Chapter 20

Chapter Twenty

Petra regretted her decision almost immediately.

Stress, mortal dread, and chronic lack of sleep had addled her mind to the point of breaking, apparently. That was the only explanation for why she would knowingly bait the sociopath who wanted into her panties and then run.

I’m not running, she tried to convince herself. Just walking fast.

There were still cameras everywhere. She couldn’t sprint through the halls like she wanted to, hollering that she didn’t mean it, that she took it back. All she could do was walk quickly.

The living quarters were deserted, and only pigeons greeted her as she hustled across the courtyard to the side entrance of the main building. The sound of a cable car trundling along, bell dinging with discordant cheerfulness, made her jump as she fumbled with the biometric lock on the door.

It took everything in her not to glance nervously over her shoulder.

The haze of lust that had robbed her of what little good sense she had left had evaporated as soon as she left her suite. Now all she felt was the anticipation of prey about to be eaten.

Not that she believed Silas wanted to hurt her, necessarily, but she probably should have found some other way to savor her last taste of life. Petra’s mind was a chaotic swirl of regret and panic as she stepped through the door and slammed it shut behind her.

I should have taken myself out for a really nice dinner. Maybe gone to the beach. I haven’t gotten a chance to go to the Fairmont and see that new exhibit yet. I could have done that instead of basically taunting an amoral demon into ? —

What, exactly? Petra’s core tightened at the kaleidoscope of possibilities. She had no doubt that Silas could get awfully creative in the bedroom.

She normally enjoyed the solemn silence of the empty cathedral on Saturdays. Glory’s presence felt nearer when she was alone, surrounded by towering columns and shafts of light painted bright colors by the two-story stained-glass windows. The rhythm of her heel strikes on the marble floor were normally even, a metronome for her strained mind to drift to as she did the small tasks around the altar and Glory’s statue that needed doing.

But at that moment, her heels clicking on the floor sounded as loud as bolt gun shots. Her breathing was raspy. Her mind was a whirlwind unable to settle on one worry for more than a moment before it screamed to the next. It took everything she had to keep an even, steady pace down the center of the cathedral.

At the last minute, she swerved away from the high altar and the statue. She was torn between hiding away in the columbarium, which she normally tended after cleaning the altar, and hiding away in the sanctuary.

Both were out of the way, but the columbarium was part of her regular routine, which meant that Silas would probably look there first. Sanctuary it is.

She didn’t have any hope that he wouldn’t find her, but she wanted to buy herself a little bit of time before the reckoning came down on her like Tempest’s wrath.

The decision was reinforced by the fact that the sanctuary boasted a wrought iron gate and lock.

Petra took a hard left at the altar and slipped through the shadowed gap between a towering column and the decorative ones that framed the high altar’s niche. A few brisk strides brought her to the massive iron gate that guarded the sanctuary. Though the beautifully designed scroll work filled the entrance from floor to ceiling, most worshippers didn’t even know the sanctuary was there. They rarely ventured so far past the high altar, preferring to bask in the light of the windows or kneel before Glory’s statue.

Not that they would have been able to get in even if they knew it was there. The sanctuary was open by appointment only, due to the value of the relics held within it. Day to day it was used by Temple staff for personal worship and religious instruction, but its most important role was in prestige.

Goosebumps erupted across her body as she stood before the gate, her palm pressed to the scanner designed to hide amongst the wrought iron filigree. She stood in the dimmest part of the main cathedral floor, where not even the light from the windows reached. Only soft ambient light got that far past the high altar, though there were normally many racks of candles lit — each one a blessing or a prayer left by a worshipper.

On Saturdays, there were no candles lit. The small cups were dark, their pretty glass turned dark violet without the glow of a candle to illuminate them from within.

As she waited for the scanner to recognize her, Petra realized she’d made a miscalculation. While the sanctuary was the most secure place she could hide without drawing Antonin’s attention, it was also a perfect playground for a man who thrived in shadow.

