Chapter 49

Chapter Forty-Nine

They made it up the stairs. She didn’t know when, let alone how.

All Petra knew was the twitching of her muscles and the exquisite soreness between her legs and the monster who laid her down on the bed, spread her thighs, and slid inside her like he belonged there.

He was a horrific sight to behold. Wreathed in shadow, he was little more than a hulking mass of muscle with a crown of twisted horns. His eyes were the only discernible feature in the blank mask of his face. They were two glowing disks of bronze in an oval of nothingness, like one of those moretta masks she’d heard people wore to masquerades. Sometimes, she caught the faint impression of a jagged, animalistic mouth, but it was a fleeting thing.

Mostly she saw it when a great, serpentine tongue slipped out to lick their release from her abused cunt — and then force another orgasm while he was at it. Sometimes it came out when he wished to drive it down her throat, or, if he was giving her a break, to lick a trail down her spine that inevitably ended between her thighs.

If he wasn’t impaling her on his cock, he had his head buried there. He was utterly insatiable, and after a while she stopped trying to keep track of silly things like time, meals, sleep, or how often he demanded she give him another orgasm. Her sense of self and her place in the wider world became distorted as she was pushed far past her limits and sleep became a luxury.

She didn’t have the instincts driving her to forget about anything other than sex, but she didn’t need to when Silas demanded she give him everything anyway. Nothing else existed except him, which was probably exactly what he was going for.

Petra thought she understood the basics of the rut, and she supposed she had, but living through it was another matter altogether.

Silas didn’t stop. He didn’t flag. He didn’t need breaks or time to recuperate.

It was endless.

Petra knew she must have slept. She had vague memories of waking up to him nipping her breasts or dragging her to the edge of the bed so he could push her knees up to her ears and fuck her standing. She supposed she ate and drank. Water was forced down her throat, but not as often as his cock was. Food must have happened, too, but the impressions of meals were dominated by his orders to sit on his cock while he fed her, bite by bite, from one hand as he lazily guided her up and down with the other on her hip.

There were impressions of showers, but even those memories were dominated by the eye-watering stretch of his shadow-sheathed cock. Time, memory, any perception of the outside world — none of it mattered. Silas didn’t let it matter. He dominated her body and her mind until she existed solely to receive pleasure.

And there was so very much of it to receive.

Petra drank her fill of it and yet there was always more. Silas had a thousand hands and tongues and cocks at his disposal. He could fuck her in any way that pleased him and he did so relentlessly. Some part of her was always full of him or his shadows, and she never got completely clean of his release, no matter how many showers they might’ve taken.

He controlled her even when he allowed her the freedom to touch him, or to guide him using his horns. Always, she understood that he was the predator and she was his plaything. If he gave her power, it was because it pleased him to do so, and he would take it away just as quickly as he gave it if she disobeyed an order.

Petra had never felt so free in her life.

In Silas’s bedroom, there was no Temple. No murder. No Ardeo. No red boxes or doctor’s journal or mysterious plots.

There was just him and them and the raw, perfect sort of sense they made when they came together.

She had no idea how many days had passed, but when she pried her eyes open one morning to find Silas passed out beside her, his human face squashed into a pillow, she got the sense that it’d been a good long while since that first brutal fuck in the entryway.

Petra squinted at the narrow beam of sunlight that streaked across the bed. It bisected the powerful form of Silas’s back, bathing a razor-thin strip of his pale skin in golden light. The rest of the room was cast in deep violet shadows. She wasn’t sure what exactly had changed, but the sense of urgency that had driven them had finally dissipated.

Peering groggily at the blanket Silas had apparently thrown over the curtain rod — gods only knew when he’d done that — she took stock of her body. Petra immediately winced.

A quick inspection revealed that her hair was a dry rat’s nest, her body was covered in a mosaic of lovebites and shallow bruises, and her muscles felt like each individual strand had been plucked. To top it all off, her stomach let out a low, demanding growl.

No wonder injured people are warned off of doing this, she thought, flinching when she inadvertently rubbed her thighs together. I’m surprised anyone survives the rut!

Biting back a groan, Petra summoned the will to sit up. Slowly. Very slowly.

She glanced over at Silas expectantly, primed to feel a heavy hand closing around her wrist or his shadows locked around her waist, pinning her in place, but he was undisturbed. Her stomach fluttered at the sight of him finally at ease.

She couldn’t recall any clear memories of him sleeping. He must have, but probably a lot less than her. If she felt like roadkill, then she wouldn’t have been surprised if Silas slept for three days straight.

Not wanting to rouse him from his much needed slumber but unable to help herself, Petra ignored the soreness of her abdominal muscles to lean over and press a soft kiss to his temple. My demon, she thought, brushing his curls aside to inspect the tiny brand at the base of his horn.

