Dancing with the Devil

First Contact
Rain flung itself in droves against the high, arching glass of the window-lined corridor that Thea Dawnseed paced, waiting to be ushered into the Lord of the Iron Cities' unhallowed hall. Lightning lashed cataclysmically across the sky. By the time the electric-white had faded, Thea found herself grimacing at her own reflection, the full line of her lips twisted to the side as she noted the exhaustion that clung to her. The entire day had been an assault on the senses. The knot of muscles in her thighs burned from the hours astride her mount as she rode from the last border city of the Helvios kingdom and into the forsaken lands of her enemies. A small group of drow scouts had met her there, slinking like living shadow from the gloom to escort her into the city proper. Even now, her head swam with the bustle of the unfamiliar capital, teeming with life despite the gray and stormy weather. Tiefling merchants had called across the bazaars they passed in a language that, though she could not speak it, sent an intrigued shiver skittering up her spine at the way their consonants curved and clicked. And the ever-present taste of iron in the air... Thea may have been a half-breed, but she was elf enough to be constantly aware of it. It didn't burn, not as it would her full-blooded brethren, but still. It lingered on the edge of her senses, an itch she couldn't quite reach. One of the drow escorts, a slim man with a single orange eye, had grimaced almost sympathetically at her as he'd watched the way her freckled nose wrinkled the closer they came to the abandoned human dwellings. "You're going to wear yourself out before it's even time to make your appearance," Kalora murmured, voice gentle but chiding as she watched her general pace. A fellow half-breed, she had quickly become Thea's closest companion during her initial stint in the barracks. Her appointment to become the bastard princess's personal guard had been a natural progression.
"Then he shouldn't be taking so long," said Thea in reply, voice edgy in her irritation. Anxiety was a living thing inside her, clogging her throat. "He's doing this on purpose -- he knows I hate being kept waiting." But did he? Had he gleaned that much from their brief time together, strolling along the leaf-lined paths of his familial estate? Thea wasn't sure. Couldn't be sure of anything, really, when it came to Callon Ardorius, save that the man was not to be trusted. Her skin crawled with the memory of what she'd discovered in the wastes beneath his home: the bodies twisted like withered vines, the splash of sticky runes still acrid with magic, and the creatures... "He is doing this on purpose. And you're letting him get in your head anyway," Kalora pressed, her voice barely more than a murmur lest their escort (ducked into the royal hall outside of which they now waited, no doubt to announce them to whatever criminals constituted a court in these foul lands) overhear. A frustrated sound ripped from Thea's throat as she stalked back to stand next to her companion. This close, they were a study in contrasts: Thea's freckled, sun-tanned skin almost golden in hue next to the deep, blue-tinged darkness of Kalora. The guard stood nearly a head taller than her general, narrow and lean where Thea's frame was softer and electric with energy, even her honeyed curls too wild to truly tame. Their attire, the one thread that normally united them in appearance, served only to further highlight the differences between them. Kalora was bedecked in her standard armor, gleaming in the low torchlight, while Thea... Well, Thea was a bit more ornate. The gown she wore was of the traditional Helvios colors: maroon with golden embroidering, a deep slit in her skirts emphasizing the dramatic flare of her hips. Combined with the subtle reinforcements of armor to her dress, she cut a striking figure -- almost regal, if one could only look past the grit of her jaw.
Thea prepared to growl out another curse against their host, but at just that moment, the double doors to the royal hall opened just wide enough for their escort to slip back through. The one-eyed drow, the shock of his white hair tied into a tight tail, gestured to them. His lips curled in a half-smile that was anything but reassuring as he said, "The Lord of the Iron Cities will see you now." Tension snapped into Thea, forcing her spine to straighten and her eyes to narrow. The bastard princess exchanged a brief glance with Kalora, willing her face into a mask of controlled aloofness, before she gestured for the drow to continue. He dipped his head, single eye aflame with some untold mirth -- and threw open the doors to Callon's throneroom. Thea's golden gaze flicked to and fro across the wide expanse of the room, the sound of her own heartbeat suddenly so loud in her ears it beat out any introduction their escort made for them. It was... different than she expected. A far cry from the homey, extravagant gallery that had been the Ardorious manner before. These halls were dark, filled with the metalwork decorations their former, human owners had favored. The entire hall reeked of iron, setting her teeth on edge as she walked slowly, fighting to maintain a casual air, behind the drow man. She made little secret of her roving eyes as she drank in the scene before -- looking anywhere but at the throne itself. "This is hardly what I'd call a welcome worthy of a royal envoy," she said in lieu of a greeting, gaze caught on the storm outside, refusing for at least another moment to give the traitor lord the dignity of her full attention. Her tone, though bright enough, dripped with an unrestrained disdain. "Clearly you have yet to master all the intricacies of managing a kingdom." It was only then that Thea turned to face her host, her gaze molten and chin held high and proud. "I suppose it would be a lie to say it's nice to see you, given the circumstances."

It took Callon longer than he'd expected to make his way back to the throne room. Or rather, he'd simply lost track of time. Mayura had warned him of dissent between some of the tiefling merchants and the traders, and today of all days it had finally erupted. The tieflings hadn't been pleased when he'd told them that the human traders were still welcome to ply their work, to ferry goods across the dark green ocean to their homeland. What did it matter? They were not the ones who'd brought war to his home. So it had taken time to smooth out ruffled feathers, to talk them down, to ease tensions. By the time he'd returned, there hadn't even been time to strip off the blackened wood he'd called armour. So he sits on the gleaming gray metal of his throne, leaning on one arm, without so much as a crown. Sitting on a raised dias, the crowd around its base parts in the middle when the doors open, all the better for Thea to approach. His court (of sorts) is a mixed bag of heights, sizes, and all kinds of creatures. As the one-eyed drow walked ahead of her to join the crowd, she catches a glimpse of all kinds of creatures, from drow dressed in leather patches to gnomes in silk, and everything in between. There was even a strange young woman clad in shapeless cloths draped over her who sat on the steps leading up to the throne -- a human? No, there were feathers protruding from the edges of her face, slicked back like hair -- with blank, unseeing eyes, who tilted her ears to better hear the clinking of armour as Thea and her companions approached.
He watched as Thea peered around the hall, the obvious curiosity painted on her face, and Callon had to suppress the urge to comment on for staring. After so many months in this castle, he was still unused to the strange symmetry the humans favoured -- each window precisely aligned with its neighbour across the hall, with the wrought iron pillars that curved to form the vaulted arches, branching out in every which direction to hold up the painted ceiling. Murals, he'd learned their name from a newly-freed slave, a gnome who'd lost three fingers learning how to rework iron to please his old masters. It made Callon's nose wrinkle the first time he'd seen the too-symmetric hall. There was no artistry to it, no movement, and it made his fingers twitch with the desire to mold and change. "I was never much for politics," Callon said softly from his seat, his eyes following Thea unblinkingly as she made her way into the room, watching her the way a hawk watched a mouse. "You knew that." He tilted his head as he watched her. Still the same as ever, breathing unruly fire with every step, fighting teeth and claw to make her place. The gown was new, though. Callon almost snorted at the sight -- clearly the new King had decided to attempt to dress a wildcat in silks, as if that would somehow change her nature. Callon's voice was still the same. He knew that it was one of the few things that had avoided the curse of corruption -- still soft, still unfailingly polite -- but the rest of him... He'd been trained as an archer as soon as he was tall enough to draw a bow, and he'd originaly held an archer's light, lithe build. But years of war had changed that, filling him out. The corruption had taken its toll too, and the black lines that had staggered along his skin had spread, tickling his chin, threatening to cover his right cheek.
Worse was the eyes: shining pupils of grey, with only the slightest hint of the grass-green of a summer meadow. A cold gaze, as sharp as the iron blades the humans wielded, as if he could slice through the mask Thea wore and see her underneath. He carried a smile that didn't reach his eyes as Thea mocked him. Instead, Callon greeted her the same way he'd always done. "Hello Thea," soft, polite, low. "It's nice to see you again."
