Falling, coughing blood, and unable to gather the conditions to perform a silent invocation, Rey was in a terrible situation. He needed to calculate—perfectly—the amount of energy and the precise moment to make the move that would launch him back upward. But with his wings stripped of feathers by the speed, and his body burning from air friction like a meteor, even turning himself around was difficult.
"I can't see the light from the entrance… how deep is this hole?" Rey wondered, looking back toward the conjuration circle he'd left behind, which now seemed impossibly far away. "The best part is my falling speed won't keep increasing. First I have to get vertical—facing down—so I can use an invocation to reduce how fast I'm dropping. Easy to say, but my muscles are so clenched I can't even feel them. The air friction is scorching me, and I don't know exactly how much time I have left with so much still to do."
The young hybrid coughed blood again. His body's regeneration was consuming too much energy just to keep the damage from spiraling. His strength drained away—then his consciousness. Rey chose to close his eyes slowly, and yet he didn't stop seeing.
As unbelievable as it sounded, he could see himself inside a dark interior space—beside a small light. There, a tiny flame lived, as if fed by happiness.
"Mmm… am I sleeping again?"
—I don't think that's a question you should be asking yourself. You'll only waste time, —said a completely different voice, tossing the remark into the air.
It was a fine, delicate tone, accompanied by musical notes—syllables hummed by another presence.
—La larala la ra la la la… larana na, nara ra.
—That flame feels so familiar. Its warmth comforts me. I feel like I'm home, —Rey said, recognizing the place as he stepped into a new world where there was no imminent danger of dying on impact like a meteor.
—Don't you want to reach it? —asked History, accompanied by Melody's humming. That was what the two entities called themselves.
—Na nana na, nanana na nana la.
At the question and the hum, the white-eyed youth stretched out his hand and tried to reach the warm fire being offered to him. Just as he was about to take it, he felt something holding him back.
"What is this?" he wondered, as a strange force began to suck him back toward the moment he had to solve—if he didn't want to die.
—Rey, it isn't time yet to climb higher as a sorcerer and awaken the internal microworld. You have to fight. Cling to life, no matter how. Return even stronger so no one can tear your happiness from you. Come back once more. We'll see if, then, you can pass the test, —History said, while Melody kept humming.
The instant the flame vanished from his sight, Rey returned to the present—to the wind, the flames, the cold, and the eyes of a bottomless hole watching him. He became aware his body was still falling, and the inner state he'd reached intrigued him. He inhaled a deep breath, and when he felt the constant, uncontrollable coughing finally ease, he forced control over his curled body, clenched his fists, and opened his eyes.
"I do not allow myself to die," Rey said.
He slammed his foot brutally into the wall, ricocheting into the opposite side of the hole—necessary to reduce his falling speed. Trembling, gaze fixed, refusing to let his own strength betray him, he crossed his hands in front of his face and significantly reduced the physical damage of the next impact he took.
With a little more control over his fall, Rey used what remained of his wings to position himself in the exact center of the hole while he turned, placing himself facing the bottom of the endless drop. Taking a deep breath, he aligned all his energy vortices, calmed his heartbeat, cleared his mind of emotion, and spoke a blessing:
—Last Will.
Previously, this blessing had been used only on individuals at the brink of death, to let them fulfill a purpose before dying irrevocably. But it had been improved by the sorceress who owned the Grimoire known as the "Sanctuary of Athena," which his master Heroclades carried everywhere, making it more efficient and turning it into a blessing of "consecutive permanent bodily enhancement."
Consecutive, in the sense that the caster must keep administering a certain amount of power for the blessing to continue taking effect; and permanent, because once the effect is established, the caster doesn't need to keep feeding power just to maintain it. This greatly reduced the harmful consequences for users who couldn't keep supplying energy. But for those who didn't know how to use it—or who abused it—the result could be sudden death, or at the very least, permanent damage.
