In a palace of darkness and silence, Ray, wounded and near death, faces a deadly demon. A defiant kiss sparks an intense and dangerous passion, where pain and pleasure intertwine in a power play that has only just begun.
The air smelled of ash and dried blood as Ray crossed the palace threshold, his legs trembling beneath the weight of wounds that burned like coals. His skin burned where his pursuers' blades had scored him, and every breath was an agonizing effort. The walls of the place, carved from black obsidian and veined with silver, reflected a spectral light that seemed to absorb sound. There were no guards, no servants, only a silence so thick he could almost taste it. In the distance, on a dais of black marble, a throne of interlocking bones rose like the spine of some forgotten beast. And upon it, her.
The demon didn't move as Ray moved forward, shuffling across the polished floor. Her figure was a living contradiction: her skin pale as the moon on a frozen lake, but her eyes, two pools of darkness that seemed to swallow the light around them. She wore a tight dress, woven with threads of shadow and black pearls that clung to her curves like desperate lovers. Her horns, twisted and sharp as daggers, emerged from her forehead and curled back, crowning a face of lethal beauty. Her lips, painted the red of ripe cherries, curved in a smile that didn't reach those infinite eyes.
"Lost dog or easy prey?" His voice was sweet, but with an edge that cut deeper than any blade. "This is no place for bleeding mortals."
Ray, his throat dry, swallowed. Pain clouded his consciousness, but something in his chest—something other than fear—drove him forward. Perhaps it was the madness of someone who no longer has anything left to lose. Or perhaps, deep down, he'd always known he'd end up like this: on his knees before something that would destroy him.
"I'd rather be your guest," he replied, giving a crooked smile as blood trickled down his lip. "Though something tells me you don't accept gifts."
Before she could react, Ray closed the distance. His hands, trembling but determined, settled on her hips, and with a sudden movement, he pulled her against his body. The contact was like diving into a glacial lake: her skin radiated a chill that penetrated to the bone, burning wherever it touched. The demon stiffened, his fingers digging into her arms with a force that should have broken her bones.
"What—?" Her voice cracked, more from surprise than anything else.
Then something clicked in Ray's mind.
A translucent interface, tinged with red and black, unfolded before his eyes like a veil torn through reality. Golden letters flashed with a shimmering intensity:
<
He didn't have time to process it.
The demon threw him back with a snarl, and the air around them erupted. Ray saw the purple lightning a second before it tore through him, tearing through his flesh like wet paper. The pain was so intense that his mind went blank, but only for an instant. Before his body hit the ground, the system reacted. A wave of warmth flooded him, stitching his wounds with threads of golden energy, rebuilding muscle and skin in the blink of an eye. When he opened his eyes again, he was whole. More than that: he felt strong. The tiredness was gone, replaced by a vitality that tingled beneath his skin.
The demon watched him with narrowed eyes, her brow furrowed.
"Did you just… come back from the dead?" he asked, and for the first time, there was something resembling intrigue in his tone.
Ray stood up, stretching his arms as if he'd just woken from a pleasant dream. He could feel the fragment of her energy inside him, beating like a second heart.
"I suppose so," he said, walking toward her with a confidence he hadn't had five minutes ago. "And now that I think about it…" He stopped a step from the throne, leaning in until his lips brushed her earlobe, "you owe me a kiss for trying to kill me."
She turned her head with supernatural speed, her fangs flashing in the dim light.
—Do you think this is a game, bug?
—No, Ray didn't back down. —But I bet it could be.
Before she could dodge, he cupped the back of her neck and crashed his lips against hers. It wasn't a tender kiss. It was hungry, desperate, with teeth clashing and tongues tangling in a struggle for dominance. The demon froze for a second—just a second—before a vibrant growl left her throat. Her hands closed around his neck, not to smother him, but to control him, forcing him to deepen the kiss as her nails dug into his skin.
Ray moaned against her mouth. He could taste it: cold and metallic, like drinking from an icy river under a full moon. When she pushed back, his lips were swollen, his eyes burning with a mixture of fury and something more dangerous.
"Do you know what you're doing?" she whispered, dragging her nails down his chest, tearing the fabric of his shirt like it was rotten silk. "Because I won't be gentle."
"I'm not asking you," Ray gasped as her fingers tangled in his belt, yanking him with a jerky movement that sent him stumbling against the throne.
She laughed, a dark, melodious sound, as she pushed him down onto the boney seat. Her hands—cold, relentless—ran down his torso, stopping at the waistband of his pants.
"Let's see how persistent you are," he murmured, yanking her clothes off.
The cold air of the palace hit his bare skin, but it was the warmth of her gaze that made him shudder. She knelt in front of him, her fingers wrapping around his member with a pressure that bordered on pain. Ray gasped as she looked into his eyes, her tongue darting out to lick the tip with a slow, deliberate motion.
