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I sense the unrest. The ghosts outside the walls, the encampments, are pulsing like a one-directional current. The normally dim luminescence of their eyes has become a lustful gleam. Their twisted and tormented souls hunger for the warmth of living essence. They swirl like a gray vortex around her.
Beating my wings in a ferocious arc, I soar over the walls. My heart pounds with primal drive, an irresistible urge to reclaimwhat is mine. Even with all the souls swarming her, feeding on her energy, raping her soul light, I could never miss her.
Fortifying my resolve, I dive and unleash a roar. The maddening roar of an avaricious predator reclaiming his prey. All scatter, recoiling, shuddering in terror, their shadows dispersing and clearing the way.
Wings swift and powerful, I land, fracturing the ground and shaking the human inches from me. She’s curled into the fetal position, holding her knees to her chest and trembling like a little white glowing bird in a dark gray nest. Scraps of her chemise, pink, mortal fabric, sprinkle the ground all around her. Those rosy curls are all that clothe her.
She shivers when my wings cast a shadow over her. Of course, she knows I am here, but she does not look up. Nor does she make a sound. Gooseflesh riddles her bare skin.
My fury softens. The darkness in my soul smothers me, robbing my breath at the sight of the strangulation bruises upon her fair neck. Bruises that bear my fingerprints. The fury turns inward and slams me into action.
Jaw clenching, I crouch, wrap my hands around her naked body, and sweep her into my arms. “Come, my Butterfly. I’m not finished with you yet. You are mine, Aradia.”
It eases my mind that she does not recoil, nor tremble. I bear her with a strong hold, then ascend on my wings, beating wind and dust in great gusts at the specters with their haunted mouths open.
I am a damn devil. A ravenous vagabond. After everything that’s occurred, I have no justification, no right to keep her here. Once I heal her, I should cease this vain and desperate attempt to possess her.
First, I carry her into the bath to wash her free of the touch and energies of the refugee souls. After I’ve scrubbed her curls and her face, her eyes are vacant and hollow as I slowly pry herarms from her chest before tilting up her chin to examine the marks. Our gazes meet, but she gives me nothing.
Without another word, I dive in and kiss down the curvature of her throat, healing her skin until it’s a shimmery pearlescent. She still does not move, barely fucking breathes.
Gods, what have I done?
Violent hunger tightens all my nerves. If I am going to set her free, then I may as well give us both some pleasure first. And study her responses to learn if I may still rouse her.
So, I cup her breast as I wash the other, flicking my eyes to hers. She swallows hard. Her nipple pebbles under my gritty coarse grip as I fondle her full mound and tweak the erect bud. Her toes curl. Her hips roll with her desire.
Good girl,I commend her.
I kiss her. Open her mouth and flick her tongue with mine. She gives no effort. Growling and chucking the washcloth to the floor, I take her jaw and tilt it, demanding more. She obeys, but that’s fucking all. No. She will not fucking fade. I won’t let her be my ghost after she’s gone.
Torturing myself like the wretched god I am, I grip her hips and haul her into my arms, imprisoning her mouth. She doesn’t stop me. Nor does she beg.
Driving her up against the nearest wall, I pry her legs apart with my knee and sink two fingers into her sex. Fuck, she’s already wet, her warm cream dampening her inner flesh and her outer folds.
The possession roars through me like a firestorm until I’m grinding my hardness against her, jamming my fingers in deeper. My heart is nothing but unbeating stone. I should dry her, dress her in a robe, and tuck her into bed before holding her through her trauma.
But it would be a lie.
She is the Butterfly who plays with the Beast. She is a human staring down this monster of a gargoyle. She is a machinator who can out-prank the original prankster. She has liquid lightning in her veins, fire in her heart, and deep waters in her soul.
Pink flaming lace meeting dark cold stone.
I lash my tongue all over her mouth, tasting her while pumping my rigid fingers into her heat. Her body softens beneath me until she’s flush and rocking her round hips with an instinctive, sweet mortal need.
She still doesn’t kiss me back.
Her floral scent drowns me. My balls draw up tight as small boulders. Careless if I’m naked, careless if I’m a mindless, primal gargoyle, I retrieve my fingers, feeling her lurch…and gush. When I rub my tip along her wet folds, she clenches her eyes, working against the pleasure. But her heart pounds beneath my chest, and her breasts grow heavy, the nipples hardening more.
Don’t stop kissing her. Don’t stop edging her.
I sink my crown deeper until it hits her slit. She hisses in my mouth. And shudders. I push. The care with which I must take, so I don’t break her sweet little pussy with my cock, will be the worst damned test for my resolve…and my aching balls.
Pausing, giving her swollen lips a reprieve, I gaze into her eyes as I slide my cock tip along her slit, thrusting by a hair to stretch her. Her eyes water from the stinging burn.
“Tell me to stop,” I growl above her lips.
“You should have stopped in the bath,” she says with her lips pressed to a grim seam. “You should have stopped when you nearly strangled the life out of me and pushed me to the floor. But…I don’t want you to.”
