19. Come at me. Snap my bones. I’ll crush yours.

Chapter 19

Come at me. Snap my bones. I'll crush yours.

NYXION

"Chokehold" by Sleep Token

"Ascensionism" by Sleep Token

"Hide and Seek" by Lizz Robinett

"Jaws" by Sleep Token

" W here's Ivy?" Zenya dares to whisper at Phantasos' Queen persona.

She waves a hand and snatches a cut of eel from between her breasts. "Oh, Ivy always likes to flit about in the Realm of Dreams. She popped over for a visit to Candyland. I'm sure we will see her soon."

I narrow my eyes upon Zenya. Despite her quickened breath and pulse, she doesn't look away. Caught in my gaze like prey. I creep my chopsticks along the swell of her breast, smirk with one side of my teeth fully exposed from the flesh peeled back, and capture one salmon egg—like a pale ruby gem.

I warned you not to run from me, little killer. I savor her lips parting and her hard swallow. A snarl lodges in my chest as I fixate on the sight of my hyoid bone at the base of her lovely throat. So close. I could cut my way inside and take it back with ease. But all here know I won't.

It's far more difficult to communicate through the mental tether. More frustrating than ever without my sense of speech. But I'll make do…for now.

While tracing one chopstick along the outline of her breast, I tilt my head and ask Zenya, Did you know that high-functioning psychopaths can gravitate towards occupations where it is deemed socially acceptable to act on their impulses?

Morpheus clenches his fist on the table, and if shadows could kill, I imagine they'd be carving daggers into me right now.

Zenya's chest rises and falls quicker, her heart rate picking up its pace as I dig the blade in deeper, punishing her for choosing my brother.

I draw lines down her left arm, following her tattoos. Most choose military or first responders where lethal force can be applied. Sensation-seeking also accompanies these to inflate the ego. I'd say Zenya has the sensation-seeking down with her viral following. Hell, she probably loves how the Oneiroi have waged a war over her.

My little killer blinks, and a delicious tear rolls down her cheek. I will be touching that tear soon, collecting it on my bony fingertip. "Hmm…now what about the lethal force, Zenya?"

Morpheus growls, his shadows surging into a storm as he rises from the table. "Nyxion. I swear to mother-fucking Zeus, if you say one more word to her?—"

I chuckle darkly, the sound resonating from my corpse's chest. Really, brother? How adorable…

"Here we go again. Another dinner sprinkled with tension," grumbles Phantasos, taking a swig from his goblet.

"Shut up, Phanta," I spit.

"No!" He breaks his act by uncharacteristically slamming his hand down on the table, stands up, and throws back his ruby train. "I've had enough. For once, I want a nice, quiet meal. Family dinner like Zenya proposed last time. Now, we've got you two stirring the pot again. And Hecate's here to stir her cauldron. No offense," he adds, throwing her a look.

She twists her lips into a smirk and takes the flask of sake from Zenya's thighs. "None taken."

"Now…" He hunches over the table, marking each of us. "I'm the one who is supposed to create drama. So, the least you can do is save the theatrics for dessert. Zenya, darling, do you mind…?" He inches his chopsticks to the clutch of salmon roe along her hardened nipples.

She gives him a warm smile, the sort of smile I wish she would give me. One I know she never will because I'm an irredeemable force of black dreams. Endless nightmares. Endless demons. Endless Abyss.

"Sure," she says.

He snatches an egg from her breast, pops it in his mouth, and savors the rich fishy taste. "Ahh…delightful. And may I add how pretty your piercings are?" He praises her tits, though he will never be interested in them.

"Hmm, do you have a favorite tattoo, Phantasos?" she wonders, breaking character. I conceive of changing these chopsticks into thin bones to punish her with delicious torment.

He blinks, pausing like his brain is short-circuiting. Frustration grows within me at my younger brother's diversion. I didn't get far enough.

"The mountains," Phantasos says, raising his chin high like it's symbolic.

She smiles softly. Yes, the mountains at the back of her neck. Dead center. But not her balance or she would have inked it right onto her chest. Hmm…

It's the mountain, isn't it, Zenya? I leer down at her, admiring the glimmer of light behind her eyes that comes before her tears. Your lethal force. Whenever you climb, you beat that mountain into submission. Do you imagine your father is the mountain, hmm? Or perhaps all those viral following fools?

Hecate stiffens. Phantasos pales like he wishes to hide. And my youngest brother begins to rise from his shadow throne.

But I narrow my focus on my prey. All those delicious emotions I still channel through the Eye of Morpheus, tasting and relishing them—denial, fear, and a dark feminine fury with just a sprinkle of guilt from her increased gray matter. Those lovely neuronal cell bodies and their dendrites like little fingers communicate with the neurons. Though I imagine Zenya's are more like claws than fingers.

Tell me, little mortal… I go on, claiming a slice of sashimi, playing with my food in more ways than one. Do you love to climb so high because you know everyone is inferior to you?

Morpheus lowers himself into a crouch, shadows brewing a maelstrom around him as he targets me with those fathomless eyes. Phantasos shifts, transforming into a bread basket—as if reminding us we should be breaking bread instead of bones. So quaint.

