Authors: Violet Walker
"I feel sort of gross," she admitted, sighing. "Can I wash my face in the bathroom?"
"Once we get to some-thousand feet. Just, stay put for now. I don't want you to trip and hit your head or anything."
His concern was touching, though odd. He appeared embarrassed by it too, like a child caught somewhere he wasn't supposed to be. Silence settled as the plane ascended, leaving Vegas and her old life far behind.
When it was safe to relax in the cabin, she slipped back into the bathroom to collect herself. She found a sink nicer than the one in the Luxor, where she could scrub away the layers of make-up she had applied for Mr. Seymour's approval. When it was gone, she felt naked. She remembered that Luthias still had her purse, which had her lipstick, and she still felt too weird to get it back from him. Face dry, she finally emerged from the bathroom, taking a seat beside Kieran at the bar. Kidnapper or not, Kieran was far more approachable than his brother.
"You look better without all that crap on your face," Kieran said, blunt.
She blushed, and he grinned as he knocked back a shot. He was sweet.
"You have questions, yeah?"
"Yeah," she said, smiling weakly.
"First one?"
"I guess...who is Emilie?"
At this, his carefree manner lessened. A solemn air settled, even as he poured himself another drink, persisting as he smiled.
"To put it bluntly, my daughter, Luthias' mate," he said. "She was...rebellious. Luthias started courting her just to piss me off, I think, and incest happens just enough with demon royals that no one really cared but me. But that son of a bitch got my daughter, and they were...hell, they were happy. Until..."
He shook his head, setting down his glass.
"Other things to explain first. You really don't know anything about demons?"
"Nothing," she said, though she really wished he would tell her more about Emilie first. For now though, she would listen.
"Way way back, there was this 'spirit of chaos' who decided to screw a bunch of animals, who gave birth to the demon breeds.’ Noble demons' are the ones that have dual forms, one animal and one human, which they generally use to bang. Main nobles are the Wolves, Snakes, Cats, Bears—and us, the Canines. We're sort of top dog, literally."
He chuckled, and she noticed again the length of his nails as he tapped them on the counter, thinking.
"The noble demons all have their own kingdoms. Ours is the oldest. No one messes with the Canines, especially not with their lords. The Cennasaí. Right now, that's Luthias. When he finally kicks the bucket, it'll be his son, Avery."
"He has a son?" she asked, surprised.
"Yeah. My grandson," he said. "All grown up now. He's all his mother left behind, before you."
"I don't understand," Elizabeth said, though she was already beginning to piece it together.
"Luthias is an old, stubborn bastard," Kieran said. "If nothing kills us, we're pretty much immortal. Our souls are reincarnated, when we do pass. When Emilie died, he said he'd never stop looking for her. I never thought he'd actually find anything, but by some miracle, he found you."
He smiled at her, as this information sunk in. Elizabeth didn't know what to say.
"You mean...I'm Emilie?" she asked.
"Her soul. Yeah." Kieran laughed a little, to break the tension. "I know how it sounds, but you look just like her. Blonde instead of brunette, maybe a bit paler, but you're her. And if you're her, that means you're demon."
The inside of her head felt like mush. She was floored that he could claim something like that so casually—that she was the reincarnation of his deceased daughter. Yet even as she grasped futilely for something to fill the silence, he had gotten a new glass from under the counter and poured her a spirit.
"Guessing you need a drink."
She managed a nod, and he pushed it her way.
"Don't blame you."
Elizabeth didn't know she was shaking until she lifted the glass, but it didn't keep her from finishing the drink. Whatever it was, it burned her throat, making her cough. She pushed it back to him, mumbling for a refill, which he obliged.
"I noticed you've got a bit of a limp. Something happen?" Kieran asked.
"Yeah, accident," she sighed. "It's fine now."
"We'll get someone to look at it when we get to the castle."
Castle. She wasn't slightly ready to think about that.
After a couple of drinks, she realized Luthias wasn't in the main cabin. Not quite drunk, but still not sober, she found herself wandering away to investigate.
