"I’m coming for them all," the Tenebrae whispered as his shadowed green eyes stared out at his stolen lands. Stolen, with the promise ofherin mind—the Princess of these lands, whom he had stolen away and given to another to hide.
Memories flashed by as the Tenebrae sifted through his vessel’s mind. Resistance rose to the surface, and the Tenebrae slammed it back down, tightening the noose of shadows that was kept wrapped around the vessel’s neck.
Caliban.
The one whose body the Tenebrae inhabited.
It had been easy. Too easy.
The one named Caliban had been desperate and sad, used and abused. Flashes of what Caliban had been forced to endure…
Roving hands and lips he did not want, taking his own. Fingers glided down his pale stomach, gripping him beneath his trousers, stroking until he was forced to harden against his wishes. Females with painted lips, dripping jewels—tasting, touching, teasing. Taking.
Males who came with violence. Hurting, hitting, harming. Harrowing.
And so, so haunting.
The only moment of relief Caliban had found had been in the arms of the human girl named Enora. Hair like brown silk, turning golden in the sunlight.
As the memories rose, the Tenebrae’s vessel calmed, peace bubbling as memories soothed centuries of rageful acceptance—trapped, as the Tenebrae rode his body and bent his will, using him as a vessel.
To the Tenebrae, the memories of the girl were something he viewed with only detached curiosity. Her smiles stirred nothing, nor did the sound of her voice imbue him with warmth. But what did elicit a reaction was the memories of them, entwined. Always on the shore of that lake. The lake where it had all ended. When the Tenebrae had forced his vessel to end her.
At the beginning, Caliban fought so hard that the Tenebrae thought him not worth it.
It had been hard for the Tenebrae to wrest control, but after that day at the lake, when Enora had been forced under the water, bubbles popping to the surface as her body had floated atop, it had all changed. Caliban no longer fought him as valiantly, as if his strength had been drowned with her.
As soft, pale skin and brown eyes half-lidded in pleasure streamed in the Tenebrae’s mind, making him thicken with desire, he thought of what he must do next with glee.
His vessel’s half-brother was stupid for loving. And the Tenebrae knew that his half-brother didlove. He had always been foolish that way, quick to jump and beholden to his heart, even if he did not want to admit it. The King of Serpentis was ruled by his inner beast, commanded by the whims of what his dragon wanted.
The Tenebrae would show them, show them all. Females were nothing but disappointments. Everyone was. You could not depend on anyone but yourself.
And sometimes even then…
Resistance pushed to the surface, once more.
He squeezed his eyes shut, pained, as more memories flashed over him, as if without his doing.
A soft laugh, distorted by time.
The vessel’s thoughts surfaced—they came rarely, but each time always set the Tenebrae on edge. Years had blurred. Vessel and god entwined—like the lovers on the lake—until he wondered which thoughts were his and which were Caliban’s.
I had forgotten what Enora’s laughter sounded like.
"You don’t need her," he hissed aloud, feeling some treacherous, tainted part of his soul rise in fury.
I do, whispered his vessel.I did.
"I don’t." The Tenebrae spoke through Caliban, twisting the words into life.
But still, he could not help but feel the pull toward her. That brown-haired beauty, who haunted him, just as the roving hands, red lips, rageful eyes haunted Caliban.
A ghostly sob filled him as his vessel cried invisible tears, shaking against his bars, begging to be let free.
The Tenebrae hissed aloud:
"She tricked you. She gave her heart and body to another. She’s long gone. Dead, dead, dead. Floating beneath the weeds underwater."
