A Devil in Your Heart [Prince & Story]

[Dark Prince]

“Demon scum,” taunted the guard. “They’ll cut yer prick off, ya know.”

“At least I have one to—”

Phatoooey.

“—I hope you have better aim with your sword than your mouth,” finished Damon, barely dodging the guard’s spit. The iron shackles on his wrists clanked as he shifted his body back. “Or is your poor aim why they have you guarding chained up prisoners?”

Half-sprawled on a too short wooden bench, his shoulders propped against the cold stone wall, Damon sighed and tried to close his eyes again. The pounding in his head just wouldn’t go away. Might it even be getting worse? Just how much had he drank last night?

At least the cell was dark. What little light came in through the door’s small window was blocked by the annoying guard’s face.

“Found in me Lady’s bed, were ya? 'Ats what ya get for messing with a proper, pious woman like me Lady, may the Light shine on her. Demon scum.”

“Pious?” Damon couldn’t help himself. “Let’s just say she wasn’t that pious last night… or the night prior. Or the night before that… unless you think going down on her knees for hours counts as praying—”

“Shut yer hole, ya filth!”

“Her chambermaids proved quite pious then as well. I’ve never seen such avid praying, and they certainly were enthusiastic about letting the Light shine on parts of their bodies that never—”

“Ah’ll come in there and cut off yer prick myself if you don’t shut your forked tongue!”

“Let’s just be quiet then,” said Damon with another sigh. “We’d both prefer that.”

Quiet unfortunately also meant the pounding in his head only grew more noticeable. Even worse, Damon’s thoughts inevitably turned to his own stupidity and he groaned at the mess he’d made by getting over confident.

He had his rules. Rules that had worked for years. No more than three nights with the same woman. No more wealth taken than he could carry in a belt purse. No unnecessary taunting of a cuckolded husband. Never sleep where someone could see him. And of course, his biggest rule, don’t get blind drunk in public!

He’d broken all of them.

A shackled hand went to his head, chain rustling as he scratched through his long black hair and found one of the two horn nubs hidden beneath. They remained out of sight while he was awake, but his true nature was always revealed when he slept, or got wildly drunk. The nubs would grow into dark horns that branded him unmistakably as a demon half-blood.

He’d heard all the names. Demon scum. Foul monster. Devil Spawn. And, in Damon’s particular case, that he was an incubus who deflowered innocent women and corrupted them to the Darkness before stealing their souls. Well, he couldn’t argue about deflowering women, and some may have been innocent, but the rest of the Darkness nonsense was just plain silly.

Damon’s head throbbed painfully as he wallowed in his idiocy. The Lady of this country castle had been just too tempting, her husband too much of a trusting fool, and the chambermaids had needed such little magical persuasion to join the fun that he’d overstayed his welcome.

Now he was going to finally pay.

You demon-witted horny fool.

“Is it true yer cock is the size of a horse’s and ya have horns?”

“I’ll show it to you if you take off my chains… they are chafing my wrists.”

Damon gave the guard the gaze. It was steamy, smoldering stare, infused with all the lusty compelling power he could muster. With a woman, in normal circumstances, she’d obey him without hesitation. Even men, when the situation was right or their interests strayed that way, could be affected. The guard was tempted for a second, then he snorted and shook his head.

“Ah’m no fool, the Priest said those were blessed chains and you were powerless with them on your wrists,” the guard announced with a smug grin. “They’ll be taking ya out of here today I hear, back to the Temple for your trial. I hear ‘em coming now.”

Damon shook his head in irritation. Who would they send for him? One of those corrupt and hypocritical priests? An elite self-righteous Paladin? Maybe just a bunch of motley guardsmen.

He picked at his disheveled clothes idly. It was feast day finery he still wore, starting with grey felt trousers and polished high boots best suited for a dance floor. His now sullied white shirt was made of embroidered silk and hung foppishly loose at his wrists, the front untied and open to reveal his hairy chest. His jacket was long gone. The dark red and elaborately knotted sash on his waist looked like an absurd flower.

Were these the clothes he’d wear to his death? It was not the somber outfit he’d have imagined, although frankly he hadn't tried to dwell on that image much.

A clanking at the door preceded the rusty click of the lock turning. Damon looked up, a wry half smile forcing itself on his face, while he remained lounging on the bench as if there was no place he'd rather be.

“Welcome to my humble palace. I’d offer you a seat…,” he began, but his words faded and his eyes widened. The rakish grin that appeared was full of genuine delight . “Well, well, well. You might be the prettiest thing I’ve seen today. Granted I’ve only seen the guard so far, but still. Not that I’m unhappy to see you, darling, and the armor does fit well, but where’s the real soldier that’s supposed to be coming for me?”

 

[Story]

Ofélia de Midena was born into the House of Ember, the priesthood invoked to rid the world of the evils that plagued it. While the House had, through the centuries, done away with the old beliefs, fought and taken down those things that accompanied the taint from the old gods, there was the occasional circumstance that called upon the Order to intervene. The paladin was one who was said to have the blood of seraphim in their veins, kept pure through their lives.

While some went out to become warriors, others became priestesses to watch over the temples, and then there were those such as she, titled an Inquisitor. Such a title did not accommodate the standard paladin - warriors or their order - who fought in their name, nor the spread of their Order as the priests did. Hers required more finesse that others in the Order did not possess.

It was why, when she stepped into the damp dungeon and met the black-eyed stare of the prisoner, she did little more than blink in response to his opening remarks. She was in the process of removing the heavy riding gauntlets and stashing them at her hip, a curt nod offered to the guard that had been standing vigil with the prisoner, when she stopped in the center of the tiny square that was his chamber.

She wore no ceremonial garb, only travelers’ ware; this was no mission that required any of the flash and awe of the Order. The armor she wore was light set, allowing for ample movement, even though the supple mail hid most of the femininity underneath and left everything to the imagination of those who saw her. Hair the color of a raven’s wing, when let down, cascaded well past her shoulders, was now tied back in a knot at the nape of her neck, highlighting the high cheekbones of her face, the tapered heart of her jawline, and the dark of her stare. Plush lips were thinned as they compressed into a considering line as she took in the sight.

“You are hereby ordered to remain silent, demon. I am here to escort you to your trials by the Order of Ember, as you have been found guilty of corruption,” was all she would address with him directly. Her voice was precise and poignant, and seemed to have an unrelenting reserve of patience and lack of amusement for his words.

Her eyes shifted away from him and landed on the guard, “Angus, keep him shackled, but bring him with me. Our party waits outside and is set to depart with the prisoner to the Capitol, where his official interrogation will begin.”

The guardsman, Angus, sneered at the demon, but did as he was told and undid the chain from where it hung on the wall. The shackles that bound the demon’s wrists were kept in place, and Angus jerked perhaps harder than he should have when he led the incubus to where the paladin had moved to the doorway.

Ofélia allowed the guard to escort the prisoner through the castle and out into the courtyard, where she took the makeshift leash that was the chain from the man and, again, nodded curtly. Only before she dismissed him back to his duties, her eyes narrowed on the man, “It does not bode well to taunt the creature. That only feeds his delight, and he must be made aware of his crimes and accept that his mere existence is a blight, knowingly. You will do well to remember that if there is a next time, Guard Angus.”

Her lecture caused the guard to start to scowl, open his mouth as if to snipe at her, but her raised brows made his jaw snap back shut. Bowing with his fist thumping against his chest, he turned and retreated back inside the castle proper, leaving her to lead the demon the rest of the way to the company that awaited them. Servants, mostly, who were replenishing supplies in the bed of a wagon in which a cage nestled. Its bars, too, were blessed as the chains that bound him were.

Leading him like a stray dog, she paused long enough to open the door to the cage. Only then did she turn back to address him, her features remaining so carefully blank. “Get in,” she ordered. It would be the only time she would give him the choice to comply before force was used, and it reflected in her voice as she stepped back to give him the room to climb into the cage.

 

[Dark Prince]

They sent a woman to escort me to my trial?!

At first, Damon could hardly believe his luck. After all, women to him were a step above toys, mere playthings that he could easily bend to his will by fanning the flames of their own ardor with his powers. A beautiful woman, like the mysterious soldier before him, would normally be an irresistible target, a ripe cherry he would have to pluck no matter the risk. His heart raced as he gazed upon her, his dirty mind already imagining her swooning to his sultry whispers. This was going to be fun.

Ofélia’s icy response snapped him back to reality.

Damon felt absolutely nothing as she stared at him. The realization was as chilling as her gaze. Where was the ember of desire he would normally sense within a woman, that lusty hidden spark he coveted whose flame he would stoke to white heat with his powers of seduction?

The damned shackles have truly taken my powers from me!

It was as if a statue stood before him. Perfect in beauty and form, but with no warmth or life.

“Silent? I’m sure I’ll be missing out on some incredible conversation then,” Damon muttered. His mind still reeled and he struggled to muster his wit. “No lectures on the Light? Sermons on how my soul is steeped in Darkness? Perhaps a congratulatory speech on how my dying will help remove some Darkness from the world? OWW! Easy Angus, you don’t have to pull THAT hard now do you, especially after all we’ve been through together?”

The bright sun of the courtyard stung Damon’s eyes and he fought the urge to shield them. He didn’t love daylight, but wasn’t adverse to it like some supernatural creatures. He did most of his work at night, by nature, and felt the glamour he worked on a woman’s heart was stronger then. It took him a second to process the scene as his eyes adjusted.

As expected the Lady and her chambermaids weren’t there to witness his departure, no doubt being forced to pray in seclusion to purge his unholy corruption from their souls and violated orifices. The scattered servants ogled him as if he was some horrible monster on display. Most wouldn't hold his gaze, but he thought he caught a tear in the eyes of a couple of the kitchen maids who had snuck off with him for midday trysts this past week.

It was the cage that drew his attention, though. He was so fixated on that sinister square of cursed metal that he almost missed Ofélia’s lecture to the guard on his mistreatment. He tore his gaze away to eye his beautiful captor again. Her words sounded almost humane, well except for calling him a blight for simply existing.

“He’s just jealous because he has a small prick,” Damon said with a knowing wink at the guard. Ofélia’s sudden tug on his shackles forced him to stumble forward.

Idiot. Why are you making jibes about the guard right now!

Damon had bigger problems. The idea of being locked up in that evil cage like a foul beast chilled him to the bone. How many hundreds of his non-human brethren had ridden in that cage to their death?

He should run. He should fight her. He should struggle at least!

Yet the moment was too surreal for him to process, as if he was stuck in some twisted fever dream. The bright sun cast everything in too sharp relief, the silence of the normally bustling courtyard was deafening, and most noticeably the strange absence of the usual tempting warmth emanating from the women around him made the world cold and alien. It all conspired to make him feel like he was sleep walking. Ofélia’s steady pull forced his leaden feet to stumble along against his will, while his mind screamed at him to resist.

