Split of the Worlds (18+)

Chapter 3.3

"Sun." N'Arahn repeated the word tonelessly. That was all? The whole secret? The angel faded away because she needed the sun. Like a pathetic flower.

He felt like laughing, but it was just too ridiculous. Angels had been captured before, some were in the caves of the Red Depths to this day. They were still alive, but nothing more than shells. No one had ever bothered to find out why they had stopped fighting, or moving.

Sunlight. It would take him a while to realize what advantages this secret could bring him.

He looked down at Veidja, who had opened her eyes in search, but was apparently blind. Her empty gaze, the weak movements, it stung him. He was so angry, still. Her helplessness fueled his hatred.

He had been weak earlier, that wouldn't happen to him again. He would drive the angel into the abyss. Would make Veidja fall on her own. That was better than just letting her fight. To let her bleed. Speaking of blood... He could start right now.

"All right. I'll bring you into the sunlight, you're in my debt for that."

There was time to think of something. She was in his control anyway and he could use this guilt for something special. The uncertainty would be all the more painful for the angel.

"According to ancient custom, you must seal the pact with your blood. Your voluntarily given blood."

Ah, she was still capable of disgust. The hideous, ugly demon demands your blood, you poor, innocent angel. He now grimaced as well. What a cliché. He had never thought it would come to this. But he was a demonlord and she was an angel. He had kept her to take advantage of her, and that was what he would do.

When she hesitated, he put her own hand to her mouth, indignantly. "You have sharp teeth. If you want my help, then do something about it. I'm not wasting my time with you anymore, weakling." He put all his hatred into his voice. "Such a shame calling yourself a warrior."

N'Arahn turned away and stood up from the bed. He could no longer remain inactive, he had to move. He didn't want to look at her anymore either. If she continued to tease him, he might kill her after all, and he didn't want that to happen. But everything about her was wearing him out, tugging at his nerves as if someone were sticking ice needles into his brain.

He stopped with a jolt, his whole body stiffening. The smell of fresh angel blood filled his thoughts. He had smelled that particular scent, not just angel blood, but her blood, many times now. In the arena, after fights, when they dined together in silence, and even during the hunt. It was always intoxicating, made his own blood sing.

But this time the scent was irresistible. He had forgotten how good blood voluntarily given for a pact smelled. Promising pleasure, lust, incredible fulfillment.

He was over her in a single leap, snatching the hand offered to him. The angel made a strangled sound and tried to pull her hand away from N'Arahn. But he held her tightly, bending her fingers back to look at the fresh bloody punctures on the outside of her hand. Then, infinitely slowly, he licked over her palm. Tracing every groove, immersing himself in the frenzy that was spreading through him. The angel's hand trembled in his grip. He knew Veidja would share his sensations. The tingling all over his body. The surge of desire. The pure pleasure of one's own existence.

That was why humans could become addicted to it. The pact with a demonlord was always terrifying. But equally overwhelming and intense in a way that nothing else he knew could compare.

N'Arahn let out a low groan as he found one last drop of blood. Blood that tasted not of blood, but of possibility, of pure promise. Once again, he let the tip of his tongue circle over this stain. A shudder passed over his skin and continued on the angel's body. He could feel it where they touched and deep in his soul, for they were still bound by the sealing of the pact.