Elisabeth Writing

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(Warning: NSFW) – He didn’t want her like this, hushed and lost. He wanted to see that spark catch – and burn. “And what of Radnor?”

Her eyes filled with longing before she took a shaky breath. Malacoz wondered if she would keep her silence on this, as if in that silence she could hold him tight to her breast and let nothing tear them apart. When she did finally speak, her eyes were dry, but devastated. “He is still my brightest light. He is the one thing I hold onto, when they put me into the Lake. His kindness. The lavender flowers he brought me by the handful, until I began to miss that scent when he wasn’t near. The way he touched me that first time, like I was a goddess. The way I suspected that I was growing a heart for him. The first time it began to beat, when he kissed me at last. He is my light.” 

Malacoz wondered what it felt like, to grow a heart once more. For something to bloom in this deadened place; even love. But it wasn’t his place to wonder, or to ask. Not yet. “And what if I could make sure he lived, or even escaped?”

It was like watching dawn come, the way her entire being came alive with hope. The years seemed to fall away and she almost looked as if she were glowing. He could have sworn the years fell away like cobwebs, leaving a shining young girl in her place. But then, as if remembering where she was and who she was speaking with, her eyes guttered. She bent her head against her knees and bit her lip, perhaps to keep it from wobbling. The smart woman was unwilling to show him any weakness. He admired her for that. “What would you want in exchange? I’m sure it’s something I’m not willing to give. Even for him.”

Malacoz sighed at the ceiling. “Always so suspicious, my dear.”

“One can never be too suspicious with Demons. I should know. I was one.” The smile she gave him would have once shown her sharp teeth, but there wasn’t a fang in sight. It would make hunting harder for her, if she tried to escape. But there was some sort of aura around her that convinced him she had other talents, old magic that hadn’t been seen in centuries or millennia. He wondered how old she truly was, and what she’d seen or done. Who had she been in the life before her Demonic one? He thought perhaps a Witch, or a Seer maybe. Or something they hadn’t heard of, a power that had been lost to time. Her voice shattered his thoughts. “Is he alive? Truly?”

Although he didn’t know if he was or not, Malacoz nodded reassuringly. “He is. Barely but, he is.” That was probably true: if he were alive, it would be pieces of him, nearly unrecognizable. Unless they were taking their time, healing and breaking him again and again. Since she was still here, still alive, he had a feeling that Radnor was, too. They would keep him as a bargaining chip until she gave in, or until she forgot him completely and became a mindless soldier once more. 

Her eyes sharpened on his face. “I want proof.”

“And I want a deal first, before I promise you anything.”  They locked eyes, and he could have sworn he felt a power in her gaze that pushed at him, threatening to completely undo him. It was as if those eyes were taking him apart, bit by bit, molecule by molecule, breaking down old doors, snapping locks, unearthing everything he’d buried. He wanted to look away, but he didn’t dare, lest it show weakness. Even when he felt like she was truly prying open barricades and gates that were covered in dust, her little fingers dexterous and sure, he didn’t drop the half smile playing around his mouth, or his look of ease. A frown creased her brows as if she were willing him to cower before her. 

She sat back on her knees, and there was a flush on her face, as if the silent battle had willed life back into her. “You were always a worthy opponent.”

“In bed or out of it?” He couldn’t resist asking, with a sensual purr. 

Lamial laughed. “Fine then. What is the deal you want from me?” 

Malacoz couldn’t help but notice that she hadn’t answered his question. He wanted to keep teasing her, but he doubted they had much time. “I need help. I need to get the King’s son, here. And…” He wanted to add that he also needed a Fey, but he remembered her hushed conversation with the Fey who had somehow escaped his clutches by using magic. He still didn’t know how she’d done it, but maybe Lamial would soon explain that, too. Regardless, he didn’t believe she would be as amenable to it, since she seemed to have some kind of alliance with the Fey. 

She was staring at him, wary. Her silver hair was beginning to curl around her face, and he wondered how often she’d used her inhuman beauty. He remembered when her hands had been cool to the touch, her nails sharp against his chest. Sometimes she’d carved runes into his flesh, and then laughingly lapped at the black blood that welled. There had been nothing but cold-hearted depravity in their fucking, and he’d never minded that, or wanted more. Why was he thinking of what it might have been like, if there had been love? If her eyes had been melted chocolate as they looked into his, if her body had been soft and pliant, if her touch had been gentle and warm and loving; what had Radnor felt, watching her soften? Even her lips looked more full, more beguiling and inviting, even tinged with blue. “And what?” 

He blinked and shook himself. What foul magic was the witch using on him? “And… and stop whatever you did to me.”

She cocked her head, her gaze curious. “What I did to you? What do you mean?”

“This… sickness. These memories you’ve awoken in me, of that other life. I feel like i’m going insane. I can’t afford these stupid weaknesses, especially not now.” Malacoz could suddenly see her in the woods, her slim hands beckoning him forward, her feet bare on the mossy ground. He was running towards her, but she was always just out of reach. She was saying his name, the one he had given up when he became the creature he was today. Her voice reverberated in his head, on and on, until he could hear nothing else, see nothing else, but her. Her ghost. Was she back for vengeance? Would she slit his throat? He jerked away from her sad eyed specter, and found himself once again in the cold and dank cell, with no ghosts in sight. He was standing before Lamial, teeth bared, trembling with barely suppressed sorrow and rage. “Get them out of me. Please.”

Lamial tried to cover her laugh with a cough, but she failed miserably. Her bright peals of laughter seemed to shimmer in the air, lighting up her face, warming the very air around them. Oddly, the sound seemed to push back whatever was broiling and rolling inside of him. He waited until she finally settled down, tears of mirth still in her eyes. “My, my, my. I never thought I’d see the day that you were begging me for something. So you want your King’s son brought here, and the memories locked away once more. Is that correct?” 

Oh, he wanted far more than that. But that would do, for now. “Yes, that is my request.”

Lamial stood, and lifted her chin. She barely came up to his chest, but she seemed to look down her nose at him despite that. Was it his imagination or did her skim seem darker, as if she’d briefly walked under the sun and felt its warmth, taken its healing? There was magic afoot, but what and how and why, he had yet to determine. His gaze snagged on the heart he could hear beating like a mad thing beneath her breasts. Never once when he’d cupped them in his hands, had he wondered what her heartbeat would have sounded like. Unwelcome heat coiled in his belly as he thought of how it might beat if his mouth were there, tasting her human sweat and wildness. “And in return, you will set him free? Free to leave this place, this world, unharmed and whole? Never to return, never to be a target of you – or anyone?”

Malacoz tore his gaze away with a curse, annoyed that he was lusting after a mere human woman. He had to think straight; he should have known she’d bargain like this, looking for any loopholes or snag that could land her lover back here, or under the King’s thumb. He weighed up her words and decided that the King would trade the life of a hundred fools for a chance at having his son by his side. “You have my word.”