At last she paused to open the cage’s door. This was his last chance, and Damon’s eyes scanned the courtyard, noting the watching guards that lingered in the shade of the buildings, before finally settling back on Ofélia. Her order to enter the cage was calm and emotionless, and the eyes that met Damon's seemed empty of any feeling, not even disdain, as if he was a creature so beneath her that she couldn't be bothered to even dislike him.

And they call me a monster.

“Wait—” Damon shouted, then tugged back hard against the shackles to test his captor’s grip. Running would be suicidal with the guards, most likely, but he simply couldn’t get in that cage. It was over if he did. He raised his voice for the courtyard to hear. “Who are you? You bear no emblem or mark. What is your name and by what right are you taking me? What is my crime and what proof have you? I declare the accusations are false, lies of jealousy. I have my rights by the King and the Order.”

 

[Story]

Control emanated from the woman like a supernatural force -- and, considering that she was a part of the Order, it could very well be that. Moreso, it seemed that any humor that she might have once had in her had been sapped by the very same Order she was sworn to, or so it appeared as she regarded his words with cold silence. While he spoke, her mouth moved from a thin line to pursed lips, unimpressed by his jibes. Although … Ofelia did finally answer him.

“Lectures and sermons are reserved for the priesthood. As I am not a priest, there will be no sermons or lectures of the Light,” she corrected him, tersely. “Do you have any other foolish questions before we leave or will you be saving them in an attempt to drive me mad on the road?”

The only humor, no doubt, he would be getting from her. Dry as bone and punctuated with a sharp-eyed glance in his direction.

“And I am sure your ego is much too large for the size of your own prick,” she suggested back, slender brow arching as her tug caught the demon off guard.

That is, until he tested her further by tugging on the chain. Her lips pursed in that way again, as if she were in thought, and her dark eyes slid to where his hands had jerked the chain. Her feet slid apart to brace herself, grounding her in place as she twisted the chain around a bracer and clenched the lithe muscles in her arms as she hauled back, her feet taking a step as she tugged him right back. Despite being a woman, she had strength, and had pulled the chain in such a way that - if he was as unawares as she assumed - would send him stumbling down into the dust.

“Demon, I promise that you do not want to test me. We have a long voyage ahead of us, then you may make your case at trial. The Order will consider your words and judge you in the basis of your reported … behavior,” Ofelia told him crossly.

He was incubi, she knew; he feasted on the soul’s of women and sometimes men via sexual gratification. Although she was not sure what the long term implications of his victims were, few resulted in death from these creatures, though insanity was not out of the question. She doubted that his victims had much choice in their endeavors, and thus -- his crimes were secure.

“Are you familiar with rape, demon?” She arched her brow at him again, this time leading him closer to the wagon. She would drag him up in it if he resisted stepping into it himself. “Or did you want to try and tell me that what you have been doing to your victims is a result of full consent, and has nothing to do with manipulation, coercion of the mind and body, and that their acts have been wholly willing?”

Her voice dripped asinine as she asked the right question, her stare penetrating.

“Get into the wagon unless you would prefer another would be victim of yours - myself - drag you in and further debase your position, demon.”

 

[Dark Prince]

“Do you have any other foolish questions before we leave or will you be saving them in an attempt to drive me mad on the road?”

“So you are my escort? A swift and painless death now seems almost a boon,” Damon quipped, which only encouraged Angus to give his chain another savage yank that almost pulled him to his knees.

The guard’s overly enthusiastic tugging distracted Damon, but he still did his best to match his captor’s gaze as he was marched up the stairs from the dungeon. It was still strange to look upon a woman, no less a beautiful one like her, without feeling any spark of desire emanating from within. He found it unsettling, that stern and lifeless face a cruel a reminder of just how powerless he was while in these chains.

“And I am sure your ego is much too large for the size of your own prick.”

Damon was surprised. It was the first peek of personality he’d seen yet from the stern woman. Was he getting under her skin, or did she in fact have a sense of humor under that marble exterior?

“Most women say it’s a fair contest between the two, but I’d welcome your thoughts when you’ve taken full measure of both,” answered Damon with a smug grin.

Damon had given her a good tug at the cage when he spoke up, strong enough to show he wasn’t getting inside willingly, but Ofélia’s strength was surprising. She appeared to have a lithe frame under her armor, so he suspected her blessed Light must be giving her some extra heft. Damon was a tall man, well muscled for his size, and the idea that a woman could equal his strength, even one with apparent religious fervor, was another blow to his already ravaged ego.

He tugged again, but she had braced herself and was ready this time and as a result he barely forced a step out of her. His next tug was his strongest yet, but she seemed to sense it coming and fed him some slack from the chain she had wrapped around her bracer. He was off balance for a second, tugging against no resistance, when quick as snake she pulled him towards his side with all of her deceptive strength. For a second Damon was falling, going sideways and headed towards the gravelly ground of the courtyard, and only some of the agility he was blessed with from his demon heritage let him get a knee out to avoid a full and indecorous face plant at the hands of this much smaller woman.

Her speech was given to him as he stared up at her from one knee, her words adding insult to the injury he already felt at being brought to the ground.

It was the kind of self-righteous drivel he expected from her, but the words cut home. He never hurt his women and he knew they truly relished the time he spent with him. Sure, maybe the consent was dubious, but human men did far worse every day to women and got away with it because of their wealth or status. Damon gave his paramours abundant pleasure, intense love, and satisfying fulfillment of their own repressed fantasies. He was an expert at discerning what they truly desired, whether they realized it or not, and giving it to them was his gift to brighten their typically unsatisfying lives.

“I am no RAPIST!” he shouted, rising to his feet. His face was flushed with real anger and his black eyes flashed with rage. Chains or not, the thought crossed his mind of killing her. He was bigger, stronger, and if he could get the chain around her neck he could at least try to take one of the Order, who had killed so many of his innocent brethren, to Hell with him. “Kill me now, then, as I know I’ll have no chance at a fair trial with your kind judging me!”

She tugged his chain towards the wagon. Closer. He had to get closer. Another couple steps and he’d be within reach of her. She was either overconfident or a tougher adversary than he imagined to let him get this near to her alone. He had to be cautious, though, as he didn’t want to make her wary of his intentions.

“Or perhaps,” he said, taking a step forward. He dropped his voice low, tempting her to lean forward to hear him. “You don’t have the stomach for dirty work yourself… do you?”

Rough hands grabbed him and too late he realized the guards had circled in. Angus gleefully punched him in the stomach, forcing him to double up, as another guard smashed his head with a truncheon so hard that sparks filled his vision. In a second, he was tossed unceremoniously into the cage like a sack of garbage and the clang of the door shutting ended any hope of a miraculous escape.

Angus’ final words rang out as the cart lumbered into motion.

“Enjoy Hell, Demon Scum. At least I’ll have a prick.”

 

[Story]

It was not the first time that Ofélia was tested by those she was sent to capture and return to trial, nor would he be the last. Her strength, as much as he might suspect it came from the Order itself - while close - had nothing to do with the strength of the Light that guided her. Hers was a secret well coveted, and served her well when the creatures that crawled the world underestimated the woman.

And they had not even left the gate.

Her teeth gritted as he fought the chain, but her grip only tightened, and her hard yank back was more to use his strength against him than it was any supernatural prowess she might possess. Though the woman was starting to look at least mildly perturbed that he was struggling still against his fate, and was close to knocking the man out himself once he finally fell to his knees when his words struck her in their fury.

Ah, so there was the Demon. It did not have horns or fiery breath, but a temper that raged in his coal dark eyes nonetheless. It dampened the emotion that had begun to creep in her face, doused like a blanket when he spat his dramatics.

“And I suppose the next thing you will say is that you have made their lives better,” she said quietly. Then she considered, her lips pursing. Something of a tic of hers. “Are they better, once you are finished with them? What, pray tell, Demon -- do you think will happen to the lord’s wife now? Do you think she will relish her time with you, or do you think she will come to dread it? Do you think that her husband will not beat her, worse?”

Her voice was a chill to the fire in his own. Her eyes steady, lacking fear, as he inched close until he towered over her frame.

She did not even have to move a muscle, either, before the guards who had just finished packing away their supplies for the journey to come stepped in, bringing him right back down before her. She turned away as they hefted him into his prison, locked the door with a loud clang and handed her the key as she clambered up onto the bench and took the reins in her hands.

“I think that you have ample time to think about accountability whilst we ride for the day. Let that be your first sermon, Demon.”

Then they were off, the sound of hooves over cobble bringing them out of the courtyard and eventually out onto the open road, putting the keep behind them with the sun. They would follow the road until the sun, having been high in the sky when they left, was a bleeding reminder of the day on the horizon by the time the first signs of a town came into view. Only her intention was not to stop there, where there would be people; she would only stop if her supplies dwindled too low. Instead, she steered them off course and into a lightly forested area, which then opened up into a glade, complete with a creek that fed into a river that babbled deeper through the forest.

Slowing the pair of mares that had guided them this far, even when they had to dodge around a fallen tree that obscured the hunters’ path that led them to this spot, Ofélia looked around, then dismounted fully from her bench seat of the wagon. The mares lowered their heads to graze while she unhitched them to let them wander free for a time, then rounded around to check on her prisoner, staring through the bars.

“You will have rations tonight for dinner. I hope that suits you after having gorged yourself for a week,” she murmured, then moved away to rifle through what they had to eat, and also unhitching a bedroll and other gear to set up camp for the evening.

 

[Dark Prince]

Damon thanked whatever god there was that cared about demon spawn that the country castle and village were small, as the crowds that gathered to watch Ofélia’s triumphant exit were fortunately tiny. Despite their lack of numbers, the local population made up by being very loud. Damon closed his eyes and pretended to not hear the deafening roar of catcalls and insults that followed him.

At least they were awed enough by the presence of a member of the Order to not throw rotten fruit at him like he’d seen in other villages that had captured demons on display.

He’d heard all the names and curses before, but before he had been pretending to be a human and even joined in if appropriate. Now, exposed in the open cage and the sole target of that raw hate, he felt more pain and sense of aloneness than he expected he might.

Just a day ago, he had been one of them. In fact, as a fake nobleman from the Capitol with looks and wit, he was revered by these bumpkins. He shouldn’t care what this country trash thought of him, ignorant and uneducated peasants, but their hatred made the divide clear.

They were humans, and he was not.

