Frost to Dust by Myra Danvers
13
The bathhouse.
We were back.
To a place that held horrible memories of being exposed… the truth of my heritage revealed, where the captain had put his mark on my skin and enslaved me to his every crude whim.
It was a traditional Caledonian bathhouse, one that supported communal bathing and a full harem. Where women were eager for the male attention that offered a paltry sip of power in the form of coin. A place where I might have been trained for use in all my holes, where I’d be made to learn the art of seduction and feminine cooing. To be devious if it meant my own survival.
A place that wasn’t my destiny, for instead, I’d been cursed with priestess blood.
Choking on a breath heavy with the scent of perfumed creams and oils—the air nauseatingly moist and humid—I staggered. Clinging to the captain’s jacket to keep myself upright as I blinked through the urge to vomit.
“It takes some getting used to,” he admitted, not unkind when he laid a steadying hand on the back of my neck. Grounding me.
I shook him off, turning instead toward the harem and the large public bathing pool where the very last of my secrets had been shampooed away.
“And where exactly do you think you’re going?”
Teeth bared, I didn’t bother to meet his eye when I hurled a biting, “You get exactly one guess,” over my shoulder.
He chuckled, low and sinister. Catching my wrist, he made me turn. “I don’t bathe with the slaves, Mila. We’re going upstairs. To the private baths.”
I shook my head. “No. I’m not—”
“You know, it’s funny,” he said, and stooped. Setting his shoulder against my stomach, his left arm swept the backs of my knees and he lifted me before I could do more than squeal in protest. “But I don’t recall asking what you wanted to do.”
“Put me down,” I hissed, hands scrambling to ensure my nudity was concealed. That the breeze caressing my nethers wasn’t evidence that I’d been exposed to any who might glance our way
But he ignored me.
Taking the stairs two at a time, my weight seemed not to bother him despite the cankerous hangover or the heat. And when he pushed open the door to a large, tiled room, he didn’t so much as falter when steam billowed around his feet.
It wasn’t until the sound of male laughter echoed from inside that he went stiff, the band of his forearm tightening about my thighs. Dark flames flickering hot and possessive against my ribs.
“Still haven’t broken her in, eh?”
Setting me down, the captain made sure I had my feet before he turned to face the other—a face I recognized from General Tilcot’s disastrous dinner. A bound elite, the very same man who’d been so jealous to learn my freedom had been worth a mere fifty dollars.
With a shrug, the captain said, “As I’m sure you’ve heard, the last few days have been especially… stressful, Colonel Viridian.”
“Conrad, please,” the colonel said. “I think we can forgo the appropriate designations while soaking in the nude, hmm?”
They both laughed, but when the captain’s fingers found the ties of my dress, I balked. “Alright then, Conrad,” he drawled, following when I tried to bolt. “It would seem I’ve managed to find myself a rather rare priestess.” His jaw grew tight, and without giving me an inch, he pulled at my ties. Leaving me to scramble in an attempt to keep my modesty intact. “One whose power I cannot use without dire consequences.”
“Yes, that is the most current gossip,” the colonel hummed. “What was it the general said? Off active duty until…”
A muscle jumped at the corner of the captain’s jaw. “Until she’s properly trained, yes.”
With a chuckle, Colonel Viridian ran his hands through thick, greying hair. Slicking it back with wet hands. “Guess there’s a few setbacks to bargain hunting for priestess, hmm my boy? Bet you wish you’d spent more than a measly fifty dollars.”
Returning his grin, the captain’s hands found my hips. Squeezing. “Perhaps,” he admitted, but that was all. Everything else left unsaid, yet somehow echoing all around us with volume enough to make me blush all the way from the roots of my hair, past my collarbones, and into the bunched fabric concealing my breasts.
“Ah, very good.” The colonel tipped his head back, watching through curious eyes. “Well, if you find yourself in need of assistance, reach out, will you? I’m fascinated by the tactical ramifications behind her issues. And”—he waggled bushy, silver brows—“I bet I could have her behaving inside of a week.”