It was his voice that disturbed Thea the most, so soft and familiar that it set a chill in her blood from the fact it came from a man who looked like that. The half-elf studied his face through narrowed eyes, tracing the tendrils of charred corruption that threaded over his cheek. She wondered if it hurt, if those blackened veins made his blood run sluggish and thick. She hoped that it did. …Especially as he refused to rise to her goading. Irritation licked through her, lips tightening into a frown. Callon would not be so easily baited as her brother it seemed. "Best to skip the pleasantries, I think," Thea said curtly as one eyebrow arched skyward. Her steps (and Kalora's, the woman her living shadow) clicked through the iron-wrought hall as she strode to stand before the dais, angling to give the strange figure sprawled across the steps a wide berth. The half-elf's head tipped as she considered the woman (creature?), her brow a tangled knot above the guarded curiosity of her gaze. "My people don't have time for it, not with your monsters razing their villages," she continued after a moment, tearing her eyes away from the spectacle of feathers, unsure which of the two before her was more disarming to witness (Callon, of course, his familiarity warped by evil magic, but she refused to acknowledge it, to give him that power). "You requested my presence--" her soul itched at the implication behind the words, the memory of his sprawled scrawl, the half-breed princess, seared into her mind "--now here I stand. Get on it with, Callon, lest your beasts decide to feast on even more of the countrymen you've turned your back on."
Callon watches her stalk forward with something that could be described -- at best -- as mild curiousity. The way you'd watch a child throwing a tantrum, or two cats hissing at each other with their fur on end. When she stops to stare at the strange woman laying on the steps, her head resting on her outstretched arm speckled here and there with a spurt of multicolored feathers, she turns her face. Up close, she's even stranger: her cloths are lumpy, as if someone had simply taken random lengths of fabric and thrown it over her. Even though her dull, glazed eyes were clearly blind, somehow they managed to meet Thea's gaze. She smiles, an unhinged, crazed expresion, revealing pointed teeth best suited for ripping and tearing, and the feathers at the edge of her face ruffle lightly, like a bird enjoying the touch of the sun. Her lips move, but no sound comes out. When Thea spits out her words, she can hear the effect it has on the assembled... Well, courtiers isn't exactly the word for it. Creatures, perhaps? They whisper, grumbling to one another, an occasional gasp punctuating the background hum. The one-eyed escort frowns, molten gaze flicking up to Callon, then back down to Thea, a tiny shake of his head as a warning. Callon stays very, very still. "Your people," he muses thoughtfully. "Yes, your people have suffered, haven't they?" When he finally stands and begins to move, it's with otherworldly smoothness. Each movement flows into the last, as if his bones and armour are suggestions, illusions. It's eerie, at best. Terrifying, at worst. One step, two, and then he's standing inches away from Thea. Up close, she can see the way the lines pulse in time with his heartbeat, the edges appearing and disappeearing like blood sinking in and out of his skin. "This," he stretches his hand out, "Is my one and only offer."
On his outstretched palm is a familiar ring -- woven wood embedded with small, sparkling jewels, culminating in a bright, clear gem that glinted with every spark of lightning outside the unnatural windows. Because it matches your eyes, had been his smiling reason when he'd given it to her all those years ago. Not a family heirloom, like so many engagement rings were wont to be, but something that he'd made himself. It had the same flowing vines and branches that all of his sculptures had, as if it was moving even when it was completely still. Even the small gems, multicolored specks of light, glinted with movement in the sunshine.
The world fell away as Callon drew closer, narrowing down until it was just the two of them: no whispering courtiers, Kalora forgotten, even that predatory... thing on the steps barely registered. The man's every movement was unnatural, a fluidity that went beyond mere gracefulness into something... alien. Something that dug into the animal part of Thea's brain. Had she hackles, they would have been raised. Still, she hid her nerves well enough. Her eyes brightened and her swordhand clenched and unclenched uselessly at her side, yearning for a blade, but her face remained tightly controlled... At least until he splayed his hand. Then there was no stopping the short, sharp bark of a laugh that escaped her, the momentary shock of the ring forcing that aloof mask to slip and reveal the naked unease beneath. "You've lost your touch. Your previous proposal was far superior," she bit out like a fox caught in a snare, baring its teeth at anyone who came too close. Thea hadn't been sure what she'd expected. The implication, of course, had been there from the start (or at least Kieran had thought so, only too eager for a solution that would make all of his problems disappear). But this... this court of nightmares, his strange and hawkish demeanor so unlike the man she had thought she'd known before, and the ring... Almost without her control, one hand lifted to pluck the woven band from his outstretched palm -- but the moment she got close enough to feel the heat of him, her hand recoiled as if burned, leaving those glittering jewels untouched. Gods, she could still remember the scratches her nails had torn along her finger in her desperate fit to get it off after her discovery, after she'd seen those same twisting patterns that she'd spent so long studying reflected back in the horrors he'd summoned.
The memory sharpened her. Grounded her. Her pale green eyes snapped back to his eerie, iron gaze. "It's hardly an offer when I don't know the terms. You'll call off your beasts, bring peace to our lands, and in exchange you get... What? A bastard's shaky claim to the throne?" She paused, head tipping to one side, a stray curl falling into her face. Her men were falling by the battalion to his monsters. They'd last a while yet, they had the numbers for that, but the writing was on the wall: they were outmatched, and hopelessly at that. Callon need only wait them out, and the entire country, burned and bloodied, would be his. Her eyebrows raised, unimpressed. "Don't toy with me, Callon. Tell me what you're really after."
Callon never blinks. Not when her hand twitches, not when she laughs, not when she tears her hand back as if touched by the flames of hell. No, those dirty eyes keep their steady gaze on her face, flicking between one bright eye to the other. He remembered commenting on it, once -- that they both had green eyes, but such different colours still. His were like moss in water, grass in the wind, brightening and darkening with every emotion on his face. Hers were pale, a beacon against her tan skin. Of course, now he only had the slightest tinge of dark, dirty emerald, the colour a creature would turn when it's half rotten. At her question, his hand closes over the ring, his arm dropping to his side. "I have no interest in your brother's throne," he says calmly, and there's a ripple of laughter through the crowd, as if they're sharing a joke that Thea isn't privy to. "He can burn in it, for all I care. My interest is, and always has been..."
His other hand lashes out faster than Thea can blink, faster than Kalora can react, and suddenly he's inches away from her, with his hot, hard fingers gripping Thea's wrist with that same unnatural fluidity. Too fast. No mortal creature should have that speed. But then the black marks on his skin pulse, and suddenly something is pushed into Thea. Raw, unadulterated power, flying like lightning across her skin, burning through her blood like fire, wave after wave after wave of painful pleasure. Once, she'd seen a granary in flames, burning so hot that it lit up the surroundings like the sun, scorching bright white marks across anyone who dared to stare directly at the flames. The spark of magic, lost in her diluted blood, now flooded through her as it ate her up from the inside out. And then he releases her, and steps back slowly. There's black markings on the ground around them, circling them like an aura. Others have their faces turned away, with only the feathered woman watching them. She opens her mouth and laughs. When she whispers, it sounds like iron scraping against bone, a thousand screams twisted into one voice.
The half-blood falls, and the sun sets. Somehow, her voice echoes in Thea and Kalora's mind, instead of their ears. The half-blood succumbs, and clear blood flows. Pointed teeth grin at Thea, her tongue running along her lips hungrily. On all fours now, her disjointed limbs scurry towards the two of them, each finger somehow stretching twice as much space as it should. Fingers like talons dig into her gown, ruining it, slashing at her, gripping onto her leg. Her mouth opens again. The half-blood crowned, and the dark moon rises. Callon simply watches his feathered pet without raising a single finger to help.
Something like lightning lanced through Thea's veins, setting every nerve aflame. It pulsed through with every throb of those horrible black veins, Callon's grip a conduit for agony to course through her. It shredded her, consumed her, her entire body gone stiff and wracked by shivers that marked each new wave he forced into her. She couldn't scream, couldn't think, couldn't breathe. But beneath it all... something ancient and buried deep within shivered at the painful sensation. She felt it shift, long dormant electricity suddenly sparked to life in her bones. Arcane power, raw and unfiltered, bubbled against the unseen force pumping into her, flooding her body with an undercurrent of toe-curling pleasure beneath the hateful assault on her senses. Instinct and ambition thrummed to life and beneath the stupor of sensation, Thea had just a thread of herself left to be curious. It was little more than a ghost of intrigue -- but the energy being forced into her was a living thing. It reacted almost with a purr to the subtle want from her basest beast, and clawed its way inside. By the time Callon released her, Thea had been hollowed out. She staggered, barely able to keep herself on her feet without his manacled grip. Her chest heaved as she struggled to force air through shot lungs and her ears buzzed with an electric hum. She could hardly hear Kalora's desperate, roaring bellows from where her guard struggled, the one-eyed drow having to use his entire weight to keep her pinned. An exhaustion like she had never known before made each thought sluggish, too preoccupied with the newfound electric tingle of magic in her blood. Her pale eyes had gone glassy as they blinked blearily down at the wrist Callon had grabbed, now cradled in her other hand. He'd left his mark on her, bruises already dappling the tanned flesh. Beneath the dark mark of his thumb, a single vein pulsed black.
