The Demon Lord’s Cloak

Chapter 6

Damien didn’t go to the stables. Instead, he slipped through the cellar door and up a narrow staircase to a secret passage behind his room. There he watched through a spy hole as Voletta rushed into the room, leaving the door ajar, and flung herself on his bed and cried.

His heart ached, and he wished that he could go to her, but he didn’t want to see the accusation in her eyes. He knew she doubted him and could understand it because he did intend to keep her there even if she didn’t want to stay.

He had no doubt that, with her soft heart, she would come around eventually.

Damien wished he could lie down beside her and pull her into his arms to soothe away her worries. Her little fists pounded the pillow, and she cried harder, her sobs shaking her shoulders.

His fingers dug into the stone of the passage wall. He couldn’t tear himself away. Instead, he watched, each sob deepening his remorse and strengthening his resolve to make her happy.

Her cries lessened, and she lifted her head. Her tear-filled gaze narrowed on the trunk. She slipped off the mattressandwalked toward it, hiccoughing softly. She lifted the lid and pulled out the black cloak.

What was it with the cloak?

She walked back to the bed, sat cross-legged, and began to tear the pelt from the collar of the cloak, using her teeth to bite the stitches.

Wondering what she was about, he stayed stock-still because something in her expression was so intent, so focused, he knew he was about to learn something very important.

When the last of the stitches had been removed, she laid it to the side and stripped off her clothing. Then she lifted the pelt, smoothed a hand over it lovingly, and swung it back to cover her shoulders.

From one moment to the next, her head jerked forward, her hands came down on the mattress, and the pelt seemed to creep across her skin, flowing down her arms and legs to cover her pale skin in glossy, red fur. Her body shrank until, in her place on the bed, stood a small red fox.

At last, he understood what had been so different about her. She wasn’t from the village, and she wasn’t even human.

And he knew his little were-fox intended to bolt.

“Lock the doors,” he said aloud, knowing all the latches would instantly be in place.

Damien watched the fox jump from the bed and run toward the door as it slammed closed in front of her. She yipped, pacing in front of the door, then scratched and used her teeth to try to bite the wood to shred it.

When it became obvious her route of escape was closed, she circled the room, her tail straightening behind her as she ran around and around.

He watched her for a very long time until she’d exhausted herself. Then, her narrow chest heaving, she leaped back up to the bed, and reached behind her shoulder with her snout to bite into her fur, tugging it away from her skin, sweeping it away, the action pulling and stretching her skin and body, until she transformed.

Voletta curled into a ball in the center of the mattress, panting softly.

He pushed a lever to open the wall and stepped inside the room, walking quickly toward the bed.

Reaching over Voletta, he plucked the fur from her fingers.

She lifted her head, tears streaming down her face, exhaustion lending purple shadows beneath her eyes. “You cannot keep me here,” she said, her voice ragged. “I can’t be caged.”

Damien rolled the fox fur into a small bundle.

Her gaze darted toward it, widening. “Please give it back.”

He shook his head, his jaw clenching. “You’ll stay with me—in whatever form I wish.”

She came up on her knees, her hands outstretched toward the fur. “I don’t belong to you. I’m not an object—I’m a person. If you keep me here, trap me, I’ll come to hate you.”

“Nevertheless,” he said coldly, “you’ll remain with me. I’ll have the use of you.” He walked from the room, shutting the door behind him, pausing only long enough to hear the dull click as the wooden latch fell into place on the outside of the door.

Within the room, Voletta threw back her head and howled, knowing she’d made a horrible mistake, knowing time was fleeing, and soon she would indeed be trapped with him for an eternity. No mere sixty years of existence. As a were-creature, she’d be condemned within these walls for all her life. She’d never run through the forest again with pine needles prickling the pads of her paws. She’d never smell the rich, deep scents of a wild forest—warm, musty resin, lush greenery, pine needles releasing their scent as they were crushed beneath her running feet.

The smells would be replaced by the heavy, cloying perfumes of the flowers in his garden.

She’d thought she was falling in love with him and that he was coming to care for her, but his affection had been a lie, a ruse. He couldn’t love her and do this to her.

