Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

"Fascinating little thing," the creature mutters under its breath.

I used my signet that manipulates air the move my alloy-hilted dagger through the hearts of three venin with one toss. I would have been able to celebrate the feat if it weren't for the venin that still stands some meters away.

This new dark wielder strides towards me in long calculated steps. With a tilt of his head and a smooth movement of his wrist, I am rendered immobile. With another flip of the wrist, palms upward, veins moving with ripples of unnatural power, I'm lifted off the ground of Basgiath's courtyard, suspended in midair.

"How do you expect to repay me for killing so many of my initiates?" He asks this as he steps over the dead bodies littered around me with not much of any care for their dignity. Something tells me he doesn't truly care for their deaths. And yet...

"Let me go," I muster the strength to utter the words before the dark wielders eyes widen, only for a moment. Just as soon as the shock crossed his face, it was gone. And with a squeeze of his fist, my throat closes. I can't lift a hand to wield, or shout for help, not that any would come.

I might be the last rider standing in my zone. My squadmates either ended up separated from the chaos of the never-ending hordes of wyvern, or they were dead. I got separated from Uinneag, my green daggertail, only minutes ago… the longest few minutes of my short existence.

I kick out, still able to move my legs as the thing that was once a man comes to a halt in front of me, reaching my suspended body. He takes the bloodied dagger with his free hand, moving it along my body. Starting at my collarbone, he uses the dagger to move back my shoulder-length blue-black waves of hair, exposing the vein thumping wildly at the base of my décolletage. The blade continues to glide lower, dancing along the fabric of my shirt, using enough pressure for me to feel the tip of the blade as it slides along the surface of my skin, but not passing that invisible barrier, keeping him from slicing through my shirt, or my rose brown skin.

At this distance, I can see his features more clearly. Beyond the deteriorating humanity, the protruding red sea of veins, parted only by lean muscle, and permanent red eyes, I can see the shadow of something beautiful. This thing could have been a character plucked straight out of the fairytales of my youth before he pulled from the Earth, distorting what was once a charming prince into something more dark, something less ideal. My eyes move along his features, his sculpted jawline, full lips, and aquiline nose, before I blink it away, pushing the abhorrent venin characteristics back to the forefront of my mind. "You know what I've always wondered?" He whispers as the dagger moves lower along my body, a trail of venin blood left in the dagger’s wake.

I whimper, unable to respond, incapable of pleading with the man, the thing. A light sheen of sweat coats my skin despite the cold solstice temperatures. As unbelievable as it seems, this may be the end of my journey as a rider.

My eyes frantically search for movement, an ally, for anything or anyone who could help me get out of this situation. "Why do Rider's leathers have so- many- buttons,” he ponders aloud, with every word he cuts away the buttons of my leather pants, revealing the black lace that hides beneath the black leather.

"I think I know how you'll repay me."

It's fast.

The blackness that invades my vision.

One moment I am staring at death and the next I am gone.

Or am I?

I stretch under my sheets, rubbing my eyes at the memory, the dream.

Was it all but a dream? Basgiath, the hordes, the carnage, that shadow of a man- it was all just one long fucked up dream.

I sit upright and my eyes begin to flutter, taking in my surroundings. I thought I was in my shared room in Riorson House but I’m clearly wrong. This bed is unusually plush and comfortable, far too luxurious to be the standard model for a cadet at Basgiath or Riorson House.

“Where am I?“ The question is too frightening to utter aloud and I’m expecting, hoping for my dragon to respond. I'm met with radio silence as I tense abruptly despite the feeling of soft fabric under and around me.

The memories of my last moments begin flooding me all at once, making my chest tighten from the sudden increase in my heart rate. The fight, the death, the man, they were all…

“You're awake, finally,” that same rich deep voice from before greets me from the corner of the room, prompting my neck to snap in that direction.

There he sits in a lavish armchair, legs crossed and fingers conjoined. His long deep blue robes from the battle are discarded, as well as his burgundy red fighting leathers. He’s still horrifyingly handsome, despite the deteriorating nature of his condition. Dressed in a dark blue silk tunic that absorbs the light shining through the open curtains, I may have mistaken him for Navarrian nobility, if not for his blood-curdling irises.

His red eyes of a venin sage, framed by long inky lashes, rake over my half-submerged form as my breaths become shallow, hollowed out by fear.

What happened after I passed out? Did we lose the battle? Does anyone know if I’m even alive? Where am I? Are they searching for me?

All questions I would love to know the answer to, all questions he would undoubtedly not divulge the answers to me.

He leans forward a bit, not leaving his seat, but startling me all the same. I quickly clutch the sheets around me, reflexively covering my body, prompting his lips to tug up in a wicked grin.

“Come now,” he tilts his head in fascination as he watches the range of emotions that flit across my expressive face. “There's no reason to be afraid, nor modest. Who do you think washed you up and changed you after we got back to Zoyla?”

"Zoyla?” I whisper, taking a good look at the room and the open window. I must be at Cliffsbain Academy for fliers. No wonder I can’t sense my dragon, I’m in uncharted territories for both her and me.

Braevick?

Poromiel?

This is no place for a rider especially since it was sieged by the dark wielders, months ago.

“Oh gods,” I murmur as the realization hits me like an arrow to the chest. I’m not getting out of this castle alive.

This is their headquarters. I’m deep in their territory, without my dragon or any way to contact my squad.

I look over at my host once more. His marble palored skin, cracked only by his distended veins. Mid-length, raven-like locks combed back adding a dignified, noble touch to his already aristocratic features. His chiseled chin and plump pink lips… still fucking grinning.

I swallow, knowing that I am staring at the most gorgeous, bedeviled face I have ever laid my eyes on. “Why have you brought me here?”

His brows raise with the question as if it’s silly of me to even ask. “I thought I told you before I helped you relax,” he starts, raising from the chair to stand at the foot of the bed. “This is penance, atonement for your crimes. You killed the majority of my initiates that day.”

“Penance?” I repeat, my voice low from fear or shock. “Wouldn't the punishment need to be voluntary for it to be penance?”

The man chuckles a deep burly laugh that vibrates throughout his body. “You caught that?” He asks, before strolling to the right side of the bed, dragging his fingers along the bed’s pillars as he moves.

With every step he makes closer to me, I crawl to the opposite side from which he stands. I pull the covers above my chest as I glare at him, the silk and lace babydoll slip he must have changed me into is not lost on me.

“Is the room to your liking?” He asks, seemingly genuinely, but there’s a playful undertone to the words.

Do I like it?

It's overtly lavish and unnecessarily beautiful. If this is supposedly a war school, why did they need a pastel muraled ceiling and marbled floors that sparkle as your eyes move along the room? I suppose the rumors about Poromiel are all true, with no expense spared in beauty or comfort and not enough spent towards defense.

“What does it matter if I like it or not?”

“True. No one stops to ask the caged bird if their cage is to their liking….” He says before lying on his side of the large bed. “I thought I would humor you.”

He lies there on the edge, looking at me intently as I work through his words. My brows furrow deeply as I replay it over and over in my head.

Caged.

I am not to leave this room.

“Has my little birdie figured it out?” He cooes, leisurely stalking across the bed, crawling over the plumped blankets and pillows that divided the space between us.

I yelp as his hand brushes my forearm, prompting me to attempt to move further away from him. In one smooth motion, he seizes my arm, yanking my smaller frame into his unforgiving solid chest. He easily places me against his chest, having me straddle his hips as his fingers dig into mine, holding me there to the spot.

I hiss from the contact, hitting the freakishly strong man with as much force as I could, given our proximity. He only chuckles more as I undoubtedly bruise my knuckles and ego.

“You will stop that,” he orders, the light playful tone ever present.

I don’t have the strength to fight him off. My dragon is god knows where, leaving our bond and my access to her power, unattainable. I am as good as dead, but I refuse to do nothing…

Why am I not already dead? Why did he bother bringing me all the way here from Basgiath?

