8. Javan

8

JAVAN

" L et's get out of here," I say, glancing at Catandria. She's still trembling, blood and sweat mingling on her skin. She looks at me with those green eyes, full of determination.

I like that.

She nods, and we move quickly through the rest of the barracks, where distant screams and the scrambling of lost humans echo through the air. We step over the numerous bodies, my handiwork, and reach the exit of the barracks without incident.

Outside the stone walls, the moon casts a pale light over the landscape. We head towards the river, the sound of water rushing over rocks a welcome change from the chaos we left behind.

She stops at the edge of the water, looking at me expectantly. "What about the ritual?" she asks.

"That can wait." I strip off my bloodied armor and jump into the river, the cold water shocking but refreshing. "Join me."

She hesitates, wringing her hands that drip with dark elf blood. "I can't swim."

"Good thing I'm here, then." I grab her arm and pull her in. She gasps, flailing, but I hold her steady. "Relax. I'm not letting you drown."

The water swirls around us, washing away the grime and blood. I run my hands over her skin, feeling the tension in her muscles. "You're going to make a perfect demon," I murmur, more to myself than her.

Her eyes widen. "Perfect? How can you say that?"

"Because I see it in you. The hatred, the desperation. It's intoxicating." I move closer, my body brushing against hers. "What drove you to this point, Catandria? What made you want to become like me?"

She looks away, her expression hardening. "They took everything from me. My home, my family, my dignity. I want revenge. I want power."

I pull her closer, feeling the heat of her body against mine. "Tell me, what did the dark elves do to you? To your people? I want to know every detail."

Her breath catches, but she doesn't pull away. Instead, she looks up at me, eyes burning with hatred and sorrow. "They came at dawn," she starts, voice trembling. "We were a small village, nothing special. Farmers, mostly. My father was a blacksmith. We had no defenses."

I nod, encouraging her to continue. "Go on."

"They killed anyone who resisted. Men, women, even children. My father... he tried to fight them off with his hammer. They laughed as they cut him down." Her voice hardens, anger seeping through the cracks of her composure. "My mother and I were dragged away. They made us watch as they burned our home, our neighbors' homes. Everything."

The water laps against our bodies. I tighten my grip on her, grounding her in the present. "What happened next?"

"They separated us. My mother was taken away. I haven't seen her since." Her eyes flicker with pain, but she presses on. "They brought me here, to this fucking place. Made me a 'flesh' slave. Every night, another dark elf would come and... use me. They enjoyed breaking us, making us beg for mercy they never intended to give."

Her voice shakes, but she keeps talking, each word laced with venom. "I tried to escape once. They caught me, beat me until I couldn't move. After that, I stopped trying to run. I started planning."

I raise an eyebrow. "Planning what?"

"Revenge," she says, without hesitation. "I watched, I listened. I learned their routines, their weaknesses. I waited for my chance. And when I heard about you, I knew you were it. My ticket out of this nightmare. My weapon against them."

I chuckle, the sound low and dark. "A weapon, huh? You think you can wield me?"

Her eyes flash with defiance. "I can try."

Her voice, laced with pain and defiance, is like a siren's call, pulling me further into the depths of her story. With each word, she peels back another layer of her armor, revealing the raw, pulsing wounds left by the dark elves. I listen, my hands roaming over her body, tracing the curves and dips of her form, exploring the stark contrast between the softness of her skin and the hardened resolve in her voice.

I slip my fingers between her thighs, fascinated by the juxtaposition of her vulnerability and the lethal strength she showed in the barracks. She shudders beneath my touch, her breath hitching as I explore her, every inch of her responding to me. Her arousal is palpable, a heady scent that mingles with the crisp, clean smell of the river water.

"You're different when you kill," I observe, my voice a low rumble against her ear. "There's a fire in your eyes, a wildness that's utterly captivating."

She gasps as I find the sweet spot between her legs, her body arching into my touch. "I... I never knew I could be so... fierce," she admits, her voice quivering with the effort to maintain control.

I chuckle darkly, my fingers slipping into her opening. "There's a darkness in you, Catandria. It's why you're drawn to me, and why I'm drawn to you. We're not so different, you and I."

Her eyes meet mine, a storm of emotions raging within their green depths. "I want to be strong like you," she confesses, her words punctuated by soft moans as I drive her closer to the edge.

"You will be," I promise, my voice firm with conviction. "But first, you must embrace your darkness, let it consume you."

Her body tenses, but she doesn't pull away. Instead, she leans into my touch, allowing herself to unravel in front of me, her inhibitions washing away with the river's current.

"Javan," she whispers, her voice a mere breath, as she teeters on the precipice.

I hold her gaze, my fingers moving with ruthless precision. "Let go, Catandria. Let the darkness take you."

And with a final, shuddering cry, she does. Her body convulses, waves of pleasure cascading over her as she surrenders to the orgasm that rips through her. The sight of her in the throes of ecstasy is intoxicating, a potent reminder of the power that flows through my veins.

"You're mine now, Catandria," I murmur, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. "And I will make you the strongest demon this world has ever seen."