“That won’t be necessary, sir,” the captain replied. “Mila is mine to break. And we’re enjoying ourselves entirely too much, aren’t we pet?”
Lip curled, I sneered but held my tongue behind clenched teeth, lest he force my silence.
A deep belly laugh rumbled up from the colonel’s side of the bath. “I thought as much. Feisty little thing, is she?”
“All fire and fury,” the captain agreed, but the gleam in those inky eyes was for me alone. “A complete pain in my ass,” he added, and my wrists and throat surged to life, igniting with the all-too familiar tingle that seized my every muscle with involuntary obedience. And with little decorum, the captain folded me into his chest. Stripped me bare. Leaving my bottom exposed to Colonel Viridian’s perusal, but kept everything else for himself.
Absent a single shred of regard for his own modesty, the captain undressed. Flicking the latch on his belt, he let his pants fall. His shirt went next, pulled over his head without bothering to work the buttons loose.
“That’s striking,” the colonel hummed at my back. Closer than he had been a moment before, but I was unable to turn and look. My muscles thrumming with a low-grade drone of compulsion. “It’s as if the gold actually runs through her veins.”
The captain made a sound at the back of his throat. Wrapping me up in a band of corded muscle, he lifted me, stepped over the lip of the bath, and sank into the luxury of heated water with a gusty sigh. “I think it’s linked to her disability.”
“I’ve never seen anything quite like it,” the colonel said, watching as the captain claimed a place on a submerged bench. One that left him half in, half out of the water. His torso left dry as he moved to drape me across his lap—my weight sitting heavy across his thighs, where I couldn’t squirm without feeling him grow stiff beneath me. Couldn’t press for distance without exposing myself to the colonel.
And so I sat.
Curled into the arms of the man I hated most, seeking protection in a prison. My cheeks flushed with mortified heat. Jaw clenched tight enough to feel an answering throb echo in my temples.
Tormented.
“Have you any leads into what might be causing these issues?” the colonel asked, and took a sip from a sweaty glass left outside of the pool. “I took a look through the state records and saw nothing that bore even a slight resemblance among any of the other priestesses.”
For a moment, as the captain’s fingers tightened on my hip, I thought he’d choose not to answer. And then, “Apparently I’ve got the only one like her,” he murmured. “In several generations. Not even Sasha has seen the like. She’s an ‘empath’, or so we’ve been led to believe.”
The colonel frowned. “An empath, you say? Good to know. I’ll ask my girl. Carly was in training to become the next Head Priestess, after all. Let’s see if their stories match up.”
My heart skipped, and I flicked a glance at the colonel’s face. Breath caught in my chest, unsure whether or not Sasha’s teachings would hold up under scrutiny—and what it would mean for me if it didn’t.
“We wouldn’t want her affliction to spread,” the captain said, pressing a grin to the spot beneath my ear. “Unless,” he drawled, “we can figure out some way to harness such raw potential. I presume you saw the damage I was able to unleash with a single shot?”
“I did,” the colonel confirmed, pausing as if to say something else. Something… unsavory. And then, “But I wasn’t the only one who took note. Me?” He clicked his tongue. “I’m nearing retirement. Content with what I’ve got. A wife, a robust lineage, and a pretty young thing devoted to servicing the needs my wife refuses to acknowledge,” he said, and issued a wry chuckle. “But most others aren’t so ready to offer support to what could be seen as a threat to their position. And the capitol? The rumblings of their interest concern me most of all.”
Swallowing, the captain offered a single, tight nod that bumped my shoulder. “I hear you.”
“There’s to be a demonstration for the new generation of elites,” he went on. “A display of power from a bound pair. A promise of what the youths might aspire to, one day. And I’m already hearing whispers, Asher. Whispers that you should be the one to lead the demonstration. Not the general.”
The captain’s breath caught, and I felt the surge of alarm when it filtered through his blood.
“I’ll help in any way I can,” the colonel continued. “Be it training or research. But keep your nose clean, son. Stay low. Avoid drawing too much attention to the girl, or you may find the capitol has a sudden need for bound elites and their priestesses, if you catch my meaning.”