Those are the thoughts that frighten me the most, and prompt me to continue my onslaught.

I slap him across the cheek when my muscles begin the clamp down against me, not listening to the neurons that command them to continue their efforts. “You will do as I say,” he growls, the humor leaving his voice as his grip on my body tightens. His beautiful features are twisted into that of a beast as the veins near his temples become more pronounced.

It’s him. He is controlling my body once more, as he did on the battlefield.

“Please stop,” I beg him, hating every second that passes as I have no control over my limbs while straddling this thing that was once human.

He takes pity on me or gets bored, his emotionless face gives no signs as to what he may be thinking or feeling, but he releases me from his hold all the same.

I glare at him, lifting my chin and turning my small nose up to him, but I don’t hit him again. “What do you want with me?” I ask, the bite present in my voice since I am unable to bite him physically.

“What do I want?” He asks with a hum, one hand still gripping my waist while the other moves to my cheek, cupping it, but with enough force to shake my head. Someone’s still touchy about my tantrum.

“If it’s not obvious dear, I want you,” he cranes my head up towards his, allowing the words to caress my face. “As penance, you will give yourself to me.”

I snort, unable to keep in the manic laughter. I’ve already established I’m dead meat, why not let loose of my grip on reality wholly? “Yeah, and I want to be reunited with my dragon and fly off into the sunset. Yet I’m here, with you,” I say between laughs. He’s clearly delusional so I should meet him there in the realm of chimera.

“I’m glad you find this amusing.”

“How could I not? In what world would I give myself to the likes of you?”

He studies me then, causing me to cease my laughter under the weight of his red-tinted blackholes for eyes. The intensity of his gaze and the closeness of our bodies affected me to my dismay, flushing my face and prompting me to turn, breaking our eye contact.

This is all too much. What a cruel joke to have such beauty squandered for greed. He even smells pleasant, like cloves, freshly picked blackberries, and a hint of something warm and dark, maybe spice rum.

“Why not?” He clicks his tongue with the question, his face stoic. “Why wouldn’t you give yourself to me?”

He wants to appear unaffected by my statement, but his hands give him away, and the already tight grip he had on me begins to sting. I won’t be surprised to later find his fingerprints bruised into the skin he currently clamps onto. “You’re hurting me,” I begrudgingly admit, looking up at him and the burgundy void that consumes his irises.

I watch as my words register, the tension in his face slowly retreated, the lines in his face smoothing out, displaying a false calm. “Good. You hurt me first, flailing your arms around like a demented possessed doll,” he responds flatly, yet he still eases up on his hold. “You didn’t answer my question.”

I force myself not to roll my eyes. Is it not obvious? “How could I give myself to you, willingly at that? You’re an abomination. A power-hungry parasite.”

“How am I any different from you? Did you not bond with a dragon for their power?” He eyes me intently, as if the more he stares the easier he will be able to read my mind, my inner emotions.

I raise my chin, moving my shoulder back with pride. “We’re completely different. Your power was stolen, while mine was attained through equal partnership. A mutual agreement, made through respect and trust.”

“Respect?” He sneers as his eyes narrow down on me. His inky black locks fall into his daunting red eyes, giving me short respite from their hollowness as he wrinkles his forehead, lifting his pinched brows. “The country that you fight for, the one that forces all of its citizens to conscribe to its army, does not respect you. Dragons do not respect humans. Furthermore, nothing is equal about your bond.”

He throws me down, releasing me from his hold, and allowing me to fall out of his lap. I regain my bearings, moving to the farthest edge of the bed, peering over at him only after finding a blanket to pull over my bare legs.

He doesn't take his cold eyes off of me and after a moment, continues. “If it is so equal, why must you die if your dragon dies? Yet they live on after you, blowing through humans like seasonal garments.”

“We are more likely to die than a dragon. It would be disastrous if it worked both ways-”

“Or one shouldn't die because the other is gone? I refuse to be bonded to anything other than myself. I trust no man or creature other than myself. I have the power and I am in control,” he states plainly, his eyes boring into mine.

He rises from the bed suddenly, prompting me to involuntarily clutch onto the blanket tighter. “You will choose. You will seek my companionship. You’ll even beg for me,” he says with a half-cocked smile, brows still knitted together as he looks me over.

“Fat chance in hell,” I spit.

He moves along the bed, my eyes following his every move until he finally sits beside me. I turn away unable to hold his gaze, only to find our eyes connected again within seconds. He grabbed hold of my chin, moving my face, capturing my attention. “If it’s hell that you want, it’s hell that you’ll have,” he whispers before letting go of my chin.

“I will give you hell until you realize I am your gatekeeper to heaven.”

He left me then in there.

Alone.

In this foreign bedroom.

He brings me meals, sometimes three a day, more often than not once or twice.

I am fed. I am bathed. I am clothed.

I have all the human necessities, except for one.

We carried on this way for days, or maybe it's been weeks. I had no way to keep track of time as I wasn’t afforded even a pen and parchment to ease the boredom.

Somedays I pass the time by sobbing, realizing that no one is coming for me, no one will save me from my fate. Other days I sing folk songs from my youth, growing up along the mountainsides of Luceras Province.

It could be my imagination or my desperation, but it's during these intimate moments that I sense him there- against the door, listening to me, teasing me with his presence.

Other days I imagine my squad mates are with me, talking to me about everything and nothing at all. Battle Brief notes and Professor Carrs bullshit advice. Things that may never matter to me again. Things that aren't my reality, here in Koyla, with a sizeable venin army of unknown numbers waiting for me beyond my ornate room door.

I've already taken my shower for the day, changing into the fresh off-white cotton short set my captor left on my bed overnight, while I slept. I sit against the locked windowsill, watching figures move along the school grounds, counting the amount of wyvern I can see along the horizon, imagining they are real dragons.

My door opens and closes, it's safe to assume my next meal has been delivered. I don’t bother turning to gather the tray, I’ll eat later.

Minutes pass before I hear a sound, a throat clearing. I turn my head towards the sound, scared of who might have entered the room.

What if other venin came to learn of his pet?

“Oh,” I say, my voice leveled despite the excitement I feel building up within me. Being left alone for weeks can do things to someone's resolve.

“Oh?” He repeats, his brows cocking upwards as he brings my tray to the desk near the windowsill. “Do you usually let your food go cold before eating it?”

“I don’t always get three meals a day, so I tend to wait until the sun tells me it’s the afternoon before eating,” I respond truthfully, moving my knees up to my chest as I watch his features fall.

“That isn’t on purpose, I am not always here, and my underlings are… jealous.”

Jealous? What could there possibly be in this locked room to find enviable? “I suppose no one stops to ask the caged bird if their rations are to their liking, either. So I mustn't complain,” I sigh, not bothering to turn my head from the window.

He was unmoving for a dreadfully long moment- dark red eyes studying me, through thick dark locks, that fell into his face. “That will change. I’ll see to it that you will eat three meals a day,” I hear him say from beside me.

“Why?” I ask, finally looking at where he hovers beside me.

Why does he pretend to care?

He has left me in this room to rot, for weeks. I have never felt so numb, so forgotten. I don't know what happened to my friends, my squadmates. They must assume me dead, burning my belongs and everything I have to my name, sending them to Malek, while I am here.

Alive- in body, but not spirit.

“I had hoped by now you would have come to your senses, seeing me for who I am beyond what you think of my kind,” he says, his voice dreadfully mundane as if he weren’t speaking of another’s captivity and forced solitude.

“And who are you to me exactly? My inprisoner? My jailer? My misfortune?”

His face twists into a scowl as negative energy radiates off him in waves. “We are to eat meals together from now on. I will deliver every meal myself, making sure you are well fed and taken care of, do you understand?”

I sigh turning my head back to my glass portal to the world outside.

“Answer me!” He growls, his voice echoing off the polished stone walls and sparkling marble floor.