Thea reacted on a delay as she settled back into her limbs, her body now a strange, foreign thing. By the time her head jerked up, recoiling against the hellish, psychic scream, the creature was already upon her. Her legs as shaky as a fawn's, the slam of the feathered woman sent her sprawling, teeth snaring into her tongue from the force of the impact. The monster didn't care, clawed fingers snagging into Thea's skirts first -- and then into her thigh as she clambered over the stunned half-elf. Compared to the pain she had just endured, the rip of flesh barely registered. But Thea screamed all the same, a sound not of fear but of rage. The newfound power in her blood perked its head at the rush of anger, curious as a cat. Something thrummed in her fingertips, just beneath the surface of her skin. Thea ignored it -- too focused on the woman's claws suddenly snaring into her hip, needle-like teeth ghosting along the exposed line of her throat. Her fist slammed into her attacker's cheek hard enough that a sharp crack split the air -- but it served only to spur her on. Talon-like fingers gripped Thea's jaw, twisting hard and forcing the bastard princess to stare into those horrible, blank eyes. Another bolt of psychic energy spiked into her mind as if the creature were preparing to speak once more, but Thea didn't give her the chance. The dark vein in her wrist burned with a twisted, ugly pleasure -- and suddenly Thea could see the threads of silvery magic that throbbed through the creature. It was as simple as reaching out and plucking the right string. Thea acted on instinct, her fingers twisted in the air... and every bone in the feathered woman's hand shattered. The snaring claws around Thea's jaw fell away as the creature screeched, thrashing uselessly around the now useless lump of meat her hand had become.
They scrabbled blindly for a moment then, a fit of blind rage and agony. It ended only when she managed to straddle the woman in her ruined skirts, one fist knotted in a tangle of feathers along her brow to keep her head down, knee slammed into the pulpy flesh of her ruined hand. The creature writhed and hissed in a language of indescribable pain. Thea's entire body trembled. Her throat ached with every raw, whistling breath. Blood dripped lazily from the corner of her lip, tongue torn by her own teeth from the fall. She was more lion than maiden, her hair a wild tangle and her eyes -- her eyes burned, alive with fury and... fear. The power that had surged through her to shatter the feathered woman had receeded far, far back into her body, nearly depleted. But she could still feel the taint of it in her, like a curse. "What have you done?" Thea's voice was scratchy and hoarse, barely more than a whisper, but it commanded an answer all the same as she stared up at her enemy.
Of course, as a royal descendant, Thea might have her own magic -- the heat in her blood that kept her warm when other, lesser beings might shiver, the burn of her muscles, driving her to run faster, hit stronger. But this was not that kind of magic. This was a creature, a wild thing that dug itself into her body, burrowing into her skin, forcing itself into her and settling in the black, tarred vein. As new wounds appear on her tongue, on her legs, on her body, it only lets her blood flow that much better, the burn of blood pulsing with the heartbeat of pure, unbridled power. When Thea lashes out she moves with unnatural speed, raw magic flies out, and the screaming creature grows quiet. Scrambling out from underneath the mountain lion pinning her in place, her sharp-toothed mouth opens and she laps, licks at the deformed skin, and everyone watches as her hand crackles and pops, reforming easily. In a flash, she skitters backwards on a hand that moves as if it had never been injured at all. She scrambles up the dias, turning back to look at Thea momentarily. When she speaks, it's only to name her. Half-blood. Another soundless giggle, and then large wings appear from under the matted clothing to curl over her, hiding her from view at the foot of the throne. Callon's eyes are drawn to the drop of red at the edge of her mouth, fully focused on the burning blood. It's only after she opens her mouth to demand answers that the one-eyed drow releases Kalora, and that he tears his gaze away from the red on her skin. His own blackness has receded... Somewhat. It tickles up his throat, no longer crawling along his cheek.
"Magnificent," he hums, his eyes bright, his interest in her suddenly a living creature. The way she'd clawed the power into her grasp, using it with instinctive ease, soaking it up as easily as if it was her birthright. It still thrums in her veins, a quiet creature waiting to pounce, and it has a heartbeat of its own. A heartbeat that matches the quiet pulse of black along Callon's skin. He doesn't even answer her question, too busy staring at her as if she was one of his sculptures. A piece of wood to be molded and sprouted with his whims.
A sound of revulsion guttered out of Thea at the scrape of the creature's bones cracking back into place. She made no move to reclaim her prize as the feathered woman jerked away, only staggered to her own feet -- teetering on legs that threatened to give out under her own weight. Half-blood. How many times had that word been slung at her, cold and cruel? But now... now it carried the weight of prophecy. The beast of magic that now sheltered in her body, subdued to little more than a quiet hum after her viscious display, curled at the sound of it, sending delicious, painful little shocks skittering down her nerves. Thea's breath hitched, brow knotted above wild eyes. The dark moon rises...? "Thea!" Kalora's voice was low, protective. She'd wasted no time in bodily shoving the drow from her the moment his grip had loosened. Sword brandished towards their dark host, she pressed close to offer her body as support for Thea to slump against -- but, even unsteady as she was, Thea couldn't stand the thought of Callon seeing her so unmanned. Not with that maddening glint in his eyes, the self-satisfied timbre of his hum. It sent fury burning through her stomach. For the briefest of moments, Thea, half-maddened by all that had passed, reached for that dark power once more, imagining Callon's spine splintering just as his beast's hand had. But the magic in her body didn't even stir, either too depleted for any further violence... or unable to bite back at its infernal source. "We're leaving," Kalora ground out from between clenched teeth, steeling herself for a fight. “She needs a healer.” Thea's eyes dragged slowly to her friend's face, noted the sweat beading her brow. They wouldn’t survive the fight, and even if they did have half a chance…
“No,” murmured Thea, her voice low, intended only for her companion’s ears. Kalora’s face twisted in surprise, and the princess had to avert her gaze, unable to bear the sight. “We don’t know what this is. What it’ll do.” If the magic pulsing through her would bubble over the moment she crossed the border, twisting her into a living bomb. Her gaze flicked back towards Callon’s, breath still coming in ragged pants, as she noticed how the pulsing black had retreated down the curve of his throat. Curiosity prickled, possibility suddenly yawning open before her. Could she drain him completely? Steal enough of this dark power to ensure no one else would ever know it’s taint again? There was only one way to find out. “I’m staying,” she said, voice flat with finality.
Callon doesn't seem to even register the sword pointed at him, ignoring Kalora's hissed words completely. No one stops her either, though the drow's eye glints as his hand reaches for the dagger at his hip. He doesn't even watch her, keeping his singular eye on his Lord, waiting for permission. He sighs, the smallest movement in his shoulders, the tingling pain of corruption easing slightly. He tilts his head slightly when Thea's burning eyes turn to him, as if daring her to carry out the unspoken threat. Pick it up, he thinks to himself. He'd given her more than enough power, a temporary gift that would curl up in her chest, lapping at her skin hungrily. Power was meant to be used after all, and magic was no different. His fingers itch, the tip of his hand blackened from the transfer, but he can barely feel the tinge of pain underneath the constant gnawing against his bones. When he doesn't feel the white hot lash of pain, he's almost disappointed. He doesn't miss the way her eyes glance down at his throat, then back up at him. He wonders idly if the corruption reminds her of the sight she'd discovered, or if she already hungered for another taste. But at Thea's declaration, you can practically taste the self-satisfaction pouring off of him. He smiles, an expression that seems so familiar on a foreign face, as if he'd already known her reaction every step of the way. "As expected," he says indulgently, "You always were so reasonable." Turning away, he doesn't bother offering the ring again. His offer had been made -- it was up to her to accept it now. "Kaius will show you to your rooms," he says over his shoulder, and the one-eyed one glides up silently, glancing between Kalora and the bastard, as if sizing them up.