He’d pushed her to her limits again and again. He’d caused her pain, denied her pleasure, bent her into impossible shapes, stretched her cunt until she was pretty sure she’d never walk right again, but never, not once, had she felt threatened. Even when she’d been at her most desperate, she was acutely aware of the fact that she could end it at any time, with just a simple touch to her necklace. But she hadn’t.

Petra trusted him even when he was at his wildest and he hadn’t let her down. Everything they’d done, all those limits they’d pushed, were things she’d never regret. In fact, she was eager to repeat most of them.

After some recovery time.

Extracting herself from the bed in a long series of tiny movements, Petra managed to hobble to the bathroom. Every step tightened the band of shadow around her throat. It wasn’t enough to cut off her air, but a gentle, proprietary squeeze — like even in sleep Silas wanted to remind her who she belonged to.

And, perhaps, to not wander too far away.

After taking care of business and partially unsnarling her hair — a nearly hopeless endeavor — she donned one of his t-shirts and tip-toed around the room, cleaning up the clothing, food containers, pillows, and blankets strewn across the floor. That done, she adjusted the blanket over the window to completely block out the sun and left her mate to sleep.

Creeping down the stairs as quietly as she could, Petra wandered into the kitchen and discovered a disaster zone.

She stood in the doorway for a long while, blinking the grit from her eyes as she took in the state of the place. Since she had no memories of leaving the bedroom, it must have been Silas who destroyed it. There were containers open everywhere. Packaged food was torn open and left all over the kitchen table, counters, and even the floor. Empty jugs of electrolyte beverage were everywhere, like he’d chugged them and then thrown them aside.

“Good gods.” Laughter bubbled up. Petra rubbed her watering eyes, her shoulders shaking, and imagined Silas careening into the kitchen between bouts of raw, borderline violent and depraved sex to guzzle hydration.

Living through a rut and now seeing the reality of its toll in the kitchen left her marveling at how demons got anything done at all.

Yes, other beings experienced mating frenzies — orcs and shifters and even weres, she was pretty sure — but the rut was unlike anything she could’ve imagined. There was sex. There was even wild, out of control, uninhibited fucking. And then there was the rut.

No wonder Silas passed out, she thought, picking a path around wrappers and jugs and tupperware lids he’d tossed hither and yon. Next time we should have a couple IV drips ready.

Shaking her head, Petra found some cheese to nibble on before she set about putting the kitchen to rights. The soreness and sharp stinging between her thighs was bad, but it felt good to be moving around again, so she did her best to ignore it. Taking a dose of painkillers she found in a first aid kit below the kitchen sink helped, too.

She didn’t possess an abundance of energy, so she didn’t try to do more than a cursory cleaning before she threw together a hasty breakfast. Scrambled eggs, left-over seasoned potatoes, cheese, and hot sauce went into three breakfast burritos she piled on a plate. Hooking her fingers through the handle of the only full jug of electrolyte drink left, she carefully balanced her load as she walked back up the stairs.

Nudging the bedroom door open with her bare toes, she found Silas in the same position she’d left him, except he’d moved a few inches to the left to press his face into her pillow. It was a little too dark inside for her to eat comfortably, so she chose to keep the bedroom door open, allowing a little bit of ambient light from the hallway inside. Of course, it also helped air the room out — something it desperately needed.

She didn’t want to wake him, but after seeing the state of the kitchen, she was certain he hadn’t eaten a full meal in too long. The thought of him being hungry made her skin go clammy.

Huh. That’s new.

She’d been scarred by food insecurity for her entire adult life, so her anxieties in themselves weren’t novel. They were simply a part of her, like bumps in a road frequently traveled.

It was rare that her issues surprised her. Of course she hated the thought of anyone going hungry, knowing what torture it was, but she’d never felt the same uneasiness she experienced when her caches went low for another person before. She’d certainly never broken into a cold sweat over her uncle missing a meal.

But Silas was her mate, and she supposed that made everything different. He’d taken care of her even when he was out of his mind. Now it was her turn.

Petra sat on the edge of the bed and deposited the plate and jug down on the bedside table. Attention snared by the supplement bottles there, she was surprised to find them nearly empty.

Petra had to curl her fingers into the sheets to keep from reaching for him. Even when he was out of his mind, he remembered to give me my supplements.

And he had the audacity to say he’d never been sweet a day in his life. She shook her head at the thought.

A quick look inside the drawers confirmed her suspicion that they’d blown through most of the stash he’d put there, too. That eased her mind a little. Clearly he did eat. Probably not enough to sustain his thick slabs of muscle, but she knew from experience that something was always better than nothing.