I flinch before turning back to the man, remembering this is not the time to be stubborn. I have no weapons, no power, no friends. “Yes,” I blurt out without a second thought, my shaky rattled voice sounding foreign even to my own ears.

His blank expression returns, he seems oddly relieved. He looks down on me, his cold noble features stoic once more. “Glad to have come to a mutual understanding,” he mumbles, running a hand through his inky locks.

“You’ll come to like me after some more time passes,” he exhales as he begins to stroll casually to the door.

“I don’t even know your name,” I retort under my breath, annoyed at this strange little game he has turned my life into.

He pauses at the door, his hand hovering above the brass knob as he turns back to my dejected form. “It’s Caelum,” he utters before leaving me alone once more.

Chapter Text

It’s the end of a beautiful day... at least it looked beautiful from inside my cage. The skies were clear, unblemished, and the cleanest shade of blue. I sat on the windowsill for the majority of the day and now I must prepare to leave it again, missing the best parts of sunset, for my venin host.

He should be arriving any moment now.

After a week of meals together, I find myself forgetting that he is the enemy more often than not. As egregious as the unspeakable admission is, Caelum can be good company. I find myself seeking out his company more often than not, as well.

It must be the loneliness... or the boredom.

Or maybe I'm getting stir-crazy from the lack of sunlight and fresh air.

That must be it.

On the first day, he allowed us to sit in silence during our meals but did not afford me the option in the days that followed. His cheerful impression of boyish insouciance has become excruciatingly annoying, while his sharp wit and humor irritate my soul to its very core.

And why is he always smiling? I try my best to appear detached and I still somehow always find him smiling mischievously, in the most sickening endearing manner. It's… dare I say it, charming.

He's slowly dulling the edges of the knife which is my hatred for him. I don't know how to stop it, and if I'm completely honest with myself, I don't know if I want to stop it. He makes me feel things... things that terrify me to admit.

Today's clothes left for me to wear upon waking up was a simple black a-line dress. Comfortable… but short. Very very short. Lately, I find myself checking my appearance in the mirror the closer meal times are to arriving. Another deplorable admission.

What's wrong with me?

This may be because I've allowed him to talk freely all this time. What if I actually spoke back, instead of nodding along at all the right moments? I could ask questions designed to trip him up or reveal his true nature. No more of this endearing coltishness that vexes me, but the monster that surely dwells beneath the facade- this is the character reveal I desire.

The door opens just as the sky deepens to a cool medium cerulean blue shade that looks lovely with the dimmed mage lights scattered along the bedroom.

“Good evening,” I hear him say from the desk as he arranges our dinner trays to his liking.

I turn my head from the window, looking over at my jailor. His medium dark locks fall freely into his face, covering the telltale signs of his condition. At first, he kept it meticulously combed back, though now I find he lets it hang freely in his face, only raking his fingers through his hair when he finds my demeanor too exasperating to do nothing.

“Good evening, Caelum,” I respond, leaving my windowsill post. I watch as his Adam's apple moves up and down, the pronounced swallow that follows whenever I utter his name. I think it does something to him, but the what and why of it has not dawned on me just yet.

He frowns slightly before fixing his face back to his preferred calm indifference. “You appear chipper this evening,” he notes as he removes the covers from our dinner trays.

“What can I say, I enjoyed the fish and chips from lunch,” I mutter taking my seat before he could push out the chair for me.

He notices and tsks me for not allowing him to be the gentleman he thinks himself to be, despite grinning at my cheesy joke. “Noted, I'll make sure to work more fried potatoes into your meal plan.”

I tilt my head up to the side to give him a once-over. “So there's an actual plan for my meals? And here I thought there was none, with the amount of times beet and carrot soup was on the menu…”

“Beets are good for you,” he mutters as he takes the seat beside mine.

Tonight’s dinner: honey-glazed chicken with spiced eggplant and barley. I guess he does care about my nutritional intake.

“I thought it was because you liked the color of the soup. You know, it matches your smoldering beet-red eyes,” I jest, lifting up my fork.

I begin eating and after a minute or two of stillness from his side I realize he hasn't moved. I look up at him to find Caelum watching me with an unreadable expression.

“What?”

“Nothing.” He shakes his head lightly before taking a bite of his roasted eggplant. “It's the first time you used something neutral to describe the color of my eyes. Instead of the usual blood and guts.”

I feel a fluttering in my stomach as I start to nibble on my bottom lip. Does he really take note of everything I say? I don't even remember all I said yesterday evening. It's daunting, but at the same time, I love it. I want his undivided attention. I want to collect and dissect all of his coded looks and passing comments. 

“Oh,” I mumble. It's all I could think to say as I had not noticed the fact until he mentioned it.

“So why did you decide to become a rider?” He asks suddenly. Or maybe he has been dying to ask this question forever and I was never chatty enough to throw the question out into the nether.

“The same reason as most people,” I respond without much thought, not wanting to say the reason. That is far too personal of a question to answer, at least in the captive, alluring captor dynamic we have going on thus far. I want to figure out what he's hiding, slide off the mask and see the creature behind. I'm not going to divulge my trauma, disclosing the things that keep my inner child up at night.

Not with him.

Not with anyone.

“So for power?” He asks softly with a small smirk etched into his face. He begins cutting into his chicken with his table knife as if that's the end of that.

“No,” I exasperate, putting down my fork to look at the man. “What is it with your kind and power?”

“You're the one who answered vaguely. I filled in the blank with a common answer,” he says evenly.

“Whatever,” I mutter with a roll of my eyes.

I watch him finish cutting his chicken, to my displeasure he even has beautiful hands. I could watch his veins dance under his milky smooth skin like vines along a pearly white fence, for hours.

“What are you looking at?” He asks slowly. I look up at his face with rounded curious orbs only to find a knowing glint in his maroon eyes and a shit-eating grin turning up the corners of his mouth.

Fuck me. “I don't have a knife,” I sputter the lie without much thought. “How do you expect me to eat my chicken whole like this?”

He blinks slowly, digesting my lie. “Sorry princess. It didn't dawn on me that your delicate mouth couldn't handle such a large portion of meat.”

Did I somehow make this mortifying moment worse? Was that even possible?

He moves his plate back before moving mine in front of him, immediately getting to work, and cutting my chicken into smaller bite-sized pieces. His medium onyx waves move with every stroke of the knife and I can't help wondering how his hair would feel between my fingers.

He places the plate back in front of me, and an endearing look of accomplishment crosses his sculpted features, softening their hardened edges.

This dinner isn't going as planned.

I have yet to reveal a monster and somehow I continuously unearth humanity.

Not to mention the sight of him with a knife in his hands stirs something within me.

Another wretched admission.

“You want to know the real reason I bonded a dragon?” I ask, realizing maybe that question was the perfect opportunity to reveal the behemoth within. “For the companionship. So I wouldn't ever feel alone again. So I wouldn't have to continue on through life, always being the person who takes care of others, but not having that same safety blanket I made myself to be for my younger siblings and my friends. My dragon is my safety blanket.”

His eyebrows crease as the corners of his mouth twitch, the beginnings of a frown. “Well, that's just sad, going through most of your life bereft of the very protection you gifted others.”

How odd.

The way his voice sounds and his mannerisms, they all appear so… genuine. I clear my throat, not wanting my mind to dwell too long on that thought, for it could lead to dangerous other thoughts, branching off into ideas that will lead me on a path of wickedness, I'm sure.

He looks me over. “What’s wrong?” He asks, noticing I haven't eaten any of my neatly cut honey-glazed chicken.

I stare down at my hands. “Nothing. I guess, I wasn't expecting you to be so…”

“Human?” he finishes my unspoken words for me, sounding dejected and maybe even a little upset.

“People pull for different reasons, I just came to accept my situation over time. Would you prefer I hate myself, hate every moment of my existence?” He asks, his voice shaky with emotion.

