[THIS STORY WILL BECOME FREE ON THE 5th OCTOBER 2023]
Fara's husband, the Prince of Azura, is murdered and she's enslaved by his killer, Theodan, a warrior fighting a war he doesn't believe in - until her.
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His eyes burned. His skin burned. His muscles burned. He'd spent hours cutting short pathetic Azurian lives and it was exhausting. He wanted to refuel, rest, fuck and then do it all over again. This land was hot and dry and took more out of him than he would ever admit. He missed the damp green lands and silky imposing rock of Leoth.
He wanted to go home.
He wanted to eat real food. Food that was still warm from the kill; not plants and fruit and dead day-old farm animals. But here he was. Fighting a war he cared nothing about for some king he cared nothing about. He cared nothing about the humans on either side of this battle.
Well, this was untrue. Because for two moons he hadn't stopped thinking about one particular human.
The slave girl from the castle hadn't left his thoughts since the sweet scent of her terror hit his nose. Since she'd stared him down with enough hatred to set an entire city aflame. No human inside or outside of battle had ever stared him down with such mindless bravery. It had set his blood on fire and made his mouth water and by the time his senses had returned to him she was gone.
He'd torn the burning city apart looking for her after the raid of the Golden Palace but she was gone. No matter. He would find her somewhere - dead or alive.
He'd prefer her alive. Mainly, he told himself, because he wanted to taste more than her scent on his tongue. He shouldn't have let her go, he should have fallen upon her and taken her, as was his right. She belonged to him. He should have sunk his teeth deep into her soft flesh as he drove himself inside her. He should have marked her, branded her with his ownership. And these were all things he would do the moment he found her. Presuming, of course, that she was alive. The idea of her not being alive made his chest feel odd. A strange foreign tightening over his lungs and in his throat. A bitter taste. It fought against the scent and taste of her fear which had haunted him relentlessly.
She'd watched in horror as he'd sliced open her prince's soft throat and let him drop to the floor, life force draining out bright and red and glorious to Theodan's hungry mouth. He'd wanted to drink from the dead prince, had planned to, but found himself unable to move, ensnared by how the rage and pain had sharpened her beautiful human features and caused her golden eyes to glitter blindingly. Then, she'd lifted a small previously concealed knife to her throat and shown him a look of pure defiance and intent.
No words had passed between them but other things had. Silent promises of vengeance which would last a lifetime. Silent promises of a thousand painful deaths delivered by a smooth sun-kissed hand. A ferocious coupling in the grass under as the rain fell. Theodan on his knees begging forgiveness and declaring his undying love. A woman birthing a child as thunder crackled and lit up the dark red sky outside. A battlefield the likes of which he had never seen. A landscape as grey and dark as the depths of the ash sea with thousands upon thousands of blackened corpses strewn across it.
