A Sensual Summoning, page 46
His throat bobbed and around them, his pheromones thickened exponentially until she coughed.
“You don’t know what you’re talking about, sweetheart. An imprint is permanent, unbreakable…” He dragged a hand through his hair, exasperated. “It’s also extremely dangerous to mention with another Daemon’s scent on you. I’m already barely holding myself back from fucking you silly as we speak.”
Her stomach flipped at the revelation, his hands encircling her waist easily to lead her back.
“When I imprint on you,” he growled into her jaw, “it won’t be to make things easier for other Daemons.”
His mouth found hers distractedly as he turned on the shower behind her, lazily exploring her mouth while his hands stripped her down. She gasped when he lifted her in, uncaring when he followed her fully clothed just so he could keep his mouth on hers, the topic dropped for now.
Goddess, but the hot water felt divine.
They parted just so she could tip her head back, the weight of her hair drenched under the spray washing away days of stress and anxiety. Raef, on the other hand, contented himself with a long lick beneath her ear before he busied himself with bathing her.
He did so silently. Reverently. His hands gliding over areas she’d been injured that his emblem shard had mercifully healed. It was almost ritualistic, Faye enthralled with watching him follow the sponge with a kiss until he reached her hand, her palm still scarred.
Grazing his teeth down it, her breath hitched as she anticipated the magic that would usually force him away. It didn’t and he smirked down at her, licking between her fingers slowly and causing the flush on her face to deepen to an inferno at the depravity.
He had no idea how good he looked. But he knew exactly what it did to her.
“Hair,” he commanded behind her fingers, her stomach flipping treacherously before she spun in place at the deepening smirk that told her he tasted exactly how horny it made her.
Her only solace was that he was no better.
His erection, though concealed by wet clothes, brushed her lower back as he reached for the shampoo and scrubbed her scalp clean. Even edging her to the point of insanity, his expert hands still had her shoulders sagging with pleasure until all the lavender suds had rinsed down her body.
She followed him in a content daze when he helped her step out of the bath, her fingers finding the hem of his soaked shirt with a wrinkled nose.
“My turn.”
His chuckle was warm when she peeled the wet fabric off his toned stomach and broad chest, the incubus taking over when her height prevented her from pulling the shirt off him entirely. It fell with a wet squelch behind him, his grunt endearing when her lips found the swell of his pec.
“That eager to get me naked, little one?” He arched a brow when she looked up, flicking her tongue inquisitively over a flat nipple.
His nostrils flared, her ‘mhm’ muffled by his chest when she bit around the sensitive peak.
Satisfied with the mark she left, she toyed with the front of his pants distractedly.
“I want to see what’s mine. May I?”
His grin faded with the sultry drag of his tongue across his lip. Nodding, he replaced her hands, shucking off his soaked pants quickly for her to admire him.
And admire she did.
Stepping around him, her fingers dragged across his taut stomach that clenched under her hand, his chest lifting on a sharp inhale when her hand lowered. They grazed narrow hips and the curve of his toned ass appreciatively.
All hers. From everything she could see, to everything she couldn’t as his influence swam obediently around her. And from the way his eyes followed her, relinquishing control for her to do with what she willed, she knew he always would be.
Catching sight of herself in the mirror when she completed her circle around him, she stalled, examining herself.
Since when did she look so… confident? So comfortable in her own skin. Nothing about her had changed that drastically. Her mind still walked out of step with the rest, but now, she was no longer trying to walk to a beat she couldn’t hear.
Was that it?
Raef noticed, moving to stand behind her, his frame stretching far beyond what the mirror allowed as he braced his hands on either side of the sink. When his teeth folded over her shoulder and his hips slotted against her ass to grind shallowly, she watched that same self-assurance reflect in coal-smoked eyes.
She wasn’t the only one who found peace in the other.
“What do you see, Faye Kyteler?” he whispered against her skin, his eyes melting hers with their heat.
She watched the pink of his tongue drag up for him to worry her earlobe teasingly. She saw Raef, rough-hewn and beautiful. She saw herself, smiling without realizing…
Raef turned his own smile into her temple, his eyes dropping closed in what she could only describe as bliss as his influence surrounded them, unrestrained and free. And when her lips parted on an answer, his eyes finally opened again to meet hers.
“I see… forever.”
He inhaled deeply behind her, his exhale shuddering, something ancient igniting in his gaze. Something primal.
“I take it back…” he rumbled, her stomach clenching for just a moment in uncertainty before he turned her to prop her on the edge of the sink, “do you still want my imprint, sweetheart?”
The intoxicating heat of honey wine spread through her veins when she opened her knees for him to stand between.
“Our lives are already intertwined, right?” She hooked her arms around his neck loosely, the implication not lost on her when he swallowed thickly, blind to everything but her. “Why not seal the deal completely?”
“I need to hear you say it, love…” He strained, his cock solid and throbbing against her thigh, but waiting for her say so.
Hooking her leg around his hips, he dipped two fingers between her folds hurriedly. He groaned when he found her already soaked, panting into her mouth, resisting his desire to kiss long enough to hear her answer.