Caelum’s deep maroon gaze flicks to mine as if he expects me to have an answer to these horrible hypothetical questions. “I had my own people to protect, once upon a time. Someone had to do what was necessary to keep them alive, and that person was always fated to be me. I become a monster to be the hero. And once the hero's eyes became red and his features were marked with spidery veins, the hero became the villain.”

My mouth goes dry. I'm not really sure how to respond to that. He's right, I never stopped to wonder about the reasoning behind every single venins turning.

It’s wrong and unnatural.

Taking from the earth, taking what wasn't given consensually.

But does that mean there's no possibility that there was a noble reason behind that first pull, that first sin?

It only takes one time to be changed.

“I'm sorry, I didn't think-"

He straightens in his chair, looking forward before picking back up his utensils. “No, you didn't. No one ever really stops to think beyond themselves and their situation.”

I sit there, questioning my stance on… everything. “Please, eat,” Caelum says suddenly, gesturing to my plate. “I'm used to being the monster, so don't let my being your monster ruin your appetite.”

I nod my head lightly, resuming the motions of eating.

We eat in silence for the rest of the evening. It's not completely damning, but it's not what I expected for the evening. And maybe it's not what he wanted for the evening as well…

“Would you like dessert tonight? The new initiates found some special-looking chocolates in the cellars down below,” Caelum offers, watching me intently.

“I'd like that,” I reply standing up from the desk, stretching my limbs. The stretch moves the short hem of the dress up, exposing a dangerous amount of my thighs, drawing his wine-red irises to my lower half.

I finish stretching, moving back to the windowsill, allowing him time to recollect himself. “I'll be back soon,” he promises before turning on his heel.

The door closes, but that click that usually follows, signaling the turned locking mechanism doesn't come.

Did he forget to lock my cage?

I wait a moment before rising, thinking it must be too good to be true. But sure enough, the door is unlocked.

I slid through the unlocked door, not thinking about any of the logistical stuff of escaping a fortified war school, filled with power-hungry subjugates.

My signet is air for gods sake.

I need to be free.

I'm not meant for imprisonment.

I stick to the walls, hoping to stay hidden by the shadows for as long as possible. The mage lights are dimmed in the halls already, giving me hope that they enforce a curfew system.

I have no weapons, nor do I have the slightest clue as to how to get out of this castle unnoticed.

Maybe if I find stairs, I'll be able to figure out something on a lower level.

“We'll be flying out to the Navarre border tomorrow morning. We'll then travel on foot to the-"

Fuck.

Fuck fuck fuck.

That's not good.

I hear talking around the corner and immediately run backward, dipping into the little nook I passed some moments ago. They pass me, not noticing my form folding inward behind the random ornamental statue, hidden in the shadows. The opulence of Poromiel actually came in handy.

The two dark wielders that passed were fighters for sure, possibly Asim level. They're both dressed in similar deep red leathers that Caelum wore at the Battle of Basgiath.

I miss my leathers… and gods, I would kill for Riorson’s signet right about now.

I'd kill for my signet right about now.

It wouldn't help in this situation, but just being able to feel my dragons bond, having the option to reach for her power if I were in danger would be lovely. What I would do just to hear her voice, reassuring me that I'm doing the right thing, giving me the push to continue on.

I wait another couple of minutes before leaving the nook and resuming my exploration. Turns out the two dark wielders had come from the stairwell. I may be able to get out of the damned castle tonight after all.

I fly down the first flight, without much care of masking any sound I make.

The black little slippers that adorn my feet are less noisy than my riding boots, but they aren't soundproof. I slow down, remembering to move within the shadows when I realize there was something already waiting for me in the shadows of this level.

“Well look what I caught, roaming out of their cage on this fine evening,” a man breathes from the shadows before pain engulfs me all over, stopping me in my tracks. I fall to the ground, the pain is so unbearable I can't even find it in me to scream.

“Now I see why Caelum keeps you hidden away from the rest of us…” the man whispers as he begins circling my writhing frame. “It's selfish really. You're far too exquisite to keep locked away. You should be on full display,” the man murmurs as he bends down to get a closer look at me.

I work through the pain, looking up to glare at the dark wielder who currently has me under his radar of pain projection.

His icy blonde curls are striking, contrasting the warm red tint of his eyes. Is he also a sage?

Just my luck.

“I see you've still got some fight left in you… it's probably because Caelum is too scared to touch you,” he says under his breath, his eyes roaming all the exposed skin my little dress showcases. My unmarked, blemish-free, smooth rose brown skin. It's evident that Caelum hasn't drained me… yet. If I survive this encounter that may change.

The tall, Icelandic dark wielder that hovers above me licks his lips as his eyes roam my body. “I bet your energy tastes like honey, roses, and white wine,” he hums as his fingers twitch.

His hands move towards my thighs and I scream bloody murder, kicking out as I crawl to the other side of the level, right at the base of the next set of stairs.

“I just want a taste… don't fret little pet. I'll return you to your owner after I have my fun,” he promises.

“You will do no such thing,” Caelum’s voice is heard from the bottom of the flight of stairs.

The dark wielder in front of me freezes, completely stiffening before retracting his hands to stand up straight. His posture is perfect as he waits for Caelum to ascend the stairs.

“I found her trying to escape. She was planning on going to the second floor to find the-"

“That's enough soldier,” Caelum interjects, his voice practically a roar. “Dismissed.”

The man scowls slightly but does as he is told.

It’s only after we are assuredly alone that Caelum scoops me up by the arm, relentlessly tugging me back up the stairs and through the corridors until we arrive back in my room, tossing me on the bed with enough force to leave a bruise by the morning time.

“That was really fucking stupid,” he growls, glaring down at me.

I freeze up under his glowering animosity, yet it's still a welcomed change from the danger I met in the stairway.

He's right.

That was stupid.

I breathe deeply before allowing the sobs that escape my mouth to fully wreck me. I sob, and sob, not caring that a scathing Caelum still stands before me. I want to disappear, crawl into myself, cease existing.

What a stupid silly girl I am, with stupid silly ideas.

What was I going to do- escape the sieged war college in nothing but a tiny dress and slippers, with no signet or weapons, no map of the grounds, no knowledge of the Braevick landscapes?

A stupid silly girl, indeed.

Caleum paces back and forth in front of the bed, a murderous aura radiating off of him, thick, hot, and inexorable, like the noon summer sun rays of Luceras Province.

“Stop wailing,” the raven-haired man scoffs. “He didn't touch you… right?” His voice raises at the end, as if he weren’t sure after all, having not checked me for himself.

I wipe at my face roughly, pulling my knees up to my chest before offering him a shaky no.

I steady my breathing before looking up at my captor, or should I call him my savior now?

“Why would you do that?”

I can feel his deep red eyes boring into my frame, digging into my soul, the longer it takes for me to answer him the more damned I feel.

I hiccup, unable to answer the handsome monster, because I don't know why I did it. Does one need a reason to try to escape their prison cell? I just wanted to be free. I didn't bother thinking about the cost of that freedom.

“Am I so horrible you would rather take your chances being caught out there? Or am I so cold, so soulless that freezing to death from the unforgiving winter-torn Braevick lands seems like a warm respite from my company?” Caelum hurls out the questions angrily, running a strong, veiny hand through his shiny, espresso locks just as roughly.

“I just want to be free,” I sob, not able to withstand his current display of wrath.

“Sweetheart, why don't you see it?” He asks, his voice mockingly tender as he stalks over to where I sit on the bed. “You were never free. You were a pawn, shackled to a dragon that didn't truly care for you,” he seethes before placing one of his milky hands over one of my calves.

I swat at his hand immediately. “Don't touch me!” I shout, flinching back but he only tightens his grip, pulling me over to him by the leg.

A deep flush creeps up my neck at the unceremonious position he moved me into, but once again his hold on me is uncompromising. “I'm only making sure he didn't actually drain you before I got there,” he grunts, sounding exasperated.