She pulled the edges of the blankets around her, snuffling, sobbing softly. She burrowed her face into the down pillow and eventually fell asleep.

Damien rode until dusk fell, around and around the far edges of the outer curtain wall, until both he and his horse were bored with the view and had spent themselves. However, no matter how far or fast or hard he pushed the horse and himself he couldn’t escape the memory of her expression as she’d faced him.

She would come to hate him. Slowly, he came to the realization he would come to hate himself as well.

He didn’t know if he could bear to see the wonder and affection leach from her expression over time. But could he give her up? He’d be alone for another one hundred years, and even then, would he have the heart to let another woman inside after having Voletta?

He turned his horse toward the keep. Together, their bodies trembling from exertion, they headed back to face her. Once inside the portcullis, he spied a small figure huddled on the steps of the keep. She’d remembered she could command the servants inside to release her.

He brought his horse to a halt in front of her and looked down at Voletta, who sat with her arms wrapped around her knees. She looked small and forlorn as her eyes rested on him, sweeping over his body and his horse before sliding away.

He dismounted and flung away the reins. “Take him to his stall and rub him down. Feed him,” he commanded his invisible retainers.

Then, he drew a deep breath and approached Voletta. He held out his hand to her.

She stared at it for a long time, then looked up at him. Her expression was devoid of anger. Only a deep melancholy dragged the corners of her lips downward and shadowed her eyes.

He thought he would have preferred if she spit and clawed at him. This quiet sadness made his stomach knotandcaused a pain in his chest that he suspected was regret.

She placed her palm inside his, and he pulled her to her feet. Together they walked inside the keep and up the stairs to his chamber. She didn’t demur, didn’t try to draw away. Her leaden footsteps told him she’d not fight him.

Damien grew slowly angry the closer they drew to his chamber door. Where was her fire? Why wasn’t she fighting him? Pleading with him? Her dampened mood fed a quiet fury that built inside him. That his anger was directed at himself, he recognizedbut itdidn’t help melt the cold resolve freezing hard inside his chest.

At the open door, she glanced at the bed, and her chin came up.

Maybe there was a little defiance left in her. Good. He would use it.

“Bring a pillow from the bed,” he said quietly, but firmly.

Her gaze swung toward him, and her lips thinned.

“A pillow,” he bit out. “Bring it.” He flung away her hand and began to strip away his clothing.

She stared at him. With his legs braced apart, his hands on his naked hips, every muscle tense, he knew he intimidated her. Again, he felt a deep satisfaction as her eyes widened. “As long as you are stubborn, this is how it will be between us. Now, bring the pillow. I’m thinking only of your comfort, love.”

Her gaze narrowed, and an angry wash of flame seared her cheeks. She turned on her heels and stomped toward the bed, grabbing a fat pillow and tossing it at his head.

He caught it easily and smiled, then dropped it to the floor between his feet. “You know what I demand.”

“I’m afraid I don’t,” she murmured, tossing back her hair.

“Then let me explain. You will come to me and take my cock between your hands and into your mouth.”

“I won’t do it.”

“You will because you know what I will give you in return.”

“You think you can tempt me with your lovemaking?” she said, her voice even and tight. “Well, there is no love, and this isn’t what I want.”

“I will make you crave the taste of me because each time you submit, I’ll reciprocate, giving you many more times the pleasure you give me.”

Her chest rose and fell quickly, her breaths shortening. “I will hate you.”

“So be it, but you will still come, howling my name.”

Tears shimmered in her eyes, but she took wooden steps toward him when he lifted his hand to beckon her closer. When she stood in front of him, he grasped her shoulders and forced her to her knees on the pillow.

“I don’t know what to do,” she said so softly he had to strain to hear the words.

“You’ve held me before. Stroke me with your hands. Take the tip of me into your mouth and suckle.”

Her eyes closed for a moment, then she reached up and grasped his thickened shaft.

Damien fought to control his own breath as she rubbed her hands up and down his length and leaned close. Her tongue wet her lips, and he nearly groaned, then couldn’t help but let one loose when her mouth opened wide and engulfed the crown of his cock in moist heat.