The blow from the guard cured Damon’s hangover, at least, but replaced it with a more specific throbbing on the back of his head that made the jarring ride in the wagon bed even more uncomfortable. He gritted his teeth and tried to arrange himself as best he could in the small cage, barely able to stretch his legs out and resting the bump on his scalp between two of the bars.

For once in his life, Damon felt no desire to talk. Between the pain in his skull and general depression over his situation, he sat in surly silence and watched the forested landscape pass. He should covet these views, as when they reached the Capitol he’d likely rot in a dark cell until they brought him out for a public mockery of a trial and gruesome execution. Angus hadn’t been lying, Damon had also heard they’d cut the evil pricks off incubi before they burned them alive.

Trying to not dwell on his upcoming death too much, Damon’s thoughts turned to the mysterious and icy woman who was his captor. He’d never had a woman stand up to him before. Never. It was unthinkable given his powers, and she’d not only resisted him, but cut him deeply with her words.

I’m not evil. I don’t hurt people.

In truth, Damon knew his women loved their time with him, but he’d never given much thought to what happened after he left. Perhaps it was a subject he avoided because there was truth to what Ofélia had accused. He’d assumed his trysts were treasured memories for his lovers, highlights of their otherwise dull and tedious lives. The real villains were the misogynistic and boorish human husbands that never appreciated them the way Damon did.

Were there repercussions for his lovers? He didn’t want to harm them, that was never his intention. It was a troubling thought.

And then there was the Ice Queen herself. She was beautiful and strong, and the perpetually horny part of himself longed to woo her to bed despite how much he hated her. What a conquest she would be, probably a worthy test of his powers even at their fullest. The truly religious women were always the hardest to seduce, but the tougher the fight, the sweeter the prize. While he never enjoyed when women fell so completely under his spell that they were near mindless in their devotion, the thought of his raven haired captor staring doe-eyed at him in breathless admiration was more than pleasant.

The wagon rumbled to a stop in a secluded glade and Damon watched Ofélia tend to setting up her camp, admiring the efficiency and practice in her motions. When she spoke to him, barely acknowledging his existence, he sighed loudly.

“You never told me your name, which is the courteous thing to do if we are to have a dinner date tonight,” he said in response. “I’m Damon. Damon D’Alvere. Or do you not talk to presumed demon spawn? Despite what you say, I’m not the monster you think I am.”

She was an enigma to Damon still. A woman he couldn’t seduce and whose heart he couldn’t see. He should just hate her and ignore her, but part of him wanted to learn more about her, maybe so he could hate her more deeply.

“Am I to get a break from the cage for a bit, at least to eat and do my bodily functions?” he asked, voice syrupy sweet. “You can chain me to the wagon if you like, but if I’m on my final journey, a stretch of the legs now and then would be pleasant. I might even be willing to talk with you, though I find members of the Order to be a bit dull. Kill evil. Die demon. Praise the Light. All that gets a little repetitive you know?”

He doubted she would talk to him, but his curiosity was high now.

“You’ll have to excuse my prattling, this is my first time being taken to my death so I don’t know all the proper protocols, but I assume you’ve killed dozens of demons by now and this is old hat?”

 

[Story]

Hate was a strong word. Ofélia had enough pragmatism that was often mistaken for self-righteousness to know that hate tempered only venom, which led to mistakes, which led to the decline of anything productive. Hate was a word slung from side to side throughout history, laying to waste men and women; entire battlefields of people who fought fueled with the emotion. Sometimes even entire kingdoms. It was why she tried to educate herself on the nuances of the things that she was sent to hunt down, for knowledge was a stronger tool than misguided emotions.

Even though from an outsider’s point of view, the woman seemed to have no emotion at all, except for the sliver she had demonstrated in the courtyard.

Nor did she feel inclined to speak, content to allow him to wallow in his own insidious thoughts while the wagon rocked and they arrived at this final destination for the evening.

Her booted feet flattened the grass underneath her feet as she moved from the wagon, to where she had efficiently pitched a tent and fixed the interior with a bedroll, a lamp for when it grew too dark to see by. She had begun creating a makeshift firepit of stones and try twigs when the sound of his voice filtered from the back of the wagon. Lost in her own thoughts, one might have believed that the woman had forgotten that she was keeping a prisoner locked up in her presence. The piece of flint she clutched in her hand that sparked the tinder, causing a roar to flicker, then roar to life, stilled. Glancing up, she stared at the demon who watched her.

“Then what kind of monster are you?” came her reply, twinged with that hint of dry humor tangled with sarcasm. Subtle, but there.

With the fire started, she did rise up with a sigh and brushed her hands along her sides to dust them off. She was still in full gear, not yet settled enough to relax for the evening, even though by the looks, this was a traveler’s spot to stop for the evening. Pausing in front of the barred opening of the makeshift cave, she did procure the key and unlock it, letting it swing open as she took a step back.

“You may relieve yourself, but if you try and run, know that you will not get far before I find you again. Then, you will have relinquished whatever freedoms that might otherwise be granted to you from then on out -- and your punishment all the more severe when you are presented before the Order in trial. Do you understand?”

The woman had an accent, a faint dialect that was not local to this area. It gave her voice an exotic lilt, as if the common tongue was not what she was born with -- and made all the more so when she finally responded with, “Ofélia.”

While the guard Angus had tried to belittle him before everyone, Ofélia made no move to snatch up the chain still wound around his wrists. Instead, she watched him with a cross look on her face to see if he would make a run for it, or anything else unsavory. The quirk of her brow suggested that she even expected it of him, acting as both a challenge and a warning.

“When you are finished relieving yourself, you may join me by the fire. We can talk -- for I would like to know why you think the Order exists, if those who belong to it only care about … kill evil, die demon, praise the light…” She trailed off, the arch in her brow raising again, lips quirking in a bittersweet irony. “The light can, after all, cast a longer and darker shadow than the darkness itself, no? I would not presume to know what you do not. Grant that courtesy, and I will promise to do the same, and this journey will be more pleasant for it.”

She turned away from him then, seeming to grant him some sort of privacy. Or as much as she was willing to grant him. “When you are ready to eat, I will tell you just how many I have killed,” she promised, though again the dry sarcasm was back in her voice.

From there, she went back to her fire and folded herself gracefully, legs tucked underneath her, and undid the belt that held sword and scabbard. This she set to one side, then began peeling off her bracers.

 

[Dark Prince]

“Then what kind of monster are you?”

“No more a monster than any man, and less than most,” was Damon’s quick reply. “I was born into that label, at least by your doctrine, while normal men choose to earn that ignominy with their actions.”

Then the foolish woman opened the cage, and she didn’t even try to tie him up!

Damon was worried that the giddy joy he felt at her surprising act of trust would be revealed on his face and he fought to keep his smile neutral. She was armored after all, and had weapons. He’d have to kill or subdue her somehow to get the key to his shackles as she was right, he wouldn’t get far running with them on. Even if he managed to escape her, no blacksmith would dare break blessed shackles from the Order.

He needed that key.

Bide your time. Make her trust you. When you make your move, do it when you will succeed.

“You have my word, as little as that means given your regard of my kind,” answered Damon. He stretched as he left the cage, his muscles sore from the cramped conditions and bumpy ride. “I’ll swear by my mother’s soul I won’t try to escape, if that helps.”

She was watching him like a hawk and her expression made it clear that she expected him to run at any second. Now was definitely not the time to try to escape, that was for sure.

“Sometimes a man needs his space… you know, stage fright?” Damon said over his shoulder. She didn’t appear to be moving anytime soon, so he sighed and finally started to take a piss. It was probably the best feeling he’d had all day and took surprisingly long. Of course, he had to jiggle his prick for a bit to get all the last drops out, which no doubt annoyed her. “There, sorry, that was less awkward for me than I expected. At least you had enough decency to not try to sneak a glance.”

Damon settled crosslegged by the fire, making a big show of how awkward his shackles and chain were as he tried to eat the rations and water she had furnished him.

“Oh-félia. Ofélia,” he murmured, rolling the name over his tongue. “I’ve traveled all over our Kingdom, and into our neighboring ones a bit as well. That’s not a common name and I’d hear your tale if you will later.”

He looked at her before he answered her question fully. She seemed genuine in her interest, but he was suspicious. The bracers she stripped revealed lithe forearms that still did not explain her strength, but roused a more carnal interest in her body again that had somehow managed to remain dormant until now. He let his eyes wander from her beautiful face and ogled down her armored figure. Normally, his mind would be active in imagining the supple body underneath, but tonight, without his powers, it felt as if he was looking at a lifeless painting.

The damned shackles took his lust from him, it seemed.

“I’m not sure you want my thoughts on your Order,” Damon said at last. “It casts everyone not of pure human blood as evil creatures, not as intelligent, living beings, but monsters that must be killed regardless of their actions. They are not all— and I am NOT— evil just because of our blood.”

He picked at the rations and watched her warily. He’d talked to his share of Order zealots and knew they weren’t open to real discussion. They were indoctrinated, brain washed, and fed their own twisted beliefs in an echo chamber, advancement reserved for those with the most unquestioning loyalty.

Maybe he could give her perspective though with his story. What did he have to lose?

“My mother was seduced by a demon. She was young and foolish, and that demon truly evil. She was left with child, but told no one who the father was. Being pregnant out of wedlock is embarrassing enough, but for a noblewoman of a good family in the Capitol it is a horrible stigma. She was quietly sent to a country estate to give birth in secret. When I was born, I fortunately had a full head of dark hair and the nubs of my horns were hidden. Had the midwife seen them, I would have been given to your Order and burned alive... as a newborn.”

Damon let his words settle in and stared at the fire, his black eyes glittering with the red and yellow of the flames. Perhaps that death would have been a compassion given his life of lies and his mother’s sacrifice.

“My mother loved me, despite my half-demon blood. She knew she had to conceal me and nursed and cared for me herself. She dreaded the day that my secret might be discovered, as my horns were growing too fast and I couldn't control them as a child. An accident could happen any day, my hat might fall off, and I’d be exposed. Her family intended to foster me out to a servant at the estate to be raised as a favored bastard, but she knew that would be a death sentence for me. Instead, she fled with me when I was less than a year old.”

Damon stared at Ofélia and shook his head bitterly.

“It is hard to be a woman with no family or income, and with a small child to boot. She eventually turned to the only skill she could offer, at first a courtesan to minor nobles or wealthy merchants as she could play the part of a high class noble whore well. I remember some nice apartments then, when she was a kept mistress until her patron bored of her and the search began again. Eventually she wound up in a brothel, where I was mostly raised by idle whores.”

His voice grew thick and a strange emotion filled him. He’d told his story, his true story, to no one ever. His life, by necessity, had been one of lies and half-truths, impersonating being a noble human and never revealing his true background. Yet now, with his death looming, he realized how cruel and unfair his mother's life had been, all because of this woman’s damned Order.