He lets go of my calf, allowing me to crawl away. He grits his teeth, his jaw flexing at my reaction to his touch. Knowing him, he wishes to ignore the reaction, and seem unaffected the best he could. Yet tonight he is unable to hide the scowl that tugs on his brows.

“You should get used to my presence,” he snaps, his body tensing after he straightens back up.

How is it only now that I notice just how sculpted his body is? The evening wear silky button down, hanging loosely around his frame hints at how lean his muscles truly are with every harsh movement under the dimmed mage lights of the bedroom.

“And why is that?” I ask firmly, tired of his attitude. Is it not understandable to miss fresh air, and crave the warm embrace of the sun or moonlight directly on your skin?

Despite my leveled voice, I still squirm under his glare, shifting awkwardly on the bed.

“Because you're moving to my bedroom tonight,” he announces flatly. “It's no longer safe for you to be left here alone. Now that Theon has laid his greedy eyes on you, you’ll stay with me.”

Chapter Text

How did I end up here?

I did all the right things. I followed the codex to a tee. Everything that was asked of me, I did, and I did it well.

I trained. I bonded. I persisted.

I survived.

But for what?

I can't help wondering what it was all for, as I lay beside my sleeping captor, with no dragon, no squad, no weapons, no rights, and barely any dignity.

Caelum didn't protest when I made a makeshift pillow barrier dividing our sides of the bed. Nor did he complain when I ignored him all evening after changing rooms.

That's the issue.

I wished he would have insisted on talking. I wished for him to protest the barrier.

I wish for him to touch me.

Gods do I miss his hands on me.

And that is the reason why I have no dignity left to my name.

I want the monster to touch me.

“Did you sleep well?” Caelum asks as my eyes begin to flutter open.

When did I fall asleep?

I remember fighting it off, tooth and nail. Also, where is the pillow that should be obstructing his view of my face- “I know this arrangement must be… disagreeable to you. But I didn't bring you to Zoyla for Theon to suck you dry while I'm away on duty.”

“Why did you bring me here then?” I ask, my voice croaking from the morning dryness.

He inhales sharply, annoyed or caught off guard by the question. “Not for that,” he grumbles before sitting up.

I watch him with batted breaths as he leaves the bed, hoping he will look over at me, praying he won’t. I want his attention, even in this brooding mood he's currently in. But I'm also afraid, terrified of what will happen if I were to get the attention I so desperately crave from him.

He stays turned away from me to my dismay, as he starts unbuttoning his nightshirt. He rips it off, ripples of lean muscle under smooth marble skin invade my vision, rendering me incapable of thinking straight.

I bite down on my lips, unable to look away as he tosses on the first shirt he pulls from his wardrobe. He hurriedly pulls down his sleep pants, changing into his deep red riding leathers in the time it takes for me to catch my breath.

Only when he begins pulling on a harness and strapping a sword onto his back do I realize he is in a hurry to leave.

To leave me.

“You’re going?” I ask, sitting upright.

He sheaths a small dagger into his armor before his eyes cut to me. His expression is far too stormy for such a sunny morning. “Just last night you wanted to leave. No that’s not right- you tried to leave,” he complains as his eyes narrow in on me. “Now you want me to stay?”

He’s still upset.

I don’t know if that’s even the right word to explain what he may be feeling. The look in his eyes, the way he moves around the room, there’s a feral nature to him now.

The look in his eyes… invokes something in me. It is similar to the feeling one gets as one stands at the edge of a cliff, and that voice in the back of one's head tells one to jump. It makes no sense, this pull, this longing to let him rip me open, tear me apart, and put me back together in his image, making me his.

I swallow under his scrutiny.

He’s right, even without verbally saying it. I have no right to ask him to stay or keep me company. “You said we would have meals together,” I sputter, using his words against him instead of using my words to say I want him to be with me.

He exhales, running a hand through his hair before turning away from me. “I have to run drills with the new initiates this morning. I will bring you your breakfast myself, but I won’t stay to eat,” he says, his back still turned away from me.

“You’re being unfair,” I whisper under my breath as I move my knees up to my chest, letting the covers fall around me.

That seems to be the final blow, deepening the crack I must have been unknowingly setting, in the invisible dam that was his patience.

Caelum turns back around to me slowly, a shadow passes over his face, and his wine-red eyes darken to a mottled burgundy. “Unfair?” he repeats, his voice a decibel or two above a whisper.

I shiver, goosebumps raising along my skin as he makes his way over to me. Every step he takes as he moves toward me feels like a blow to my resolve. Every step he takes toward me brings me closer to the edge of that cliff, and I think I’m ready to jump.

He stops beside me once he reaches my side of the bed, towering over me, allowing me to feel every wave of raw heat he emits. It’s delectable. After being alone for weeks I could bath under the warmth of his wrath and lose myself in his inebriating scent.

I wonder what I smell like to him? Am I the scent of grass after a sunshower, cherrywood roasting in the fireplace on an autumn evening? Or am I the scent of driftwood washing onto a storm-torn coast, a trash receptacle on fire with no extinguisher in sight? I probably smell like regret and disappointment.

“You could have died,” he starts, the emotion he feels evident in every word.

“But I didn’t. You saved me,” I interject.

“Because I realized I forgot to lock the door once I reached the bottom of the steps! If I didn’t realize- if I didn’t turn back early, he would have drained you fucking dry,” he bellows. “Now tell me what is fair about that?”

“Yes, how unfair it would have been for him to have had me first.” The words are out of my bratty fucking mouth before I can stop myself.

A range of different emotions seem to cross his face at once- anger, betrayal, confusion, defeat, exasperation… the whole ‘abc’s of negativity.

He inches closer to me and I flinch, stopping him in his tracks.

Before I know it he pivots, storming out of the room.

“That probably wasn’t the right thing to say,” I say to myself, throwing my head back against his pillows as I lay back in the bed.

As promised, my meals were delivered by him, personally.

In and out, in and out.

He doesn’t stop to lift the cover from my tray, bless me with small talk, or explain the blood on his shirt when he brings me my dinner. But he made sure to add the fried potatoes I like with my lunch and cut my lamb for me before bringing up my dinner. My dinner tray even had the special-looking chocolates adjacent to my plate, the very chocolates that got me in this mess.

I think I would have preferred never experiencing his warm smiles or his consideration if things were going to turn out this way in the end.

I took my time in the shower tonight, examining all the products there. I thought if I'd find the source of his scent there or if I found a scented oil or cologne, I'd be able to use it to ease the ache of this morning's argument. I had no such luck, and now I'm clean, dressed in a small slip, and alone, sitting on top of his covers waiting for him to come back.

The windows of his bedroom are much larger than my previous room and so the early morning light that spills into the room through the cracked curtains acts as a natural gods-given alarm, waking me up with the rising sun.

When did I fall asleep?

I must have dosed off waiting for Caelum to come up for the night…

He's here.

Fast asleep beside me, he must have come in at an ungodly hour. He must have also taken the time to tuck me in.

He doesn't play fair.

What is he doing to me?

What will he do to me when he figures out that he's already won?

I watch him sleep, silently grateful that he didn't bother remaking my pillow barrier from the previous night. With his eyes closed, I can imagine how he must have looked before changing.

His porcelain skin, clear and luminous, seems to have a pearlescent glimmer to it under the pink and orange early morning coloring of the room. His sculpted features look soft and inviting in slumber. His dark full lashes touch the top of his high cheekbones, drawing my attention to the beauty mark under his right eye. A pretty little speck on a spotless canvas. I can see the outline of his muscles through his off-white button-down sleep shirt. He's flawless, hard but delicate.

So godsdamn unfair.

He's an angel… an angel who fell from grace, but still an angel all the same.

“You're awake?” Caelum asks, reeling in my consciousness from the dense thicket that is my thoughts of him.

My eyes meet his and I nod my head, afraid to speak and possibly offend him more.

He grunts as he flips over onto his back, breaking our eye contact.