Leaning down to comb her fingers through his messy curls, Petra murmured, “Sweetheart.”

The muscles of his shoulders bunched and released, but he otherwise remained blissfully unaware of her. A smile tugged at her mouth. Petra ran her fingertips over the dull point of his ear and was delighted to find it was ever-so-slightly fuzzy.

“Sweetheart, you need to eat,” she crooned, watching what she could make out of his expression twitch in response to her ticklish caress. When he still didn’t open his eyes, she blew a soft breath against the shell of his ear. “C’mon, demon. Wake up and eat your breakfast before it gets cold.”

Silas shifted his weight beneath her. At last, he mumbled into the pillow, “Y’made breakfast?” He turned his head just enough to allow one lambent eye to peer at her.

“I figured you’d be hungry.” Petra stroked the curls away from his eye. “I made breakfast burritos. It’s nothing fancy, but?—”

One heavy arm wrapped loosely around her waist. Silas pressed his face into her thigh and let out a long sigh. His shadows slithered around her legs, but even they didn’t seem as demanding as usual.

“Y’okay?”

Petra patted the top of his head. “Yeah, I’m okay. Worn out and sore, but otherwise perfectly fine. You gonna sit up to eat?”

He grunted, but otherwise remained pressed against her side.

“C’mon,” she cajoled. “It makes me anxious knowing you’re probably starving right now. Please eat.”

Silas’s arm flexed around her waist. Suddenly wide awake, his head reared back to fix her with a grumpy look. His cheeks were gaunt and the skin below his eyes was a deep lavender, but even when he was clearly exhausted, he managed an impressively fearsome glower.

“Stop that,” he hoarsely commanded.

“Stop what?”

“Worrying.” His nose wrinkled. “I don’t like it.”

Repressing a smile, Petra gently suggested, “Well, maybe if you ate a little something…”

Scowling, Silas levered himself into a sitting position and demanded, “Give me the food.”

Scooting back against the headboard, Petra reached for the plate but was stopped by Silas grabbing her around the waist again. Before she could protest, he’d arranged them so she was between his legs, her back pressed to his chest and his arms draped over her thighs. The position brought back flashes of decadent memories from the rut and made her tighten her thighs reflexively as a pulse of desire made it through her exhaustion.

The heavy weight of Silas’s head rested on top of hers, like he was just too tired to keep it up for long. The reminder of how tired he was helped banish some of her ill-advised lust.

“Poor demon.” Petra carefully leaned to the side and snagged the plate. Settling it into her lap, she urged him to take one of the burritos. “Just a snack and then you can go back to sleep. You really tuckered yourself out, huh?”

He grunted again, but she was pleased when he took the food and began to quietly chew behind her. After a moment, he mumbled, “D’you make enough for you?”

“One of these is mine, yeah.”

“Good.” Apparently already finished with his first, he snatched another burrito off the plate.

Petra relaxed into him as she ate her own meal. Her eyelids grew heavy at the now familiar motion of his breathing, the scent of him, the way he mindlessly nuzzled her neck every few minutes.

When she finished her food, Silas moved the plate back onto the table and took an impressively long pull from the jug. He offered her the jug, but it was too heavy for her to drink without spilling everywhere, so he had to help her.

Done for now, he set it aside and slumped back against the headboard, his arms loosely wrapped around her middle. His head drooped low, until the fall of his curls brushed her shoulder. Just when she thought he might’ve fallen asleep, he muttered, “You fed me.”

Petra pressed her cheek to his. “You’re my mate.”

The cool tip of his nose kissed the shoulder that his too-big shirt exposed. “Didn’t scare you off, huh?”

“Nope.”

“Didn’t hurt you?”

She couldn’t be entirely sure, but she thought he held his breath as he waited for her answer.

“No, you didn’t.” Petra stroked the contours of his corded forearms, memorizing their topography. “I liked it.”

Gently lifting his arms — something he probably wouldn’t have let her do if he weren’t so exhausted — Petra turned around to straddle his waist. Silas watched her, his eyes glowing faintly in the soft darkness of the bedroom, as she cupped his lean cheeks.

“Is it always going to be like that?” she asked.

“Pretty much.” He tilted his head into her right hand. “If we don’t have kids, it’ll be every year.”

She sucked in a deep breath, very aware that they weren’t just talking about the rut. They were talking about the future. About what their lives would look like.

It was an alien thing for her, the idea that she had a future to think about, let alone a life that stretched beyond a few months and a few fervent desires.

A part of her shied away from it. After all, who said she had a real future? She was technically a fugitive. It was only a matter of time before someone suspected her for Antonin’s disappearance, if they didn’t already. Nothing was certain about her life.

And yet she was certain about him.