“I do,” the captain said. His tone flat. Ominous as a moment of understanding passed between them, soaring directly over my head in such a way that left me aching to ask. Curious to the point of physical pain.
Clapping pruney fingers, the colonel’s lips curled around a benign smile. “Well,” he said, and stood without regard to his nudity. Shocking me utterly still with the full-frontal show. The subtle, yet obvious differences between them—the only two men I’d ever had a chance to really look at. One in his prime, the other cresting the hill of middle age. “If you’ll excuse me. I’ve some work to do. A few errands to run.” He winked. “Enjoy your slave, Asher,” he said, stepping from the bath in a shower of sloshing water.
We watched him leave. Silent as he toweled off, the captain’s hands still, yet humming with the sort of tension that needed to break. I could feel it lurking just there. Below the surface.
And then we were alone.
Iwas alone.
Settled on the lap of a man who could counter me at every turn, with an ease that was argument enough against trying again. A hopeless endeavor.
The captain unseated me. Pushing me to stand before him in warm water that was deep enough to tease the underside of my breasts. Arms laid out across the tiles, he spread his knees, tilted his chin back, and said, “Come.”
Cupping my breasts to keep them hidden, I curled my lip. Eyes flicking toward the door, cracked open enough to reveal the hallway beyond.
“Try it,” the captain cooed, his eyes sparkling. Positively slavering for the hunt.
Just to be contrary, I obeyed without the use of force. My outer thighs brushing the prickle that lay between his. Forearms crossed, nipples secreted away, I drew close enough that he could touch if the urge struck, and said, “What.”
It wasn’t a question. The single syllable bitten off between the click of my modified canines.
“I’d like to continue our conversation,” he drawled. Fingers drawing tight circles across the water’s surface, where they dangled from the edge of the pool.
I swallowed, eyes flicking again to the exit. “What conversation?”
“Your shield, Mila.” He licked his lips. “Tell me everything.”
Tearing my gaze from that which was bottomless and beguiling, I swallowed back the vitriol. “I already did.”
“Then tell me again.”
Scowling, my nails bit into the meat of my palm.
“Priestesses take,” he murmured, fingers twirling through the water when I refused to speak. “They feed on energy. But for you it’s different, yes? More complicated.”
I swallowed, glaring at the tiny whirlpools he sent toward me.
“As I understand it, this… shield Sasha built for you is meant to keep you separate from the hunger. A barrier between you and the empath. But what if there was another way? An easier way to learn control.”
My gaze flicked up to meet his. Intrigued. And, head tilting, I asked, “What would you know of training a priestess that Sasha doesn’t?”
Instead of responding, he peeled my fingers free of my breast. Setting dark eyes to a pink ring of irritated flesh, where the handcuffs had left me with slight bruises encircling my wrist. Above his golden mark. And then, as he had done to himself, the captain’s energy filled me in a rush. The edges smoothed, dark flames almost tranquil where they lapped at broken capillaries and made them whole. Healing me from the inside, as only a priestess could.
A priestess… and Asher.
Cold realization washed over my nape as the skin grew pale before my eyes. Unblemished and whole. “That’s how you do it,” I breathed, eyes wide. Forgetting my nudity in favor of inspecting what he’d done.
He shrugged. “We’re of the same coin. Priestess and elite. Opposites of a single spectrum. Energy wielders. Destroyers and healers, both.”
“And you know this?” I gasped. “You?”
A wry smirk creased his lips, and that hand sank beneath the surface to find a grip on my flesh. Long, elegant fingers curled were my bottom met the back of my thigh, but went no further. “Why not?”
I searched his eyes for the lie. The deception that must be there, lurking. Waiting for the perfect moment to strike.
I found only a mask of patience. A trap clearly set, but one I couldn’t ignore for the offer of salvation. A chance to defend myself with the might of an elite, to fight the empire on a level playing field and learn from my enemy so I might destroy him from within.
“Show me,” I demanded, and thrust my wrist between us. Breasts bouncing free.
He glanced at my nipples. Pulled me half a step closer. “A priestess is nothing more than an elite, really. Nothing less,” he said, and sent a measured tendril of energy through my skin. Feeding me as he wove an enchantment all around me. “Frost to the fire. A closed loop that breathes and exhales in equal measure.”