All because she had truly loved him.

“My mother taught me well, and the whores did in their way also,” Damon continued, clearing his throat which suddenly felt tight. “She taught me to hide my powers, but most importantly to respect women. She taught me how to survive in this unfair world using your body and human emotion. I know you think me a carnal, lustful fool, but I’ve seen what men do to women they think are beneath them, women that are just a commodity to buy like ale or bread. She was killed by a drunken, evil monster that was a human man with no ounce of devil blood. He wasn't arrested or tried, and certainly not burned alive by your Order. No one cared, and she was buried quietly in a pauper's grave. I was thirteen and growing stronger by then, so the brothel employed me a bouncer out of pity. After being a little too rough on customers that truly deserved it, I was asked to leave and began to fend for myself.”

No tears you fool.

How could he want to cry now, after all these years? He had simply refused to think of these things. They had lain hidden and festering inside him, like a deep wound that never healed. Now it ached in a place he'd never felt pain before.

Thank any god that cared that it was dark and Ofélia might at least not see the wetness in his black eyes.

“But enough of my demonic life, what of you my fair and stern captor? The armor you wear is fine, I’m guessing you are a noble paladin, maybe blessed by birth as I was damned by my blood at birth? Such is life in our country, where the quality of your blood determines how good your life will be, it seems. Tell me your story, and pray, make it one that will give me a smile at least, because we can’t end the night with my tragedy.”

 

[Story]

Was that guilt that flashed across her face like a shadow when he mentioned that the sins of man were just as much as the sins of monsters? And yet there was prejudice in the hearts of humans, a biased so deeply ingrained that it had become a part of their very culture, religion, life: the things that they did not understand were the things that mankind shunned from their lives.

It was something the Ofélia struggled with during her years devoted to the Order. The hypocrisy of the entire thing, where in her younger years, she had been awed that she had even been selected to help bring order to the world and rid it from evil. That she could be one of the few that could be a hero from the corruption that had been left behind by older times, leaving the remnants of older horrors that still walked among them.

Like the demon she had in her possession.

And yet he was right. That there were those that were not monsters that performed atrocities in the name of what was good.

So while her eyes flinched away for a brief second, lips pursing as the drowned down the twinge of emotion that surfaced, replaced with plausible deniability. After all -- here was a being whose life was based on deceit.

And yet … did he have a reason? Her own voice whispered in her ear like a mockery, and she hardened herself in protection against it.

She did look away to give him some privacy from her staring when he relieved himself, her attention focused instead on preparing an evening meal out of what she carried with her. Four freshly killed quails from a morning hunt had been provided to them, as well as a basket of vegetables from the larder on top of cheese and bread were their supply before they would have to stop for more. Ofélia fashioned a spine by whittling down and sharpening sticks. Cleaning and plucking the birds took time, and she did so with the calm patience of someone who was used to meditation. Like the motion of cleaning the bird was a calming thing, as it was a task she could do with idle thoughts. Though it was not long before she had the birds spitted and sizzling over open flames. All four -- as it was better to cook them now while the meat was fresh and save what they did not eat for the next few days.

She had wandered over to the creek to fill it and two waterskins with fresh water before she had made herself comfortable, and was working on chopping carrots with a knife she had pulled from her belt when he arrived, her name rolling off his tongue.

She glanced up at him then, studied his face in the flickering light of the fire. Then without a word, she passed him a couple of plump potatoes and a stipend of dried jerky and nuts. “Peel these,” she told him, passing too her whittling knife to him to do the job. “And eat the jerky and nuts to tide you over. You will help prepare the meals, or you will not eat the meals.”

It was not a threat she spoke. Indeed, her tone was mellow, almost conversational, as if she were just informing him of the obvious. The menial task of preparing and cooking food was also distracting her from the overall figure she had invited to the fire instead of keeping locked in a cave, though his hands remained bound and shackled. And yet, she knew, flexible enough that he could wield the little carving knife enough to peel potatoes.

“The Order was created because of actions against humankind by those who were not humans; before the Order, humans were considered repugnant, inferior, oftentimes slaves, and oftentimes treated as barbarians who were not allowed to grow into anything more. You can argue that now that humankind has grown, that they are showing their true colours in that other creatures had warned about. But you can also argue that the repressive nature that humankind was forced to abide by has created a rift, and therefore a need, for the Order to seek out those who wish to harm humankind again,” Ofélia responded, her tone diplomatic, to his own brief observation on the Order.

But she hesitated, warm dark eyes lifting up to stare at him from across the flames.

“We are supposed to be unbiased in our actions. But .. that is sometimes not the case,” she admitted softly, then lowered her eyes again so that her lashes created a fanning shadow that highlighted the lift of her cheekbones.

Then he started to speak. She stilled her hand that was swiping across the carrots, catching the sudden drop in his voice from flippant to something more somber. Her curiosity piqued, she raised her eyes again, though this time her stare was not so overt, but inquisitive instead as she watched the emotion flicker across his face.

“And where are your horns now, then?” Ofélia assumed some sort of illusion, but she could not be for certain. To her, he looked only like a man, and if she did not sense the preternatural presence underneath what looked like a foppish nobleman, she may have even doubted his origin. “And how, pray tell, do you respect women? I have been detailed your actions and crimes; it sounds utterly degrading,” she returned, the edge returning to her voice.

But then there was a stab of guilt that followed her harsh words. As apathy had been beaten into her from an early age, she still had her guilt at both her lack of feeling that had been repressed over the years and the sudden surge of it, which went against what she had been instilled with. The lurch of his voice, the raw emotion that simmered underneath his otherwise surly demeanor, dug into her nerves.

“You…” she finally managed, her voice softening, taking on more of its natural dialect. The words rolled from her tongue like warm chocolate, “were likely molded into the monster that you are because of.. What your mother had to be. The judge at trial may be sympathetic to your cause with such a story as that,” she informed him, her own voice faltering as if she were fighting against assisting him out of sympathy or righteousness.

But then she straightened up and dumped her pile of carrots into the pot, her jaw tightening as he turned his attention in questioning her. “While your story was heart warming indeed, demon, know that I am on to your tactics to try and have me turn a sympathetic ear to your case. If the tale you told is even true and not simply a deceit to have me free you.”

She pointed her dagger at him, “Finish peeling the potatoes and then you will return to the wagon with your dinner for the remainder of the night.”

Because what she would not admit was that his story had made her consider, pulled on her heartstrings, until she felt some of the armor that was invisible to the eye slip. Now she focused on adjusting it back into place.

“You are right, though,” she said rigidly. “I am a paladin of our holy Order of Embers. And the story is very simple: I was chosen by the Order and trained, for years, to be able to hunt down and bring your kind to trial, came her only explanation, voice willing.

The gods knew there was more to her story than that; it was at least reflected in her eyes and how they danced with a mix of emotions, and in the tense way she held herself up.

“Now, please, let us finish preparing this meal and eat. Then to bed. There is still a long way still for us to travel, demon.”

 

[Dark Prince]

So Ofélia at least wasn’t a zealot, Damon was convinced of that.

She’d given him the party line on the Order, that was obvious. He expected nothing less as a first answer, but she had also tempered her own words by admitting they weren’t perfect and infallible.

Even with his senses reduced by the cursed shackles, Damon was enough of a student of human character, by necessity given his lifestyle, that he could tell beneath her stony exterior Ofélia had some reservations and conflicted emotions, however repressed they might be. How open she might be to hear his side. and whether anything might convince her to break her holy vows and free him were still debatable. At the minimum, she was curious about him. It was an opening at least, and he had years of practice in convincing curious woman to do his bidding, albeit for slightly more carnal acts.

Again she was either overconfident or overly trusting as she’d given him a knife, small as it may be. While he sliced the potatoes he pondered if it could cut her throat, were he able to get close enough to reach her. Was the knife long enough, and could he kill a woman in cold blood? His shackles jangled as he worked, the rhythm of the slices counting in his head which of the alternatives he had might lead to freedom.

Eeny. Meeny. Miny. Moe.

Run away. Kill her. Convince her. Accept death.

The first potato was peeled and ended with him thinking “convince her” in his head on the last stroke. Damon had never found a god to appeal to, all the human ones supposedly had forsaken his kind, but he longed to believe that some greater power cared about his cursed life and would throw him a portent of the future or boon of good luck at dire times.

Tonight, at least based on the god of potatoes, he would talk.

“You’ll see my horny side tonight, when I sleep,” was his response when she asked about his most telltale attribute. While he could make them appear, a lifetime of fear had made him ashamed of his horns, and he simply couldn’t reveal them to her on command. “I respect women because I give them joy, happiness, fleeting love, and the attention they deserve. I’ve seen how human men mistreat them… from fists and other abuse, to acting as if they are a step above valuable livestock. After my time in the brothel, I’d never hurt a woman like that.

“Tell me, I know your vows include celibacy, but if you had cravings like a normal woman does, often buried deep inside, but had no means to find an outlet, how would you feel? Stunted, miserable, depressed and trapped perhaps? I give my women the gift of passion. The feeling of being stared at by a man obsessed with them for who they are, whose mouth will eagerly meet their’s in a hungry kiss. The touch of an expert hand across their entire body, from their breasts to their thighs, while focused on their pleasure. And of course, I fill the void in their empty… hearts... with my bountiful love.”

She wasn’t swayed by his story, but offered him some false hope that there might be leniency. Damon knew it was a sympathetic lie.

“A kind judge of the Order? Perhaps they’ll kill me before they cut off my prick and burn me.”

In the end, Damon thought he had tried his best to win her to his side tonight. She was no zealot, and perhaps she realized he was no monster. Still, as he took his meal to his cage to eat. alone, he felt like it was hopeless. This conversation could be had every night for the rest of the journey, but he already knew that Ofélia was too dutiful and honorable to break her vows, even if she felt sympathy for him and wanted to. That was nature, even if she disliked it.

As his eyes closed in the cramped cage, his mind reached out like it always did. For an incubus, dreams were a powerful magic and one of the primary ways he seduced his victims. Normally, he could quest out with his mind, finding sleeping women near him and peek into their dreams. Hidden fantasies were revealed, repressed cravings, and Damon could even enter the dreams himself and control them if very close, leaving his target with a hot night of dream sex fresh on their mind when they woke flustered and saw him in the morning.

Tonight, however, the chains and cage conspired to trap his mind. He couldn’t sense Ofélia at all, though she slept but feet away, a range in which his powers should be their strongest. He tried again and to his surprise he sensed her. Faint and weak, as if she was a mile away and at the limit of his power, but she was there nonetheless.

