Malekith’s hand landed on Aric’s ass with a resounding smack, the sound echoing through the room. Aric gasped, the sting spreading through him like wildfire. But it was a good pain, a pain that made him feel alive and desired.
With every strike, Malekith’s claws dragged across Aric’s skin, sweeter than any poison, any blade. Aric moaned, the pain mixing with pleasure in a heady cocktail that left him reeling. Heat built frantically inside him, the pressure mounting with every smack.
“Do you like that?” Malekith growled in Aric’s ear, his voice thick with desire. “You like it when I mark you, when I make you mine?”
“Yes,” Aric gasped, his voice ragged with need. “Please don’t stop.”
Malekith chuckled darkly, the sound sending shivers down Aric’s spine. “I won’t stop,” he promised. “Not until you’re begging for release.”
Aric’s world narrowed down to the burning sensation in his backside and the pressure building within him. The pain was clarifying, almost euphoric, and he felt as if he were floating outside of himself. With each smack, he grew more desperate, more needy, until he found himself begging Malekith for release.
“Please. Fuck me. I need you inside me.”
Malekith chuckled darkly, clearly pleased by Aric’s desperation. His fingers trailed down Aric’s crack, teasing at his asshole before finally pushing inside. Aric cried out, his body clenching around Malekith’s fingers as they breached his entrance.
With one fist tangled in Aric’s hair and the other steadying his hip, Malekith positioned himself at Aric’s entrance and began to push inside. Aric gasped, his body stretching to accommodate Malekith’s girth. The sensation was overwhelming, both painful and pleasurable at the same time. He felt like he was being split open, consumed by Malekith’s fire.
As Malekith began to move, thrusting in and out of Aric with increasing speed, the pain gave way to pleasure. Aric moaned, his hips rocking back to meet each of Malekith’s thrusts. The demon’s claws dug into his skin, leaving marks that would serve as a reminder of this moment for days to come.
“Like this, my sunlight? When I fuck you hard, leave no room in your thoughts for anything else?”
“Don’t stop. Please don’t stop.”
Malekith laughed, the sound harsh and exhilarating. He grasped Aric’s bound wrists with one hand, pulling them tight as he continued to pound into him relentlessly. Aric cried out, overwhelmed by the sensations coursing through him. He was trapped between the pain of Malekith’s claws and the pleasure of his thrusts, caught in a whirlwind of sensation that threatened to consume him entirely.
And yet, he didn’t want it to end. He ached to stay in this moment forever, suspended between pain and pleasure, lost in the fire of Malekith’s passion. As his orgasm approached, pressure building within him, threatening to break free and consume him in a wave of ecstasy.
With a final cry, Aric came undone, his release spilling onto the floor beneath him as Malekith continued to thrust into him mercilessly. The demon’s own climax was close behind, and he roared with pleasure as he emptied himself inside Aric, marking him as truly his own.
Malekith’s lips trailed along the bloody scars he had raked across Aric’s back, his kisses alternating between tenderness and hunger. With a gentleness that belied his earlier ferocity, he carefully untied Aric’s wrists and lifted him into his arms, cradling him as if he were made of glass.
As he carried Aric to the bed, Malekith continued to shower him with kisses and soft murmurs, his voice a soothing balm to the fiery passion that had just consumed them both. Aric felt his body relaxing, the tension draining away as he surrendered to the comforting embrace of his lover.
The demon laid Aric down on the soft sheets, his gaze lingering on the marks he had left on Aric’s skin. There was a hint of pride in his eyes, but also a deep sense of satisfaction, as if he had claimed something precious and irreplaceable.
Aric reached out to touch Malekith’s face, his fingers tracing the sharp lines of his cheekbones and jaw. “I love you,” he breathed.
Malekith’s eyes darkened, and he leaned in to capture Aric’s lips in a searing kiss. “And I love you,” he murmured against Aric’s mouth. “More than life itself.”
As the first light of dawn began to creep through the cracks in the curtains, Malekith reluctantly rewove the restrictive sigils that would dampen his magical connection once more. The loss of that connection was painful for Aric, like a part of him was being ripped away, but he understood the necessity. They were still in danger, and they needed to remain hidden until they reached the Wrathforge.
“I’m sorry,” Malekith murmured as he finished applying the last sigil. “I wish things could be different.”
Aric nodded, unable to find his voice. The weight of the sigils felt heavier than ever, a constant reminder of the sacrifices they had to make in order to survive.
Malekith cupped Aric’s face in his hands, trailing along Aric’s jaw with a tenderness that belied his fearsome appearance. “We will break these bindings for good,” he promised. “I swear it.”
Aric managed a weak smile, drawing strength from Malekith’s words. “I know we will.”
Thirteen
The Wrathforge’s pit arena loomed like a jagged mountain on the horizon, but the ground shivered from its pulsing red wards long before they reached the gates. Demons surged toward the arena from every direction in the capital, forming a chaotic river that flowed into the open maw of the structure. Aric strained to catch a glimpse of the arena floor, but it was lost in the sea of bodies roiling around them.