The crowd shifted to let them pass as Kaius once again played escort, though this time the room was alive with whispers. Thea ground her teeth, dug her nails into her palm -- anything to keep her focused enough to keep her chin lifted when all she wanted to do was slump to the floor in an exhausted heap... though the magic in her blood would certainly make that no easy feat. It buzzed in irritation with every step she took further from Callon. The next several minutes passed in a blur of angular, disorientating hallways before Kaius pushed open a door and gestured for her to step inside. Kalora bit out a protest when the man coldly indicated they were not to be kept together. Thea was past the point of rational thought, too hollowed out to do anything but promise her companion they'd fix things in the morning. The room was large, a reading nook set off to one corner and a massive, plush bed centered on the far wall. But most inviting of all, through an open arch, a tub steamed with a freshly drawn bath, the few clothes she'd packed already tucked inside a small closet. Ignoring the angry jolts the power sent cramping through her muscles, Thea wasted little time in shedding the tattered waste of her gown and slipping into the enveloping comfort of the water. The heat seemed to soothe the maddening jitter in her blood, if only momentarily. Just long enough for her to examine where the gory gash in her thigh should have been... only to find the pucker of a freshly healed wound. Thea's throat clogged at the sight -- and would again, when slipping into the comfort of her evening wear that she noticed the pucker had already silvered over into a weeks-old scar. Though exhaustion dragged at her with every step, Thea still took the time to strip the linens from the bed, dragging a blanket towards one of the chairs. She angled it to face the door, nesting in an upright position -- refusing to be caught off guard should any further horrors come bearing down in the night.
Torment
Sleep came in fitful snatches. Each time she woke, the magic within her grew more and more impatient, until it seethed her blood into a boil. It was raw kinetic energy forced to stagnation within her and it wanted out. Thea resisted its gruesome seduction until the gnawing in her bones became too much to bear. But when she lifted her hand to try and pluck those silvery threads of mana once more, the power inside her stubbornly refused to obey, content only to eat her from the inside out. Even with the burn, a newfound clarity ran like springwater through her. Thea couldn't have slept more than a handful of hours, but it felt like she'd rested for days. Save for the lightning that still threatened to split the sky in twain, darkness stretched over her, the night nearly at its zenith. She needed answers. Needed to know what he had unleashed upon her -- and needed to change her tactic, clearly. She'd had no control in his throne room, his command over his people absolute. But here, perhaps, without prying eyes to perform to, Thea might be able to wrest back the upper hand. When she poked her head out into that dark hallway, she was displeased but not surprised to see two teifling guards posted there. The magic bleated in her blood, forcing her teeth to grit. "Callon," she ground out. "Bring him here. Now." The two guards exchanged only a momentary glance before the slimmer of the two bobbed her head, fanged teeth gleaming in the torchlight -- and slunk away into the night.
It takes a while for Callon to arrive, and when he does, he's... disheveled. His hair is tousled, sticking out from his head in little tufts, his clothes wrinkled, the twine tying his shirt together unravelling. In the darkness of the iron halls, with only the torches throwing large, shaky shadows, his unnatural movements seem more horrifying than before. Only his bright eyes reflecting the fire sparkle with life as he stalks silently towards Thea's room, the sharp toothed guard following two steps behind him. He doesn't knock when he enters, simply pushing the large doors open. He takes one step in, and the guard shuts the door silently behind him. His presence in the room wakes the creature burrowing inside Thea. Like a cat it perks up, stretches, its ears flickering, purring lightly. Then it begins to bite. Teeth sinking into Thea's bones, a frenzied sensation that wanted... Something. It's hard to tell, but it feels like a caged beast throwing a tantrum, eager to find something. Or someone. For a long moment, all he does is stare at Thea with those strange, unblinking eyes. There's no smile on his face this time, not when his gaze runs up and down her body, catching the sweat sparkling on her skin, the slight shiver. Somehow it seems like he can see the effect the corruptive magic has on her. Nor does he comment on the furniture rearrangement, or the fact that she'd clearly decided to sleep on the couch. All he does is tilt his head, waiting for Thea to take the first step. Something flickers around his neck -- the ring, sparkling like cold water when a lightning strike lights up the room, a thin vine braided through it to hold it around his neck. He stands away from the window as if he's more comfortable in the darkest part of the room, but Thea can still see the brightness of his eyes, the pulse of dark veins on his hands, his throat... Like this, he resembled his creations in their unnatural stillness, moments before they lashed out.
The beast in her blood was a fickle one. Thea already knew enough about it to know that. But still, it's electric teeth sinking into her muscles, her very bones was enough to leave the half-elf sucking in a sharp, pained breath. It stole her composure and the clever words she'd had prepared to fling at him the moment he'd walked through the door. A moment of silence stretched between them as Thea fought to tame the power that raged within, leaving her to rankle under his predatory gaze. The rot of fear bloomed in her gut, the same fear that had consumed her at the sight of those... abominations of his. As horrifying as they had been, instinct whispered that their creator was somehow worse. Finally, Thea managed to wrest back control over herself, though tremors still shot down her spine, obvious beneath thin, white fabric. Her eyes glittered with distrust, but when her voice came it was... too smooth, forced into a half-cordial tone instead of the scream she so dearly wished to unleash. "I was hoping we could speak without the... theatrics of an audience. Unless your plan truly is to simply wait until I've gone mad enough with pain to roll over and play whatever part that monster of yours demands." She breathed deep and forced herself to take a diplomatic step towards her host. The moment that she edged closer, the power inside her thrilled, sending soothing heat melting into her cramped muscles. The relief was somehow worse than the pain, especially as light gleamed off the ring around his neck, laid bare against the exposed triangle of his chest.
The intimacy of the moment was not lost on her -- in fact, it was the very thing she was depending on. Their prior engagement had been a formal affair. She'd never seen him still rumpled from sleep. Even in all of his horror, it humanized him... reminded her there was (at least in theory) a man beneath the monster. She just needed him to remember the same. Though her very soul recoiled against the idea, Thea pressed forward until she was close enough to reach for the ring once more -- though this time, she didn't shy away as she had previously. Giving Callon a withering glare of warning, she plucked it from where it lay against his chest, still tethered round his neck. The magic in her sang at the proximity as she examined the intricate carvings of the band, face sharp with her own uneasy thoughts. "Or are proposal and prophecy both just to keep me occupied while this infection burns me from the inside out?"
Callon tilted his head the other way, watching Thea's white-knuckled grip on the chair, the way her throat slid when she swallowed another scream. He watches her stand, watches her approach, still unblinking, as if such mortal needs were beyond him. He's not a fool: The Thea he knew would have never deigned to summon him in the middle of the night, not without half a battalion and a full set of plate armour. He'd half expected to see her crumpled on the ground, the power burning her out from within, so to see so composed was... Unexpected. And to take the first step to him so easily? Well... Miracles could happen, he supposed. Each step sends waves of heat through her, the creature in her blood eager to return to its creator. When she reaches for the ring, he heeds her warning with a slight twitch of a smile tickling his lips, and she can see the black pulse against his skin, the vines creeping up his throat and disappearing down the edge of his shirt. His gaze follows the movement of her hands, finally breaking eye contact. The woven wood is cold against her, a cooling sensation that glides against her fingers as soon as she picks it up -- strange, considering she can feel the warmth radiating from his body, that the ring would hold no warmth. "What you call an infection, I would see as an..." he pauses, choosing his words carefully before settling on his choice. "Opportunity. You have the capability of power, and the instinct to use it." He still remembers the way her eyes shone with silver fire as she reached out to crush the prophetess.
Up comes his hand slowly, smoothly, the same way one might approach a cornered animal. He takes her wrist gently, the one he'd marked earlier today, and when his blackened hand meets hers, the pain finally dies away like smoke in the wind. He turns her hand over until the black spot on her wrist is revealed, and it too pulses with Thea's heartbeat, one that matches the lines twining around his fingers. "But then again," his bright, manic eyes come back up to meet hers and the smile on his face is gone, replaced by cold iron as solid as the walls of his city. "What does Thea Dawnseed care for power, prophecy, or proposal?" he muses. "The 'People's Princess' is only here at the whims of her people, is she not? For a half-blood bastard, you seem to have a lot of interest in those who would throw you away at a moment's notice."
A breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding eased out of her lungs as that fire in her blood was finally quenched. Every knotted muscle loosened, soothed into momentary stupor -- at least until Callon turned her hand over, revealing the tarry stain beneath her skin. There was no denying their twinned pulse then, not with his spidery fingers so close to the corruption he'd planted in her. Still, she didn't pull back, lest that acidic burn return. "Everyone will throw you away at a moment's notice. I thought you of all people would know that. Last I heard, the Ardorius family was petitioning to have your name struck from the official pedigree," she bit back, eyes turned to ice at the way their veins thrummed in tune. She paused, studied his face through narrowed eyes. "Besides, you overestimate the disloyalty of the common folk. They remember who sits high in a pretty tower while they suffer just as they remember who bleeds for them." Her gaze flickered down to the blackness at his throat, ink-spattered tendrils snaking over the line of a clavicle. Her breath clogged at the thought of the darkness spreading any further, creeping into her heart as it so clearly had his. Would whatever madness had possessed him to breathe a wretched facsimile of life into his carvings come creeping down her veins too? "Who bleeds red for them," she clarified, a phantom itch stirring in her wrist. Her next words were slow, careful as she studied his face. "Whatever instinct you think I possessed was a fluke. Beginner's luck. It hasn't listened to me since. Lucky for you, I suppose. I know you aren't well-versed in ruling, but the very first rule is that you don't share power."
“What of it?” he shrugged at the comment. “In that case, we would share a name even without the ring.” He doesn’t pull away from her — not when she stares at his throat, not when she speaks. Callon watches her as carefully as she watches him, the two of them dancing around one another, waiting for the other one to trip. “Beginner’s luck…” he murmurs. Does she notice when his eyes gleam in the dark? The slight tinge of madness trickling along his gaze? Out comes his hand, snaking around her throat as viciously as he’d gripped her earlier today, fingers digging in. His other hand tightens around her wrist, and he bares his teeth, pushing her back with unnatural, corrupted strength. He leans in close, so close she can see her own eyes reflected back to her. “I don’t believe you.” And then the pain begins. Black flames licking at her skin, power rushing through the tainted mark. The room lights up in silver lines, painfully bright in her eyes. Instinctively, she knows what each one will do — light the candle, break the window, shred the sheets. And yet, the pain-pleasure of fire eating away at her pulls at her attention, demanding her focus. “You want me to release you?” Callon murmurs through gritted teeth, a trickle of sweat gliding down his face from the exertion. He can feel it, the mind-numbing pain of his burning skin fading ever so slightly, the gnashing teeth of his corrupted creatures sulking as the leash around their necks tightened. “Make me,” he hisses, bright eyes glowing with madness — and magic.
Thea only had a sliver of a second to notice the wicked gleam in his eyes, the twitch of madness across his features, before his hand snaked around her throat. The wall bit into her from where he slammed her -- forcing what air remained in her lungs out in a pained gasp. Her teeth rattled with the impact -- but that drop of pain was lost in the sea of burning agonies gripping her once more. This close, Callon consumed her. Even with the searing light of the silvery, magic lines, it was the bright pinpricks of his eyes into which she focused. Fear and fury made her every movement electric, snarling and spitting, one free hand clawing viciously -- and uselessly -- at his forearm. She thought she had known pain before, but this was all consuming. The fire burned along every nerve, reducing her animalistic writhing against his grasp to shadows of the powerful kicks she intended to deal to him. Still, what slivers of herself managed to survive the mind-throttling, panic-inducing sensations being forced into her, stubbornly held on. Thea refused to reach for the magic, mind churning in her panic -- until a particular brutal lick of fire burned clarity into her. Darkness began to creep around the edges of her vision as her lungs cramped desperately for air. The animal part of her brain began to bleat its fear, trying desperately to wrest control from pain-addled higher functions. Still she held on. Until, finally, lightning split the sky -- and Thea seized her chance. She reached towards its silvered, magical tether and tugged. The air popped with electricity, the small hairs along their forearms standing on end a moment before the window shattered and pure electricity surged into the room, along with the rest of the raging storm. Thea threaded it through the air, guiding it to lance towards Callon's spine.
The split-second before it would have struck, the spitting princess began to drink deep of the well of power he was sending coursing through her veins. No longer a passive receptacle, Thea chased the pleasurable undertones, drawing them further into her body, hollowing herself to allow more of the tainted blackness to pool within -- trying to drain him dry, not to use herself but to hoard, to stop this madness in its tracks.
Pressed up against the wall, there’s no way for Thea to escape Callon. The way his silvered eyes widen, drinking her in, or the way his skin simply sewed itself up as soon as her now-bloodied nails dig into him, nor the sparks that dance when his skin touches her, his hardened body pressing against her, the warm breaths that dance against her cheek. Callon barely registered the sting as Thea clawed at him. What was one drop compared to the constant corruption that wove itself through every fiber of his being? He’d even failed to notice the sting of iron that suffused the air of these human homes. Instead, he watched her. Watched the coil of silver travel along her arm, sinking into her skin, rejoining the small knot that sat underneath her breastbone. Which meant that when she finally reached out for it, he could see it unfurl and move inside her. As soon as she chooses to open herself to the magic, the creature inside her changes — no longer clawing and gnawing and fighting to exist, it crows victoriously, a flaming phoenix that revels in the pain, filling her with toe-curling pleasure as much as it burns her nerves. The world brightens — the lightning? No. The silver threads tying this world together, like a gossamer veil thinly laid over everything she could see. Except for him. Callon glowed with it, as if he was simply skin stretched over a metal creature. Glancing down at herself, Thea could see the same too-bright glow under her own hands, her body simply a vessel for the never-ending well of magic being drawn into her. For every drop she takes, two more pours from the endless void.
Moments before electricity arcs into his skin, as the window crashed and his hair began to stand on end, a wide grin begins to spread across his face as he laughs. She can see his sharpened teeth up close — too close. Blackened wood sprouts from the floor, cracking and popping as a sprout, a sapling, then a fully matured oak unfurls itself between the lightning and the two of them. A loud crack!, and the smell of charring wood fills the air. His grip loosens, and the flow of power trickles to a stop. The silver that burned her eyes dims, but she can still see the gleaming. The creature grumbles, pacing, hungry eyes flicking from side to side, the wash of sensations along her body fading into the background. When she takes a gasp of air, Callon simply tilts his head, running his thumb across the dark mark on her skin. “Ah yes, ‘beginner’s luck’,” he chuckled again, that maddening gleam twinkling, his lips inches away from her skin. “I thought we were beyond such lies, Thea.” Callon speaks with easy familiarity, as if they were back in his family gardens, strolling. The black has receded from his skin, sinking past his collar, his sleeves, the sallow tint burnt away.
Thea was drowning in magic. It filled her cup to the brim and then just kept coming, sloshing greedily into her veins. Whatever half-cocked plan she had had to drain Callon dry became forgotten the instant she realized that, once the faucet had been willingly turned on, she didn't have a clue how to turn it off again. There no tourniquet to be found, no sealing even a small part of herself off from the onslaught -- there was only pain, and pleasure, and Callon. The bloody scrabble of her fingers against him shifted as the creature within her rioted, raking claws of vicious, delicious fire down her abdomen. Magma pooled in her belly, sinful rapture. Her hands latched to his chest, clawing into the white cotton of his shirt to drag him closer still, desperate for heat and warmth and touch even as he threatened to choke the life from her. Distantly, as if in the shadow of a dream, she wondered how those too-sharp fangs might feel biting into her neck -- if the wirecrossed mix of agony and bliss might extend beyond just the internal surge of mana and into external stimuli.
Callon was power incarnate. Thea could see that now. In the haze of her pleasure-soaked pain, higher ideals momentarily abandoned in the surge of naked ambition, she and the beast inside were twinned in their depraved desire for him. His grip loosened -- and Thea gasped for air, her throat raw, eyes wild from her brush with mortality. As the sensations bled away, she shivered still... but now it was the tremor of withdrawal, her body somehow aching for more even though overstimulation had been near ready to unknit her at her very core. The press of his body against hers pinning her to the wall was the only thing keeping her upright, fists still knotted into his shirt as she sagged unwittingly against him.