And then, pulling at my energy, he drank down every drop of priestess magic left pumping through my blood. Drained in an instant, he pinned me between his thighs when I might have sagged.
“Now you,” he murmured, and caught me before I sank. Lifting me with ease, he spread my thighs and bade me to sit.
I set both palms to his chest, seeking balance. Distance. Felt the way his heart thumped beneath my touch with an eager flutter, and couldn’t help but drift just a little closer.
Displaying an easy control, he held me in thrall without the chains. Didn’t so much as blink when I returned the favor and pulled at the buffet of dark energy. Gulping down the equivalent of what he’d taken. Unable to think or stop.
“That’s it,” he drawled, and let his head fall back. Both hands on my hips, watching, he drew me closer still. Slid me up his thighs until I bumped against that twitching length and knew the flavor of lust.
I took.
Feasting, drawn to the most vibrant parts of him, I latched onto the piece that burned the brightest. I exhaled through parted lips, and felt my entire body go taut and lax, all at once. Tight in the middle, I melted against his chest. Lulled by the gentle lapping of tiny waves as he guided my hips in a slow grind. Teasing us both, winding me tighter as I was made to rock against that twitching length.
“Do you feel it?” he murmured, and tangled his fingers in my hair. Pressing me closer as he flexed, as he strained against me in a single, lewd thrust that spread my lips around his girth and forced that little bundle of nerves to trace him from base to tip. “It could be like this all the time. You’ll never want for anything.”
I frowned, confused and panting through sagging jaws.
“Let me help you, Mila,” he whispered before I could protest, cupping my face so his thumbs could sweep the ridge of my cheekbones. A gentle caress that spun my fluttering heart into a knotted twist. “I can control the empath for you. Give it to me.” Muscles tightening, he strained against me. Fed me another wave of aching need that left me dizzy. Enthralled. “I can ease this burden. Make it so… so fucking easy for you…”
Wetting my lips, I flexed my thighs. Tried to squeeze my knees together to relieve that ache.
“Take what you want,” he hummed, tone a brand of seduction I couldn’t ignore.
I sucked a breath through slack lips, trembling. Caught on the edge of wanting and war.
One rough hand slid down, to trace the collar embedded at my throat. Long fingers almost touching at the back of my neck. But it was the other hand that pained me, for when it slid down—weighing my breast, pausing to tweak a beaded nipple—it was to trace the length of my arm from elbow to fingertips. He collected my palm, brought my fingers to his lips, and said, “Reach for it.”
A drop of sweat trickled down from my temple. And I watched when he drew my fingers between his teeth. Nibbling as those inky, gleaming eyes bored through my willpower. Every beat of my heart sending a pulse of soggy want to saturate my blood at his command.
“You don’t need permission. Not for this,” he said, and left himself wide open. Elite energy filling me without limit or boundary, he showed me the truth of that statement. “Take what you want.”
And I did.
Want.
Lost to everything but the lure of what lay hidden in sable depths, I pulled my fingers from his between his teeth. Tracing the shape of his collarbone, shoulder to throat, I edged over bronzed skin to gather droplets of beaded moisture. Mesmerized by the way they fell, trickling lower. Over the ridges and dips of muscles I simply did not possess.
He groaned, tilting his chin back to expose his throat. To watch me from beneath a fan of dark lashes, even as he fed me a wave of virile confidence that dared me to stop.
I didn’t.
Couldn’t.
Not even when the hand collaring me shifted anew, when his thumb found the hollow at the base of my throat and his fingers guided my head down. To see where he jutted from the water. Red and angry and so incredibly swollen with need.
For me.
To touch.
Take…
Breaths coming hard, I watched a pearly drop swell at his tip. Bubbling from the tiny slit where it ached for relief.
I swallowed.
Watching my hand move, inching closer until the heel of my palm brushed flesh that lurched. Living steel.
He sucked a breath between his teeth, fingers growing tight on my nape. Silent, even as he urged me on. Driving me to be bold when I might have fled.