"You won't last long," he warned, before swallowing it down his throat in one fluid motion.
"Fuck!" Ray arched, his fingers digging into her horns, gripping them like handholds as she began to move. This wasn't passive pleasure. It was devotion. It was punishment. Her lips closed around the base, her cheeks hollowing as she sucked him with a force that left him dizzy, and when she pulled out, it was with a wet pop that echoed in the empty room.
"Don't you dare come yet," he ordered, standing up with feline grace. "That's mine."
Before Ray could respond, she flipped him upside down on the throne, pressing his chest against the bony backrest. Her hands—now warm, almost burning—ran down his back, lingering on his buttocks before jerking them apart.
"I always wanted a pet," she whispered, and then he felt the cold, wet touch of her tongue sliding between his cheeks, directly over his tight entrance.
"Shit!" Ray squirmed, but she pinned him down with one hand on the back of his neck, pushing his face against the throne while her other hand tangled in his hair, pulling hard enough to make his eyes sting.
"I haven't given you permission to move," his voice was a dark purr, vibrating against her skin. "And I definitely haven't given you permission to enjoy."
Her fingers—long, agile—slid between his legs, finding his throbbing member. She squeezed it, not tenderly, but with a calculated pressure that made him see stars.
"You're going to hold on," he ordered, his other hand sinking between her buttocks, two fingers lubricated with his own saliva pressing against her anus. "You're going to beg. And when I'm ready, I'll let you cum inside me. Understood?"
Ray could only moan in response, because at that moment, she pushed.
The pain was sharp, a burning that spread from his entrance to the base of his spine, but it was mixed with something else—an overwhelming pressure, a dark pleasure that made him tremble. Her fingers moved inside him, stretching him, preparing him, while her other hand continued to torture his cock with strokes that brought him to the edge without letting him fall.
"Please!" she managed to gasp, her hips moving instinctively, searching for something—anything—to relieve the tension.
She laughed, low and dangerous.
"There he is," he murmured. "There's my good dog, begging for more."
Then, without warning, she released him. Ray nearly wept at the loss, but before he could complain, she turned him around again, pushing him back against the throne until he was sitting, his cock erect and dripping, his legs trembling. The demon climbed onto his lap in one fluid motion, her thighs wrapping around him as she positioned herself over him.
"Look at me," she demanded, taking him by the chin with fingers that pricked like ice needles.
Ray obeyed, his eyes meeting hers as she sank down on him in a single, relentless motion. The heat from her core enveloped him, tight and wet, and for a second, the world stopped.
Then she started to move.
It wasn't sex. It was conquest. Every thrust was a claim, her hips slamming into his with a force that should have broken him. Her nails raked his shoulders, drawing red furrows that dripped blood onto his skin, and every time he tried to take control, she punished him—squeezing his member between them until the pain made him gasp, or biting his lip until he tasted copper.
"Don't you dare come!" he growled against her mouth, his movements becoming more erratic, more desperate. "Not until I say so!"
But Ray was already at his limit. Every nerve in his body was screaming, his cock throbbing with blinding need, and when she leaned down to bite his neck, sinking her fangs just deep enough to draw blood, something inside him snapped.
"I'm sorry!" he managed to say, just before the orgasm swept over him like a black tide.
She felt it. Her eyes flew wide open, and for a second, Ray thought she was going to kill him for real this time. But then, with a strangled scream, she came too, her inner walls squeezing him with unearthly strength as her own climax rocked her. She collapsed against him, panting, her breasts pressed against his torso, her breath hot against his neck.
For a long moment, there was only silence. The only sound was their labored breathing, the dripping of sweat—and something else—mingling between their bodies.
Finally, she raised her head, her lips curved into a smile that was equal parts dangerous and satisfied.
"Who would have thought my next adventure would arrive in such a... persistent package?" he murmured, running a finger along his lower lip, still stained with his own blood.
Ray, exhausted but grinning like an idiot, looked back at him.
"I'm good at surprising people," he said, his voice husky. "Though something tells me this is just the beginning."
She laughed, a sound that echoed through the hall like the tolling of broken glass bells. Then, in one fluid motion, she stood, leaving Ray trembling and empty on the throne. She adjusted her dress—now wrinkled and stained—with an elegance that contrasted with the ferocity of minutes before.
"Pet," she declared, pointing a finger at him, "you're going to stay here. And if you behave…" She let the sentence hang, her eyes shining with promises that made Ray's skin crawl, "maybe I'll let you lick my boots later."
Ray didn't respond. He just leaned back against the throne, watching her with a lazy smile as she walked away, her hips swaying with every step. He knew he was in danger. He knew that, at any moment, she could decide she no longer wanted him alive.
But for the first time in years, he didn't care.
Because something told him that, this time, death would be much sweeter than he had imagined.