Her stomach sank as she quickly glanced from side to side, eyeing the shadows that never quite looked right since she met Silas. Even when he wasn’t around, they appeared more alive than they had before.

She regretted not taking the time to learn more about how demons interacted with shadows. Everyone knew they controlled their own, but what could a man like Silas do with natural darkness?

The scanner vibrated beneath her palm. Half a second later the lock clicked, allowing her to hastily push the well-oiled gate open and step inside. She wasn’t foolish enough to breathe a sigh of relief as she closed it behind her, but she did feel a bit better when the lock clicked again.

Petra walked past the four rows of mahogany benches, much more elaborately carved than the pews in the main part of the cathedral and approximately three hundred years older, to the alcove at the far end of the room. All around her were relics of Glory’s worship from across the world — bargained for, traded, donated, and stolen a thousand times by too many people to count.

Each one cost a fortune, but the centerpiece was the fifteenth-century solid wood and gold altar on the dais. Worship had evolved since its creation, making its design outdated, but the beauty of the piece couldn’t be understated. Unlike the altar she used every day, which was essentially a very fancy fire retardant table, the antique was more like a massive, semi-enclosed cabinet at which one was meant to kneel.

Services could be performed in front of it, but it also acted as a private worship space for whatever extremely wealthy person commissioned it. Wooden screens could be extended out across the open end, allowing a worshipper to kneel in the small, enclosed space before the elaborate altar and its gold-plated statue of the goddess.

Petra didn’t dare touch the screens, worried about the great age of the piece, but she did tuck herself close to the altar. This deep into the sanctuary, no one peering through the gate would be able to see her anyway.

Ridiculous. She shook her head. How long could she hide there before she either tipped off Antonin’s men that she was acting strange or Silas found a way to get her out?

The fact that she was hiding from him at all made her cringe. Not only would it not work, but it would only make her seem weak. The right thing to do would have been to either follow through with her destructive impulse or eat crow and explain that she’d temporarily lost her mind.

But she’d done neither of those things and instead knelt on an embroidered cushion within a priceless fifteenth-century altar cabinet, staring up into the sightless eyes of her goddess.

“Don’t give me that look,” she muttered, reaching out to light the incense at the goddess’s feet. “Like you’ve never gotten in too deep with a demon? I need support here, not judgment.”

“Your goddess didn’t fuck a demon. She fucked our father.”

Petra swallowed a scream. Whirling around on her knees, she found Silas — or what mostly looked like Silas — grasping the two sides of the folded wooden screens and fearlessly dragging them across the floor. She could only watch, horrified, as he latched them together, completely enclosing them in the shadowy altar cabinet.

And then he turned to face her.

Good gods.

Silas looked wild. It wasn’t that his hair was damp, nor that he wasn’t even wearing shoes. It was the way his body had changed, blending with darkness to make a being half-transformed. Shadows rippled across the harsh, hungry lines of his face and over his body. They flexed like muscles when he prowled across the marble floor, but never seemed to settle into one definitive shape.

It was like he couldn’t decide if he wished to be a monster or man. Maybe it didn’t matter when both sides only wanted to consume her.

“You know, I think it’s fitting,” Silas rumbled as he came to a stop just behind her cushion.

Petra reached out to brace herself against the edge of the altar. His presence, the look in his eyes, the shock of him finding her so quickly, and the heady curl of rich incense made her head spin. “How did you get in here?” she croaked. “It’s supposed to be?—”

Silas spoke like she hadn’t said anything at all. “Do you know why Blight is known as the One Who Weeps, High Priestess Zaskodna?”

“Silas…”

He tutted and grasped the base of her ponytail. She held her breath as he slid his hand down its length before he began to coil it around his palm, looping it end over end until the meat of his palm touched the crown of her head once more. Her scalp prickled, making her wince. Not a moment later he used his grip to guide her around, forcing her to kneel on the cushion before him, her back to the altar.

“Tell me the story.”

Petra’s throat was painfully dry. She stared up at Silas with wide eyes, her breathing too fast. There was no reasoning with him. It was in that violent, taunting grin and those eyes that were so full of want they were almost cruel. His unstable form was backlit by the soft light that filtered in through the sun-shaped cutouts in the wooden screen behind him.

