“Please.” The large male sputters out that single syllable, his remaining eye flickering to look at me and then back at the specter above him. “End me, in any way you must. I can’t go there. I can’t spend eternity in the insatiable fire.”
“Wise choice.” The tingling in my balls grows as I focus on the squire’s good eye. “That’s the Helheim you dread,” I continue as I give my attention back to the prince, “the eternal fire that will keep but never consume you. These wounds you brought with you to Helheim, whatever pathetic little injuries I’ve added here, are nothing, a drop in the ocean of pain you’ll experience in the pit. If I send you there—and I am very gods-damned close to doing that—you’ll know eternal torment.”
“But, you could end us whenever you chose if you kept us here,” the prince rasps. “Nobody else can do that. Why would you send us into the pit, give up your control over us?”
By the gods, this male is an idiot. “It entertains me,” I explain, as if to a child. Wrath is thrashing within me, my beast’s craving for blood greater than mine. Pumping more slowly to make sure I last as long as the squire does, I grunt at the prince. “The other eye, and then the ears. But not the tongue yet. I have plans for that.”
The squire shudders out a breath, but the prince’s chin shakes even more. I wonder if they’ve heard the rumors. If they know what I’ll demand next.
Still, the prince sets his shoulders and digs a finger into the other socket, forcing that eye out to dangle down the squire’s cheek. The male on the ground—who really is a hulk of a man—sucks in a deep breath as a tremble rolls through him, finally settling in his hands. He holds his tongue, not a single sound coming out.
“Well done,” I cry with a single clap of my hands as my gaze focuses on the squire. “You really are a prize. I’m very disappointed you let this poltroon best you. You’d have served me well in Niflhel. But we’ve set the rules of this game,” I add with a sigh. “Can’t change them now.”
The prince is silent for a moment, his jaw shifting back and forth before what’s left of his teeth clench tightly. “Do you have a blade, or am I to … bite off his ears?” he asks at last. The plea in his voice drags a rare laugh from my chest.
Well, fuck me.That was unexpected. Maybe the prince has more to offer than I realized.
“Master.” The sniveling voice of my latest peon drenches the smidgen of humor still rumbling in my chest.
“Go away, Pudge,” I mutter, not bothering to turn around. “Whatever it is can wait.”
“The mistress summons you back to Niflhel,” he croaks. He knows the penalty for disobedience. And as miserable as his existence is, he clings to it more than most.
“She can wait. I’m not ready to return to the city.” My liege may disagree but I need this—Wrath needs this—more than I need to evade whatever punishment I’ll face for my delay.
“Apologies, master, but the mistress was … explicit … about what I’ll suffer if I don’t retrieve you now.” He ends with a whimper that rattles from his chest, snaking through a throat so tight, it’s a wonder any sound emerged at all.
“Then I will find another to serve me,” I shrug. My leg starts to bounce as Hel’s summons awakens the bugs in my gut, but I still don’t drag my gaze from the males at my feet. They’re both trembling, the squire from pain more than anything else. Still, it’s the prince’s dread that feeds my foul soul. I can feel his terror, a tremble in the sweltering heat surrounding us.
“She bid me to tell you that she will not punish me alone. Every specter you choose to serve you will suffer the same fate, until she’s satisfied that you repent your defiance.” These words come with a touch of hope.
Justified hope, it seems. Hel’s threat is effective. She’s done that to me twice before, and both times, I grew to regret what I’d done.
“Fuck me,” I snarl, whipping my gaze toward Pudge, eyes narrowing as I consider ending him for the affront of carrying her despicable message to me. His chin collapses to his chest,eyes cast down. “Fine,” I bark, allowing his existence for now. “Forget his ears,” I direct as I turn back toward the prince and his squire. “Feed him your cock instead and I’ll end his misery and take you with me into the city.”
“Feed him … my cock?” The prince’s words warble, the barest hint of fear whispering through them.
“I want to see you in his mouth,” I snarl, my fist twisting my own cock as the pictures erupt in my mind.
“But I can no longer experience that pleasure or relief.”
“Then you willfeedhim your cock,” I growl, my balls tightening as Wrath thrashes inside me. I stroke mine more quickly, the tick-tock of Hel’s summons pushing me to an early release. “You get it up and come in his mouth,” I continue, “or he bites it off. One or the other. And then you’re both done.”
We all know it will be the other. No blood flows through the prince’s body. His cock will never bulge again. But most will do anything—and I mean anything—to force the impossible. I’m entertained as they try. But more importantly, Wrath is entertained.
“The mistress was very clear,” Pudge warbles, his words barely legible even to my sharp ears. “She bid you to come now,” he forces out after a moment.
“Fuck. Just … fuck.” Wrath grumbles in my chest, demanding more than I can give him with Hel yanking the chain forever tying me to her. Standing, I step closer, hovering over the males as I pump my cock frantically. And then I grip its tip and yank.
The pain forces the relief I’d hoped to savor. My balls quiver and cum spurts onto the males’ faces in heavy lines. Leaning over, I focus on their disparate reactions. The prince looks shocked and eternally disgusted, his priggish upbringing twisting his lips in a delightful grimace. His squire is resigned, eyes growing more dull as he faces his end. He watches me with a flat gaze while I slide my fingers through the sticky mess and exhale slowly, forcing them into the prince’s open mouth and dragging them along his dry tongue.
It's not the same. It hasn’t been the same since she left.
And every time I try and fail to find the release I felt only in her presence, it pisses me off more.
Rising, I pull my sword from the scabbard across my back. “This’ll have to do,” I mutter as I swing it down, taking both of their heads in one stroke. I don’t let my gaze stray, enthralled by the emotions that flicker into their expressions—the prince’s terror revealed in wide eyes and a mouth caught hanging open, and the squire’s relief evidenced by the barest smile.
It’s all I can offer my beast with that manipulative bitch demanding my presence. Still, satisfaction pulses in my chest—the fist in my gut unclenching a bit—as Wrath accepts my gift, settling for now.