Tentatively, he strained his mind to see into the warm glow that was his captor’s slumber. It was fuzzy, like a distorted reflecting pool where ripples clouded the image, but he could see her in his mind standing in normal clothes and looking over her shoulder at some unseen person or object.

Could he influence her, though?

Take off your clothes.

It was a natural dream request and got his women in the right mood. His victims wouldn’t hear his voice, just have the feeling they should do something in their dream. And after all, Damon was a horny demon and wanted badly to see her naked.

What do you desire? Show me your cravings.

 

[Story]

It was a matter of control that had her entrusting him with a knife. Or perhaps it was more like a dare or challenge, like it had been with letting him loose with only the chains around his wrists. Warded as they were, he still had movement of his arms, and he could have dared to make a swipe or stab at the still-armored woman sitting just across from him at the fire. The control came into play in that she knew that she was in charge of the situation -- in what happened to him, or didn’t. In how comfortable he was -- and then wasn’t. But did he realize that?

She could take away just as easily as she could give. And if he misjudged his freedoms, she would be all too quick to snatch it away. Ofélia at least liked to think that she was impartial to those that she brought back to the Order, unstirred by their manipulations, their pleas, as she placed her faith in what she thought was right.

But she had grown since her early days. Now she doubted, and this bothered her more than she would ever admit. The demon was not helping in her personal dilemma with his sly words that nagged at the back of her mind.

Only his next words gave her pause as icy shock jerked her head up and her dark eyes narrowed. Her features shifted her face around in a mixture of emotion, as if the woman could not decide if she should be offended by his crass questioning or embarrassed. She decided to go with offended, at least to save herself the embarrassment that flushed her neck beneath the layer of armor and crawled up to burn her cheeks and ears. Dark eyes lowered, brows drawn together, and once more she focused on their meal.

Hers had been turned over to the pot of boiling water to cook when she spoke, idly stirring. “I have never met a woman who has enjoyed their intimate time with any man,” she replied crossly, her voice turned to stone.

Once he had added the sliced potato to the stew that she made and it had cooked, she provided him with a wooden bowl and spoon with the meat and vegetables, her silence as awkward as it was drawn out after her last words. And she still was not looking at him, not directly, as she stood and led him back to the cage, locking it behind him once he had clambered inside. Only then did she fix him with a stare, face guarded as she studied him like he was some strange, alien thing.

Then with a frustrated sigh, she pushed away and turned her back to him to return to her place near the fire where her bedroll awaited her. Back still turned to him, she stripped herself of the armor that she had been wearing through the entire day and into the night, the weight lifting. She was careful with her things, meticulous even. She set each piece aside gently before she lowered herself down for the evening wearing naught but a tunic and tights that sculpted the lithe muscle and curves of her figure. Toned from being a warrior, and yet undeniably a woman underneath the plate. All made that much more clear when she loosed the tight coif of hair so that the dark locks tumbled in waves over her shoulders. She left a piece of jewelry that had been hiding underneath the layers of her garment. An ornate thing, a chain of delicate silver with liked circlets at her collar.

He might even know what it meant. The mark of the seraphim. If his eyes could even make it out from the distance.

She ate her own meal in haste, barely tasting it, before packing away what was left for their breakfast tomorrow and rekindling the fire. Only then did she curl up inside the bedroll after one last peek at the cage she had put her prisoner away in for the evening.

It took time, likely longer than usual for Ofélia to sleep. She turned over many times, restless, before finally her breath softened into even strokes, body turned over on its side and face illuminated by the flame.

And she dreamed.

At first it was formless, only a feeling of a presence. She saw a shadow of a man and knew that she herself was present. And it wasn’t until she was dragged deeper into the dream that the shapes evolved, becoming more solid in her mind’s eye. She was in a villa, open air with the night streaming in, bringing in the scent of jasmine and lavender. When she looked down at herself, she wore a sheer gown for sleeping, feet bare and hair down. Oftentimes in her dreams she was brought back to this place of barely discernible memory. A lost memory of a time that she had been very young.

Looking up again, she caught sight of the shadowy figure again, only this time it was her demon from the cage.

Perhaps it was the memory of his last words that her dream self clung to, her own innate curiosity wandering the miasma of her dreaming thoughts, but Ofélia’s thoughts shifted as she watched the spectral male in her dreams in silent anticipation. Suddenly, the villa that had before been empty, now had a bed that the backs of her knees touched against.

The woman gasped, glancing behind her, then back to the man, and then down to herself, where the gown was now a clinging presence against skin that felt too hot. Her fingers drifted, plucking at the thin fabric. Then she looked back up at him, lips parted in a silent question.

“I… What does a normal woman like?”

 

[Dark Prince]

She was a gorgeous woman, Damon was forced to admit.

Dream images sometimes took liberties from a person’s true self, but Damon believed Ofélia’s dream form to be mostly true to life. Tall, with raven dark hair that cascaded in luscious waves free of any helmet or warrior braids, and, of course, the body teasingly revealed in that sheer night gown was a uniquely sexy combination of lithe femininity and muscle.

How dare she hide those proud breasts beneath a breastplate?!

Damon felt frustrated at the weakness of this dream’s linkage. Ofélia would be his to toy with normally, but his powers were muted and he could tell Ofélia was almost unaffected by his nonverbal urges. Still, he was with her and, unlike humans, he had great skill and experience in the world of dreams that she did not. More than anything, he could keep his wits about him and guide her, while she would likely be in a suggestive state and open to his lead.

He had to be careful, though, he didn’t want to scare her. He really just wanted to throw her to the bed, rip her gown off, and cover her body in teasing kisses with his devilish tongue. And most of all to suckle that sweet cleft between her thighs, to taste her heat, and feel her gush upon his tongue as her body yearned for something more. But, to be aggressive now would risk her waking up and make her more guarded were he to slip into her dream again later.

“A kiss. A kiss is what a woman wants…”

Damon approached her in the dream, his body a dark and barely formed shadow of a man. His hands reached out to embrace her, one circling her lower back and the other sliding up to cup the back of her neck. The hotness of her skin blazed through the sheer fabric of the gown and he felt it wrinkle and slide with the path of his hands, stretching the gown tight across her body.

“Kiss me, Ofélia. Kiss me.”

Damon turned his face and opened his mouth, leaning in and pulling her towards him. She was inexperienced, he knew that already, and this would be a gentle, slow and teasing union of their mouths. He would show her what it was like to give yourself intimately to another, to explore a man’s lips and mouth with her own, to feel a tongue eel against her own, and the heat of two bodies pressed together focused on one sensual point of contact.

It took control on his side to start so slow, but it was also strangely fun to be forced to read her body and work her slowly. Seducing a woman with none of his natural powers was a challenge he was growing to enjoy.

 

[Story]

Ofélia was frozen where she stood, halfway in disbelief and halfway not. Her heart clamored in her chest, pulsed in her ears. It was a mixture of anticipation, of guilt, and a long lost yearning that went beyond her body’s sudden physical response once her dream man wandered just close enough that she could feel the heat of his body emanating against her own. While potent, she still had a discombobulated sensation; that the rush of blood that prickled her skin and heightened her senses was not quite real.

That the gown encasing her body, not something that she would ever truly own, felt suddenly too tight against her figure as her nerves became aware of just how near he was. Her nipples were dark shadows against the fabric and they hardened into nubs when his voice whispered his response to her breathless question.

Shame flooded her before heat did and the woman squeezed her eyes closed when his arms encircled her, pushing her forward. The shame was chased by guilt when her body shuddered, anticipation lancing through the more erroneous parts of her figure, causing her skin to flush a deeper hue, her nipples to ache, and for her thighs to shift uncomfortably as the stab of pleasure reached low in her belly and below.

It was a feeling that had been churned into her from a child and into adulthood. That a warrior of the Order would not - and should not - be weakened by the desires of the flesh. For if temptation was strong, then it made the warrior weaker.

And Ofélia did feel weaker. Her knees were wobbly, her form trembling. She had to reach up, to grab the shadowy shoulders of her dream, nails digging in as she struggled with her own inner turmoil.

And, of course, she wouldn’t open her eyes. Not when his mouth closed over her parted lips, his breath teasing before the mixture of firm and soft aggressed her mouth. She made a noise that caught in her throat, startling her. She had even gone rigid against the press of his body, distracted by the sudden friction of the gown against aroused flesh, the masculine hardness of his own frame that loomed above hers.

The little noise finally bloomed into a full on moan once his lips moved, urging hers to part. She tasted him in her mouth and moaned again, the sound vibrating through her. The press of her hands on his shoulders gave way as her hands slid further, clinging to the nape of his neck, her own lips dragging inquisitive against his.

A shock of panic had her pulling away fast, though, as a pang of guilt again ripped through her mind.

“I cannot,” she uttered, eyes flying open. “I have not,” she admitted, her voice dropping to a husky whisper, along with her gaze down to his mouth. “It is wrong, a weakness…” And yet her fingers still clung to the nape of his neck, her body pushed up against his.

 

[Dark Prince]

What a sweet feeling it was to have a woman come alive in his arms.

Damon had felt it a thousand times, but never without his magic to help him spark the flames of desire he could sense within. He would have thought it lifeless, this lovemaking without his gifts, but he found it quite the opposite. Like a blind man’s ears growing sharper, all his physical senses flared in awareness without the crutch of his demonic power.

The touch of her hot skin through the sheer garment burned him, her nipples pressed into his chest like hardened glass, her smell consumed him, a rich womanly scent devoid of perfumes, and her moans reverberated through his body. Finally, he tasted her mouth and drank her in like honey.

“You have nothing to be ashamed of,” he murmured. “This is a natural desire for any woman or man.”

Damon could feel her trembling at their touch, her weight now supported by his hands and her arm around his shoulders. She clung to him like a life raft in a storm, her nails clawing for purchase as her inhibitions tossed her mind against her long repressed natural desires. Even now, without any magic aiding him, Damon could almost feel the ember of her lust burning hot.

She pulled back, her shame overwhelming her for a moment, but did not leave Damon’s arms.

“Who am I? I can be anyone you desire… put a face on me.”

As he spoke, his mouth returned not to her turned away lips, but to her cheek. Kissing and nibbling, he grazed to her ear and nuzzled against it, his tongue flicking out to circle lightly before his teeth tugged her lobe teasingly. The hands on her body moved, the one on her neck massaging lightly as his other hand slid lower, gliding down to cup one of her ass cheeks and squeeze. And as they pressed together, he knew she would feel his hardening cock pressing against her thigh.

“This is just a dream. You can do anything you want.”

 

[Story]

It was most likely because of the repressed nature of her upbringing that made the moment so intense. Ofélia had never placed herself in a scenario like this, not even in the land of dreams. No shadowy figure had ever approached her like this before while she slept, and there was no man that had incited her to feel lust.