Does it hurt him as much as it hurts me to see him like this? So close but still not able to just be with him.

“I'm sorry,” I apologize unable to go on as things are presently for another moment.

He doesn't turn back over, still I can see his full brows knit together. “And what exactly are you apologizing for princess?” Caelum asks, his eyes still trained on the ceiling.

Good question.

I know I'm sorry for hurting him. My words seemed to have poured salt into an old wound, deep and unhealed.

But am I sorry for trying to escape?

No… I'd try to get my freedom back again in a heartbeat.

I can admit that I should have done things differently. I should have been more careful. I should have given escaping more thought before running out, with no way to defend myself. 

“What I said yesterday… I didn't mean it. I know you don't want that.”

A solemn silence follows, stretching out unbearably long before he finds the words he needs to reply. “I don't want that… but it's a possibility,” he admits quietly.

My breath hitches at his words.

I don't understand. If he wanted to drain me, he could have done it, a million times over by now.

The confusion on my face must be apparent, prompting him to continue speaking, explaining himself. “My condition… veninism, it's an addiction. Every waking moment is spent fighting the urge to pull from sources of energy. And you…” he pauses, swallowing as he thinks over his next words carefully. “You call to me. Your life force, your aura, your essence, it calls to me, like nothing or no one else I've ever come into contact with in all my years of existence.”

Well, that's… disturbing. If I am such an energetic treat and his condition is so bad- "Then why haven't you…”

“Why haven't I drained you?” He asks, his voice throaty yet grave. “Because the call to have you in another way is stronger than my condition, and it grows stronger as the days continue to pass.”

So I'm not imagining the tension between us? I'm not alone in my feelings?

“I knew I shouldn't have taken you but I haven't felt the way I felt when I saw you on that battlefield in… a very long time.”

My heart rate increases to an unnatural speed, causing a roaring in my ears that seems to drown out everything else but the beating muscle.

“I shouldn't have taken you, this I know, but I don't regret it… despite the many ways you hurt me. I must be a masochist, a glutton for punishment,” he concludes under his breath.

“I don't mean to- I'm not hurting you on purpose,” I whisper in response, beside myself. “I want you, too,” I admit despite every fiber of my being screaming at me for exposing myself wholly to this monster.

“Is that why you flinch whenever I'm near you?” He sneers, his lips curling up in disbelief.

“I'm not lying to you,” I mutter. It's all I can think to say, all I'm willing to admit. I can't help how my body reacts after so much uncertainty. I've never felt so vulnerable, so raw.

“Is that so,” he responds, flipping over to fully look me over.

There's a hunger in his eyes. A hunger I haven't seen since that fated day in front of the gates of Basgiath.

His deep red eyes study my body closely, like a specimen enclosed in a petri dish, prepped and primed, ready to be observed under full transparency. I can feel an ache building between my legs in anticipation, breathing suddenly becomes a laborious task.

I swallow because I'm watching him too. It's a miracle we haven't already begun to tear at each other, like the rabid animal I fear I've become in his company.

“Caelum,” I say his name like a prayer, hoping my voice will convey how I feel because I haven't even begun making sense of my thoughts. None of this makes any sense.

His forehead creases as his face sours completely. “No, you have to use your words. I can't take it. I may be a monster but I won't be played with-"

His words catch in his throat and his entire body stiffens as I move closer to him. I continue, not stopping until my body is flush against his. It's awkward at first, but within seconds or a fraction of eternity, he folds. He doesn't relax, but his hands find my waist, pulling me against him, erasing the small space that was left between us.

He does this despite remaining wound up. His body is as rigid as a sculpture, finally embodying his chiseled appearance. “Do you know what you're doing to me?” His face inches closer to mine, apprehension tainting his beauty as his sea of red searches for an unsaid answer in my eyes.

I won't back down, even if I'm drowning under his scrutiny. I may not know the why, but I know I am sure. “This is what I want.”

I can't say for certain if the last word was able to escape my lips before his lips were latched onto mine.

At first, his kisses were gentle, a disciplined exploration. Light brushes with just enough pressure to ignite the fire within me that was always meant to burn for him. He's being careful, so careful. Every touch, every kiss is measured, as if he had an invisible meter alerting him whenever his pleasure reached an imaginary threshold.

I don't want to be careful.

Nothing about this, about us is sensible.

So why be cautious?

I nip at his bottom lip, eagerly moving my hand through his hair as I hook my thigh over him, using the momentum to flip us over, straddling his hips before I can think better of my actions.

He tenses up again, his hands immediately grabbing my waist, a silent signal for me to slow down.

“Please,” I moan into his mouth, frustration laced with need evident in the lonely word.

“Please don’t give me permission unless you mean it,” he starts, pulling back from our kiss with his eyes closed, his forehead creased and his hands still digging into my sides as if the action is his lifeline to restraint. “If I start then- I don't know if I'll be able to ever stop.”

“Then don't stop,” I exhale.

He curses under his breath but I know I've won the battle. His body melts into the sheets as his hands relax on my sides, tugging me closer, impossibly closer, engulfing me in that warm scent I've come to love- cloves, blackberries, and spiced rum. He even tastes a little like it, which leads me to believe he must have had a drink last night before joining me in bed.

His kisses become more destitute as his hands begin to travel my body, rubbing along my back, soothing motions, up and down. His lips are incredibly soft, a lovely contrast to the need present in our embrace.

His tongue glides along my bruised lips and I immediately grant him permission to enter, it's all it took for me to open for him. He massages my tongue with his own, and I can't help thinking about how lovely it would be to have him do this very same trick between my legs.

The way my body vibrates for him is almost enough for me to forget the turmoil of the past twenty-four hours. It's not enough, because he's still holding back.

His hand manages to glide along one of my breasts and its enough to break what little composure I had left. A breathy whimper escapes my mouth as my thighs clench around his core and I push myself up against his chest. I immediately reach for the buttons of his sleep shirt, not caring if I rip them off in the process.

“Wait,” he exhales. I almost think I imagined it. The way he grinds his hips further into mine, bucking up as he grunts, grunting as he rolls his head back, eyes clenched shut, breaths that are shallow and labored- he wants this too. I'm not crazy.

Just. Let. Go.

I need something, anything, an outlet for the tension coiling tight within me.

“Caelum.”

He groans, refusing to surrender to the carnal instincts raging within him.

I pull away slightly, this time I study him. High pulse, tense muscles, clenched hands, milky skin uncharacteristically pale despite the warm sunrise glow emanating from the windows, eyebrows slightly bunched together- is he… afraid of me? Of this?

He's barely touched me and I'm already putty in his hands, ready to be pulled, tugged, stretched out, and molded. But… maybe he doesn't want to mold me. “What's wrong?” I ask, begrudgingly pulling away from his warmth.

He blinks slowly, taking a moment to register the change in tempo. “Come back,” he demands the second he catches on that my body has detached from his.

I can feel my head spinning, the emotional tug-of-war of this interaction is giving me a headache. Still, I nod my head, moving back into his arms.

“Good girl,” he praises, tucking me under his chin as he wraps his strong arms around my form.

He wanted me to calm down but then he pulled this stunt? I can feel the floodgates opening between my legs and I unconsciously rub my thighs together.

He chuckles and it's my turn to be tense. Moments ago I was hellbent on fucking him, giving myself to him fully. Now, suddenly, I find myself hyper-aware of my body. My apprehension makes me skittish and I twitch as he moves a hand to the back of my neck. The weight of his hand there is oddly comforting and after a few more panicked moments I relax against him.

I can feel the beating of my heart settle down as the sun reaches the finish line in the sky. It shines down on us brightly, in all its full glory, casting away any shadows we could use to hide our expressions, as well as our last bits of shadows of doubt.

“I don't think you fully understand the nature of my condition,” Caelum sighs into my hair, clutching me into him tightly.

“If we are going to do this, it will be my way, do you understand?”

“I want to understand it…” I murmur, moving my head up to look into his eyes.

