Once more he stopped on the brink. A step away from the abyss, Silas reared back, stilling inside me, watching with dark eyes and a smirking mouth. He waited until my heart settled somewhat, until my breath slowed, until the wind kissed my tearstained cheeks. I swallowed hard, unsure of when I’d started to weep, unsure of what it meant.
And then he started up again. And again. And again. Dragging me to the edge over and over, ruthless in his pursuit, licking my tears away and laughing darkly, softly, secretly in my ear whenever my body dared tighten around him. Every time he stopped.
I caught his name before it spilled from my lips, pressing them tightly together the next awful time he stilled and biting down hard on the insides of my cheeks. Even if I tried to roll my hips against him, to chase my own pleasure, Silas merely bore down harder, stilling me, the hand in my hair twisting just enough to send a warning. Blinking up at him through watery eyes, I asked a question without uttering a sound.
When will it be over?
He loosened his grip on my golden-brown locks, smoothing his harsh hand down my jaw, my neck, thumb resting over my racing little pulse point.
“Be mine, goddess,” he whispered. For a fleeting moment, he sounded just as tortured as I felt. Just as ruined, just as frayed, teetering on the edge of his own personal oblivion. Something soft nudged the corner of my mouth, and I flinched, suddenly aware of the chaos swirling around us—of the hand next to me, presenting me with the one thing that would bring this to an end.
A pomegranate seed. Plump and juicy and deep red. Tart, from the smell. My mouth watered, but I turned away from the offering. I had to, didn’t I? Refusal was what he deserved, what they all deserved.
“No,” I whispered, gaze sliding along the sea of grotesque faces, the grey cloaks, the black-gloved hands. The storm was here, all around me, and my resolve remained—but for how much longer?
His hand returned to my hair. His scruff grated my cheek as he resumed his punishing pace, pounding into me, dragging me kicking and screaming to the brink. And out of the corner of my eye, the seed remained. I scrunched my eyes shut, trembling beneath him, arching up to meet his every thrust, unable to take a second more.
“S-Silas—”
“You want to come, Ríona?” Ree-in-ock. He snarled my name like a curse, like I was torturing him. “Eat the fucking pomegranate seeds.”
I exhaled a breathy whine, heels digging into his back, so, so, so close. If he stopped again, I might just die. “But—”
“Eat them, goddess,” he urged, licking up the column of my throat, nipping at my ear, “and I’ll give you my kingdom… I’ll give you what you need.”
In that moment, my body seized control. My mind retreated and my body charged. And my heart… My heart ached. I tipped my head to the side, eyes fluttering open, mouth parted just enough for a sweetly murmuring acolyte to slip the first seed between my lips. I held it for but a moment before squishing it with my tongue. An explosion of tartness assaulted my taste buds, and a long, low, treacherous moan echoed deep inside me.
Silas eased away, hips rocking slower now, and held himself up with hands planted on either side of my chest. Exposing me. Showing me off—delivering my surrender to his flock. After the first seed came the second, then the third. Soon, I was rising up to meet the hand that fed me, accepting the offering with my eyes wide open.
Six pomegranate seeds I consumed.
Six months of winter.
Six long months of darkness.
The warlock between my thighs stilled, then forced my mouth open, fingers crushing my cheeks. He examined me with his hooded gaze, with a probing thumb, confirming I had swallowed every last seed. It was only then, in the brief shock of lightning, that I noticed the toll this had taken on him. Every muscle stood taut, the strain painfully obvious across his sculpted torso. A thin sheen of sweat coated him, his body glistening in the dancing blue torchlight. But what struck me most of all was his smile.
Victorious. Smug.
Perhaps even a bit relieved.
He had succeeded tonight—he had stolen the bride of spring, taken her, seduced her. He had sealed her surrender in pomegranate seeds and assured the impending darkness.
Silas raised a triumphant fist, a little chuckle slipping free when the crowd roared. Victory. Victory for their devil god. Victory for their black magic. Victory for their shepherd.
But this shepherd still owed me oblivion.
I rocked my hips to remind him, squeezing my thighs around my glorious dark stallion and digging my heels insistently into his back. As the red-cloaked acolytes fell away from the altar, drifting into the shrieking, singing, cackling crowd, I didn’t care about Silas’s smugness. I didn’t care that he knew he had me right where he wanted me.
I just wanted oblivion. He’d promised me his kingdom, but I only asked for this one small token.
Hiking up my leg once more, Silas returned to me, his lips to my neck, his teeth to my flesh, his scruff grating with the first violent thrust. I moaned in earnest this time and tugged at my restraints, wishing I could twine my fingers through those surprisingly soft locks. Instead, I settled for a sharp nip at his temple, little bumps littering my flesh when his dark laughter washed over me.
He was a man of his word, this warlock, taking me hard and fast, driving me into the altar on a bed of wine-stained honeysuckle. Every buck of his hips grazed my clit. Every forceful thrust stoked the fires within, brought me one step closer to the abyss. I writhed and mewled beneath him, chasing the high for myself, not just relying on his skillful touch to take me there.
And when I finally came undone, the darkness fled. Light and color danced beneath my lids, body racked with white-hot pleasure, the kind that tattooed this moment onto my bones. I had no control over the way his name tumbled from my lips, nor did I stop myself from nuzzling into his onyx waves. Both gestures, small acts of intimacy that only we would know of, seemed to spur him on, his pace frantic, his hands punishing.
“Ríona…” No overenunciating this time. Silas murmured my name like a prayer, like I was his dark goddess and there truly was no other. My waning climax renewed, sweeping over me as oozing lava, slow and torturous and endless. Pain sliced through the pleasure, his teeth on my shoulder, and he bit down when his rhythm faltered, his body tensed, hips jerking as he spilled himself inside me.
We stayed like that for some time, bodies entwined atop a black altar, chasing our breaths as the storm rolled in. The sky seemed to darken above us, the air cooling. Slowly, Silas drifted down my body, his cheek eventually settling on my chest, an ear to my heart. Blinking through the fading bliss, I squinted against the next bolt of lightning, bright white and fierce, as if cast by Thor himself—had the god not perished in Ragnarök. Thunder crashed heavier now, rumbling the foundations of the stone table beneath me.
A twinge of pain itched in my wrists, radiating down my arms with the slightest movement. Breath reclaimed, pulse slowing, the rest of the world drifted back into focus. A quick glance around showed an empty clearing, the last of the grey-cloaked coven sauntering through the wedding arch. My fireflies had returned, illuminating the gnarled branches, the dried summer blooms. Nature crept back into the space: the wind, the clatter of branches, the mournful howl of a lone white wolf. Blue hellfire still danced atop its torches; it would paint my grove azure each night for the next six months.