"Exploring?" Kieran called after her.
"Yeah..."
She discovered there was an actual hallway, with a door to another room left slightly ajar. Although she knew that the last thing she should be doing was poking around a demon's lair, it might have been the alcohol that led her to push the door open. Behind it was a bedroom, the queen-sized bed made neatly with silky white sheets, only the couple of "safety seats" installed on the far wall betraying that this was still an airplane. Luthias was there, standing in front of a mirror by the wall with his shirt half open, his hand still on one of the buttons when he heard the door open.
They were both motionless as their eyes locked, as Elizabeth finally understood that seemingly cold expression. Soon though, the spell was broken. She pressed back, almost to run, but pressure on her injured foot made her curse and stop. All at once, his coldness faded into surprising concern.
"Come in. I smell blood."
His words didn't exactly set her at ease, but seeing him open a closet and pull out a very normal first aid kit, she saw no reason not to accept his request. She closed the door behind her, limping a bit more to the bed, where she finally pushed off her heels. Blood had soaked through the gauze—she didn't even want to think of looking underneath.
"I stepped on some glass," she said, not knowing why she felt the need to explain herself. "I didn't really have any time to do anything about it before I went to work."
"As a prostitute," he said, matter of fact. He knelt down before her to open the kit.
"An escort..."
"You get paid for your time and sex is an option. It's prostitution."
Luthias unwound a roll of gauze, cutting it with his teeth.
"You're better than that," he said.
He was so certain of everything he said. His calm was unlike anything she had ever known, fostered by this undercurrent of power. She could see it more than ever now, as his unbuttoned shirt hung fully open to reveal a chest chiseled like marble, biceps bulging just beneath thin white fabric of his long sleeves. He removed the gauze, lifting her heel to rest on his knee so he could clean the gash with alcohol. Soon he wrapped it tight with the white bandage, finishing his work. Despite her lingering anxiety, his gentleness with her now made her heart pound.
Too soon, he set her foot down, closing up the kit. He tossed the discarded bandage in a bin and returned to the closet, still so quiet. As her fear of him faded, a combination of the alcohol and his care, she tried to remember her tricks for conversation. After all, it was the escort's job to give her client a good time. Those stranger questions about Emilie, his thinking she was his mate, and all of the demon weirdness would have to wait until she was sober.
"What were you doing back here, all by yourself?"
Luthias showed initial surprise at being questioned. He closed the closet door, not answering immediately.
"I was considering a change of clothes. I've no need to blend with humans at the castle."
"So your plan was to kidnap me, put on a change of clothes, and lock me in your castle?" She giggled, a little drunker than she thought.
He gave her a look that said he wasn't amused, though the slightest twitch of his lips betrayed otherwise.
"I've no plans to lock you anywhere."
Luthias would lean back against the wall, appearing to relax for the first time that day. Loose strands of his raven hair had fallen into his face, and he didn't move to brush them away. She couldn't help but notice the rise and fall of that chest in his open shirt. A primal desire stirred in her as she imagined herself pressing her fingers into those hard muscles, tracing the ridges in his abdomen, as he showed her how a virile man took his woman. Try as she might, she couldn't push these thoughts away.
"If you're not going to lock me up...what are you going to do?"
His eyes traced her as hers had traced him. He answered as smoothly as before, though she could see the want in his eyes.
"I plan to provide a better life for you," he said. "Kieran told you who you are to me. I make no assumptions that the same will become of us, in this lifetime. I vowed that when I found you, if you were content with your life, I would leave you alone. However, upon finding you a prostitute in Las Vegas, I chose to intervene. You can do whatever you want with your time in my castle, but I expect that you will take advantage of the resources I provide you. There will be tutors, coaches, and ambassadors to take you places you wish to see. Is that acceptable?"
She laughed in sheer disbelief. If she was sober, she would have cried.
"What's the catch?" she asked, unwilling to believe this. "You'd just take a girl off the street and give her free lodging and education?"
"There's no catch," he said. "I just want you to be happy."