She reached out reflexively, steadying herself by bracing her palms on his knees as he stepped closer, herding her back against the altar. Her shoulders touched the gilded wood.

It was a form of madness, the thing that took over her body when he bore down on her like that. Petra had never been particularly adventurous in bed, probably because she’d never been able to let her guard down, but with Silas that wasn’t an option.

There was no guard. He took a sledgehammer to her doubts and insecurities. They couldn’t exist under the sheer, brutal weight of his lust.

For all the agonizing she’d done as she ran away, Petra found herself going liquid under that all-consuming stare. Blood rushed to her skin in a head-to-toe flush. Her mind went wonderfully blank. The ache between her legs returned, tripled. Her core felt swollen, feverish, and slick when she tightened the muscles of her thighs.

Seeing no better option than to give him what he wanted, Petra whispered, “Blight fell in love with Glory the instant he was made. When she chose Burden as her mate instead, it broke his heart.”

Silas cocked his head to one side. For as wild as he seemed, he didn’t appear to be in any hurry to address the intimidating bulk of his erection hovering in front of her face. “Is that the version you teach kids?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

She wasn’t playing obtuse. That was the tale she’d been taught: that the love story between Blight and Glory was doomed due to the god’s covetousness, how he’d sought to smother her light, and that she’d left him for the god Burden, who wished only to bask in her warmth for all time.

“Hm, it figures demons would tell it differently.” Silas raised his free hand to cup her jaw. Staring down his nose at her, he rasped, “Glory and Blight were mates. He came to life only because her light made shadow. He created forests so life could worship her. He loved her, wanted her so fiercely, that when she came to him, he entered the first rut.”

He pressed his thumb against her lower lip, forcing her mouth open just enough to slip the digit past her teeth. His voice took on a knife’s edge when he ordered, “Take my cock out, little goddess.”

A protest jumped to her lips, but those were occupied. All she could do was stare incredulously up at him. Here? Now?

There were cameras. They were in a place of worship. They were surrounded by a priceless antique altar cabinet. Glory’s statue was right behind her, watching.

But the lines of Silas’s face were utterly implacable. Speaking in a quiet voice far scarier than his growl, he warned, “Don’t make me tell you twice.”

A zing of adrenaline raced through her, as potent and bright as a lightning strike. Before she’d even thought it through, her hands were already sliding up his legs to shakily unbutton his jeans and pull down his zipper.

“Good girl,” he purred, watching from under lowered lids as she hefted the weight of his cock in her palm. It was rigid, silky soft and blazing hot against her skin. Petra swore she could feel the beat of his heart when she curled her fingers around his girth.

The amber of his eyes gleamed when he demanded, “Tell me you want it.”

For the span of a handful of heartbeats, Petra considered refusing. For all that Silas was demanding, crude, and dominant, she understood that if she truly couldn’t do this, he wouldn’t force it. This was all a part of the game. If she didn’t willingly do this for him in such an inappropriate place, playing into whatever fantasy he had about debauching Glory’s priestess, then there was no game. No pleasure.

In his place, she thought she could understand the appeal of someone like her choosing to get on her knees and give him a blowjob under the reproachful gaze of Glory’s statue. She also understood that Silas’s pleasure did not primarily come from the act itself, but rather her submission.

It was far, far more satisfying to have her hand over control than it was for him to take it by force.

So while she hesitated, Petra didn’t truly want to say no.

Anything could happen tomorrow. There was every possibility that this was her last chance to do something reckless and sensual. No, it wasn’t going to be the lovemaking someone else might want for their last day on Earth, but at least it was interesting.

Her voice was barely a whisper when she said, “I want it.”

Silas’s lips curved. “Now suck my cock while I tell you the rest of the story. If you do a good job, I might forgive you for running away. Or I might not.”