Petra exhaled slowly. “That doesn’t sound too bad.”

“You’re mine forever,” he warned her, expression utterly devoid of softness.

“I think I can handle that, too,” she whispered.

Silas’s hands traveled up her back. They spanned both sides of her ribcage when he said, “Good. Now make me yours.”

It didn’t take a genius to understand what he was commanding her to do.

Petra touched their foreheads together and closed her eyes as a bolt of longing, so powerful it nearly stole her breath, hit her. “It’ll knock you out.”

“Don’t give a fuck.” He tightened his hold on her, plastering them together. She could feel him hardening against the apex of her thighs. Her body, trained to respond to him at a moment’s notice, came alive again when he rucked up her borrowed shirt and yanked it over her head.

Her breath quickened when he rocked her back and forth, building the sweet ache until she could feel the wet glide of her arousal between them.

She reached down to guide him inside her. There was more than a twinge of discomfort when he buried himself deep, but she didn’t care. This wasn’t about chasing an orgasm or satisfying some primal urge. It was about closeness. She wanted to crawl into his skin and live there. She wanted him more than she’d ever wanted anything.

And because she was selfish and greedy and refused to care what anyone else thought, Petra wrapped her fingers around the base of his horns and told him, “I want to be married.”

Silas huffed. His cheeks were flushed and his eyes glittered with some indefinable, dark feeling as he guided her hips up and down. “Done. After.”

“I want kids.”

“How many?”

“Three.”

“Two.”

“Two and we get a dog. I’ve always wanted a dog.”

“Two and it’s a guard dog.”

Petra used her grip on him as leverage to grind down. It was a beautiful sight, the way his eyebrows bunched when the pleasure was a bit too much. The rut was incredible, but she’d missed his expressive human face. “Deal.”

Like they wanted to reward her, a tendril of shadow slithered over her thigh to lap at her clitoris, making her hips jolt. Silas gripped the back of her neck with one hand to angle her head up for a messy, demanding kiss. “Deal, baby. Now do it.”

Like he commanded her magic and her body, a scorching rush of magic prickled her skin, begging to be released. His shadows rubbed her mercilessly, expanding that great internal pressure, as he dragged her up and down his cock.

Silas didn’t blink. He didn’t make a sound. He held her stare rigidly, daring her to defy him as he pushed them toward an explosive finish.

Never one to shrink from a challenge, Petra met him stroke for stroke, stare for stare, and when the sharp drop of her orgasm loomed before her, she wrenched his head back by the horns and hissed against his lips, “I want you. I trust you. I love you, demon.”

Her magic bloomed like a supernova between them, arching out in great lashes of energy and light from the burning core of her soul. It arrowed into him with enough force to knock his back against the headboard. His rhythm stuttered, his hips jackknifing upward as he came with a grunt.

She wasn’t sure what was her orgasm and what was the bond, but it didn’t really matter either way. For what felt like a lifetime she was blinded by magic and euphoria. She could taste it on her tongue, metallic like blood, and feel him there — not just the shadow around her neck or where their bodies were joined, but him, the roaring too-much, too-powerful presence of Silas inside all the dark parts of her she’d always tried to hide.

Everywhere that’d been empty was filled. Everywhere that was dark was alive. All of it, all of her, belonged to him.

And now he belonged to her, too.

Silas stared up at her with wide eyes for the span of a heartbeat before he abruptly leaned forward to drop her back onto the mattress. Thrusting savagely between her thighs, he grated, “Yes, yes, yes.”

Petra dug her nails into his scalp and held on as they both chased the waves of their orgasm, sharpened to the finest, most exquisite edge by the new bond that sang between them.

Finally, when they could do no more, Silas gripped her shoulders and rolled them onto their sides. His eyelids drooped even as he hitched her thigh over his hip and ground his half-hard cock into the wet, sticky mess they’d made between her legs. “I won’t let you regret it,” he promised, speech slurring.

Petra’s world began to narrow even as her magic continued to expand, to burrow deeper and deeper into him. “I know,” she whispered, stroking his sweaty hair away from his brow. She moved to kiss him on instinct as the rest of her began to shut down. “I wouldn’t have anyone else, demon.”

Silas’s grip slackened. His restless hips stilled. A moment before the bond claimed him completely, he muttered, “Good girl.” As soon as the final syllable stumbled past his lips, he went limp.

Her magic made a current between them, an elemental cycle of push and pull and rejuvenation. She shuddered under the onslaught as the bond scorched a path between them.

The bond was a link that could never be broken. It could never be tampered with. Only death could separate them, and even then, Petra had her doubts.

Blackness, familiar and comforting in its wildness, beckoned. She didn’t fight it. With her mate’s arms around her, there was nothing for her to fear.