Under the effects of the spoken blessing—which technically simulates returning the body to a specific "save point" ten to twenty minutes in the past—Rey returned to the same health he'd had before throwing himself into the precipice. With that, he formed three hundred and forty-eight different hand positions to manipulate the aerodynamics of his fall. In each and every position, he silently used the invocation known as Wind Impact, which was almost the same as the conjuration circle he'd created before—only far less powerful, and without the ability to materialize horses to slow his descent even more.
Rey's desperate effort to position himself at the optimal point to stop the fall and rise was because he knew that even a millimeter of deviation would send his body shooting back up everything he'd dropped—slamming into the walls—and the regeneration granted by his superhuman conditions wouldn't let him stay conscious. One thing was to rise and hit the ceiling. Another, completely different, was to rise and smash hundreds of thousands of times against the hole's walls before finally hitting the ceiling.
"Perfect. It's all or nothing," Rey said. With his hands extended, he used the silent Wind Impact again—only this time he poured in a colossal amount of energy, regulated the speed to the maximum possible, and amplified the cadence to exponential levels. The force of the impact strike against the metal at the bottom of the precipice was enough to reduce his falling speed and fling him—like a shot—back up the entire path he'd fallen, all the way to the surface.
As a side effect, all the skin, flesh, and tissue of Rey's right arm tore away. But only a tenth of a second after the silent invocation, the fall began to slow. Not instantly—yet the deceleration was so abrupt, so monstrous, that for any other living being not blessed with bodily enhancements, it would have been lethal. Even so—right arm flesh sacrificed—the calculations favored full deceleration. As if he were trying to make a safe landing at the bottom of the abyss, Rey used his left arm to shove himself off the sides, adjusting his descent while fighting to keep his body vertical.
Two handspans from hitting the ground, something other than darkness imprinted itself onto the young man's blurred perception: an open doorway, a light, people with glass eyes, plastic faces, and unnaturally round noses—each covered head to toe in a single-piece suit, armed. The pressure of the air launched them sideways, slamming them into the walls.
Unable to see any more, Rey curled his body and used the same silent invocation he'd used with his right hand—now with his feet—to launch himself at high speed in the opposite direction. His feet were injured, but it wasn't as severe as what had happened to his dominant arm. Even so, that invocation wouldn't be enough to get him back to the surface. With five of his twenty-four chakras blocked, poisoned energy in his system, his heart beginning to race, and blood already threatening to rise in his throat, invoking again would be suicide.
But he didn't have to invoke again—because the conjuration circle was still floating in the air.
"If I can just pass through that circle, I'll make it back to the surface," Rey thought, watching the neon-blue light growing closer and closer.
He lost speed and reached out with his left hand. At that point, Rey had nothing left but to trust he'd make it. But he stopped in midair before he could reach it—so close and yet so far.
He wasn't going to surrender. After all, the blessing that had restored his body to a healthier state had also returned the feathers his wings had lost. Spreading the two immense extra limbs, he propelled himself forward and managed to grab onto the last two horses still visible within the conjuration circle—just as it dissolved into the air.
The moment he cleared the hole, Rey's battered body slammed hard into the ceiling of the evacuation chamber. With his wings featherless again, his feet in bad shape, and one arm missing, Rey spewed a heavy stream of blood from his mouth the instant he collided headfirst with the solid metal.
The damage to the young man's body was critical—so severe it broke the effects of the blessings, enhancements, and spells he'd imposed on himself. Nearly losing consciousness again, he caught something out of the corner of his eye that no one else noticed.
There he stood, dressed in black, as if waiting to claim something—making no effort to hide the immense bladed object he carried in one hand. White was there too: the white beast that wanted to break free, but couldn't, trapped in an intangible dimension. Resigned to howling without being able to help, the feline paced back and forth.
With a smile that served as a greeting, Rey stared straight into the void he'd escaped, because his calculations hadn't been wrong. Knowing he had to do something so he wouldn't fall again—knowing his body couldn't withstand gravity's grip on its own, and that his future threatened to drag him back into the place he'd just climbed out of—he told himself before closing his eyes:
"What's so wrong with depending on others?"