He swallowed her mewl of ‘yes’ at the same time he sank his cock inside her. She threw her arm back to the mirror, crying out at the sudden intrusion and how much she missed the feeling of him stretching her around him.
He fucked her until she couldn’t breathe, his thrusts measured and slow and different to their usual dynamic. Each one tore a groan deep within his chest that he buried in her skin. It painted her in his breath and essence that made the shard of his power within her resonate with a near euphoric buzz that drove him wild.
“This’ll hurt,” he strained mid-thrust, an apologetic kiss to her jaw lost on her when he bit down at the crease between her shoulder and neck hard.
The skin broke, liquid fire spreading from the point of contact and filling her mouth with a midnight petrichor. Every drop felt encased in moonlight, the nectar of Raef’s flavor trickling down her throat when he finally kissed her again.
Whimpering, Faye couldn’t decide if she was in pain or ecstasy, his hips never tiring as he fucked her. It felt like his influence was sinking into her pores, hardening into an impenetrable armor only he could unlock.
His hands pressed on the backs of her thighs desperately, trying to get closer, fuck her deeper until the faucet was digging into her back.
She felt none of it, lost in a primal mating that undressed her of every thought and experience until there was nothing left of either of them but that which bound them together for eternity.
Chapter 89
They spent the next few days like that.
Exploring each other, relearning bodies they already knew blind but were somehow irrevocably changed after the events with the Necromancer and Rafael’s imprint.
Their lives were interwoven, his heartbeat hers. That fact alone removed any qualms Rafael had about feeding again and that meant slaking that hunger on her at the drop of a hat.
Faye learned the hard way what it meant to be mated to a Prime. Rest was a bygone luxury when all his attention and desire were both emotionally and now biologically fixated on her alone.
He couldn’t help it. He’d never imprinted on anyone before. It required him and his nature to be on the same page and until Faye, that had never occurred.
And Maker, she tasted even better than before, if it were possible. Their imprint highlighted the iceberg of flavors he’d ignorantly assumed were only what he could see floating on the surface. Every inch of her left him wild with attraction, the witch not helping dissuade his hunger when she matched his desire time and again.
It was as though someone had cut the brake lines on their self-control.
They fucked when their eyes met.
They fucked when they ate.
They even fucked when they had company, a fact that never ceased to disturb Freya and caused Erik to roll his eyes whenever either came calling and Faye managed to put him to heel long enough to answer the door.
This was the first time in months that they were actually apart, the incubus hundreds of miles away from his witch in the middle of the Baltic Sea.
It left him in a foul mood as he stepped up to the lone stone pedestal sitting at the center of a cavernous antechamber that belied the size of the island it was located under. A great ceiling, domed with cracked amber gave the impression of a huge beast’s eye, looking down into the cavern itself and at any moment, Rafael half expected it to blink with rocky eyelids.
A constant reminder that everything the Covenant had was by the will of beings who could just as easily take it away. The amber caught the glint of gold in Rafael’s gaze. He was here to do just that.
Upon the pedestal sat an ancient tome, untouched by mortals since its signing at the dawn of Daemon’s arrival on earth.
Well, he thought, untouched by living mortals…
Brownish stains tainted the old parchment in the blood of its greatest defector. A deal broken.
The ancient magic surrounding the tome parted around his hand when he grazed the blood-soaked page.
The contact slammed him with a memory, of an eerily dark chuckle carrying on the wind that gave speed to a pack of black dogs. Of Marek’s lifeless eyes staring up at that amber ceiling while a cloaked figure held his book in hand as they watched the Covenant and the pedestal alike become drenched in the blood of a Necromancer. That same hand sealed his book away in stone until, when chance came, it fell from its’ slumber with a crash in front of Faye.
A Daemon.
It was a Daemon who hid his book for centuries. Why?
“They’ll be here any minute.” Erik dragged him back from the vision, coming to stand beside him. “The Council don’t allow anyone near the Covenant, and we were hardly inconspicuous when we landed.”
“Good.” Rafael inhaled deeply, turning the pages within the tome until he found one the blood hadn’t reached. “Saves us the hassle of finding them ourselves.”
It was about time Daemons took back control of the chaos.
The taste was what alerted him to their arrival moments before Erik growled at the imbalanced scales unique to a vindictus’ instincts.
Guilty.
That sentiment rattled through the antechamber when several witches and warlocks appeared, their call for attack intercepted by the collision of power that erupted from Erik to slam them all into the opposing wall brutally.
The vindictus growled beside him, teeth bared at such corruption that could feed him for months.
Rafael would’ve let him exact the retribution he knew they deserved, had the promise he made Faye not caught him around the throat with his influence’s reminder. There’s been enough killing. No more.
He gripped Erik’s shoulder with a squeeze. “You promised her too.” There was a beat, and then he nodded curtly.
Around them, groans of pain filled the antechamber, his footsteps interspersing them as he approached the heap of humans.
“Just who do you think—” One began incredulously before their presence registered.
