The Pixies’ Chosen (Mated to the Monster: Season 2)

Chapter 16

CHAPTER 16

AMMAYI

I lay in our nest-like bed, staring morosely in the shelf set up in corner of the room as I fiddle with the hem of my kurti. The silk is already starting to fade and though I wash it gently by hand in the sink with me every midday when Tryst carries me over and turns on the water so that I can bathe, the material is showing rapid deterioration from the constant wear.

It is really a pity my entire wardrobe wasn’t shrunk with me instead of just what I happened to be wearing that day. I guess I should be happy that I was at least wearing something comfortable at the time—it could have been worse, after all, but that litany is starting to get as worn and played out as the long silk tunic.

Truth be told, I am feeling stretched just as thin, wearing down a bit more day by day as I lose another little piece of myself. The moments I can enjoy in Tryst’s arms are the only brightness in my days that grow increasingly gloomier and heavier. Even Tryst, seems a little subdued and lost in thought at times, which has become even more noticeably since it usually follows after we’ve been interlocked with each other in a heated embrace.

I’m pretty sure he is thinking of Havoc in those moments when we are coming down from the heights of ecstasy together. It should sting that his thoughts are elsewhere, but for some reason it doesn’t. Truth be told, my thoughts have drifted to him in those moments as well since Havoc has spent less and less time here and when he is here, he keeps a careful, wary distance as if he’s in some sort of self-exile. As if he is an unwanted presence.

The thing is—I don’t want that, and I’m sure that Tryst doesn’t want that either, but I am no more certain how to bridge that gulf than I am of how to fix the disconnect within myself that is growing daily.

I flick the corner of the silk odhni against my nose and my eyes drift over the Tryst as the first strain of haunting notes of music fill the air. Seated casually on the arm of my couch, he leans back against back rest and swings one slender, sculpted foot as he plays a silver flute brought to his lips. His wings shift against the fabric of the couch, subtly moving the rhythm of the song pouring out of him. I listen, transfixed, my heart in my throat as it pours through me, giving voice to all the turmoil and bone-wearying sadness lying in the deepest parts of me.

Flopping onto my stomach, I pillow my cheek on my stacked hands I listen to the melody. It is long the song of some ancient, enchanted forest that doesn’t belong in this world and my heart constricts in reaction. I feel like I’ve plucked something special from where it belongs and am keeping it caged in this increasingly dusty apartment.

The song winds through me and plays along the shadows and the sweeping lines of my belongings standing in memorial to my past. My apartment is starting to look like a haunted place that is the residence of ghosts only and so it is particularly suited to this music that echoes through the expanse of the room around us.

And still Tryst plays as if he’s caught in some internal place where the music builds to spill out from him. That music echoes from him, straight through me as if pouring through me along an invisible channel that is only manifested audibly by his delicately crafted flute. My eyes flutter half shut as I allow myself to drift with the song, my mind and spirit being carried on the currents and I lull my head as the melody builds, my eyes falling upon Havoc’s lean form. His long muscles shift, moving his chitin, making more aware of their presence despite the cool glamor and smooth lines of the chitin covering him. Havoc’s wings flutter from where he is perched, staring at us, and then flutter again rapidly before he suddenly flits in the air to land a short distance away from me.

I stare at him blankly, my mind chasing the strains of music playing through me from Tryst to focus entirely upon him. My lips part and I sigh his name as he comes to crouch a short distance away, his short, dark hair streaming around his dark eyes and sharp jawline.

“Havoc.”

His eyes momentarily brighten, and he flutters closer before resuming his crouched position. Gradually the tension in him eases as he remains there, nearly within touching distance, before his eyes lift to Tryst. There is something within that dark gaze—an incredible longing and ineffable sadness—that pricks my soul. I want to hold him close to me and hug him tightly, but I don’t dare. Instead, I watch the way his wings flick lightly to the cadence of the music.

I wonder if he can feel this same curious sensation of being bound within and carried by the music. I could dance.