The acrid smell of lightning-lashed wood filled her nose, eyes smarting against the smokey tint in the air. It was several moments before she could speak, head bowed, lungs refusing to cooperate until they had had their greedy fill -- and when she did manage it, her voice was barely more than a rasp, vocal cords scraping against where his fingers had so tightly compressed. "Fuck...," another ragged breath, "...you." When she managed to lift her head, Thea's pupils were blown wide, the ghost of desire still haunting every thought despite higher function beginning to creep back in. Even with the mundane flush now returned to his skin, restoring him somewhat to the man she had once known, there was no denying the power that Callon held. No denying the darkest parts of Thea that coveted that power. Coveted him. Her mind was slush still, but want threaded every new fleeting thought. Thea wanted to kiss him, to claim him, to kill him. Another shudder of withdrawal wracked through her, amplifying the liquid heat still pooled in her belly. Her eyes traced the contours of his lips. His breath was close enough to ghost against her skin, sending pinpricks of hateful need shooting down her spine -- a pale comparison to the nerve-burning pleasure she craved. But it was the closest thing she'd get to fill that void now yawning within her (at least without speaking the nature of her desire... and pride still loomed far too large to allow for that). Thea's hand snaked upwards, surging up his throat to cup along the line of his jaw. Her thumb hooked briefly on the vine looped through the ring, the unanswered proposal forgotten entirely in the desperation of her withdrawal. She dragged Callon down to crash her lips into his -- not the soft, gentle kiss she had once idly imagined might take place on the day of their wedding, but a brutal, bruising thing. It was a kiss that betrayed her, laying bare just how deeply her need cut into her.
Pressed against her, Callon can feel every single twitch, tremor, and pulse of her body through the thin fabric of their clothing. Even as she threatened to rake matching red lines across his chest, her fingers hooking into him like talons, he still pushed closer as if he could somehow leave a deeper mark of himself against her. When her body slumps it barely moves, stuck between two unmovable objects. The choking pain that had accompanied Callon for the better part of the last decade had faded, if only slightly. The all-consuming nature of it paced, the creatures strapped against his bones quietening in the face of her. And when Thea rasps her expletive at him Callon simply grins, expecting nothing less from her tempestuous mouth. But meeting her eyes is a mistake. Seeing the ring of gold flecks thinned out to the smallest line in her darkened, unfocused eyes, the desire and hunger that screamed out from every inch of her makes his breath catch in his throat. How could it not? When her hand traces the edge of his face he leans into her warm palm without a thought, too distracted by the needle-sharp focus in Thea's gaze.

When Thea yanks him down he doesn't resist, meeting her hungry mouth with almost painful force. His lips open, dragging hers along to pull her heated breath into his mouth. Like the beast she'd accuse him of being, Callon bit into her ravenously, intent on replacing any errant thought in Thea's mind with him. When Callon's mouth leaves hers, it's not to taunt or tease her. No, the mocking grin is gone as he draws a ragged breath as if he had forgotten to breathe, gasping for air that came second only to the need to taste her. Instead his face plunges downwards, his hand wrapped around her neck holding her in place, his fingers sitting just below the hinge of Thea's jaw as swollen lips run along the tanned flesh, his tongue running along the taut muscles in her neck as he pressed himself against her. Hot air brushes against the wet marks left behind, and Callon's other hand finds the edge of her sleeping gown. His curved fingers drag up the hem, wrapping around the back of her bare thigh as he digs his nails into her, giving her the pain her body so desperately crowed for.
Thea strained briefly against the hold on her neck -- not to escape, but because she wasn't done with him yet, still greedy for the slot of his mouth against hers (and lurching against the sliver of herself still collected enough to sneer at how easily she bared her throat to him, like a dog on its back). But then Callon's tongue was on her and all thought of rebellion was abandoned, the press of his fingers just as tantalizing as the wet heat of his breath. Thea arched up into him, crushing her chest into his -- as if trying to erase the awful edges where she ended and he began. His every touch left electricity trailing in its wake. Thea's skin flushed with the heat of her desire, her own hand trailing down the arc of his ribs to grip into his waist. Her thumb squirmed beneath the band of his pants to rub circles onto the bare skin of his hipbone -- and aware, keenly, that this wasn't enough. Pleasure hummed inside her, thick as honey. But she needed the bite of him too, needed the juxtaposition of pain to drive the thrill to news levels. The thought had barely had time to buzz into existence before Callon's nails began to dig into her. Thea's uneven breath hitched into an exhale, unable to bite back on the surprised, eager whine that accompanied it. Instinctively, her ungripped leg spread to hook behind his own, flexing against the back of his calf to coax him into whatever space her movement had created. But the score of his nails burned through the haze, a fleeting pinprick of clarity in the storm of rapacious desire. This was dangerous. How much longer until this snake struck, injecting deadly venom once more? Or, worse still, dragged his fingers up just enough to discover the slick evidence of exactly how far gone Thea's need truly was? What a sight she must have made, arching into her enemy, giving him such easy access to all the softest parts of her. But that thought only served to send the spiral further, hunting the phantom high of singed nerves.
Whatever modicum of control Thea thought she may have regained from chasing the dragon just enough to slake off the withdrawal had been reduced to ash the moment she'd noticed his breath had become just as ragged as her own. She was drunk on him now, yearning for the flare of dark power throbbing just beneath his skin -- the threat of teeth and the promise of teasing tongue. He was all consuming, washing over every sense she had, eating away at that resistance until it was near forgotten entirely. "Callon," her voice, as breathy as it was, was still edged with demand. As if she held all the power even as she pressed back into the bite of his nails. "More. I need -- more." She couldn't get enough of him, not with his fingers still locked over her throat. Her own fingers squirmed against his hold until he loosened his grip enough for her to guide his wrist to her lips. She could feel his pulse flutter under the thin skin where she pressed her mouth in a kiss. It took real, concerted effort to quiet the animal part of her that still bayed for his blood, pressing down on the urge to sink her teeth into him to instead kiss a path up the meat of his palm to his thumb. Her bottom lip dragged against him in her fervor, eyes blazing just as brightly as they had when he'd sent his fire lancing into her. Her tongue laved against the swell of her lip, tasting the salt of him on her -- enough to send another hungry shiver shooting through her. She needed it from the source, had to know the taste of him directly. Her lips parted, tongue flicking up the pad of his thumb just before her teeth dragged against the swell of his skin.
Every small movement Thea made drove Callon to the brink of insanity and back. The press of her soft chest against him made him groan against her neck as he mapped out her bare skin with his mouth. A rough lick here, a swollen kiss there, until he found himself at the edge of her thin robe. The scent of her warmth, heated by desire and the after effects of magic, the salt left behind from her fitful sleep, the twitch of her heartbeat... He drank her in like a dog lost in the desert, pressing his hip into her hand when it slips beneath his waistband. The electric pleasure of her skin against him is a different kind of pain, like an empty void growing in his stomach that demands to be filled. Even with the whistling wind rushing past the broken window, whipping the singed leaves of the massive tree as the storm continued to rage, the only thing Callon hears is their shaky breaths, the catch in Thea throat, the low growl that escapes him as her thumb drags along his skin. If there was a part of him that might have spared the thin fabric of her gown, it disappears when Thea whines above his head. There's a flash of silver -- lightning, outside the broken window? No, magic. A pair of phantom hands twisting the collar of the dress and pulling, the sound of rending threads like thunder as Callon tears it to pieces, little olive-coloured bits of fluff falling over them like dirty snow. He dives down, his grip pushing her higher as he finds the curve of her breast, a groan escaping his open mouth as he drags his tongue along. The ring around his neck flashes when he moves, leaving dancing lights across the wall, a spot of cold when it touches her skin.
Callon. His name, breathed out like a prayer, and he shudders, feeling himself hardening as he presses against the softness between her thighs, inches away from her hand. More. A plea, and one he's more than happy to indulge. Sharp nails press into her, forming painful divot as he drags his hand up the soft flesh of her leg, red lines left behind to burn into her skin. Inch by inch he travels until he's a breath away from her slick center. He digs his fingers in the small valley right where her leg meets her mound, gripping her with all his strength, teasing her by touching just shy of her glistening heat. When she kisses the pad of his thumb, he looks up. His eyes meet hers, long lashes turned upwards. Thea can feel his smile against her skin, the way his lips peel back to reveal pointed teeth so close to the dusty pink peak of her exposed chest. He keeps his gaze fixed on her as he pushes his thumb past her red, swollen lips, finding the sharp incisor as his fingers wrap around her cheek, almost lovingly. And then he stops, simply holding her in place. His fingers don't move as he grins, a wide, maddening smirk. It's a challenge, nothing less. A taunt, with his digits so close to her core, his teeth inches threateningly close to a pert little nub. "More what?" he drawls, his voice raspy and low from need. His eyes glow silver, damp lips moving against her skin when he speaks with his unblinking gaze. "Tell me, Thea. What do you want?"