He exasperates as if I'm missing the point entirely. The deep purple veins near his temples pulsate and I can't help but thank the gods that this normally stoic man has a visual indicator of what he's truly feeling.

“Just- tell me you understand. My way or nothing,” his tone sharpens slightly. Still, there's a fondness there, present in his eyes and the need to bend, fold, reassure him, do whatever it takes to keep him pleased comes over me with a swiftness.

The hold he has managed to wrangle me in is unquestionable. Like a small bird caught in a snare, there's nowhere for me to go but where he leads me. I'm undeniably spiraling out of control on uncharted territories, all alone on this journey to win his favor.

“I understand,” I say, not understanding much of anything that entails but I seal my fate regardless.

Chapter Text

I can't believe how beautiful this school is, especially compared to Basgiath.

With the admission of my albeit confusing feelings, I was granted chaperoned time out of the bedroom. Unfortunately, it is at odd hours of the night and early morning, when initiates and lower level venin have curfew and should be in their rooms.

Tonight, Caelum took me to an upper-level library, filled with almost as much art as books. I eye the shelf of literature before me, shocked that this war college also has books meant for entertainment.

Back in the archives, every book was painstakingly chosen to be there for a reason. That reason typically is the advancement of the Navarrian agenda. Whether it’s a history book that paints Navarre as the heroes and Poromiel as the villains, or it's a book detailing all the good the conjoined Navarre has brought to the provinces, every book there has an ulterior motive.

“What are you thinking about so intensely?” Caelum pulls me into his arms from behind, and I can't help the giggles that escape my mouth.

The tension between us has eased exponentially since we began exploring the school together and each other's bodies. He hasn't allowed us to do anything more than kiss yet, but I'm hopeful that we will continue to progress.

It's been a week of kissing and I must admit, it's not enough to qualm the building ache that Caelum is knowingly setting up within my core.

Now that we are getting to know each other more, in settings outside of my bedroom cell, I can piece together subtle shifts in his tone and the many different micro-expressions that pass over his features when we interact. He is currently amused by my fascination with books I have no intention of attempting to read.

They're in Krovlish after all.

“Pick a book. I can read to you if you'd like,” Caelum says.

“You're joking. You know Krovlish?”

“I do,” he laughs.

Now that I think of it, I have no clue where Caelum is from, originally.

“Umm, what about this?” I pick up a random title that looks like it would be interesting. At least, judging from the binding and coloring.

His brows rise in the time it takes him to read the title. “You sure? You might find it boring.”

“Why? Is it scientific or something? I'll have you know I have some of the best scores of my year when it comes to practical classes like the sciences and math.”

“I bet you do, Princess.” He responds, patting my head gingerly. “I just wonder if a book on agriculture and tips on getting your farm animals to breed is the right vibe you were going for tonight.”

My face flushes at the realization of my error. “Maybe we can go with a book of your choice.”

“What about…” he reaches over my head, plucking his novel of choice from the shelf and I go completely still. At this angle, if I tilt my head up, and he was to lower his head… “Got it. This story was a favorite of mine in my youth.”

“Oh? What is it?” I breathe out, hoping talking will relieve the tension I seem to feel alone when we are this close.

"The Snow Queen,” he says evenly, his hand roaming the title page as he shows it to me.

“Is that the story about the princess who couldn’t control her power to wield ice?”

“No,” he chuckles. “Its a story of the struggle between good and evil as experienced by childhood friends turned sweethearts.”

“Sounds depressing,” I think aloud.

This time his laugh is rambunctious, crinkling the corners of his eyes and spreading a warmth within me.

Being this close to him, with no forseeable possibility of an argument or makeout session starting, I'm able to admire him freely. The thickness of his dark lashes, the smoothness of his deep rose tinted lips, the stubble that has grown out- thanks to how busy I kept him this morning before he had to rush out for the initiates morning drills.

How can he be so intimidating yet so excruciatingly attractive? I bite down on my lip hoping it distracts me from my thoughts enough to pick a book.

Caelum hasn't the slightest idea of the silent war I'm losing within me. He's too busy admiring the cover art of the storybook. “It is a little dark but a good story nonetheless.”

“Will you read it to me?”

“You sure you’re okay with my choice? The chickens won't breed themselves,” he says with the wickedest grin I've seen cross his face yet.

I lightly slap his chest at his teasing. “I'm sure.” I take his hand, leading him to the lounge area.

We end up sitting on a large chaise, not too far back where the light is too dim to comfortably read, but it’s a cozy nook. His voice is soothing. Laying back against him, his arms around me, caging me in is a guilty pleasure. The beating of his heart and the steady rhythm of his chest rising and falling begin to lull me to sleep as he reads to me about first love and a loss of innocence.

Then it hits- that I’m damned.

I’m so damned.

I’m in love with this feeling.

Am I in love?

“Are you sleeping?”

I blink twice, realizing I zoned out, lost in thought about us.

Gods, when did we become an us?

I shake my head no before turning slightly to look up at him. His lips are worried, his expression downcast. “Sorry if I’m not reading it with enough conviction. My Krovlish is a little rusty, so my translations may be coming out delayed. But I don’t want you to miss out on the story.”

Is he self-conscious right now? Over his reading voice, out of all things.

I smile up at him, the veins at his temples receding a bit as his features soften. “Although your smile is always welcomed, I’m not sure that is the appropriate response right now.”

“Your expression was too cute not to smile.”

“That may be a first,” he says, closing the book to give me his full attention.

His violent red eyes say so much despite a quiet falling between us. I don’t speak, knowing there’s something on his mind. I’ll give him the time it takes to find the right words to express what’s behind the look in his eyes.

“You aren’t bothered by it?”

Bothered by what? What is there left within me that hasn’t been affected by him, irreversibly tainted from the inside out. I can only imagine the fallout if anyone from home found out what I feel for him. I can add besmirched to the list of ways this man, this monster, has ruined me.

How could one ruined soul find something wrong with another ruined soul?

“Nothing about you bothers me at this point,” I admit as I turn around fully, straddling him as I stare directly into the red sea I’d happily drown myself in. “I’m yours.”

“You shouldn’t speak like that,” he exhales, the violence in his red eyes begins to simmer, though the worry doesn't budge.

“Why? It’s the truth.” I lay a hand on his chest as his hands begin to travel up and down my spine. I try to suppress the shiver he evokes out of me. I fail miserably.

“Just because something is true doesn’t mean you should utter it. Speaking like that in my presence is dangerous.”

“You won’t hurt me.”

He stops trailing lines along my spine, taking purchase at my waist, pulling me into him closer. “How are you so sure about that?”

“I just know,” I whisper, my eyes trained on his lips.

“What if I don’t want to test your theory out? What if I don’t want to risk your life on a hunch?”

This is it. I guess I’m crazy. I suppose I've lost any last grip I had on my sanity. “It’s my life.”

His jaw flexes and his hands go rigid at my sides- he doesn’t like that answer. The veins at his temples pulsate, purple cracks marking smooth white marble.

With no volition of my own my hand moves up to touch the protruding blemish, the visual reminder that this living statue of Zihnal is not the god of luck, but a poor unfortunate soul.

Caelum stops me before my hand can reach his face, the grasp he has on my wrist is firm and unmoving. “Stop,” he says, practically begging.

“Why won’t you let me in?” I say under my breath, my hand still suspended in the thick air between us. I look up at him, doe eyes, lashes, and disappointment.

I agreed to do things his way. I let him start, he gets to lead, and when it gets too much, he’s the one to always stop.

He needs to let me touch him back. Why can’t I touch him back?

“It’s wrong.” He starts, his voice wavering under the weight of my gaze. “It’s a visible mark of my wrongness. You shouldn’t- it’s bad enough I touch you the way I do, muddying the waters of your heart.”

“I thought we were past this. I told you I want you.”

“You deserve someone who hasn’t lost their humanity, a lifetime ago. You deserve someone who isn’t a monster.”

