Chapter 33

33

SYLAS

I would have never guessed that the Mina I'd seen in the sick room, the Mina in the car, and the Mina riding on me now were the same woman, if I did not know otherwise. She had as many moods as I had grains of sand in my hourglass, and I was interested in all of them individually.

She was fascinating, all the things that she was scared of, all the truths she still was holding back—but the fact that she was letting me enter her?—

I could not remember the last time I'd penetrated someone that was willing, or with my member instead of my fist. When certain clients had tried in the past, I'd dissuaded them easily, uninterested in the charms they possessed, but...her? Pieces of me I had not used in eons decided that they should form and come to attention at her command.

But there were vast differences between what I could do now, versus what I could do when I'd been mortal. I didn't want to frighten her, what with all her talk of normal , but I knew I could erupt into a creature made of mouths, kissing her with any part of my body, suckling on her teats at the same time as I lapped her clit—or I could be made of eager hands, groping every piece of her pale white skin—or scratch against her with an infinite number of claws, until she purred like a kitten and was covered in welting red lines.

But she wanted normal, and so I was giving it, and it was enough, as I rose her up and let her fall on me again, her cunt swallowing my cock whole, from the head to the hilt, the juices that fell from her pussy as sweet as tears to me, if not half so precious, and I tasted them, because everything I was was entirely made of me.

It was not a concept she had grasped yet, what with thinking of me as wearing clothing—or assuming I wasn't in rooms when I was—but that was fine, because for some reason she needed this before we went out tonight.

I'd seen bloodlust before, and lust-lust, and every shade in between, and knew right now she was riding me to conquer. I was pleased just to be her plaything, feeling her envelope me again and again, her jaw dropping, her breath coming in quick, short, pants.

"What else do you need, my queen?" I asked, letting myself diffuse out against her, grasping her, so that everything was friction, feeling her nipples pucker under the cotton of her bra, listening to her heart race like it had in the car, but for entirely different reasons.

"Just—this," she said, darting a hand between her legs, beneath her underwear.

"Tsk-tsk-tsk, let me," I said, pulling her hand away, creating ridges of myself in the right spot for her to ride on, while thrusting myself deep.

She wasn't in a position to ask why or how, not when she was about to come hard for me, and the temptation to pull time to a stop for us both loomed large—just as I could make tortures last for a lifetime, I could ruthlessly extend pleasures, too—but I didn't want to hurt her, in case transitioning in time was what had shaken her mood earlier.

She made a whining sound, and I realized how quiet I'd been by comparison, especially when she opened up her tightly closed eyes. "Are you close?"

"To you right now? Yes," I answered honestly, and that made her quickly nod.

"Oh—Sylas, Sylas—Sylas," she hissed, beating her hips down hard, her face tense, her jaw dropped. "I'm gonna—I'm gonna—" she warned, and then she was , gasping as her cunt took what was needed from me, and she gave me guttural moans as she rode on and off of my still-hard cock, grinding herself atop me fiercely—and I peeked for a moment through the veil, to the other side, to watch her heart exploding, not with the last throes of death, but with whatever it was she was experiencing now in relation to me, making streamers of light ripple out through the space between us to land in my darkness, and for once, instead of me pulling her closer bit by earnest bit as the end of her time neared, it was she who was pulling me back.

"Oh, Sylas," she said again, panting, leaning forward, and I made myself solid for her to lie against and touch, marveling at what I'd seen as she tried to catch her breath against me. I picked one arm up, then the other, to wind around her, feeling her breasts bob as her chest did, her breath hot against my neck.

And to think I'd been worried about it being hard to capture her eventually, when here she was in my arms, as frail as a baby bird.

Or a little lamb.

I waited until she shifted her hips and disconnected herself from me, before reclaiming the part of my shadow I'd let enter her. "Was that normal enough for you? "

She pouted down for a moment before wrinkling her nose. "It was good." She said it like it was a complaint.

"So normally for you, it's not?" I asked, confused.

She pushed some of her hair out of her face. "No. I just—" she said, sounding pensive. "It's not what I expected. But I'm glad it wasn't—it was better than it could've been," she went on, confusing herself as well, before shaking her head. "How was it for you?"

"There were parts I enjoyed."

"Which ones?"

I couldn't very well tell her seeing her heart explode. "The part at the end. When you seemed particularly pleasured."

She tilted her head. "But not you?" she asked, then her eyes went wide. "Sylas—did you not come?"

I had a vague memory of what that was—that once upon a time it'd seemed like my only priority.

But now?

I shook my head. I wouldn't even know how to accomplish that, seeing as all of me could see, and feel, and taste. If I were to come inside her, would I be leaving a piece of myself behind?

"Were you really scared of getting me pregnant?" she asked, full of innocence.

"Do you think your small human womb could handle my seed?"

"Bold of you to assume I don't have an IUD."

"What is that?"

"It's a little metal gizmo up in there," she said, gesturing to her belly, before she huffed and shook her head. "But that's not the point, Sylas—I just wanted you to want things, too. Not that all sex has to be orgasm-centric, but?—"

"Me, not responding appropriately to you, wasn't normal?" I guessed.

"Something like that. Although I feel very shallow now, for not noticing," she said, letting her shoulders slump. I took hold of them and straightened her.

"I am not like you."

"What do you mean?"

"I knew what you wanted from me, of course. But as for me, I do not know—" I thought back to my time inside her. I had enjoyed her pleasure, but in regards to my own... "Anything."

Her eyes went wide with understanding. "You don't remember what it was like?"

"What point would there have been in me keeping the memory?" I asked with a shrug.

"Oh, Sylas," she said once more, only this time with an entirely different intonation.

Pity—for me?

From a human?

"Did you . . . want . . . help with that?" she asked.

And for a moment I could see a series of choices for myself, rather than sheer fate pulling me along a pre-ordained track with her—we would always be reaching the same destination together, of course, but suddenly there were too many paths to get to her death to count, and I found it disconcerting, like standing on the edge of a high building without knowing you could fly.

"No," I said quickly. "I am fine. And—it does not matter. We have a murder to plan, do we not?"

She nodded and dismounted me, giving me one last look. "But promise that you'll let me know if that changes?"

"As you may let me know if you have need of your throne again," I said, as regally as I could, before dissipating myself to safety.