Wrist turning in, my fingers folded around his girth and my thumb swept up. Along a thick vein that ran down his length only to settle in the notch where his knob formed a tight V—just beneath the flare.
His hips bucked, and I gaped as he glided through my fist. As skin moved over his length and he strained against me, my pinky finger nestled in dark curls around the base. Where he was thicker. Where his pulse throbbed.
It was the most obscene thing I’d ever seen.
Ever done.
But it was his energy—raw and ravenous and electric—that made me gush. Clenching around an empty ache.
And then, with his free hand, he reached between us and wrapped his fingers around mine. Guiding me. Pumping the entire length of his shaft with long, sure strokes that twisted right at the end.
“Fucksakes, Mila,” he rasped, and brought my forehead to his. Bumping us together so he might look into my eyes. Trapping me there with a surge of pornographic need as we worked his cock together. And then, “Taste it,” he whispered. Unblinking. Wetting his lips, his breath a surge of heat that left me panting and unable to break away.
“I-I don’t—” Trembling, I shook my head, trying to clear it of the dense fog.
He nudged me back. Slid me down his thighs and back into the deepest part of the pool, moving with me as the water swallowed me up. Our foreheads still pressed together as he shifted back and spread his knees. His cock bobbing just above the surface, long and thick.
“A-Asher”—I swallowed, and released his girth as a sudden wash of terror spilled down my back—“I’ve never…”
Elite energy flooded my veins. Bold and pushy, the roar loud enough in my ears that I almost didn’t hear the growl that rumbled over his lips.
Instead, I followed when he sat back. When he drove me to sink into the water, one hand sweeping up to gather my hair in a loose tangle, the other tight on the back of my neck.
“Put your knees on the bench,” he murmured, low and desperate. Bringing one thigh up to jut well above the surface, he made room for me to obey. To tuck me between his legs. Kneeling. Half-braced and off center, I fell forward. Hands braced on his stomach, almost weightless as I floated and knelt. “Taste it,” he said again, and collected my fingers. Pulling them into the moist heat of his mouth, he sucked. Tongue laving at my digits a lewd suggestion—a direct line to the pulsing arousal weeping at my core
I couldn’t help it. With a whimper, I went. One arm stretched the length of his torso, I took him in hand with the other. Let him drive me into corruption, and succumbed to the flood of elite energy.
Submerged to the tops of my thighs, my back and bottom left above the surface of steaming water, I went to all fours between his knees. The tips of my breasts hung down, teased by the swirling heat as I stared at the instrument of my destruction.
It was an instinct to tip his cock back, toward my lips. Something alien and familiar all at once, defying rational thought with a hypnotic compulsion to open for the invasion.
I didn’t so much as blink.
Merely set my tongue to that flared crown and tasted the pearly bead.
Utterly consumed by the rumbling groan of a man on the edge, my heart a reckless tangle of thrashing confusion, I lapped at shining purple flesh and left him glossy.
He hissed, flexing under my command, disturbing the surface of the water in such a way that made me gape. My back arching, I panted as the waves bumped my core.
But I was already desperately wet.
Slick from something much more crude than simple water, my pussy hovered above the surface. I was tormented by gently lapping ripples that kissed those swollen, lower lips with a touch so light, so suggestive, it dragged a sob from the deepest part of me.
“That’s it,” he hissed, and set his thumb to my modified canines. Pulling my teeth apart as his fingers tightened in my hair. “Open for me, Mila. All the way.”
Drunk on his energy, on him, I obeyed. Jaws sagging open, my cheeks flushed with the sort of heat I’d never known before, I let him in.
Allowing the taste of elite energy to wash away any hint of fight I might have possessed.
A breath whistled through his nose. Leaving me with the image of flared nostrils and a clenched jaw as he drove deeper into my mouth, painting the back of my tongue with a gush of salty brine.
It was a tight fit.
The shaft of his cock only just fitting between my canines.