After practically snorting through his mouth, Dante sprang into motion. With a single leap, he snatched his brother before he could slip back into that bottomless hole.
—Aww, —Dante shouted like a conqueror. Of course, he could have let his brother die—after everything Rey had done, he deserved to rest in peace. But he could also save the savior of hundreds and earn even more recognition with far less effort.
Jhades had also been ready to help his brother—more out of convenience than fraternal duty. After all, thanks to Rey's magic, the vampire could understand the world's language, summon and dismiss his weapons, and do other useful things. Jhades wasn't going to face that Gilgamesh, and he had no faith Dante would behave without someone keeping a close watch—like Rey always did.
—You did it. May you be blessed, saviors, —Román called out, trying to motivate the remaining three to leave the chamber and show themselves to those who could still move.
Jhades vanished—presence and body gone—while Dante, chest puffed out, slung his unconscious brother over his shoulder and, as he passed Román, stepped into full view of everyone. The lycanthrope carried Rey's body to the other side of the doorway and felt the pleasant rush of being greeted by applause from the security staff—and gratitude in the eyes of those who still had their lives.
—Thanks to you, there haven't been any losses, —Marín said, glancing at Román with concern, because she honestly didn't know whether she was telling the truth.
After setting his brother's body on the floor, Dante widened his grin and spread his arms, spinning in place as if dancing to the applause that five or six people kept giving.
—You know, —Román added in a low whisper when Marín came closer— it's not too late to tame the one I assigned you. Why don't you appeal to his civilized side and teach him the pleasures of the flesh the way Lía did with Rey?
—But how? —Marín replied—. I'm in charge of security precisely because I've never been very good at the amorous arts.
—You're very strong and rough for a human, but that won't be the case for someone who isn't. Trust me. First, let yourself fall a little and show him admiration—tell him you envy a leader as admirable and strong as he is. Then meet him at his level, and little by little, show him the path of giving bodily pleasures.
Marín grew thoughtful, acting as if she understood Román's suggestion. It was true that so far she hadn't been able to communicate with the young wolf, but words weren't the only boundary of communication if body language existed. Besides, Dante responded more to praise and rewards than to shouting, scolding, and punishment.
—Enough. Stop clapping. Can't you see he's a monster, and because of him we're condemned to die? —snapped one of the ostentatiously dressed men, holding his arm, unable to keep quiet through the pain.
Dante turned, narrowing his eyes and baring his teeth in response.
—Did you save yourself from dying? Did you save the one who saved you from dying? Having a broken arm doesn't mean you can't clap. First, when you're someone invincible, then you can talk and give your opinion, understand?
Dante shouted angrily as he paced, not letting the medical staff keep tending the man who'd insulted him. He took advantage of it to fracture the man's other arm—then his feet. The women and girls there, of course, felt satisfied with the scene, because the lycanthrope's victim was notorious for abusing the sex slaves.
As the situation continued to escalate, the head of security finished preparing with Lía and Román to throw a smoke grenade toward Dante—who was focusing all his attention on a high-class man who, even as he fainted from pain, still snarled at him like prey he was about to devour.
—Well, Dante… you're impressive, —Marín said, pretending to be fascinated by what had happened, though it clearly didn't come naturally to her—. Don't get angry over insignificant beings. You're an impressive leader—strong and admirable. I was wrong all this time, treating you like you weren't.
No one there could understand what was happening. Marín's words were so poorly acted they had no purpose, no footing in the situation. Meanwhile, Román thought, I think a cat could look more interested than that. I didn't expect miracles from her, but… this bad?
"Dante the impressive." The words rolled through the lycanthrope's mind until he felt like the god of the world.
—Ooooh! —he exclaimed, forgetting his intention to eat alive the man who'd insulted him. Then he sounded out the syllables of the word that ended almost like his name—. Hehehe. Im-pre-ssive.
