his influence that surged through my blood, doing his bidding, exactly as he’d promised he could. Full control with an errant thought.

And yet, he did not seem to notice the shield. He moved around it as I was made to mimic his actions. Whipping the suds into a froth, scrubbing away the day’s stress—the morning’s stains.

I swallowed. Blinking and disoriented, latching onto the one thing that might lead to another small victory. That he hadn’t thought to plunge inside me with dark flames that could see what others could not. Taking advantage with his senses, to learn and touch with the gifts of a priestess, for he was an elite, first. A man who thought in terms of offense and force, to whom the idea of stealthy subversion was a chore.

Breath catching, I reached instead for the unsteady verve Carina had donated.

Embraced it for what it was.

The energy of a seductress.

My fingers plucked at beaded nipples, cupping and lifting all that grew heavy beneath that obsidian stare.

Pushing lower, the captain seized his cock at the root. Squeezing as he washed, he pumped that turgid flesh without a hint of shame. Knuckles going white when I was made to do the same—my veins singing with molten gold—he grunted. A breath puffed where it hissed through clenched teeth.

I panted, reckless, holding eye contact. Unable to speak as he gave himself a show.

“Show me,” he breathed, and picked up a heavy rhythm. The muscles in his forearm coiled beneath the strain, his chest flexing as he moved over his length with smooth confidence. And then, with his free hand, the captain reached for the sack hanging between his legs. Tugging, massaging at that heavy purse as his wrist twisted around the knob of flesh glaring at me with an angry, reddened tip.

I shivered—and slipped one soapy finger inside. Showing him exactly what he wanted to see. Hands moving at his whim.

“Another,” he rasped, faster now. Tendons corded in his neck as he stroked. Kneading as he watched with feet spread. Chin tipped back, eyes gone utterly bottomless.

And it was then, as I obeyed, adding another finger, that I knew an instant of power over this man. This impossible, infuriating Caledonian elite who would know what it was to kneel…

He grunted. Straining. “Use your thumb,” he barked. “On your clit. I want to see you fuck yourself for me.”

I couldn’t look away. Could hardly blink as I watched the way his hand moved, enthralled by the grip. The way his forefinger and thumb encircled his shaft and twisted at the end. Entranced by the lewd squelch of bubbles foaming and white against flesh that was quickly growing purple.

“That’s it,” he breathed, jaw bunched tight at the corner. Fist a noisy blur.

One hand kneading my nipple, the other edging me closer to victory or complete destruction, I let my chin fall so I might watch him from beneath a curtain of silver-blonde hair.

To hide the smirk as I seized upon a rule of this sordid game—to mirror Captain Asher Rawlings and give the visual creature exactly what he wanted.

I moaned. Like a whore. Like Carina, all confidence and stolen instinct, I spread my ankles for a better angle, and said, “Please,” in a desperate, breathless sort of way that made him lurch toward me. “A-Asher,” I whispered, begging through the fan of my lashes. “Please, Asher—”

“Fuck,” he snarled, and aimed at my pumping fingers. “Don’t stop. Work that clit, Mila. That’s it,” he groaned, and his fist stopped. Knuckles white, a pearlescent rope gushed from his tip. Splashing against my mound, coating the back of my hand in a sticky warmth I could feel even through the falling water.

He pumped again, and sent another jet to splash against my swollen flesh.

Again.

And again.

Coating my fingers in a creamy glaze, his seed made my work slippery and unfocused—enough that I was distracted when I might have fallen into ecstasy. Prevented from following him into orgasm, I turned away from the temptation of that fall and dove instead into the comforting numb that was my shield.

He took no notice.

Falling forward, one hand braced on the wall beside my cheek, he continued to milk himself dry. Breath ragged against my lips as he emptied himself against me, the captain painted my pussy. Eyes glassy as he tainted that obscene canvas.

It wasn’t until his fist came to a slow stop that he frowned at my still fingers. Ebon eyes flicking up, glazed and suspicious, he found my lips stretched over a smug smile.

I said nothing.

Merely existed behind the shimmering wall of insulation that kept us separate. Working instead to calm my racing heart. To ignore the throbbing, empty ache where his seed marked me yet again.

He snorted, then, showing off a row of straight, white teeth. “Oh, well done, Mila,” he breathed. “But are you sure you want to play this game, pet?”

Serene, I lifted one shoulder in casual indifference. Refusing the bait dangling before me.

“You think denying yourself is a victory?” he purred, and looped his forearm behind my neck just to tangle his fingers in my hair. To tip my head back as he crowded in. Pressing too close, his lips moved against my cheek—his free hand moved to cup my mound. Fingers slipping through the mess of slick folds to tease and circle. “You think”—he ground the heel of his palm against my clit, smearing himself all over me—“it hurts my pride to know you haven’t peaked, is that it?”

Two rough fingers plunged inside, stuffing his come inside me, and I choked on a gasp. Tenuous grip on my shield rocked, but held in place.

“I like knowing you’ve been left on the edge,” he confided, and nibbled at my ear. Sucked and pinched. “That you’ll spend the night aching and ripe. My cock filling your dreams the way it won’t fill this greedy…” He sent a careful tendril of energy straight into my core, grinning when I squealed and twisted. “… needy…” A throbbing pulse bloomed behind my pelvic bone, everything south of my bellybutton growing taut with tension. “… desperate little cunt.”

He pulled back with speed enough to leave me reeling. Clenching around nothing, left hanging on the cusp of a truly powerful release, he forced my every muscle to still. Kept me frozen, lips gaping around a silent scream as the drive to seek my climax was diverted.

Cut off.

A tormented, desperate sound crackled over my lips. But that was all.

Cruelty etched deep into the lines on his face, he swept his fingers through the mess of clotted cream cooling against my flesh. “Taste it before you swallow,” he murmured, and fed me the very same digits that had driven me to humiliation so quickly. With the sort of expertise I could never hope to match.

Salty and strong, the captain’s brine wrinkled my nose—but I swallowed him down.

“Good girl,” he cooed, and shut off the water. Stooped, and hauled me off my feet.

I clung to naked flesh as he walked, trembling with fatigue. My senses reeling and overwrought. Teased by a victory only to lose it in an instant.

Aching to be filled—to be fucked, hard and rough and filthy—by the man I hated most.

He tossed me onto the bed, laughing at my wordless squeal, and was on me before I could even attempt to retreat. Straddling my hips, he pinned me to the sheets. Both of us wet. Skin prickling. Too hot.

And then he guided my wrists up, securing both above my head before he dipped to pull my nipple into the searing heat of his mouth.

“Please,” I whimpered, and my thighs fell apart. An invitation I didn’t mean to give but couldn’t take back. Not with the phantom of Carina’s energy in the bed between us. Not when his hips notched into place and he swapped one beaded tip for the other.

A click ratcheted into place. Twin bands of cold steel banded about my wrists.

Handcuffs.

Affixed to his bed frame.

“Sweet dreams, little empath,” he whispered—and abandoned me in a puddle of shameful wet. Pussy weeping for just a hint of attention. A tiny push that might offer relief, a sip of mercy now that his point was well and truly made.

Instead, he pulled the covers back and flicked them over us both. Rolling to his stomach, one arm disappeared beneath a pillow.

He fell asleep with a smirk set to his lips. Naked, hair tousled, curling at the ends as it dried.

I watched the moon pass across dimpled glass, and when I did manage to claim sleep, my dreams were anything but sweet.