A whiplash of change took place in his mouth, from undisputed domination to crumbling submission when they caught his eye. It made him laugh, the sound echoing and sending the humans to their knees. He didn’t think those pressed pants and perfect skirts ever touched the ground before.
“By the Goddess…” A middle-aged man started, greedy blue eyes and foul-tasting emotions immediately telling Rafael all he needed to know about the state the Council was in. “You have returned… we’re saved.”
He bristled.
“You’ve been busy in our absence.” Rafael turned his back on them, his influence prowling like hounds around the group, keeping them herded.
“Maintaining the gift bestowed upon us by their lordships…” he continued breathlessly. “I am actually the seventh to be named after my ancestor Yorick who was present at the signing. What a fortuitous name it is indeed.”
Erik’s snort drew a barrage of nervous whispers, relief bleeding to apprehension when it dawned on them that the Daemons may not have come as allies.
“Maintaining it?” The group shuddered collectively at his voice. “More like hoarding it all for yourselves.”
“H-Hoarding it?” Yorick exclaimed hotly, forgetting who he was talking to momentarily and exposing his true self at the same time.
Rafael was in front of him before he could blink, grabbing the front of perfectly pressed robes until his toes barely grazed the stone flooring. His influence, pleasure turned painful, immobilized those around him as he struggled not to gag on their taste.
“What else would you call the Forsaken?” he growled, his grip tightening.
There was a lull, deceit scurrying across his tongue irritably as several attempts at ignorance fell flat with a glare from him.
“My lord,” Yorick strained, evidently the spokesperson of the party, “you must understand… without Daemons, our resources began to run out, we needed to… prioritize.”
“Prioritize what?”
“T-Those who had the most to offer, who could continue on our legacy until the day your lordships would return—”
The man crumpled to the ground when Rafael dropped him unceremoniously and turned to take a seat upon the dais those before him were usually seated at. Steepling his fingers, golden eyes glowed dangerously in the dim light.
“Explain.”
Watching the man scramble to his knees, another placed themselves before him instead. This time, the silver-streaked red hair caught his attention though his features remained stoic. Her brows were severe, her features sharp and missing the doe-eyed gentleness her daughter possessed.
But their noses were the same, and that alone told Rafael who was standing before him. Finola Kyteler.
“Evolution favors the strong, my lord,” she explained icily, mouth hardly moving lest the mask of indifference crack with movement. “Isolating the…bad eggs ensures the batch doesn’t rot.”
This was the family Faye had to live with? No wonder she’d been so surprised at the smallest amount of kindness. It was clear her mother possessed none. He didn’t respond, seething silently as he watched the woman. She continued.
“I assure you, we do not treat this lightly.” She placed a hand to her chest delicately. “Every case is heavily scrutinized until the appropriate action can be decided on.”
“And who determines what constitutes a… bad egg, as you called it?” he sneered, his contempt obvious.
The witch’s expression never faltered, the only indication she wasn’t made of stone being the smallest surprise he tasted from her.
“Why, the Council, of course.”
Uncrossing his leg, Rafael leaned forward. “And yet… I don’t suppose any of you ever had any suspicion placed upon you.”
The silence that followed was deafening and when Rafael stood, he saw them wince, the barbed thorns of his influence turning anything pleasurable into an overstimulating agony. Finola didn’t move throughout it all, not even when he came to stand before her, dwarfing her in her pastel blazer and heels.
But when he leaned down to whisper something only between them, he finally got a reaction.
“Your daughter’s life was a small price to pay for a seat on the Council, was it?”
In place of mild consternation, brittle shock filled the woman’s face when it snapped around to look at him. But he had nothing more to say to such a person, stepping around her to the rest while she remained frozen in shock.
“Well? It’s a simple question. Did Council members ever face this kind of judgement?” His voice rose to carry to the others.
A timid, thready voice rose along with a hand amidst the herd, a mousey looking man drawing his scoff that filled his face with a bulbous red hue.
“Mortimer Hexwell, and may I say what an honor—”
“Get on with it.” The lust rolling off the man was suffocating, churning Rafael’s stomach.
Flustered, the man cleared his throat. “The Covenant states that a Council of elders must be both impartial and beyond reproach in order to lead.” The group huddled together tighter as he approached, sensing his ire even as the speaker continued. “If the integrity of an elder is called into question, it might weaken the trust the covens have in us.”
“Trust? No…” he rumbled coldly, rolling the flavor of raw palms burning under the control sliding through their fingers. “Why use trust when fear reaps easier rewards?”
A din of rebuttal filled the air, Rafael sharing a look with Erik from over their heads.
“My lord, with respect—”
“It’s easier to control people who fear at any moment, they’ll lose something priceless. Their magic, their home, their family…” His eyes flickered to Finola.
“The purpose of the Covenant has always been to ensure the welfare of humanity and the world it inhabits through magic. The Council are supposed to be caretakers of that objective, not to pick and choose who can and cannot practice it.”
A pregnant silence weighed over the group. Shared looks of competitive arousal played on their desire to please him with the truth while self-preservation demand they hide their transgressions with a lie.