Upon my throne of bones, you commanded us like a seasoned queen. Vengeance erodes my already dark insides, marrying with cold hatred. I lean closer to her, catching another teardrop with my chopstick, studying the shape before flicking my tongue to vanish it. Because you know what it is to rule a kingdom, don't you, little killer? How superior, how lofty you must feel when you rise to the mountain summit where you may look down upon all those beneath you and know in the depths of your twisted little heart how much better you are.

Morpheus growls low, ready to lunge when Zenya twists her neck to one side and shakes her head, scrunching her brows low and pinching her lips in a silent but clear command. Let him speak.

Such sweet punishment. She's feeding that remorse while fueling the flaming fury inside her.

How many times have you exploited your fans? I ask her. Gaslighting them by acting like you were wholly innocent in the sins of your father? Playing the poor victim, a tormented soul so unfortunate. I lower my chopstick to her center, grinning at how wet and warm she is, how she gets off on the punishment and the reflection of her demons as I summon them one by one. Such shock over her father's crimes, you needed to escape and run far away when it was your crimes all along, your sins that led you to run…

Her breath quickens to staccato pants while her hands tremble with her need.

Ahh, there is my woman, growing her armor. Pure silk, so thin, all those curves and contours show their outlines. Red as blood. Cut high to the waist on each side to exhibit her lickable tattoos. Thin straps. Plunging V-neckline. And her hair like a royal waterfall to rain down her back like a queen's train. A heated mania spreads through me with blood surging right for my cock.

I've spent a moment or two savoring her form before she rises until she's on her knees, staring daggers—their lethal edges—at me. Yes, my little she-demon birthed right from hell. Come for me. Come at me. Snap my bones. I'll crush yours.

You believe you're better because the inferior and less than human are the worst of society. Abusers, rapists, murderers…and that fills you with the most guilt, doesn't it? To know you hate your father, but you can't stop loving him…for the identity he gave you. What an identity, Zenya Alice Myre! My cock hardens more at the sight of growing iron claws right from her fingertips. Sweet little weaver. The apple doesn't fall far from the tree. You, the apple of your father's eye. So unequivocally assured that you are rotten to the core.

She lunges.

I laugh like a madman as my little killer tackles me to the floor and tears into me with her claws. And her teeth. I laugh more when she bites at the intact half of my mouth, ripping it right off and spitting it at me.

Out of the corner of my eye, I find Hecate casually but smugly leaning back in her seat, sipping her wine while Morpheus advances toward us.

Zenya rips right past the fabric of my suit. Slashing and stabbing, stripping my very flesh like organic wallpaper.

"Choke on this poisoned apple, you walking bag of bones!" she screeches like a banshee, breaking my rib cage, and clawing for my heart.

Before she may have the honor of holding the bleeding, beating organ, I seize her wrists, turn her over until she's pinned beneath me, and shove aside her red silk armor to spear my cock inside her—all the way to the hilt.

As soon as she opens her mouth in a savage scream, I return the favor, biting her lower lip until it bleeds.

Come to the pyre, my little moth! I purr low and thrust while she bucks and screams while clenching her muscles all around me, unable to control her body's response to me. How beautifully she breaks for me. Falling into our bond of darkness.

An onslaught of shadows—like dark and cold arrows—pierces my back. Morpheus's black sand surges at me, cutting like diamonds. But I'm too close to care about the pain of those diamonds shredding my skin to smithereens.

I send waves of my bone dust, my shield against him.

Dripping blood and flesh all over my little killer, I lower my teeth to her throat and thrust, feeling my brother's presence as he tries to get through my barricade. I'll hold out as long as I can. I'll hold on for dear life. Because she…is…my…life.

My flesh begins to restore itself as I pound her mortal flesh—piecing itself back together too fast for my brother to destroy. All her demons look me right in the eye and tell me to ‘fuck off' while everything in her flesh and blood begs ‘fuck me'. My hunger soars to impossible heights.

"You're a master of nightmares. I'm the Queen of Bones!" she spits out before licking her lips, coated with our blood. When I drag my teeth up to her mouth, she is there, meeting me. I feel all those delicious emotions, the hysterical, dark fever inside her she cannot deny when she's with me.

Zenya for Morpheus.

And my mad little Alice.

I growl inside our bond, suspended here, gazing into those turquoise gems, jewels caught in the fire as she squeezes around me, grinding, chasing her pleasure.

Will they find your bodies, all your lovely bones? I challenge with a twisted smile, my cock thickening and throbbing at how she freezes and narrows her eyes.

Morpheus gets his hand through my barrier.

I may have three thrusts left. All I need.

Thrust!—deep, so deep inside her, she will feel it in her womb. She cries as I attack her mouth with mine, lips whole again.

Thrust! My brother's claws sink through my hair.

They grip the back of my neck.

Stopping a breath above her swollen lips, I curl my fingers around her throat, press the heel of my hand against my hyoid bone, look her dead in the eye—the eye of our beautiful nightmare—and proclaim, Off with your head, little killer.

One last thrust.

Come.

She breaks, then shatters into a billion, beautiful, and burning moth wings…and tattoos.