His fingers combed through her red hair, encouraging her to take more of him as she glided her mouth forward and back, letting his cock ride the length of her tongue and deeper into her throat.

She didn’t gag, didn’t pull away. She swallowed around him, her throat working to caress him as he stroked in and out. One small hand gripped his shaft, working down and up, gliding in the moisture from her mouth, while the other reached beneath to gently cup his ballocks.

Damien stared down at her, drinking in the sight of her mouth working his flesh, storing memories even while he let his anger consume him. He’d fuck her mouth, fuck her body in ways she couldn’t yet imagine. She’d remember him always, as he’d remember her for an eternity.

When his balls tightened, drawing close to his groin, and his thighs tensed, he knew he was close to release. He’d wanted to drench her throat with his seed but changed his mind, wanting her body beneath his, her thighs wrapped tightly around his hips when he came. He wanted to be held close to her, drink in her scent, andsink into her silken depths.

Damien tugged her hair, drawing her off his cock, and bent to pick her up.

Voletta lay inside his arms, her wide, golden eyes never leaving his face, her nostrils flaring, catching his heightened scent.

In three strides, he laid her on the bed and grabbed the neck of her bliaut, ripping it away, along with her snowy chemise. With her legs splayed wide and her arms lying limply on the mattress, he knew she surrendered to the passion, but wouldn’t give him everything he wanted. She’d withhold her participation.

Fine. He had her where he needed her. Soon, he’d press past her silent resistance. He’d find the fire burning inside her and lick the flames higher. Maybe, he could even convince her she couldn’t live without this, without him.

He crawled onto the bed between her legs and came over her, resting on his hands as he rooted with his cock between her legs, finding her slick folds and sliding through them and into her in a single, easy glide.

He’d done that, stretched her to accommodate his size, breached her innocence to claim her. As he stroked inside, slowly at first, he reminded her with his slow, steady thrusts, who had taught her about love, who had been the first to enter her body and her heart.

Voletta clutched the bedding beneath her, fighting the urge to reach up and glide her hands over his sweat-slicked skin. She didn’t want to give him anything. She wanted him to know that even while he moved inside her, she held back a part of herself.

While she’d sucked his sex deep into her mouth, she’d fought the urge to moan around him. The taste of his musk and the scent of his warm skin had been too delicious.

When his body had tightened, she’d felt elation lift her spirits that she’d been able to rouse him so. She’d been tempted to explore beyond the confines of his command to see him tremble, see him lose control.

Instead, he’d pulled her awayandcarried her to his bed, once again asserting his dominance by rising over her, stroking inside her. She clutched the bedding to prevent herself from giving him more. Never did she want him to know how close she’d come to surrendering completely to his will.

She loved him and knew it would be so easy for him to consume her. She had no experience with men and had built no defenses against his dark allure.

Again, he stroked inside her, rooting deeper, filling her inside, overwhelming her outside. When his arms thrust beneath her thighs to lift her bottom from the bed, her heart leaped at this next proof of his power. He could take her, force her body to accept him, and make passion blossom inside her without her surrendering.

Even now, his cock stroked inside her walls, swelling her sex around him to clasp him tighter. Wet, succulent sounds betrayed the excitement building in her core.

On his knees now, he wrestled her hips higher, pulling her up to meet his quickening thrusts. Unable to hold back her response a moment longer, her back arched off the mattress, her hips circled on his cock, and a ragged moan slipped between her lips.

A satisfied smile curved his lips, and he halted his movements.

Her sex clenched around him, urging him silently to continue, but he leaned over her, pushing her thighs higher into her chest. Then he reached along her arms and pried her fingers from the bedding. “Hold your legs close to yourself, and do not let go,” he urged her.

With her breaths rasping, she did as he asked. He sat back on his haunches and smoothed his hands down the backs of her thighs until his fingers glided along the sides of her folds.