He averted his gaze; she glimpsed a terrible sadness in him, just beneath the surface.
"Consider it repayment of an old debt."
Suddenly uncomfortable, he quickly began to button up his shirt, heading to the door.
"You can sleep in here for the remainder of the flight," he said to her. "Kieran will wake you when we begin the descent."
Luthias left before she could say anything. Feeling strangely out of place, she would lay down. She crawled beneath the covers and found it was heaven. She curled up into a little ball there, all by herself in a huge bed, and hugged a pillow to her chest. Even her foot hurt less. She would never have to go back to that horrible apartment, never have to pick up at Stedman's call, and she would never again have to touch a withered old man for money. The violence she had witnessed earlier was quickly being clouded by this dreamlike realization. The rest of the plane ride was the best sleep she had had in all her life.
T
hey had been right to avoid describing Luthias' estate. Both the castle and the island it was built on belonged to him, as he was truly lord to not only the citizens who lived in the small island city—Canine Demons, all enjoying a human-free refuge of an uncharted isle—but also all the Canine Demons in settlements throughout the world. On her first day there Elizabeth was astonished by the sheer number of diplomats all waiting to meet with Lord Cennasaí, keeping him tied up in appointments from the hour they landed for days afterward. Apparently his vacation to fetch her had not been well-received.
For someone still wrestling with the mere concept of demons, the immensity of this unknown society was overwhelming for Elizabeth. It didn't help that with Luthias tied up with lordly duties, she was being handed between tutors and handmaidens all trying to prepare her for the expectations of being Lord Cennasaí's potential woman, though none seemed to know what to think of her. Able only to see him in passing the first few weeks, she wasn't all that sure what to think, either.
The castle itself was beautiful. Built directly into the mountainside, the stone towers were a testament to true gothic architecture, ornately detailed from every angle. Haunting statues littered the grounds, yet the palace gardens were serene in spite of them, saturated with lilies and roses of all shades. Even so, Elizabeth found the most beautiful place of all was the shoreline, which lay just a short walk outside the castle grounds. She spent a great deal of time there, often with Prince Kieran, who took every opportunity he could to avoid business at the palace. It was easy to begin to see him as a father, of sorts. He was kind, always looking out for her—it was more a father than she had ever known, at least.
Prince Avery was far more complicated. Elizabeth knew of him, and he seemed to know of her, yet Avery seemed to go out of his way to avoid interaction. She knew it must be strange, her looking like his dead mother, but she thought she at least deserved a conversation. Unfortunately, that didn't seem possible. At best he was indifferent—at worst, openly hostile, as she felt his black eyes tracing her when she passed, an almost-sneer disfiguring his otherwise handsome features. She did her best not to bother him.
Some weeks went by where she honored the status quo, allowing the tutors to shape her into the woman the palace expected her to be. She learned to endure corsets for the Canines' strangely Victorian fashions, and how to politely decline the bloodier cuts of steak. But of course, she grew bored, and her mind wandered. Grateful as she was for the sudden life of finery, it couldn't distract from the questions she still had yet to answer.
More powerful than boredom, however, was a growing desire to know Luthias. Thoughts of him began to cloud her mind. Whenever she got a glimpse of him, whispers of lust swirled about her thoughts. Her initial attraction to him had been amplified by her gratitude. As she began to feel alone in that large bedroom she hardly deserved, she resolved to finally break the silence between them.
That evening, Elizabeth wore the closest thing to a modern dress she could get her hands on, though the servant who had helped her dress insisted that she be laced into a corset regardless. The plunging neckline emphasized her breast, squeezed tight to bursting into the bodice, though the long skirt provided a more natural emphasis to her hips and thighs. As she let her long hair fall from the bun that had secured it all day, she glanced into the mirror behind her, seeing the tresses tangle around her shoulders. She wasn't sure why she was hesitating. All she wanted was to talk, and if something else happened, or if it didn't, that was fine.
