Excerpt from the “Monsters” series
by Heather Killough-Walden
Book one, “The Good, The Bad, The Cursed” coming 2018
He was furious. There were waves of anger radiating from him like ripples in an upset pond, and the truth was she knew it was her fault. She knew she’d pushed him too far with her words. With her promises. They were threats to him rather than promises, threats of another thousand lifetimes completely and utterly alone.
So now he was pissed. And in a way she’d never witnessed before.
Angela closed her eyes against the sudden, hard sensations that invaded her body, dug deep and made her feel. Her core lit on fire, but not in a bad way. It was a breathless evocation. It was inviting. It was not at all unpleasant.
It was just unwanted.
She’d fallen to her knees, her bound hands behind her, and she didn’t remember hitting the ground. She inhaled sharply and he slid his hand around her throat, tilting her head back against his shoulder. He’d taken a knee behind her.
His lips were at her ear. “I can teach you to find pleasure in absolutely anything I wish,” he told her in that deep voice and thick accent. “All I have to do is make you feel what you’re feeling right now. As I torture and kill those you hold dear, you will be climaxing again and again. Associating their suffering with intense, unforgiving bliss.”
She wanted to flinch away, but ultimately lost the battle and fell into his grasp as his free hand slid along her stomach to encircle her small waist and pull her further back against him. “The next few days can be terribly confusing for you,” he continued. She felt the beginnings of an orgasm work its insidiously delicious way through her body, and her skin flushed. He chuckled as he watched her; she could feel his gaze searing into her as he worked his dark magic. “Or you can cooperate. And there need be no ambivalence. We can leave the suffering out of it.”
He laughed again though, as his fingers inched her shirt up over her taut stomach, exposing an abdomen tightened in mounting pleasure. Wanton fury was coursing through her heated veins. She fought it with every ounce of her mind, but her mind was losing. “Well… to some degree,” he added darkly. “Sex is never quite as good without some amount of pain.”
Angela took a deep, quick breath when lucid thought suddenly broke through his spell and flooded her mind. It was what remained of her own magic, desperately trying to slice through his powerful web. The spell she needed was there, just for a flash, and she grabbed onto it like mad.
She hissed rapidly, “E nochtum quis nanda plu-” but he covered her mouth with his hand, silencing her spell at once, and yanked her hard against the solid muscle of his chest. Suddenly she was crying out against his palm as not only an intense orgasm ripped through her, but a hard, deep ache blossomed to life as well.
Immediately, she knew what it was. It was the pain they’d warned her about, the kind the Malek Taal were known to inflict on their prey as punishment. It was sexual longing at its foundations, but one so utterly intense, so deep and strong and completely thorough, no sane thought was given free passage through the Taal-maddened mind.
His pain and pleasure were birthed in the same place inside her, and the pain road the tailcoats of her pleasure through every molecule of her being. But as the pleasure ebbed away, the ache grew stronger, and the Malek Taal kept his grip firm, watching her from above as his punishing magic took over.
She felt her chest rise and fall as rapidly as her racing heart, and she knew it would please him. She knew it would satisfy the dominant sadist in him to take in every tiny detail of how she reacted to his manipulations. So she tried to reel it in, tried desperately to shield herself from his perceptions, to hide the primal effect he had on her. But he had silenced her strength in more ways than one, and in that moment, as his infamous punishment grew to an incessant, throbbing ache deep inside her that demanded attention and had her squirming in his tight grip, she realized she had never felt so helpless in her life.
He was winning. This time there were three strikes against her. He’d made every preparation. He’d planned out every careful step. And she’d pushed his final button. Now he exacted his plan with Machiavellian ruthlessness.
Her wrists were bruising in the cuffs he’d placed on her, despite their leather lining. She was simply pulling too hard, too violently.
“I imagine you’re feeling a little uncomfortable right now,” he said softly, so very softly, his accent-lilted words whispering across her skin, his lips beside her ear. She sobbed quietly, the sound hushed by that same hand over her mouth. “But I can help you. I can take that pain away.” Now he did whisper, and his breath against her flesh was laced with more insidious magic. “I know what you need. And I can make it all better, Angel.”
It was becoming too much. As his evil magic rose to a crescendo of agony, she went still in his arms, overwhelmed by her inescapable need. She moaned long and low, and he slowly removed his hand, letting the sound free.
“What do you say?” he asked, still whispering like a lover into her ear.
But she couldn’t say anything at all, and he knew it. All she could do was nod. Just once.
That was all it took.
“That’s my girl,” he said, and she could hear the smile in his words. The hand he held her throat with slid along her skin, grasping her chin to tilt it to the side and expose the column of her throat. She should have been terrified then, but she could not tense any further. Her entire body was a long, lithe vessel composed of completely flexed muscle and heated desperation.
So she only squeezed her eyes shut tight and hoped her teeth wouldn’t crack against each other as he parted his lips and his breath caressed the side of her neck. Her heart was a rapid-fire witness to her misery, and it was no doubt calling to him, speeding through that vein so close to his lips like a fast-flowing river of temptation.
Oh gods, just do it! she thought, wondering why he would make her suffer further when she had already acquiesced. But then she again realized what he was about to do, and the dwindling sanity within her thought, No, wait, please don’t –
And then the wait was over, as just like that his very sharp canines were sinking carefully but deeply into her artery.
Angela’s brown eyes flew open. She could feel them heat up, her captor’s power surging through her in complete domination, no doubt forcing them into amber light. It was probably very pretty – and she couldn’t have cared less. She was changing inside. It was only the beginning, but a switch had been flipped and the pieces had been set in motion.
He wasted no time in taking what he’d laid claim to the first moment he’d laid eyes on her. He pulled her blood out of her body and into his with barely measured impatience, and as he did, the ache inside her transformed. It continued to grow, but its pain was laced with the promise of absolution, with the almost-threat of culmination, and she had no choice but to welcome it with weak and open arms.
Copyright Heather Killough-Walden 2018
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