And then, with the hand not tangled in my hair, he stroked the length of my spine. Nape to tailbone. Stomach curling around the crown of my head, where he had me trapped and impaled in his lap. One fist anchored in my hair to keep me pinned, he reached for my ass. Took one rounded cheek in his palm and peeled me open. Probing slick heat with long fingers, the captain sank one finger inside. Past the second knuckle.
“Just as I thought,” he drawled. “Gushing for it. And to think”—he flexed his hips and sent the head of his cock deeper, nudging the back of my throat—“this was all your idea, really.”
I squirmed. Taking a desperate pull of breath through my nose, tongue swirling around his head when he pulled back. The cruel drone of his words blended into a cocktail of nonsense I couldn’t make sense of.
“After all,” he murmured, and forced my head down until I spluttered, “it’s so easy for me to infect you, isn’t it?” Groaning, he added another finger. Stretching me as he worked through the mess, inching toward the back of my throat. His hand an immovable weight on the back of my head. “But this?” he asked, and pulled his fingers free with a slurp that might have made me blush if it were possible for me to be warmer without combusting. And then, lifting me off his cock by his grip on my scalp, he straightened and showed me fingers that were slick and glistening. Took himself in hand and smeared his prick with cream. “Look how your cunt weeps for me.”
But he didn’t let me look. Not for long. Not before he was feeding his girth between my lips once more, making me taste the tang of my own undeniable arousal as he worked my mouth over his length.
“Mmm,” he groaned, and reached beneath me to pull at my nipples. First one, then the other. Fingers rolling, pinching hard enough to make me squeal when he bumped the tight ring of muscle at the back of my throat.
I choked.
“Fuck, yes,” he hissed, and I felt him throb before he surged forward. Keeping me there, gagging around his knob as he reached and found my slit. “Did you dream of me?” he purred. “Or was it the general who made this pussy drip?”
Gagging, I couldn’t so much as shake my head. Couldn’t admit or deny the sordid, twisted dreams that had plagued my night, and couldn’t do more than take what he fed me. Waiting to breathe at his whim, blurry gaze fixed to the nest of curls at his root. The dark trail that led up to his bellybutton.
“So fucking tight,” he snarled, pressing in as deep as he could—stretching my pussy and my jaws at the same time. “Like I haven’t already had you stuffed and stretched, gaping for me. Like you’ve never been touched and this pretty little pussy wasn’t milking my balls dry, just yesterday.”
It was then, as he held me immobile, stuffing me end to end, that he pulled his fingers free once more.
And traced the rim of my ass.
I bucked. Choking on cock, the veil of elite energy lifted for a brief instant of blinding panic as he tested that tight, puckered ring.
Chuckling, he let me take a tiny sip of air before forcing me back down. Deeper this time. Distracting me with one threat, while invading me with another. His finger breached my ass, lubricated by my own shame, the press burned. Slipping through until he reached the second knuckle and had to fight against my efforts to keep him out.
“Are you ready?” he asked, conversational with one finger burrowing through my bowels in tiny, taboo increments. Fucking my mouth with a sedate pace that left me reeling and without tether. “Are you going to beg for me to come down your throat? Beg to come with my finger in your ass as you swallow every, precious drop? Or”—he pulled his finger back, only to deepen the burn in a single, punishing thrust—“are you happy playing the martyr? Hiding behind your little shield, hating yourself for how much you want this?”
Head swimming in lust and fog, I couldn’t speak when he pulled me free of his cock. Left his tip at my lips, inky black eyes boring deep into my soul. Where he held me in thrall and awaited his answer. Fingering my ass in a mockery of what I really wanted. What I needed, but couldn’t voice.
Instead, panting, I reached for his balls. Pruney fingers finding that sack taut with unspent seed, I added a gentle, downward pressure just as he’d done in the shower.
Surprise flicked through those ebon depths, and he hissed, cock lurching where it sat poised to reclaim my mouth.
And then, in a rush of frigid air, the door swung open at my back. All that was obscene—dripping and stretched by my enemy—on full, sordid display.
“Well, well,” came the amused drone of another man. The very last man I wanted to see as I choked on the captain’s cock. As I braced on all fours, a finger buried in my ass, a cock all but ready to burst where it throbbed against my lips. “What have we here?”