Navigating the palace halls by torchlight was more difficult than she had thought. Elizabeth made more than one wrong turn before she slumped back against a stone wall, frustrated with herself. She gave a start when she realized she wasn't alone. Prince Avery stood before her, arms folded, a brow raised. He was the spitting image of his father, though of a slighter build and neatly cropped hair.
"What are you doing in this wing?"
She paled. Did she lie? She technically wasn't doing anything wrong.
"I was looking for your father," she blurted out.
As expected, Avery was annoyed. And then, he surprised her. He stepped aside and gestured down the hall, even as he rolled his eyes.
"Just keep going until you hit the door," he said. "Knock first."
It was the most conversation they had had. She tried to thank him, but he had already turned the corner, the thud of his boots his only word of departure. She sighed, continuing on.
The door was just a door, no more intimidating than any other—yet, she stood frozen before it, unable even to raise a hand to knock. What if he refused her? What if he didn't?
She wouldn't get the chance to change her mind. The door opened. There Luthias stood, robe open and shirtless, showing a glimpse of that body that made her heart do flips. He seemed as surprised as she was before he suppressed his expression.
"It's late," he said.
She bit her lip, looking at his.
"I know," she said.
They regarded one another, something passing between them in the silence. He stepped aside, allowing her in.
Hearing the door close behind them, her hesitation returned. She surveyed the room to find it surprisingly bare: although the bed was large and fitted with fine sheets, he had nothing else but a dresser and a simple mirror, before which was an old-fashioned wash basin and a damp cloth. The walls were unadorned, except for a large portrait, shrouded by a thick black sheet.
"I don't spend much time here," he said, as if hearing her unvoiced confusion.
"I guess there's no one to impress," she murmured.
She regretted her words even before she turned to see his reaction; his expression flickered with pain, but he had yet to reveal any sort of authentic emotion. She had to assume that the moment he had murdered Mr. Seymour was as unguarded as he had ever been with her.
"I wanted to thank you," she said. "I'm still afraid that I'm not who you think I am, but you've done so much for me that...it doesn't really matter..."
He watched her closely. Again she felt that lightness of breath, along with a sort of dizziness that only happened when it was him who stared at her like this.
"Is that all?" he asked.
"...no..."
With a step, she lessened the distance between them. His back still against the door, she was near enough that she had to tilt back to see him fully, reminded of his height.
"I think of you more often than I can say," she confessed. "We've hardly spoken, but I feel somehow that..."
She stopped, unable to put this into words. Unable to read his expression, she pulled back, ashamed.
"Forgive—“
Before she could apologize, he was kissing her. Far from an innocent first kiss, this one involved such a ravenous desire that his teeth grew as sharp as Kieran's, leading to the taste of iron drawn by pinprick nicks in her fragile lip. Her back hit the wall with a thud as she was shown the extent of the strength she had seen in each flex of his body, always draped in clothes that did no justice to the magnificent form beneath. Her wrists were immobile in his firm grip, pinned above her head while he kissed her just as long as he damn well pleased, tongue finding its way through this new mouth that grew hungrier for him the more it was given.
He pulled back suddenly, carnal desire in golden eyes that were once so distant. The words he spoke were tainted by a trembling growl.
"Is this what you want?"
Admittedly, his intensity frightened her. Reason told her to pry herself away now, before she got herself hurt. But it wasn't reason that had brought her to his room that night. She was already breathing heavy, causing a sharp rise and fall to her huge breasts, already squeezed together and lifted by a corset that she was regretting terribly. When she saw his gaze lower down to this steady heave of her plunging cleavage, felt a massive erection pressing into her hip, all remnants of reason were doused by the dampness between her thighs.
"Yes," she whispered.
Unable to move her hands, held fast by his grip, she inhaled and arched back to invite him to her endowments. He accepted the invitation. He dropped her hands and released her from her dress, sliding the sleeves from her shoulders so that the unsupported gown fell in a heap around her feet, a heap soon dressed with his own discarded robe. Faced now with her corset, she gasped with both alarm and a rush of relief when he tore it apart, breaking steal boning like it was nothing. Her breasts bounced free. The ruined garment was tossed aside as he lifted her beneath her rear, Elizabeth hooking her legs around his waist and her arms around his neck, so he could suck each teat where it rest at eye level.
