And something flowed from him, into me, in much the same way. Sure, maybe I was losing it, maybe I was imagining it, maybe I was intoxicated by the single drink Trasmea had convinced me to swallow. But it was real: through my palm and into my bloodstream, something that I can only describe as the distilled essence of Zethki poured into me.
It was wild, it was uncontrolled, it was dark and twisted. It was ferociously strong, it made the taste of blood gather in my mouth, it was violent, and it was also saturated in a feeling of intense sexual arousal. Not mine—it flowed into me, it gripped my body, and it made my pussy wet and aching, but it was not mine.It was his.
And then, after we were bound like this, and I stared at him open-mouthed while his energy flowed into me, he gripped me with both arms, lifting me like I weighed nothing, and walked with me in his arms for some hundred paces, out of the room, away from the others, and into the chamber in which I find myself now.
Face to face with Zethki, the Kerz who almost murdered my family, the madman Kerz I have hated since the moment I laid eyes on him. And now it’s over: I’m his. And he… I guess… is mine.
I have been staring at my hand, the crusted blood on my fingers, the black sash that binds me tightly to his very hot, very electrifyingkryth. He isn’t moving, or saying anything, and we are just standing here.
I want to cry, I realize.
The thought of Rysethk sends another painful, empty ache through me, and it sends streaks of white through Zethki’skryth. I stare at the pulsing, white-hotcolors, and the sensation travels back through me, raw and wanting.
I dare to look up at him.
His eyes narrow when I meet his gaze, and he growls. It’s a lust-filled, animal growl, and I shiver.
He doesn’t take his eyes off of mine as he unwinds the sash, but he covers my hand when he pulls away the final winding of the fabric, and holds me to hiskryth.
He steps back and releases my hand, which I let fall. I’m in a stupor, staring up him listlessly, my mouth open.
His hand moves so quickly that the fabric of the white robe is splitting apart before I even realize what he has done. Fear grips me, paralyzes me, which I suppose is good, because he’s dragging the claw of his right index finger down the robe, slicing through the thick, embroidered fabric with almost no effort. The end of his claw runs against my skin as a tickle, a caress, its razor sharpness withheld but onlyjust.
He moves from my throat, between my breasts, over my navel, over my mound, between my thighs, splitting the dress as far as he can he reach without bending over or crouching. The air is cool against my skin where the dress splits open. I feel goosebumps rising on my back, over my shoulders, and heat flaring across my cheekbones.
Now the lust that travels through him to me is even stronger. Surely it’s that, and not anything else? Ihatethis guy. He’s terrifying. And now I’m his. Does Zethki have to follow the rules that Rysethk did? About not harming me?
A shiver travels through me again as I think, I doubt it.
The dress split open, he’s making his way back up my body, dragging his fearsome nail over my skin in reverse. Over my mound, my bare pussy, right through the wet slit, making me tremble. He smiles when he touches my moisture, and then he continues up, over my abdomen, where he lingers, growling.
I know what he’s thinking, I can feel it in hiskryth: this is where he will place his seed, where he will grow his child, and the pleasure this gives him bleeds through hiskrythand into my palm.
He keeps moving, back up to my throat, where he playfully swirls his claw over my delicate skin, the promise of a fatal cut just millimeters away, just a tiny slip out of reach.
Up to my lower lip, which he strokes. This evokes a memory, a dream fragment, and I think of Rysethk again, though I have no idea why.
He growls. “You please me, human.”
His finger travels down, back to my mound, and he slips several fingers inside of me before I have time to think. His fingers are coiled with strength like Rysethk’s, and I’m wet so he slides in easily, turning, massaging, fucking me slowly, as I stare at his chest, mouth still hanging open in shock.
My eyelids feel heavy, I let them close. I hear myself mewl.
“You like this,” he growls. “Krak-ahar’ak, little whore.” He curls his fingers, striking the patch of skin at the root of my clit, sending a jolt of pleasure through me. Dangerous, frightening pleasure. I shudder, my limbs trembling.
He claws harder, smiling—I see his jaw shift in pleasure as he strokes me, bringing me easily to the edge of climax. I know that he can feel what he’s doing to me; somehow it travels to him the way it’s traveling to me, through hiskryth. My hand is so hot now it burns, but he’s still grasping it to hiskryth, making me endure the excruciating pleasure and fear of feeling him, feeling me, a hall of erotic mirrors traveling through our blood.
I scream when I come, and my knees weaken. He lifts me with his hand still in my pussy, his strength hard against my mound, driving upward into my quivering body, fingers still stroking my g-spot. He releases the hand pressed to his chest to support my weight as he lifts me and carries me to a bed.
I’m still shuddering with an orgasm when he sets me down on the edge of the bed, pulling his hand from inside me.
I sit, staring at his open robes and the dark blue of his muscled body, crisscrossed by his flamingkryth, at the enormous, erect member between his legs. In many ways, his body is familiar—the size of him, the muscle, the glorious blue. His large cock, the odd shape of it. And yet I somehow know what is different about him compared to Rysethk, as if I have spent hours upon hours exploring the Kapsuk’s body, staring at him like I’m staring at Zethki now.
I’m bewildered by this. I know, for example, that Rysethk is larger—taller, bigger chest. I know that hiskrythis fuller, that more of it wraps around his member, spreads out from his groin and down his leg. That his skin is a darker, almost black-blue.
My hands are at my sides, and I realize that I’m just sitting there, stunned.
I manage to lift my head, to look up at him.