If Antonin’s cameras were going to catch him, she reasoned as she pressed the flat of her tongue to the underside of his cockhead, it’s already done. Might as well enjoy it before the consequences come.

If they come at all, a small, soft voice whispered in the back of her mind. That silly thought came from the helpless, drowning girl she’d believed long buried — the one that, against all damn reason, actually trusted Silas to keep her safe.

That part of her really needed to get a grip, because the man who pressed his fingertips into her cheeks, forcing her mouth open wider, was no savior. Even if she did like it when he did that.

Silas let out a low rumbling sound from deep in his chest as she learned the contours of his flesh, the taste of him on her tongue. “Show me how sweet that sacred mouth can be.”

There was no way on Burden’s Earth she was going to be able to fit even half of him in her mouth, not when she was so long out of practice, but Petra gave it a shot. It’s a game. That means I have to play, too.

Neither of them wanted her to be completely crushed under his dominance, no matter how readily she might submit to him. There had to be push and pull. Petra had to enjoy herself, too, or that would disappear.

So while she hollowed her cheeks, her fist pumping what her mouth just couldn’t take yet, Petra kept her eyes boldly raised to watch every flicker of emotion pass over his shadowed face.

Silas’s brows were furrowed, his lips curled back from his white teeth. “Do you know what a rut is, little goddess?” He clearly didn’t expect an actual answer, because he timed his question with a shallow pump of his hips, encouraging her to take him a little deeper. She couldn’t tell him that she only knew the very basics afforded by state-sponsored sex ed because she was far too busy trying to get her throat muscles to relax.

“It’s demon breeding season,” he explained, grip tightening in her hair until her eyes watered, “when we go mindless with the need to fuck. Some demons like to call it Glory’s gift.” His tone and the derogatory lift of his upper lip heavily implied that it was not complimentary. “It’s what your goddess left Blight with when she ran off to be with Burden instead — the frenzy of need and aggression that takes all of us every year. Unable to find another mate to ease him, Blight was left to wander the forests in agony for all eternity.”

Out of the corner of her eye, shadows writhed across the floor, moving toward her in slow-motion waves until they lapped at her legs. They were a slight weight, but when she tried to shift away, they held her there like bands of steel.

“Focus.” Silas’s order snapped down her spine. Petra straightened, her attention flying back to him in an instant.

“Eyes on me at all times,” he commanded. “You’re going to want to pay attention to what I’m telling you, baby, because you are about to experience Glory’s gift for yourself.”

Her jaw was beginning to ache, but the muscles controlling her gag reflex were weakening, allowing her to pull him deeper even as she gave him a look of wide-eyed incomprehension.

Silas’s grin was slow to spread and dark with promise. “Yes, baby. You think I’m gonna fuck someone else for weeks when I have this pretty mouth and that perfect pussy at my disposal? Not a chance.” A curl of incense smoke traced the contour of one horn when he promised, “I’m going to lock you up in my den. I’m going show you what it’s like to be bred by a demon. And when you’re so covered in my come that the scent is in your fuckin’ pores, you’re gonna give me your bond. You’re mine, Petra.”

Petra experienced several new feelings at once: terror at the idea of enduring this man’s attentions during a rut, a pang of sadness that it would never happen, and a furious burst of jealousy over the very idea of him spending it with anyone but her.

She didn’t know what to do with any of that except try to exert her own power over him while she could.

Silas’s breath began to saw in and out of him as she snaked her tongue around the head of his cock, tasting sticky pre-come and the salt of his skin. Her free hand snuck down to cradle the soft flesh of his sac as she slowly pressed forward, determined to take him as deep as she could go.

He grunted, back bowing, when she was at last able to overcome her body’s instinctive reaction and take him down her throat. It wasn’t all of him, but it was damn close.

“Fuck,” he breathed. “Good. Good girl. Such a pretty mouth — perfect for prayers and cock.”

She had only a moment to bask in the glow of that profane praise before a startled squeak erupted out of her. Silas’s shadows had curled around her legs and pulled them wide. Her skirt bunched around her upper thighs and waist as they drifted up her legs like ghostly hands.