Did he buy it?! Marín told herself, surprised—realizing she wasn't as bad at seductive arts as she'd thought.
Meanwhile, Jhades watched Rey and noticed his body's strength fading—and that his weapons couldn't leave the space where they were, surely because of Rey's condition. That made him seek out Lía, who still hadn't realized how bad her patient was.
—Let's go somewhere more private, —Marín suggested, settling more comfortably into her mediocre seduction—. The people here don't deserve your greatness, and I have a lot of questions for you.
Dante was excited—he had so much to brag about. Making sure Rey wasn't awake, he watched the medical staff approach with several devices. It was convenient to tell the story his way, but he didn't want his hybrid brother waking up and contradicting certain parts, so after giving one last look toward the vampire—who rarely seemed interested in doing anything—he huffed a "Mmm," meaning, stay away.
As soon as Román saw Dante and Marín leave, he shifted his gaze to Lía, who hadn't moved. Rey lay on the floor, between life and death, and she looked like she didn't know what to do or how to react.
—Doctor! Doctor! —Román shouted, snapping the vampire's attention back—. What should we do with him? He's still alive.
The older man stood near the medical staff. Though he didn't take part in their actions, he inserted himself into the group, pointing at the body on the ground that was barely breathing.
What held the vampire back was the question of whether Rey was alive or dead. She didn't want to get close and confirm her worst fear, and she was blaming herself for not being able to go in and help him no matter how she'd wanted to—because the wind had sent her flying. But hearing that the one she cared for was still alive, she finally let herself breathe and began issuing orders for the medical staff to carry the body to the operating room.
Dante left with Marín. Jhades vanished into a ventilation duct. Rey was carried to the operating theater. For Román, all that remained were bodies groaning, clinging to life—nothing worth his time. With the three brothers gone, he brushed off his hands and prepared to leave as well, almost unnoticed, whistling into the air.
—I came to tell my glorious feats and ended up waking up tied to a chair—arms and legs bound. What could be better?! —Dante muttered in his strange language—. Was I tricked by her? Impossible.
The room where the lycanthrope was locked had no exit, no windows. It did have a door, a camera, a table, and a light turned on exactly one meter from his face. It was an interrogation room, meticulously prepared to squeeze information from slaves who dared organize conspiracies against the temple. But since Román was such a benevolent owner, it was almost never used unless a client requested it.
Dante tried to force his eyes to adjust to the glaring light so he could see in the darkness beyond it, but his eyes—able to see at night as clearly as if it were day—had a weakness. He'd just discovered that if a bright light was aimed at them, his eyes couldn't adapt without first burning his retinas, which caused an intolerable pain. Giving up on seeing in a place where he couldn't, he closed his eyes and used the other senses he had left.
In the shadows, on the far side of the light, a second pair of red eyes opened. Marín was studying her prey with a small whip in her hand. Restless, unwilling to stand still, she began to pace. One firm step after another, she circled the captive several times. Then she stopped in front of Dante and laid the whip against his face, as if she'd made her decision about how to proceed.
—Impressive Dante, tell me, —she purred, her voice low and seductive—. Even though you saved the moment—and I very much want you to tell me your feats from the evacuation room—I tied your hands and feet because I think Rey has done things you haven't. Doesn't it bother you, always being left behind compared to your brothers?
The lycanthrope, who at first had been ready to dislocate a shoulder and break his legs just to tear free of the ropes, heard his brother's name and his thoughts shifted. What had his brother done that he hadn't? Why was he alone in a room with a woman?
The answers hit him when he remembered seeing the doctor kiss Rey.
"Yes… he did what Father and Mother did, what my master and his lover did… A leader has to be loved by someone—kissed, kept warm. I'm not complete yet," the young wolf told himself, then spoke aloud:
—Is that why you were chasing me?
—Because I love you, —she answered, hesitating.