The thought is brief—minute—but suddenly I’m standing and stepping out of the bed onto the coffee table. I’m conscious of both pairs of male eyes now on me as my body sways to the strands of music flowing through me. It carries me across the table, my body bending and feet lifting up in whirling steps. There is a snap of wings as I turn and my eyes skim over Havoc as he moves parallel to me, his wings lowering and raising, and flexing beautifully in plays of violet as they catch the glow of his shimmer.

A strong desire to touch him rushes through me with such ferocity that I swear it is not just coming from me. I want to smooth my hands over his beautiful form as he sways but I resist the urge and sink once more below that numinous pull of the melody.

I feel the silky brush of a wing against my bare arm, but I continue to dance, each brush of wings against my body causing a tremor to rise through me and meld with the voice of the music rumbling its secrets to me. A haunted masquerade… a spectral waltz… I feel as if I’m not dancing with something of great power and age, like the spirits of ancient forests have bound me to them and are now moving me as the air takes a more primal note.

Over and over Havoc’s wings brush me. They are almost a blur as he whirls, and my breath catches as a rush of sensation uncoils from my depths with interest.

“Havoc,” I whisper, the sound nearly a breathy moan as my nipples tighten with the sensation of ghostly fingertips grazing me with each brush of his body against me.

The music is taking a wild cadence, the longing, sighing notes of the melody reaching a fever pitch as if a fire is pouring directly into me, begging voicelessly except for those long strains of music.

I whirl abruptly, my body colliding into the powerful length of Havoc’s powerful form. He catches my forearms in his hands and lifts them well above my head, stretching my body against his as we sway and bend together. I can feel the heat of his breath upon me, the tease of his claws and faint fluttering brushes of his wings. Our bodies graze each other intimately, pressing along our entire length, his groin, hard with need pressing against my belly. His wings shiver in reaction, sending a violet dust over me as the shimmer lighting him up flickers with a rich light that awakens my desire.

Havoc is everywhere, his body all around mine, his scents within my every breath. I tremble with hot need rushing through me but suddenly the music ends on a low, drawn, sweet note that has Havoc’s body rubbing sinuously against mine, the faintest brush of his lips against my lips. With the last fading note of the music, I’m left to stare pantingly into his wild eyes before he suddenly tears himself away and stumbles back. His hand flattens over his heart which I can only guess is racing as quickly as mine as he stares at me in complete shock.

And Tryst laughs.

The sound has a hint of bitter melancholy to it and yet there is a note of delight to it that cannot be missed as if he has discovered something unexpected. Havoc’s head whips to him, his chest heaving but then he flutters quickly to a short—presumably safe—distance away as he regards us with wide, wild eyes.

I’m panting as I stare back at him, my own need and a hunger burning within me that is not entirely my own dragging burning claws through me. He looks panicked and frightened as if suddenly caught unaware. He is like a trapped predator, nervous and ready to spring.

A shiver runs through me as my eyes drift shut and the loud sound of wings humming through the air rushes over me. Warm arms embrace me, dragging me tightly against a hot, solid body, stroking my hunger higher once again.

“Take what you need Ammayi,” Tryst rasps seconds before I drag his head down into my kiss.

Havoc’s eyes burn into us as I wrap myself around him, scorching us and melding us together. A deep, yawning pit needing to be filled has opened within me and knowing it is his eyes upon me sparks a savageness that flares brightly as I respond to Tryst’s melody and embrace, surrendering entirely as he lifts me high and parts my legs around his hips to sink his engorged lengths deep within the snug confines of my grasping channel.

Our bodies twist in a primal dance, our hips pumping and swinging rhythmically as I become completely lost within the echoing chords between us until my pleasure explodes into ecstasy and Trysts’s cocks kick and release their potent, hot seed within me, our gasps and pheromones filling the room with the stain of Tryst’s wings straining eagerly against me with their every pulse.

Shivering, I come down from the heights of bliss, my eyes fluttering open to meet Havoc’s burning, coal gaze over Tryst’s shoulder. And suddenly, I know without a doubt that whatever I thought was settled and over between all of us has only just begun. All with the hot promise and hunger burning within Havoc’s tempestuous gaze.

And for one sweet moment the melancholy devouring me drift away as I savor Havoc’s hunger and drift in Tryst’s desire dancing all around me.