Gods, he’s stubborn.

And I’m tired of talking.

I move closer, my face inching closer to his, my lips ready to taste the now familiar light notes of cinnamon and brandy.

He looks torn between letting it happen and ending the night here, but regardless of the war within his mind, he is frozen physically.

Our lips meet, and he melts beneath me. The grasp on my wrist is loosened and I immediately remove my wrist from his hold altogether. I’ll need both hands to hold on to him. We always end up kissing hard when we don’t see eye to eye, which is always.

This is no exception. Skin pressed against skin tight. My lips already feel bruised when he comes up for air. I feel his hand make its way under my shirt. He takes hold of one of my breasts, kneading it hard. The sound that leaves my mouth is embarrassingly needy.

“You need me, don’t you?” He asks. The red of his eyes almost vanished from how blown out his pupils had become in such a short amount of time. He looks foreign to me in this light and I love it.

He must know the answer to that question even before he uttered the words. My heartbeat is fast enough to power a small machine. My breathing is erratic, matching the tremors that shake through me sporadically.

His fingers rub at my erect nipple and another indiscernible moan leaves my lips.

It must be a good enough answer because I soon find myself flipped in orientation, laying on the plush chaise as Caelum hovers above me. Perfect timing as I found myself far too dizzy on top of him.

“You’re so beautiful, so perfect for me. My needy little mess.” He sets his jaw as he hovers above me, his eyes lazily taking in my panting breathless form laid beneath him.

My breathing begins to steady and I’m about ready to reach up for him, to have more of him when he shakes his head. “Don't move,” he commands. “I want to try something.”

I nod my head as he begins to carefully remove my sleep shorts. All the places his fingertips brushed against feel on fire, long after the moment passed.

His presence is intoxicating, I don’t even mind the hazy drunk feeling he brings out of me.

He moves back up, an accomplished smirk on his face, a single dimple making itself known to me, and I smile back, it’s hard not to when he looks so adorable.

Kisses pepper me all over, along my hairline, down to my jawline, to my neck, thoroughly distracting me from his fingers that begin to lightly brush against the entrance of my folds, through my panties.

My back arches up, my body bucking against his digits. I need more.

“Caelum,” I plead, my voice shaky as my hands reach up for him, fumbling against his button-down.

“I thought I told you not to move,” he tsks me as he removes his fingers from my clothed core to hold up my wrist. He's able to gather both in one hand and that turns me on further.

I eagerly nod in agreement, dazed but coherent enough to convey my understanding. I need him to touch me once more.

He chuckles, and my breath catches at how effortlessly striking he is when his mood is light, making me lightheaded. His inky hair falls forward, obscuring his blown-out pupils from my view, as he begins to lower himself. “I need your words, baby girl.” His voice gets dangerously deeper. He begins kissing the sensitive skin of my décolletage, the warmth from his lips travels straight down to my aching heat.

“I trusted your nod earlier and you quickly broke your nonverbal agreement.” A bite. Or nibble. It’s enough to hurt but in the most delightful of ways. It will leave a mark and the idea of having a visible reminder that my body is his wrecks me further.

Blood roars in my ears, and I may combust if he doesn't give me what I need. “Yes, I promise. I won’t move.” The words tumble out of my mouth hastily as his mouth lowers to my chest.

I somehow earned myself another small bite, this time on a hardened nipple. Caelum, a stickler for fairness decides to give the other nipple some attention as well, and my fingers twitch wanting nothing more than to card through his soft raven locks.

My thin cotton shirt is still on, and the moisture from his mouth is left there even after he continues to move lower. Now I’m left with juxtaposing sensations, my nipples cold and hard, while my teased heat is only getting warmer.

He's taking his time between my legs, kissing my inner thigh as he gets comfortable. Something tells me he'll be down there for a while and my face heats up at his closeness. I can feel his growing stubble where my leg connects to my pelvis, and his nose rubs against the wetness of my panties.

“I like the noises you make when I take my time," he admits.

I open my mouth to complain but all that leaves my throat is a guttural moan. His tongue feels better than anything my imagination could have perceived. His grip on my thighs tightens, and his long elegant fingers become restraints as he gets to work.

If it’s more noises he wanted, he now has them in plenty.

I admire the view of him between my legs and my chest swells with excitement. He glances back up at me, mischief glimmering under thick lashes.

He's gauging my reaction.

A shit-eating grin forms on his face and I find myself feeling overwhelmed. I reflexively move to cover my face, hiding it from his view. I feel incredibly insecure suddenly, my lack of experience crossing my mind. Oh, how I wish I spent some time fraternizing with other riders instead of only training. Furthermore, how dare he be so fucking handsome and a tease?

“What did I tell you?” He growls the question out against my folds and before I can move my hands back, they're pinned above my head.

But he didn't move.

The realization that he's using his power to inhibit my movement makes me shiver and I feel a coil quickly tightening within me. How embarrassing would it be to come undone so quickly? I whimper, wiggling my hips, hoping he continues before the tightness in me laxes.

“Be patient. You’ll come when I tell you to, and not a moment sooner,” he cooes.

I can’t help but wonder if mind reading is another one of the many powers of his kind. However, the incessant shaking of my thighs might be an indicator enough. No need to be inntinnsic to know he’s got me where he wants me.

He shifts, taking the time to remove my panties now that I am successfully pinned down. “Hmm, should I add a finger? You’ve been quite the handful thus far. I’m not sure you deserve it.”

“I didn’t mean to-”

“That’s not the magic word,” he chuckles before starting a trail of kisses down my inner thigh. He begins sucking the tender skin nearest my core once he notices I have yet to say the word he wants to hear.

“Please,” I whine, silently hating the urgency in my voice. I might as well grovel, but my hands are still pinned by his invisible constraints.

I feel the immediate release of tension at the intrusion of one of his sumptuous digits. Time slows as I dissolve into pleasure.

The rhythm he starts with is tortuous, I find myself jerking under him. “You won't believe me if I told you how many dark twisted fantasies I've had about making an incoherent babbling mess of you under me,” he starts, his breath hot against my wet entrance. “And so forgive me if it seems that I'm dragging this out. Because I am- I will drag this out for as long as possible,” he promises before looking back up at me while he removes his finger, slowly inserting it into his mouth, humming at the taste of me.

“I need-” I gasp, his finger is back in me before I can finish the sentence, with the addition of a second finger. I feel incredibly full with just two of his fingers inside of me.

He picks up his speed as well and I writhe, wanting nothing more than to grab him, take hold of anything. I can't think straight, his fingers distracting me from the spring coiling tightly within me despite his earlier command.

I make a strangled noise, the only thing I can muster to show my content. A light sheen of sweat coats my face, sticking the curls that frame my face to my forehead.

“Your thighs are shaking so much,” he notes. My hands clench into fists above my head just as I'm sure my folds are clenching around his fingers.

“You're so soft,” he mutters aloud from below me. “I want to make love to you so fucking badly.”

The words, the idea of it, it's enough to push me over the edge. My brows scrunch up and my eyes become teary. White light invades my vision as I curse loudly, unable to suppress my climax any longer.

The invisible hold on my wrist is gone but I still try my best not to move them. Caelum doesn't say anything. He continues to finger fuck me as he lets me finish.

He removes his fingers from inside of me, grappling my thighs to pull me closer to his face. He's licking up any juices that threatened to leave my entrance and he's going to shatter any grip on reality I had left.

Wet noises come from between my legs mixing with my moans. My hands shoot down, desperately clutching handfuls of his hair.

“Fuck, you're delicious when you misbehave. What am I going to do with you?” He groans, looking up at me.

Our eyes connect, and as hot as his words are, I can see something else present in his longing. Fragility.

“Fuck me?” I beg, my hand dropping from his raven locks to cup his porcelain cheek.

He closes his eyes, resting against my hand. “Not yet,” he sighs, his eyes still sealed shut. “I'm not ready.”