Stunned, he opened his eyes into the light. He couldn't see Marín's expressions, her body language, or any telltale signs people showed when they lied. But even if she were laughing, even if she were saying it just to mock him, Dante wouldn't have hesitated to take her words as true.
—You and me. Together. The rest doesn't matter, —he replied, giving a shy smile as he angled his gaze away from the glare.
—But if you want to be better than your brother, you have to be bolder and more fearless, —Marín continued—. Couples listen to each other, and they don't go running around growling through ventilation ducts, do they?
To Dante, the revelation made perfect sense. It was true—Rey didn't rely on running and yelling through corridors, and neither had his master in the past. Still, he couldn't admit he'd acted badly, because that would make him look like a weak leader.
It wasn't that he lacked experience with sex. After spending long enough awake through the first three eternal nights it took him to complete his training, he slept in the same bed as his master and Jhades's mistress. Even so, though his exposure to sex had been deep, he'd been nothing more than a toy between two beings who'd lived for centuries. To him, it was a pity he hadn't been able to experience initiation with the other pack members while living in the seventh circle of hell.
To love and be loved by all—that was initiation. The same thing that could have become an execution, given his behavior. The master, loved and loving, was always being chased by his mate—married—and ambushed at every moment, Dante thought. Now he couldn't afford to lose the chance to form his own pack.
He was about to say something—anything—to justify himself and look good, but Marín cut him off.
—I know you wanted to "test" how much I loved you, —Marín said, seductive, as if she were pulling the words straight from his mouth—. While I chased you, you showed me how strong, fast, and agile you are. I hope you can see now how much I like you. That's why I had to tie you up—but I know you can escape anytime. I'm only asking you not to.
Dante's ego swelled like it never had before. For the first time, someone was recognizing him for what he was. And besides—if his master had always been caught because Katherine was much stronger, then Dante was already a step ahead of Miján for not letting himself be captured so easily.
Maybe that was the explanation for the way Marín was communicating now: soft gestures, sweet praise. Of course—Mother acted like that with Father because she couldn't catch him. While Katherine was cold and rough with the master because she could do whatever she wanted with him.
Flooded with intuitive revelations—answers to questions that had been left hanging—Dante didn't notice, not once, how Marín tried to hide the embarrassment of speaking like someone who knew what she was doing when she truly didn't. She snapped her whip against one of his thighs, shaping her voice into something needy just so she could force out the final words. It cut through his thoughts like a blade.
—Be my alpha male. Dante, I need you with me.
The words had landed. He was needed—for his strength, his courage, his invincibility—and he didn't know what to say that would sound right. Like a cherry on top, the rustle of Marín undressing filled the room.
Marín's intent in using her bare skin was to stoke the desire between the bound young man's legs, to wake up that need to possess. Waiting for his answer would be pointless when actions could clear a path for the words his body would speak.
Dante had never had the chance to see Marín naked. She wasn't muscular like Katherine, nor thin and delicate like his master. Even so, she stepped in front of him and, with her movements, demanded to be seen. The light wasn't enough, and a uniformed body wasn't much to look at—yet he grew hard from the novelty of the moment alone.
Adding fuel to the fire in Dante's eyes, Marín slid the straps of her blouse down, letting her right breast spill free from the tight neckline.
Seeing what the fabric had hidden, Dante fixed on the oversized circular ring that crowned the round flesh. The exposed breast was large enough to sway hypnotically with each breath, but what hit him harder was the feeling of Marín being so comfortable showing him—so easily—parts of herself meant to be private. That was enough to make power flood him, intoxicating.
After all, letting one slip out could have been an accident—something she could correct at any moment. But she didn't.
She could apologize, Dante thought, but taking out the other…
Freed from the bindings of the top, Dante saw that Marín's breasts were generously full, shifting slightly side to side, her nipples pronounced. The dark-brown areolas looked small against what seemed like a subtle tightening of the skin around them. She knew she'd never been good with words, and that her best secret weapon was the voluptuous body she hid beneath clothes that disguised her figure far too well. When someone looked like they had nothing particularly feminine—and then undressed to reveal the opposite—it hit the mind like a bomb it couldn't process fast enough.