Were they anyone other than who they were, Thea might have felt safe, comforted even, by his fingers cupping her face. Her cheeks hollow ever so slightly in a playful suck, tongue curling around his thumb -- a little too eagerly for too have any hope of hiding how he's making her unravel. Anticipation burns low in her belly, she can feel herself clenching down on nothing, too eager for the press of fingers against her. Just the sight of him against her breast is enough to have her practically purring in satisfaction, any shock at her own sudden nakedness soothed away by the slick of his tongue on her overheated skin (or almost soothed away, at any rate; there had been no hiding the tightening of her grasp along his hip or the moan that had staggered out of her, as if half-held back). But the pleased hum in her throat dies the moment she realizes he's stopped, his fingers gripping into her but not at all where she needs them. The hum rumbles into a snarl as the smirk spills across his features, her stomach managing to somehow tighten even more with arousal at the tease of him. She pulls off his thumb with a wet pop, savoring the taste of him even as her teeth threaten a retributive nip. "I want you to finish what you started," she growls, knowing full well it's not an answer at all. Still, it doesn't stop her from trying to get away with it. Her hips roll in a desperate attempt to goad him closer to the source of her dripping heat, but his grip is too deliberate to be shaken loose. Her eyes narrow into a glare, but there's no denying the excited gleam lingering just beneath the pale surface. The cold seep of the ring against her skin is the one point of sanity she has, tempering out the inferno of their bodies. The respite of it is enough to focus her frenzy, if only somewhat.
The hand snagged along Callon's hip began to move. Her thumb drags along the ridge of his hipbone until she's reached the center of him, shifting just enough to make room between the space of their bodies. As her fingers begin to pluck at the button keeping him contained, her other hand slides down to cup the length of him through the fabric and -- It's Thea's turn to smile, a wicked little twist of her lips at the hardening feel of him in her hands. There's no denying the hunger in her eyes, the way it sharpens her. Her feather light touch, the gentlest stroke of two fingers up the center of his shaft, is nowhere near enough to satisfy her curiosity. She wants to see him, to feel him, to know him. These are uncharted waters, so different from the half-fulfilled trysts of her past, always cut off before things got too complicated for her delicate political situation. This is a precipice, she knows it. If she tumbles over the edge, there's no going back. But seeing the effect she has on him, feeling the way he groaned against her neck... it's intoxicating. Thea already knows she's in over her head -- she might as well drown him with her. Need keens behind every word -- even the first few, though spoken somewhat more softly before she finds her footing, are husky with it. "I want your fingers, your tongue, on me. Inside me. I want you to make me cum so hard I forget about this mess you've put us in. And then..." Her fingers finally manage to pop the button of his pants, but Thea's too-gentle hold is keeping him contained behind that prison of fabric, refusing him the silk of her skin until he's done keeping her at bay. "Then I want to do the same to you."
Callon grins when Thea's teeth slide along the pad of her thumb, threatening to break his skin. The light glisten of saliva is smeared across her cheek as she speaks, a warm wetness as he cups her face -- no, cupping is too gentle for that grip. Not when nails scratch against her skin, or when red lines disappear as quickly as they appear thanks to the darkness coursing through her veins. His smirk twists at her growled answer, and all he does is slide is fingers further away from her thrusting hips, dancing away with unnatural elegance, too quick for her hungry body. But when her hand finds the hard edge of his hip, eagerly finding the ivory button that keeps his trousers around his hip, he straightens, the grin on his mouth fading slightly. That wicked smile doesn't bode well for him, but all it does his make him hiss with need. It made him want to do terribly wicked things, just to see that smirk twist and fall. Even through the fabric her grip is warm, too warm from magic and desire. Her soft, gentle touch only makes him push closer to her, a frown growing on his face as he bares his pointed teeth without thinking. Every inch of him is tense, wound up like a spring, desire and arousal fighting to give her exactly what she wants. For a moment, Thea's raspy words echo in the silence of the room, with only their ragged breathing interrupting. The two of them at an impasse, each one with their fingers so close to the others' core, waiting for the other one to blink.
Unfortunately, Callon no longer has the patience to play their game, the need to have her wrapped around him, her head tilted back, gasping at his touch... Teasing little tricks wouldn't compare. Almost at the end of his sanity, he only has enough control for one last jab. "What the Princess wants," he says through gritted teeth, his voice no longer smooth. "The Princess will get." Callon's grip tightens -- one arm pressed around the back of her thigh, still threatening to press into her, while the other one wraps around her neck to hold her close. The wall behind Thea disappears, and it only takes two large steps to make his way towards the now-stripped bed before he practically throws her onto the edge of the mattress, her legs dangling just over the edge. Callon doesn't give her the chance to react before bending down. His arms wrap around the back of her thighs, hands gripping her legs as he pushes them apart, sliding his face eagerly into the space in between. Only the tousled hair and the dark green eyes staring up at her are visible as he opens his mouth hungrily to taste her skin. For a long moment, he doesn't touch her slick folds, nipping and licking at her mound, at the line where her leg touches her body, at the space between her holes as his hands hold her firmly down. Hot breath brushes over her, Callon's mouth open wide as his teeth scratch at her flesh lightly, dragging out the anticipation before he finally finds her center, swollen lips kissing her as eagerly as they'd claimed her mouth, his tongue lapping at her entrance.
Callon's too quick for her, movements still so smooth even as his voice gravels. She barely has the time to register the state of the room from the new angle he's heaved her into (the massive tree now burst through the floor, gnarled and burned black -- and yet somehow still more homey than the hard lines of the rest of the keep. And the window. There's a curl of smug pleasure at the sight of the rain lashing through the shattered glass, a spiteful source of pride that she's ruined his carpet), much less curl herself around him as tightly as she needs before she's being tossed into the soft down of the bed. The shock of his audacity almost forces a laugh from her, but then Callon's there, fingers on her thighs, pulling her apart. She manages to push herself to her elbows just in time to catch the wolfish glint in his eye as his mouth opens, tongue lolling out to taste her. The sight sends a tingling jolt of arousal right into the pearl at the apex of her gleaming wet folds. Her lungs suddenly don't work quite right, breath lodged in her throat. And then his tongue is on her -- and even though it's still not quite where she needs him, it's enough to set every nerve she has on fire. A moan staggers out of her at the warm tease of his breath over her before he nips along the seam where her thigh valleys into mound. Her heads rolls back on the column of her neck and anticipation twists inside her, a vicious, hungry thing. He'll be the death of her. She knows it. It's the only thing she knows as she squirms against him, helpless against the hands pinning her down, keeping her from chasing the high she so desperately seeks. Thea trends towards quick greed, indulging her own pleasure with little fanfare. But Callon... he's taking his time with her, toying with her like a cat with a particularly wanton mouse. Forcing her to savor not just how hot her body can burn, but to learn a new definition of pleasure entirely.
The catch of teeth on sensitive skin is almost enough to have her come unglued. "Callon," her voice pitches, the closest to a plea she'll ever get -- at least until he finally proves merciful, the broad flat of his tongue dragging across her molten center. It's nothing at all like what she expected, but it's exactly what she needs. Gods, has she ever felt anything so soft? Every flick of his tongue and press of his lips elecits some new sound from her: a ragged moan as he kisses into her, something bordering on a whimper as he teases at the edge of her throbbing clit. The magic in her, as dampened as it is by whatever he's done, still yearns for him. It's electric lash tightens around the tension building within her with every hot breath he takes against her skin. Her semi-propped position long since abandoned, one hand fists into the mattress, threatening to rip into the feather-soft material. The other, decidedly more gentle, snakes down the quivering canvas of her body to stroke into Callon's tousled hair. Her fingers thread into soft locks, urging him towards exactly where she needs him.