Her sex opened and clasped, embarrassing proof of her arousal, but he didn’t smile. His eyelids dropped halfway as he stared down at her and rimmed her opening with his fingers. Then he leaned over her, his mouth drew on her folds as his fingers circled and penetrated, dipping in and out while she bit her bottom lip to stop from crying out.

When his fingers left her opening and stroked downward, her breath caught. He circled her tiny forbidden hole, then dipped one thick fingertip inside.

“No!”

“Yes,” he soothed. “You’ll like this. I promise. Don’t fight me.”

She couldn’t. Not while she held her thighs high against her chest, a position which curved her sex upward toward his questing lips and fingers.

She stared down at his dark head as he stroked his tongue between her folds and worked his finger into her dark passage.

Her body tightened around him, rejecting him even as fresh liquid spilled from inside her to greet his kisses.

His dark, amused laughter gusted against her, and she couldn’t help the way her sex continued to open and close, trying to draw him deeper inside.

When his finger was inserted past the second knuckle, he rolled his hand around, tugging at the tight ring, easing the constriction until he could slip another finger inside her.

Although her tender tissues burned, another sort of fire licked at her core, and she pulled her legs higher, wider, straining upward to find the release she knew hovered just beyond her reach.

When his tongue lapped lower, trailing toward her back entrance, she grew restless and simultaneously appalled at her eagerness. Surely, he wouldn’t lick her there!

But he did, pulling out his fingers and rimming her with his tongue. His thumbs pressed either side of the small hole and opened her. He dipped his tongue into her, tickling her with short, teasing flutters, then causing her to cry out when the hardened tip plunged into her.

“Damien! Please stop!”

He did—abruptly—and her eyes flew open.

He spit onto his fingers and rubbed the moisture on the glistening tip of his sex, then held himself as he directed the head of his cock to the tiny hole.

“God, no!” she cried out, as he pushed against her, the burning pressure causing tears to fill her eyes.

“Don’t fight me,” he bit out, his jaw clenching as he pushed into her.

Suddenly, the constriction of the tiny ring eased, and he was inside her.

He halted, his chest heaving, his gaze locking with hers. One hand curved under her bottom, lifting her higher; the other hand glided over her wet cleft, two fingers clamping around her hardened nubbin while his thumb plunged inside her.

“Think you can resist me? Think you can ever tell me no?”

Voletta couldn’t breathe, couldn’t look away from the dark promise in his gaze. He could draw her like a moth flying too closely to an open flame. He’d burn her, consume her like a raging fire. If he never came to care for her, she’d never survive. But she couldn’t tell him to stop. “Please,” she sobbed. “ More. ”

His hips brushed forward and back, a gentle glide that still tugged at her inner tissues. His fingers swirled on the hard, swollen button. He eased in and out again, slowly, and her belly tightened, knowing that soon he’d not be able to control himself.

His cheeks reddened, his mouth opened to drag air into his lungs, and then he gave her deeper, faster strokes, all the while circling on her, his fingers plunging into her channel.

Voletta’s breaths shortened to jagged gasps, and her eyelids fluttered closed.

He moved faster, thrust deeper, plunging in and out, stroking both entrances. The moist sounds of them moving together, the slap of his belly and groin against her flesh, only heightened the excitement building a thrumming tension that pounded against her chest and temples.

A low, deep groan escaped him, and then his movements quickened. He pounded faster, his body slamming into hers, scooting her up the bed with each hard stroke.

Voletta felt the tension burst inside her head, unraveling inside her womb. She screamed, pitching headlong over the crest of a wave of heat that had her body shaking and spasming wildly.

Above her, Damien’s eyes squeezed tightly, and he shouted, barreling into her, his movements jerking as his seed spilled into her.

When she came back to herself, he lay against the backs of her thighs, his chest heaving. Her hands clutched his hair, and she pulled him down to kiss his mouth, his chin, his nose—anything she could reach.

Until she remembered what he planned to do.

She sank against the mattress and let her arms fall away, waiting for him to move off her. No longer in the throws of a passion that robbed her mind and will, she couldn’t let him comfort her. Couldn’t let herself give him comfort.

This was all they would ever have. She would never forgive him for taking away her freedom.