“Stay close,” Malekith said, his breath hot against Aric’s ear. “This is only the beginning.”
A low growl of warning built in Aric’s throat, but he forced it down. He’d faced down demon assassins, power-mad mages, and a host of other terrors in his time, but the crowd still made his skin prickle with unease. He felt the eyes of a thousand strangers on them, and while most of the demons seemed too preoccupied with the spectacle ahead to pay them any mind, Aric knew that could change in an instant.
Malekith’s hand settled on the small of Aric’s back, a warm anchor in the cold tide of the crowd. Aric tried to focus on that touch, on the steady presence at his side, and not on the doubts that nipped at his heels. He was a stranger in a strange land, and despite everything that had passed between him and Malekith, he still didn’t know where he truly stood.
The air sizzled with power as they passed beneath the arena’s wards, a tangible force that made the hair on Aric’s arms stand on end. It was a heady, intoxicating scent, laced with promises of secrets and knowledge waiting to be unveiled. Aric inhaled deeply, trying to ignore the thud of his heart in his ears.
The closer they drew to the arena’s entrance, the more the air hummed with dark magic, like the steady pulse of a distant war drum. It was a living, breathing thing, coiling around them and seeping into their skin. Aric’s heart raced as he tried to steady his breathing, his senses hyperaware. He felt like he was teetering on the edge of a yawning chasm, and with each step, the void threatened to pull him in.
He risked a glance at Malekith, but the demon prince’s face was a mask of calm. Only the tightness in his jaw gave him away, a rare sign of the tension that coiled just beneath his controlled exterior. Aric’s fingers itched to reach for his hand, to offer some kind of reassurance, but he kept his arms firmly at his sides. Malekith had brought him here for a reason, and Aric would see it through, no matter what.
They reached the gates, twin slabs of obsidian that glowed with eldritch runes, and the crowd around them fell silent. The guards on either side of the gates loomed over Aric, their scaled faces carved into expressions of pure malice. With a hiss of approval from Malekith, they pushed the gates open, and the crowd surged forward into the arena.
The interior of the Wrathforge was a vast hollow chamber, carved from the living rock of the mountain itself. Molten streams of lava flowed down the walls, casting a hellish red glow across the seething crowds that packed the space. Malekith led the way, his posture ramrod straight and his movements precise, a living shadow parting the writhing mass of demons. Aric did his best to mimic his stride, but he couldn’t shake the sense of unease that coiled in the pit of his stomach.
Finally, they reached a dais at the far end of the chamber, and a group of lower-ranking demons scurried forward, their heads bowing low. Malekith said something to them in the harsh, guttural language of the demons, and the smaller creatures chattered in response. Then they turned and hurried deeper into the mountain, leaving Malekith and Aric alone.
“What was that all about?” Aric asked, keeping his voice low.
Malekith’s lips curved in a sly smile. “Merely making the necessary arrangements for your trials. If you’ll come with me.”
He held out a hand, and Aric took it, the warmth of Malekith’s palm sending a jolt of heat through him. Malekith led him up a narrow staircase that wound around the side of the dais, giving them a vantage point over the roiling crowds below. Aric’s breath caught at the sight, the sheer scale of the arena unlike anything he’d ever seen.
“This is where the trials will take place?” he asked, his voice hushed.
Malekith nodded. “Each one is a test of a different aspect of your being. Mind, magic, loyalty. Succeed, and you will prove yourself worthy in the eyes of the demon court.”
“And if I fail?” Aric asked, though he wasn’t sure he wanted to know the answer.
Malekith’s grip tightened on his hand. “You won’t.”
The smaller demons reappeared, bearing an ornate casket carved with twisting runes. Malekith nodded to them, and they scurried forward to present it to him. Malekith opened the casket with a soft click of metal on metal, revealing a set of ancient-looking tools, a vial of inky black liquid, and a bundle of silken cords.
“Take him to the preparation chamber,” Malekith said, his voice cold and imperious. “And begin.”
Flames danced in the eyes of the smaller demons as they bowed low, and Aric felt a shiver race down his spine. They hustled Aric away, leading him to a small antechamber off to the side. The space was dimly lit, the air heavy with incense that stung at Aric’s eyes. A stone altar dominated the room, its surface etched with a tangle of arcane symbols, while the walls were lined with an array of wicked-looking instruments.
The attending demons fidgeted as they approached. “You are required to wear the ceremonial garb for the trial,” one of them said. He sounded like he was reading the line for the hundredth time, and must have been very tired of it by now. “We are forbidden to brand or bind you, per the Sovereign’s command.” The two lesser demons flanked Aric, their claws twitching, and they were utterly unable to hide their distaste at the situation.
Aric quirked a brow at the other demons, then turned away to hide a smile. “I think I can manage that.”
The other demons grumbled to themselves as they shuffled aside to give Aric some semblance of privacy. Aric peeled off his tunic and trousers and pulled on the simple dark robes, their gauzy fabric surprisingly soft against his skin. As he tied the sash at his waist, his hands shook, and he struggled to center himself.