Ofélia blamed the demon in his cage. Or, rather, she blamed the words he had spoken to her, putting into her mind this wondering.

And she did wonder.

She tempted a look at the face that hovered above hers, but the only face that she knew was that of her demon, handsome and surly, his words again floating through her mind. So she closed her eyes again as the blood rushed to her face, infusing the warm caramel of her skin with even more color.

Her full lower lip trembled with the little whimper that escaped as he dipped his head, his breath teasing across her skin until she felt his mouth again, warm and soft, yet firm and deliberate. His tongue was a distraction, urging her head back. Her hair slid forward, exposing the elegant grace of her neck.

“Ooohh….” Pleasure spiked through her again, stemming from the lobe of her ear where his teeth spike. She caught the noise she made between her teeth and turned her head even more, her face meeting the collar of his chest as her body jerked against his.

This time molten heat and wet gushed between her thighs, bringing with it an acute pulse that settled in the nub of flesh nestled between the lips that hid her woman’s parts. Her breath panted against his chest, uneven and ragged, as her hips jerked forward of their own accord and her pelvis melded with his. Although the friction only incited the building sensation between her legs that much more and Ofélia whimpered again, tugging urgently at the hair at the nape of his neck.

“This is not natural desire,” she pleaded, the soft heart of her bottom clenching as his fingers melded into flesh, dragging her against the hard rod that brushed her thigh. Gasping, she jerked as if his erection were a hot brand.

Her hand dropped instantly to his chest, pushing back so that she could look up at him again. Her expression was a naked question, slack with her arousal, while her eyes fought the warring battle between what she knew and what was happening. Confusion sprouted across her face and, on shaking legs, she took a step back from him, only to fumble and find herself on the edge of the bed.

 

[Dark Prince]

Was it Damon she imagined in her dream?

He could not know for sure, such was the way of dreams, but the guilty look in her eyes and the shamed flush on her caramel skin made him believe. The idea that she was dreaming of him, and without any magic to force his face on her shadow lover, thrilled Damon more than he could have imagined. He liked to believe he seduced women with his looks, his charm, and his personality, but in truth he cheated with his powers at least a little bit every time, and he knew it.

Was she the first woman who thought of him this way without him magically planting the seed?

Damon felt his own pulse quicken as she moaned and yielded to his embrace. His devilish mouth had found a sensitive spot on her ear and the ragged pants of pleasure she gave were matched by his own as she bucked her hips against him. He pulled her into him with his hand on her rear, forcing the length of his hungry cock directly against her thigh. It was too much, he realized immediately, and she pushed away, scared when confronted by the full evidence of his arousal.

It was a lesson for him to read her cues. She wasn't magically transformed into a horny slut, like his typical women, hungry for his dick and eager to fuck in every kinky position they could think of. No, she was scared, nervous, guilty, and ashamed. A true virgin in mind and body. Even in a dream, where inhibitions were very low, she clung to her chastity like a lifeline. To cut her free would take patience and a focus on her pleasure, not his always eager cock.

It was a beautiful sight, the conflict visible on her face as she stared up at Damon. Nascent lust, unleashed for the first time, mixed with shame and guilt. Of course he wanted her, she was irresistible to him right now, but he also wanted to help her. No woman should live like this, guilty of her own body and ashamed of what should be natural urges.

“The only desire not normal, is how much I want you right now,” Damon said, before dropping to his knees between her legs as she sat on the edge of the bed. “Give yourself to me. Be a woman tonight, finally, in this sweet dream.”

Damon’s hands lifted up her gown, sliding the sheer fabric up from her calves to her knees. His hands slid forward, palms on top of her thighs and thumbs tracing up her inner thighs as he pushed the gathering garment up higher and higher, spreading her legs further as he went. His face leaned forward to kiss her again as he pushed the gown up to her hips.

“Just lay back. Now let me kiss you for real. Everywhere."

 

[Story]

It felt beyond good, what he did to her. She almost immediately regretted pushing him - and his mouth - away from her ear. It tingled still, shivering through her body like a memory. And that had just been the lobe of her ear, while the rest of her ache and tingled in its own anticipation. Her lips parted like she wanted to speak - maybe even to ask for his return to that spot - but the only thing she seemed capable of doing was a sharp exhalation of breath, followed by the stroke of her tongue across her lips. Her dark eyes turned nearly black now sifted through the workings of her imagination as they trailed the length of his body. Down to the cradle of his thighs where the crux of his desire sprouted. She wanted to know for the sake of her own wicked imagination what had pushed against her so urgently.

Only to have her attention shoot right back up to his face when he dropped down, hiding his almost-form that felt too real against her own, from her wandering attention, all too aware of his creeping fingers sliding up her bare legs. Her skin leaped underneath his touch, muscles rippling as she shook at the intimate sensation. The pads of his fingers felt rough, yet gentle, and all the while precise in their trail. Ofélia was trembling enough that her thighs spread at even the slightest provocation, until cool air met hot skin, teasing the bloom of desire between her legs.

Molten hot heat emanated from her sex that was half hidden beneath a light dusting of dark curls just over the hood. Her body’s juices had soaked her, glistening erotically. She ached desperately, almost to the point of pain, and that sensation only intensified once his thumbs stroked the soft skin of her inner thighs, so close to where her body screamed its need at her.

She whimpered again, a needy sound, and squeezed her thighs around his hands. The simpering noise ended in a gasp as another wave of shame coursed through her that she could feel this way.

It helped that his mouth closed over hers again in a kiss. She embraced the opportunity, eyes closing again, and pushed the soft swell of her lips back against his.

“I will be punished for this,” she murmured huskily against her phantom could-be lover’s mouth, hot breath mingling with his. “This is not real,” she whispered next, but the statement was mostly to herself. As if to reassure herself that the fantasy was only her imaginings being effected by the demon, and that she would make amends for her weakness later.

 

[Dark Prince]

Their kiss was sweet, but short. Damon could tell Ofélia was more than ready for more. Whatever battle she fought between lust and control, for now at least, her body had won.

“What is real is what you feel,” Damon murmured back.

After driving her backwards with his kiss, all it took was a quick shove on her shoulder to send Ofélia toppling onto her back. Advancing now onto the bed and raising her knees to either side of him, Damon gripped her gown and ripped. In the dream world it was an easy feat, and the gown sheared in half, exposing her nude body fully to his gaze.

“You are gorgeous,” he said as his eyes drank her in. Ofélia's caramel skin, lighter below her neck from years spent wearing armor, was smooth and creamy. Her breasts, flattened as she lay on her back, jiggled teasingly with her ragged breaths, her areolae dusky and dark disks around her hardened nipples. And her body, such a unique and beguiling mix of muscles and litheness, was so mesmerizing that he found it hard to drag his eyes down, but he couldn’t escape the magnetic pull of her sex, splayed lewdly now before his eyes as he pushed her knees further apart. “Every inch of you. I can see it all.”

Beneath a thatch of dark curls, Ofélia's cleft parted hungrily for his gaze, its glistening pink folds swollen and open. The sweet musk of her arousal filled his nostrils, a heady aroma that made his cock twitch in anticipation. Always with a mind of its own, his prick wanted to plunge deep into her tight virgin hole, to burrow relentlessly inside of her and feel her heat surround him until he filled her completely.

Somehow, Damon found restraint. He knew he had to take things slow. Dream world or not, Ofélia was still a virgin.

Instead of a full out assault on the hot and wet spot that burned for his touch, Damon started with Ofélia’s foot. He truly did have a devilish tongue, long and flexible, and he wielded it like an artist as he licked, nibbled and kissed his way up her leg. When his tongue at last dragged higher, lapping up her inner thigh, he could tell she yearned for what she thought his next target would be, but he instead turned at the last second to avoid her eager sex entirely.

Her stomach was next, and he nibbled the defined ridges of her muscles as she panted, before licking up to her soft mounds. He used his hands as well now, as he had two targets to attack, kneading one breast while his mouth worked the other in alternation. A tortuous combination of flicking tongue and pinching fingers teased her nipples to higher levels of arousal, if possible, with his teeth grazed them at times to test their hardness.

Finally, his mouth descended again. Ofélia must have known what was coming, yet he took his time, spreading her thighs wide and forcing her knees up and back. He didn't dive right in, instead licking the sensitive flesh around her slit first, lapping up her overflowing juices until he was satisfied he’d cleaned her fully. Then, at last, he dragged his tongue upwards through her valley, from bottom to top. It was a slow and deep lick through her folds that started on her taboo pucker and ended with a teasing flick of the hidden and sensitive nub at her apex. All of this was his to toy with now.

“You taste delicious.”

It was true. She was tangy, musky, slightly coppery, and with a honey sweetness beneath it all.

He attacked her virgin sex with full abandon at last, that flexible tongue swirling through her folds and probing teasingly into her depths. He kissed her as if her sex was a lover’s mouth, ate her like a juicy and ripe peach, sucked her clit like a candied treat, and guzzled down all her overflowing juices like a thirsty man. Even her rear he teased, giving swirled licks and soft pushes of that crinkled, taboo hole, knowing well how sensitive the nerves were in that often neglected pleasure zone.

It was easy to lose himself in such work, especially with a virginal and beautiful partner like Ofélia who he knew would be experiencing these sensations with a body that had never been stimulated in this fashion before. After tonight, she could not deny her body was made for pleasure as well as function. Yet, eventually, his thirst for her arousal made him focus on her virgin canal, his tongue eeling deep into her tight hole, questing further yet, and finding her nectar even sweeter closer to the source.

He could do this forever.

 

[Story]

Ofélia ignored the logic that nagged the back of her mind that she should be resisting; that this was a trick of her prisoner. That this was what he wanted all along, to subdue her in some way before she dragged him across the world to his doom. And perhaps if the sensation of his torments were not so exquisite, her mind would have fought harder against what was happening. Even though her mind buzzed with endorphins and pleasurable shock that her body was alight, she still gasped aloud when he laid her back and perished the flimsy garment like it was mist.

She tingled under his scrutiny, nipples tautening as if his eyes could touch them in truth. Muscle and silky flesh rippled in anticipation as he stroked her with his heated, black gaze, while also squirming with awareness that she was laid bare underneath him. Her thighs tried to close with she felt his attention between her legs, self-conscious of just how exposed she was.

No one had ever viewed her there. Touched her. Not even herself.

“Please…” she begged him sweetly, her voice simpering and breathless. While she had watched his eyes before, now her face and body burned with both desire and that ever present embarrassment. Dark eyes closed tight and her legs grew taught as he slunk down lower. Her foot jerked when his tongue darted first over the graceful arch and did not stop. A mixture of a growl and a cry lurched in her throat as he shifted higher. This time, her hands shot down, grabbing a handful of dark hair like she was going to try and wrench his mouth away from its blaze of heat that trekked up her inner thigh, softer there than the rest of her, quivering with the pull of sensation that he brought.