Callon quite likes the sight of her like this — bare chest heaving, damp lips panting, eyes fixed on him — almost as much as he enjoys the taste of her against his lips. Sweet, smooth, and as fiery as her temper. Even when she falls back, every sound she makes overwhelms him, and Callon watches the rise and fall of her as she writhes on the soft surface of her neglected bed. When he catches the hitched breath in Thea’s throat he learns quickly just where to touch her, the tip of his tongue pushing in to play with the same spot just long enough to drag another song from her mouth. And when his sharp nose find the glistening nub on top of her entrance he presses deeper, breathing in her scent eagerly. He’s barely breathing, too busy devouring her from the inside out for something as paltry as air, but what little he can takes comes out in hungry groans, loud huffs when she clenches down on him. In and out he goes, his tongue exploring the dripping folds, nudging and pressing and touching and teasing, When her fingers snake between his hair, he practically purrs against her, letting her direct him towards her most sensitive spots. He likes the way Thea’s fingers tug at his head, urging him this way and that. His hands begin their own travels, gliding down her thighs, up her stomach, tracing every protruding rib, the taut muscles from decades of military training. Every curve, line, scar, bone… Callon draws over them with warm fingers, burning each one to memory until he can paint her with his eyes closed.
But even here, kneeling and worshipping her core, the dark corruption inside of him gnashes it’s teeth, baying for blood. It’s not enough that he can feel every inch of himself wound up tight, the pulsing of his own heartbeat echoing in his ears, his painful stiffness clamouring for more. The magic demands to be used, to consume and corrupt, and it’s all he can do not to flood her most intimate place with the damning pain of blood magic. Instead his fingers turn to claws, scratching along tan flesh, his teeth nipping at her swollen lips, no longer a gentle lover. No, now he’s a force of nature, an unstoppable hand dragging her closer and closer to the edge of the cliff. Callon’s hand slips underneath her to join his mouth, slipping into her slick entrance without so much as a sigh as his tongue slowly retreats. With his hand pushing in her, pushing her inexorably towards the point of no return, he finally pulls away with a low gasp, a glistening line of nectar connecting their lips before he lays a blanket of nipping kisses along the outside of her entrance. “Look at me, Thea,” he can barely do more than whisper the harsh command. “This is what you wanted, isn’t it? To have my fingers,” a deep push in, “my tongue,” a lick, “inside of you. so look at me. I want to see your face when you fall apart for me. Look at me, and cum.” A silver thread wraps around her neck, yanking tight, dragging her up until she’s balancing precariously on an unseen thread. Thea can see the bright silver gleam of his gaze, two shining coins in a pool of maddening desire as his hot mouth descends on her again.
Every time Thea thinks she has Callon figured out, he throws her for a curve. His tongue curls into her, chasing the source of her honeyed heat, then retreats. Her breath hitches in anticipation of a lick, one of the broad ones that drags from entrance to half-hidden pearl, but instead he gives her teeth. Her spine curves in a perfect arch, as if trying to escape him even as her fingers snag even more tightly into his hair, pulling him closer. Sensation overwhelms, a stinging nip perfectly counterbalanced by the way he groans into her... Every time her peak threatens, when just one more twist of his tongue will send her vaulting over the ledge into oblivion, the rake of his claws yanks her back from the precipice so that he can build her to new heights. It's a maddening push-and-pull. Thea's not sure she'll survive with sanity intact. She's even less sure if she cares. When his fingers sneak inside, she clenches down on him, hard. Vocal cords graveling, Thea's groan comes from somewhere primal. Her body is a greedy thing, hips canting into the sudden fullness, every pulse of her slick walls a frantic attempt to drink him down deeper. The muscles in her thighs tremor. She's careening towards the edge -- he could flay her alive and she's sure not even that would be enough to stop her.
As magic leashes her, dragging her up, Thea's moan cuts off in surprise. But those silvered threads around her throat can't cease her need, attempts to grind herself onto those curving fingers of his made sloppy by the shift in position. Eyes she had barely realized had been screwed shut snap open, bright but glassy in her altered state, teetering on the brink of madness. But now that they're open... she can't drag herself away from his monstrous, electrifying gaze. The reminder of his raw power sends a hungry bolt right through her. He barely has time to finish uttering his command (every word ratcheting her higher and higher still) before she's coming undone on his tongue.
The magic-laced tension in her snaps with a wild moan, sparks pulsing down her sensation-soaked body. The black thread of corruption in her wrist throbs in tempo to the tight clench of her core, and, for a just a sliver of a second before the force of her shattering forces them to squeeze closed, her own eyes gleam metallic as the magic inside her bubbles to the surface. It needs something to twist itself into just as her own hands tangle into Callon's hair. The power spears haphazardly into ether. The room fills with a floral scent as fully formed blossoms somehow spring to life on a charred branch; rain shatters in frozen grains against the floor, turned to ice the moment it crossed the threshold of the broken window; in the corner, three candles light violently, half-melted within seconds by the unnatural heat of their flame. Thea's far too past gone to notice, much less care. She chases her high brazenly, hips rolling further down on those twisting fingers, his tantalizing tongue, until her clit buzzes its protest, exhausted and oversensitive. A deep flush settles over her skin as the pleasure begins to wring out of her. Pleasure's scraped her hollow, scooped out her insides to fill her instead with a honeyed warmth, and left her so boneless that she sags into the magic thread keeping her so precariously upright. In a moment, perhaps after the bliss has faded, she'll have the dignity to wrench herself free of it. But now the princess is shivering and shameless as she basks in the afterglow. Her breath's still coming in ragged little pants and a lazy smile half-curls at the corner of her lip. Finally, pale eyes slit open, struggling to refocus in the dark. "Not a bad start," she manages, voice rough and scratchy after her previous symphony, utterly betraying the too-casual nature of her words. "But that's only half my demand, isn't it? I'm not done with you, Callon."
Callon's head is spinning, as if he's suddenly been thrown off his horse, or drunk too much mead. Something about her dazed, primal state, the way her eyes flash open at the slightest command. It wasn't the Thea he knew, no, but someone... Better. One he intended to savour. When her silver eyes flair and the room bursts with sound, he barely notices. Some part of him might have noted the explosion, the flowers forcing themself through blackened bark, the sharp edges of ice melting into cold splashes against his thin clothes, or the bright flash of fire, but his attention is solely focused on the smooth warm squeezing his fingers and the scrabbling fingers tearing at his hair as Thea pushes herself closer and closer until he can barely tell where she begins and he ends. He soaks in Thea's cry, one that no doubt would have sent her guard running if it wasn't for the thick iron walls -- and a non-unconsequential amount of silver, preventing her from echoing too much. However, he could make no promises for the guards outside. Clever enough not to intrude, but not quite clever enough to keep their mouths shut. For now, it doesn't matter. From his vantage point between her legs, Callon's greedy eyes trace the flush of blood pooling down her neck, following it down the curve of her breasts with smug satisfaction. When Thea speaks, he matches her lazy smile. He can feel the glistening on his swollen lips, the proof of her arousal smeared onto his mouth. "Demand?" he asks, his voice husky. The hand pressed flat against her stomach twitches lightly, and the loose curl of silver linking his smallest finger to her neck thickens, becoming a thread, then a rope. Under her watchful gaze it grows and grows, wrapping around her neck quickly befores stretching downwards.
It travels quickly -- yanking her hand off his head, flying over one arm, under the other, back and forth and back and forth until it cinches tight, tugging her arms behind her back until her hands are pressed up against her elbows. When Callon opens his mouth to press his tongue flat against her entrance, pressing his teeth against the small pearl, the rope flies again, fraying into smaller threads as it wraps around her ankles, pulling her feet up and her thighs apart, knitting itself tightly around her ankles. The ends rise up to the ceiling until her weight is resting on nothing but the metallic rope... and Callon's fingers. His work done, he begins leisurely drawing his fingers in and out, pressing the pads against her delicate folds that had clamped down on him so eagerly moments before. "I recall no demand, little Princess," he murmurs against her skin, the curve of his lips tickling her mound. Another kiss, soft, teasing, but his eyes are sharp. It's one thing to throw power out in a fit of desire, but Callon wants more. And if it just so happened to coincide with his desire to see her suffer just a little bit, what did it matter? Instead, his nonchalant movements move upwards. The lazy pressure of his digits inside her petals is accompanied by a light kiss on the inside of a bound thigh followed by a hard bite, one sharp enough to leave a mark. Up her stomach in a meandering path, around the curve of her heaving chest, until his other hand pushes an errant hair from her face and she can smell her own scent as he hovers a breath away from her face. Up close, the silver eyes are even more unnerving, green shot through with black and liquid metal. His darkened pupils flick from one eye to the other as he considers her.
"What demand?" he repeats, tilting his head slightly. "Was it before or after I threw you on the bed? Was it after you opened your legs for me? Or before you buried your fingers in my scalp? After you begged me to eat your pretty cunt? Or before you came, wrapped around my fingers?"

First Contact

Torment