She was so shocked by the sensation that she nearly pulled back from Silas altogether, but the hand in her hair stopped her retreat. He smiled down at her when he ordered, “Hold still.”

There was little else for her to do when his shadows kept her pinned to the floor and his hand stalled any retreat she might have instinctively tried to make.

Silas began to shallowly shuttle his hips back and forth, using her mouth, as his shadows slithered under the gusset of her panties. Petra’s back spasmed, the muscles along her spine tightening with the shock of pleasure that came with a phantom stroke through her slippery flesh.

It wasn’t quite like fingers rubbing her, nor was it like the smooth glide of a vibrator. It was a bit like the touch of an extremely dexterous tongue. A pitiful whimper made its way around the cock thrusting in and out of her mouth when the shadows rolled over her again and again, parting her and licking her and providing a delicious amount of pressure.

She began to rock her hips, seeking more to ease the ache of her core contracting around nothing, and didn’t even mind when Silas’s chuckle washed over her head.

“Do you need something, baby?”

Petra rocked her hips again, more forcefully this time, and leaned forward until he took most of her weight. The benefits of this position were twofold: it allowed him to go deeper down her throat and it gave her leverage to grind down, though there was nothing truly there to grind against.

“Greedy girl,” he panted. “You need to be filled up.”

Petra’s eyes nearly slid closed at the very idea, but they snapped open wide when he gave her hair a warning tug. Silas raised his eyebrows, looking down at her regretfully — like his cheeks weren’t flushed or his shadows weren’t in a riot around him as he clearly neared his own climax.

“I’m sorry, baby, but you’re not getting cock today.” He punctuated his declaration with a stiff roll of his hips, one hard enough to make her shoulders hunch as she fought a gag.

Before she could even think of a way to protest his decision, Silas’s attention drifted over the top of her head. His lips twitched with a cold smile. “But I’m gonna fill you up anyway, right here where your goddess can see.”

In a dizzying series of quick movements, Silas pulled out of her mouth and stooped to lift her off the ground. Shadows swept behind her, sending the incense burner clattering to the floor. Her ass landed on the hard, smooth surface of the altar and her back hit the gold statue as he hiked up her skirt and tore her panties down her legs, leaving them to dangle off one of her black heels.

Speaking with a cool calm that was completely at odds with his actions, Silas warned her, “From now on, you follow my rules. You do as I fuckin’ say when I say it. You ever run from me like that again and I’ll choke you on my cock.”

“You already?—”

“You think that was bad?” Silas gave her a cruel smile. “Baby, that was gentle.”

“Silas, I— Oh!”

Petra’s knees drew up and her fingers locked around the edge of the altar as something wide and firm slid inside of her. For a wild second she thought he’d done exactly what he said he wouldn’t do, but no, that was impossible because Silas was on his knees before her.

He’d thrown her calves over his shoulders and appeared to be watching as his shadows pumped inside her, their movement like nothing she’d ever experienced in the past.

Petra’s spine bowed as she bit back a cry. For all that they were a magical construct, they felt real as they thrust inside her. Her thighs began to shake. She held onto the altar for dear life as he made the shadows a bit bigger, their movements a bit more forceful, until she felt like she was being split in two.

And then Silas’s mouth closed over her clitoris, sealing with perfect, borderline painful suction, and the world went spotty.

She came with a muffled sob, her lips tucked between her teeth. The shadows gradually stilled, but Silas remained between her legs for several long minutes afterward, prolonging the aftershocks with slow, ravenous kisses.

Just when she believed she couldn’t take anymore, he rose up, elbows hooked beneath her knees, and settled the heavy weight of his cock onto her core for several quick, jagged thrusts.

“Gorgeous, gorgeous, gorgeous,” he chanted, almost to himself, as thick ropes of come splashed across her mons and upper thighs.

Exhausted, Petra dropped her head back against the priceless statue and stared up at the goddess through dazed eyes. Glory help me, she thought, working her sore jaw back and forth. I’ve unleashed a monster.