She was shaking badly when he skipped over the molten center of her, where he still had pushed her open and unfurled her like she was a flower in bloom, dripping ambrosia. She only tried to snap her thighs shut again once his mouth trailed past, up the faint ridges of her abdomen that rippled and leapt up to meet his mouth.

Though once his mouth stroked across her straining nipples, Ofélia’s thoughts fled her with the low moan that crawled its way out from her belly and past parted lips. She arched like a cat into his mouth, the nails clutching the back of his head pulling at his hair even while she pushed his mouth down eagerly. The woman splintered as his mouth and teeth and plucking fingers edged her to the point that the sensation was unbearable. Her nipples ached even as pleasure shot straight through her until every lave of his tongue across the hardened buds was a flick against her clit and every pinch of his fingers had her arching up, mewling like a needy kitten for more.

She was panting when his torturous mouth left her chest to wander again. Only this time she did not try to close herself to him. Dark eyes were open, half lidded, plush lips parted as she struggled to breathe. She was feverish with excitement, saturated with the evidence of it when he stretched her out with her knees wide open and her sex splayed.

She wanted to watch as much as she wanted to turn away. And in the end, she gasped with that mingled mix of shocked embarrassment that he would even dare press his mouth there and absolute ecstasy that he had. Her toes curled and her hips jerked, his mouth teasing the lips that protected the honeyed channel of her sex. For her, this was an absolute forbidden practice; he had his lips where it had been driven into her that no one was even allowed to see.

“Mmm… noo..” she panted, moaned her delirious response to how she tasted while her fingers plowed deeper still into the thick darkness of his hair, kneading like a cat. But really she would have liked to think that she could wrench him back at any point in this game, when all she had done thus far was push him further.

Then he stopped his merciless teasing and she hadn’t even realized it until her ass clenched as his tongue flicked and her hips jerked up again. The full force of his mouth caught her off guard. She cried out, hands slipping, nails scrambling at his shoulders and upper back. It was like she had been set on fire, but instead of feeling the burn of pain, it was as if her nerve endings were trying to escape from her body. She throbbed with sensation and spread her thighs further so that she could angle her hips to try and control the friction of his mouth. There was a pressure building, wanting to emerge, centering around the beating, swollen nub of her clit.

It was like an exquisite pain that she dragged that most sensitive area against the flick of his tongue, across his lips, smearing her juices against his mouth in her own urgency to find some sort of relief.

“Please.. Please.. Oh gods please…” There was that sweet simpering chant again, the words moaned as she undulated underneath him. “I-- you--” She gasped, moaned as an especially acute burst of pleasure clenched her stomach, causing her to ride him that much harder. “Please…” the keening of her voice stretched out.

She had gone back to gripping his hair, only this time she was struggling away as the sensation threatened to overwhelm her. It was like a build up before an explosion, acute and desperate. She felt her insides quiver and tighten, then the abrupt release of her juices. Her clit pulsed just as her inner channel convulsed, bringing her high with her back arching and her voice moaning with the release.

She dropped back with a sob, the sensation like waves washing through her. She drenched his tongue that probed deep with a fresh coat from her body’s sudden release and Ofélia pushed up against his tongue, rocked against his mouth, his lips, forgetting herself.

And perhaps the both of them were too wrapped up to notice the cross criss of thin white lines, old scars, that started from underneath her thighs and disappeared around to her back, hidden from view. Ofélia was with her gasping, ragged breath, with one leg tumbling across his shoulder and a sheen of sweat beading across her naked body.

 

[Dark Prince]

Damon had a sense of pride as he lifted his tired and juice covered mouth from between Ofélia’s quivering thighs. She had been delicious beyond his imagination.

As jaded a lover as Damon was, her authentic response to his touch had thrilled him. Something about the innocence she hid beneath her stern demeanor and powerful body excited him in a way he couldn’t quite explain. He’d fucked many virgins, that was nothing new, and many women who’d been repressed sexually, so that was old hat, yet Ofélia’s writhing, hair scratching and screaming orgasm had felt so raw, so improbable perhaps, that he was left momentarily speechless.

Maybe it was the dream world that accentuated everything, including his emotions, but as Damon gazed at her panting, sweaty and nude body, he felt a strange stirring. The pride of conquest, of course, the satisfaction at giving her pleasure, naturally, but also a strange affection, the likes of which he’d never felt before. It couldn’t be…

He quashed the idea immediately.

She was his enemy, his escort to his execution. Ofélia was a tool he had to manipulate and use, just a means to his freedom. Because her innocence, or whatever it was, infatuated him for a second meant nothing. He was not the kind of man to go moon eyed over a pretty face. The thought was absurd.

Damon had given her pleasure for a reason, well one besides his own carnal enjoyment of course. And that was surely a memory he would savor. Let him think about that sweet moment again, her gripping thighs squeezing his face as her hands had clawed through his hair. Thank the gods that in the dream world he could hide his horns, as she’d surely have discovered the nubs he hid as she had pulled his head harder against her hot sex. He could dwell on the gush of her sweet nectar into his greedy mouth as he drank in her body’s virginal convulsions against his tongue. Devil’s truth, she almost drowned him with her ardor as he tried to drink her dry!

But do NOT ever dwell on anything besides the physical. She was his fuck toy, one he'd manipulate, use, and discard while enjoying every second of it. That was the normal Damon mindset.

Damon’s cock throbbed as he rose up on his knees between Ofélia’s spread legs. Her wet and swollen slit lay open and inviting for him, no doubt eager for more now that she had her first taste of pleasure. He fisted his full length leisurely, the veins pronounced as his cock twitched in anticipation at the tempting sight before him. He was rock hard, so ready to plunge into her that he could barely restrain himself. Yes, now he would finally take his pleasure, and perhaps give her even more.

“My sweet Ofélia,” Damon murmured as he lowered his face to her mouth to steal another deep kiss. “I want you so badly.”

His cock rested against her as he kissed her, the long shaft nuzzling against her juicy folds and pushing against her swollen nub. All it took now was a slight move back of his hips to position his head at her entrance. She was so ready for him, he could tell. And in the dream world, despite her being a virgin, he knew she would cum hard for him one more time… at least.

That’s when things fell apart. Damon had been in this situation many times before, and knew when a dream began to unravel. Sometimes, he could keep it together with his power, but tonight, there was nothing he could do limited as he was in using magic. She faded into blackness before his eyes, his hands reaching out to scoop her and keep her with him, but catching nothing but emptiness.

“NOOOOOOOO!” She couldn’t hear his anguish.

He was all alone, in his cage, and still very, very horny.

FUUUUUUUUUUUCK!

 

[Story]

Her shadow man lingered longer than she anticipated between her legs, his mouth and tongue and breath teasing her super sensitized flesh. After already being overwhelmed by the shuddering climax that had wracked her being, her synapses were firing every which way sent her into a frenzied euphoria underneath him. Her hips squirmed backwards as his mouth lapped her body’s nectar and as awareness lifted the haze of desire now that her body had spent its first time in the throes of pleasure, Ofélia became all too aware, once more, of her conscience’s own sense of shame.

And her own nudity, splayed like a harlot that had been the demon’s feast.

She made a noise in the back of her throat as her heavy lidded stare snapped open and her slender, deft fingers wound their way away from his hair to instead push against the firm heat of his chest. Even while he loomed up above her, all masculine emergency, her knees still pushed apart and exposing the most shameful part of herself that glistened wetly even now, satisfied with the lewd passion he had administered.

Only Ofélia didn’t have the strength to push him, not even a little bit. Her fingers curled instead, then splayed across his chest, her touch licking him with a perverse curiosity even as she turned her face away -- or tried to, for his mouth descended and caught her swollen lips.

She tasted herself on him. Salty and a little sweet. It made her stir again from underneath him, her murmur not in protest, until she caught herself again and turned her face away from him, cheeks burning and mussed hair fanning out around her.

Her hands only shoved with the shocked gasped that escaped parted lips when she felt him, hard and throbbing, press up against her body’s aching sin. It responded with another shock of pleasure as anticipation curled low in her belly and shot echoes of her previous convulsions through her. Her knees curled up and so did her toes, all followed by a second, shuddering gasp as she felt the blunt head of him slide between the slickened lips to nudge the pulsing nub that had swollen with arousal.

“Oh, we can’t--” she protested, head jerking to give him a wide eyed, beseeching stare. “I cannot, it will spell my death--” she uttered, the fear taking over her aroused state so that she jerked her body up.

Only to find herself panting, heart hammering in her chest, the sounds of the forest and early morning sunrise greeting her. She was sticky with sweat, the dark mane of hair sticking to cheeks and forehead, which she scraped back with trembling fingers as she squeezed her thighs together impulsively. She ached there, between her legs, and felt the heat of her body’s own betrayal soaking through her under things as a reminder of what she had just done.

Her nipples scraped, hard and a little painfully, against her tunic as she shifted and moved to stand. Adrenaline rushed through her, followed by a sense of shame -- but also mostly anger. Her eyes darkened as she swiveled her attention to the cage where she kept the demon. With her knees tremoring underneath her, she stalked closer to his prison, jaw clenched and a righteous fury seething from her being.

And tears. Which, with dawn’s light just filtering in, he might not even see.

“Wake!” she boomed, her voice hitched and off kilter along with the sharp edge of anger. Only she did not wait for him to move. Instead, she circled like a predator until she caught sight of his chain. Her fingers clutched it hard then jerked, using the full brute force of her strength to drag him right up against the bars of the makeshift cage.

“You dared,” she snarled, her eyes burning like a pair of coals as she looked her shadow lover in the eye. “You…” She hissed, eyes dropping down to his mouth, lingering there. Heat flushed her cheeks, crawled down her neck, until she jerked her eyes away from his mouth and back up to his eyes. Angry - though it was hard to say if she were angry at herself or him - she jerked the chains again and made a frustrated noise.

“You will not use your trickery again, or I will take your bullocks,” she finally uttered, the razor edge seriousness making it true even as her voice caught and her eyes wandered of their own accord down the length of his body, freezing on the erection he sported even now, out here in reality. “Do you understand?”

Back up to his face, or to his mouth, before she forced her eyes back on his and made a disgusted face.

 

[Dark Prince]

It was a nice dream, albeit just a regular one.