She was surprised by the act, which was all but gentle, even as his sucking made her moan and her slit moisten. Held up like this, squeezing her legs tighter around his back to steady herself, she could lean her forehead against the top of his head. He finished sucking her right nipple and took in her left, lowly rolling the peak with his tongue as he pressed his face into the whole of the large breast, like a pillow of warmth against his forehead. Her fingers tangled then in his thick black locks, moans escaping her steadily. When his tongue stopped the roll and flicked her peak up once between his teeth, she cried out with pleasure.
"L-Luthias...I'm so wet..."
Elizabeth wouldn't be able to see her partner's smirk, hidden against her heavy mounds. This was a nice change, he thought.
"Do you need me?" he asked, as though his own erection didn't just hurt with want of her, and the scent of her damp underwear to his sensitive nose wasn't making him throb.
"Yes," she cried. "Oh please..."
"Then call me your lord."
"My lord, please," she whispered, without hesitation. "Fill me up."
He almost came right then, but restrained himself. He carried her to the bed, where he laid her on her back. Seeing her there, her golden hair fanned out beneath her as she stared up at him with such grateful, wanting eyes, he would have given her the moon and stars. Emilie didn't cross his mind. He wanted her now—Elizabeth, more perfect than he ever could have imagined.
Luthias stumbled almost ungracefully out of his drawers, but saw her sliding off her underwear with similar haste—he held back a smile. He approached and she laid back again, breasts no less impressive when she was on her back, and her stomach so smooth and taut he was distracted enough to lean down to kiss it. He wasn't disturbed when he saw the soft downy curls around her nethers, blonde as her beautiful waves. He slid down further and indulged his curiosity, a long tongue lapping up wetness between her folds, finding it metallic and far from unpleasant. He sucked her clit as he had sucked her tits, and that drew from her a moan so loud he knew it would wake the servants, which made him do it all over again.
"Luthias," came her pathetic whimper, and he was so hard his dick had all but embedded itself deep in the mattress. Unable to control himself anymore, he held himself over her. To his great satisfaction, she spread her legs wide, knees up and toes digging into the sheets, her gaze begging him to proceed.
Elizabeth knew she should have been more worried when she saw the size of his member, which was as boast-worthy as the rest of his naked form. Each part of him was not only defined, but bulging, arms like beams and even his thighs and calves a dense collection of perfectly formed meat and tendons. But that cock, like a small limb at its hardest, proved the most surprising part of him. She felt him sink deep and assumed that was all, but then he stretched her further. She was so wet by this point that she just splayed her legs further apart to let him stuff her like a Thanksgiving turkey, and reached back to the headboard to steady herself as he began to thrust—never leaving her completely, never able to. She squeezed him inside her, the friction of skin pulling in and out massaged her sweet spot until joyful tears formed in her eyes. She screamed and laughed, until at last she gasped with release. Her inner walls came down around him, shaking up and down, making him come with her.
Elizabeth didn't give a second thought to the thick juices of his release that would coat her insides, remaining even after he slid from within her. He collapsed beside her, his impeccable composure finally lost. The mask of indifference was gone now, and Elizabeth could see instead a man, calmed by release and somewhat vulnerable in his sleepiness. He laid on his side, staring at her; she rolled onto her side to return the gaze. She began to smile. Before he could do anything, she leaned forward, giving him a gentle kiss.
Luthias.
For the first time in her life, she felt like she was home.
For Luthias, unable to imagine another time when he had been kissed so simply, so kindly, after such a wild act, he found himself observing this woman with new eyes. Emilie, the temptress who had broken his will, now reborn again as this docile, beautiful spirit. He couldn't believe it. He lifted a lock of her golden hair, as if to confirm that she was real.
Elizabeth.
Over a hundred years since his mate's passing, they had found each other again.