Ofélia wore the shackles and was in the cage, nude of course. Her eyes lowered submissively as Damon opened the door, and he beckoned with a single finger for her to crawl towards him. The shackles made her motion awkward, but she was a good girl, as always, and hurried as best she could towards him before settling onto her haunches, her face inches from his throbbing cock. He’d been so teased earlier that a regular, normal wet dream was exactly the pressure release he needed right now.

Yes, this was much, much better than reality.

“You may suck me,” Damon said, as if the act was an honor, not a command.

Seeing an eager smile light up her face was almost as pleasurable as feeling her hot lips wrap around the head of his prick. He shivered in ecstasy, a hand reaching down to run through her hair as she began bobbing her head on his manhood. The happiness in her eyes made him smile, as if serving him was her only goal in life. All was good, and he closed his eyes to focus on the sweet waves of pleasure coursing from his cock.

“Wake!”

That was strange. How could she talk while her mouth was full? No matter, Damon scrunched his eyes to keep them shut and focused on the pleasure he was feeling from the dream lips on his cock. Any moment now and he’d burst, just a few seconds more was all he needed. He felt a tug on his hands, was she pulling him down to kiss her? She should know better. He had to cum first!

The bars of the cage smashed his cheeks and his eyes flew open.

“OWWWWW!” Damon screamed. He wanted to bring his hands to his stinging face, but they were pulled outside of the cage and held tight. “Blood and ashes! What the Hell!?”

A decidedly non-submissive and fully dressed Ofélia was glaring at him, her eyes hot with anger. It was a shocking reversal of fortunes, to say the least, and Damon took a few seconds to process what was going on as Ofélia ranted at him, jerking the shackles yet again in her rage. Despite the fresh pain, his cock remained resolutely hard with its typical morning salute enhanced by the dream he had just been having. He noticed her eyes drift to that tented bulge, his felt pants doing little to hide his state as the soft fabric stretched to conform with the outline of his arousal.

“My trickery?” Damon answered, giving her his best puzzled look. He could tell that, given how upset she was, he'd have to play a bit dumb about his involvement in her dream last night. She likely wouldn't buy his argument that he barely could influence her given his powers were limited, and that truly most of the urges came from her own desires. “If you haven’t noticed, I’m in your blessed Order’s magic shackles and inside this damned cage as well. How do you suppose I managed to do anything in my current state?”

He yawned, flicking his tongue gratuitously at the end. Had she been looking at his mouth?

“They do say incubi exude a certain… carnal influence, you’d call it corruption,” Damon answered. He gave her a thoughtful look. “Perhaps just my presence is causing some of your natural cravings to flare up… they do say your deepest desires awaken at night. Did you have a troubling dream?”

She was still hot and flustered under her anger, Damon could tell from her wandering eyes, and this despite having a massive orgasm last night in their dream. He didn't doubt she was a roiling mass of conflicting emotions right now given how repressed she likely was. Well, he was in a worse state than her as he had no release, even in a dream, and had been teased to the brink yet again this morning right before Ofélia had woken him.

“Wait,” Damon asked, a mischievous grin appearing on his face. “Was I in your dream? That’s odd, as you were in my dreams as well. Tell me… what horrible things did I do to you? I’ll share the dream I had as well and we can compare notes… or do you want me to go first?”

 

[Story]

“Do not be a child,” the real Ofélia hissed out when he screamed like a lad when she disturbed his sleep. The chains that bound him she wound tighter, so that he was forced to either stand right up against the makeshift cage or else stay pressed on his knees against the bars.

Unlike the vulnerable ecstasy that had played on her face in their shared dream, the face that glowered down at him was a mask, with her eyes seeming to almost glow with heat as they lost their distraction and focused on the demon’s handsome face down below her own.

“Do not play coy, demon. You sought to confront me at my most vulnerable, using your wicked antics to tempt my whilst I could not say no,” she retorted, jerking his chains again for good measure, and not buying for an instant that what she had experienced was hers alone and had not been a whim of his. “I will need to strengthen the wards, then, if your influence has trickled from your bonds.”

Then her eyes narrowed as he confirmed himself that he had influenced her. Her smile was both cruel and triumphant, “Oh, but how, if you are playing so meek, that you guess the nature of my dreams, demon? I have no desire for carnal pleasures, least of all with you…” Only her voice quieted, losing some of its vindication as she spoke them. And her lashes fluttered and lowered with guilt as she chose to lie to herself as well as to him. Like in the dream, shame snaked its way through her like fire, causing heat to flare up in her cheeks.

Her eyes snapped back up, still hooded with her own repressed guilt, to meet his stare when he prodded if he had been present in her dream. Her lips parted, softening from their firm line, and her tongue flitted unconsciously across the full lower tier as her attention roamed his face again.

Realizing what she was doing, her nostrils flared and she gasped, mouth hardening back into a scowl of impatient, “You know of your own wickedness,” she growled. “I should lash you for your foul tongue,” she insisted.

Only his tongue had not been so foul in her unconscious mind. The turmoil of emotion roiled across her face like a storm. Then Ofélia made a tormented noise in the back of her throat and released him as suddenly as she had grabbed him, turning away in a whirl to stalk back to where she had lain for the evening. Angry and distracted, the woman began to gather her belongings and back the campsite, only venturing back to where he was kept to shove the cold remnants of last night’s meal at him. Her own appetite was gone, and she did not want to bother with a fire to heat it up again.

“Do not speak with me,” she commanded, before she turned away from him to finish preparing them for the next stretch of their journey. “Not unless you are spoken to.”

 

[Dark Prince]

Well, what exactly had he expected? That Ofélia would wake up in love with him? Or perhaps, so horny and amorous that she’d want to free him to fuck her in real life? Damon knew better than to expect dreams becoming reality and he also knew women well enough to understand that desires were often wildly different than their actions.

“I?” Damon protested, eyes going wide as he gave Ofélia his best innocent face. “I did nothing. If anything it’s just the shameful corruption I exude from every pore. My own dream was quite detailed however, I’m ashamed to say, with you kneeling before me and—”

Ofélia had ordered him to silence and stormed away, clearly in no mood for seduction, banter, or even further conversation. No matter, a grin rose to his face as she walked to rig the horses to the wagon, he’d seen her face and her eyes before she’d turned. Even without his gifts, he could tell a woman who’d had her lust stoked, even if she still denied it. It might all be for naught, for their voyage to the capital was just a couple more nights, at best, and he suspected she’d be much more wary tonight, but still, that spark of lust he’d seen, likely her first, gave him a satisfied feeling that carried him through much of the long day in the bumpy wagon.

At least in the dream last night… you were mine.

Aside from allowing him to do his toilet before they left and giving him rations, Ofélia was true to her word and ignored him. Her stony silence grew to be unbearable, but she steadfastly ignored all of Damon’s entreaties to talk. The wagon finally stopped at a river crossing, the wild and mighty Heartstone River that drained the distant mountains behind them.

The Heartstone was still mostly whitewater at this time of year and this close to the peaks, and no bridge had ever been built to ford it in this section. The crossing was a perilous ferry ride at a low point in the canyon that the roaring river had carved in the hills, a natural flatter spot where it briefly grew wide and slow. Below the ferry, the canyon narrowed and the water turned violent and white again. The Heartstone drained out of the Kingdom a short distance downstream, entering the wild and ungoverned Southern lands where it snaked for leagues in dense and exotic woodlands until it reached the sea.

The ferry was a simple flat bottomed wooden boat attached to a rope pulley. Normally a team of mules would pull on the far side, but the station house there was oddly vacant. Ofélia would have to hand pull them across herself, a laborious and slow affair. She ignored Damon’s offers of help as she loaded the wagon and horses onto the boat and began to tug them hand-over-hand across the wide river.

“It’s strange the station is empty with no ferry master,” mused Damon. He’d been having a one-sided conversation with her for some time now. The river appeared much fuller than his last trip over it, just over a week ago, and was prone to floods in the Spring he knew. The surface of the crossing path didn't look smooth, and the current already very strong as the boat pulled hard against the rope leaving the shore. “I wonder if the ferry is even supposed to be working. Most traffic comes the other way, so I’d suspect them leaving the boat on this side would discourage use.”

Whitewater appeared at times in their course as the boat pulled hard, stretching the rope dangerously close to the narrower canyon downstream, and the boat began bucking and swinging violently from unseen currents. By contrast, the crossing had been smooth and quiet for him before, as if going over a lake.

“This is a bit bumpier than I remember,” Damon said, eyes now wide with alarm. He was shackled and in a metal cage. If anything were to happen, he’d have a couple long horrible minutes descending to the bottom of the river before he died. There would be no escape. “Perhaps we should go back, and wait for this Spring flood to ebb.”

As if the river gods heard him, the straining and already frayed rope above the boat snapped. The sound rang out like a crack of a tree falling and was clearly heard over the roar of the river. In a second, the boat was spinning and bouncing, carried away as swiftly as an arrow towards the narrow and rocky canyon downstream.

Damon couldn’t scream, he couldn’t even panic. He just gripped the bars of his cage with a resolute stare, accepting death as water crashed in on all sides. The first rock smashed the boat in two, but somehow, the wagon stayed intact as the splintering wood of he hull buffered the impact. The horses, unrigged by Ofélia while loading the boat, were swept away. Ofélia herself was barely able to leap and grab the wagon as the boat crumbled apart around her. She clung to the edge, inches from the cage that Damon was trapped inside, and the heavy armor she wore was her own death sentence were she to lose her grip in the violent rapids.

Damon looked at her through the bars of the cage. Were he to not help her, she would surely lose her grip and die. And without her, and more precisely, the key in her pocket, he’d never get out of the cage and would likely die as well of starvation, if nothing else. Of course, given the fact that their wagon was not designed to float and they were in the raging whitewater of the mightiest river in the land, odds were that they both were going to die anyway.

Still, he had no choice. He couldn’t let her die, regardless of whether it made sense for him or not. He reached his hands through the bar and grabbed her wrists, looking her in the eyes, his black orbs locking with her blue. The river raged around them, the wagon bouncing off unseen rocks and filling steadily with water.

He shouted, pitching his voice loud to carry over the roaring water despite how close she was.

“You owe me the key to the this cage at least, if we live. Let me out of it, when I pull you up as you won’t be able to drag the cage through the wilderness by yourself anyway.”

He’d still have his shackles on, so that was not a big ask of Ofélia. And without a wagon, the cage was truly useless. At least out of the cage he could swim to shore if the whitewater let him.

“And… you must agree to talk with me again if I save you. Agree, or I’ll let you go and you’ll never feel my sweet tongue whisper in your ear, or elsewhere on your body, again!”

He gave her a knowing grin, his tongue flicking out playfully, despite the peril of their situation. He was already pulling her out of the water without needing to hear her response.

It was a devil’s bargain, but one he knew she couldn’t refuse.