With her breasts bare, the she-wolf cracked the whip across the table and left it there, then used that freed hand to slowly remove the rest of the clothing covering her torso, while the layered garments clinging to her legs waited their turn.
The lycanthrope swallowed hard as he watched Marín undo the ties one by one, unfasten buckles, slip off buttons, and finally peel away the formal security uniform that had loosened, exposing her female torso completely.
With the top off… will I see between her legs? Dante wondered, sweating, his heart threatening to hammer out of his chest. He couldn't even blink—couldn't tear his eyes away. His gaze tracked downward along the lines of a soft, delicate abdomen, one he'd never seen before, one he wanted.
She's going to stay naked… take everything off. And then we'll have sex.
Dante watched with secret admiration as Marín slipped out of her lower garments, as if he were witnessing a treasure hidden in the deepest place of his dreams. An electrifying bolt ran through the red-eyed youth, driving him half-mad—so much so that his hips bucked, trying to grind his already-awake length against the table. Between her thighs, a charming place invited him; it almost seemed to call his name, screaming it at him in a deafening chorus.
As she bared herself, Marín also freed her beautiful, straight hair. The strands that had been professionally pinned back with a tie spilled loose, floating over her shoulders and down her back, drawing attention to her neck.
Of course, neither her hair nor her discarded clothes nor the naked woman's facial expressions mattered to the little beast's eyes. Dante's stare locked onto her breasts and the space between her legs, up and down, down and up, like he couldn't decide where to start eating. The fire of curiosity devoured his hunger for pleasure—but Marín kicked the table, knocking the light over and shoving aside what Dante had been rubbing himself on.
She stepped in close, and the moment she reached out with her right hand, she grabbed his length through his pants—proving she could give him more pleasure than a table ever could. The new sensation calmed the beast, and she kept her eyes on his.
Frozen, Dante could admit he'd been caught off guard. The soft, careful finger movements—meant to seem rough—didn't leave him room to think. With wide, attentive eyes, he looked at her while trying to hold onto a smile: a face that claimed he was in control, when he wasn't at all. Everything was new and sudden. Maybe it wasn't so bad to do what his master did—let himself be carried by the whims of the female who possessed him. After all, he was the one tied to the chair.
Seeing he was finally willing to stop playing "know-it-all," Marín said:
—This is a blowjob, in case you didn't know.
As soon as Marín managed to tear his pants with her hands, she immediately devoured the awakened flesh as if it had been roused from a deep sleep. Even though she couldn't breathe well and her knees scraped painfully against the floor, she used her tongue with enough skill to even stimulate his testicles.
Dante's body tightened. He couldn't keep his triumphant smile, but he still managed to babble a few words like an idiot.
—Just the feeling of sensitive skin there… I can't deny how good it feels. Better than anything. I'm about to melt.
It was different. He'd never felt so much pleasure from the contact of his body with another. The present echoed the past: alone in a dark room, the female taking the lead, hands everywhere with euphoria and lust. Yet even though he was a leader who'd earned his female's admiration—unlike his master, or for some other reason—Dante couldn't understand why Marín was acting far more passionate than anyone who merely wanted to satisfy their body.
She kept moving her head forward and back as if she expected nothing in return. Not just her head—she used her lips, her tongue, her throat, tightening and hardening with practiced control whenever necessary to deliver pleasure. Through it all, the only thing he could do was wait and surrender to sensation, relieved that sex wasn't as painful as he remembered.
Marín slid him out of her throat so she could lift her head and look up at the young wolf with a sovereign, almost smug air. Dante couldn't return the gaze. His jaw was tipped up, helpless, his stomach exposed.
Without stopping the intense massage of the saliva-slick organ in front of his face, she finally made eye contact with an innocent expression—one willing to listen, as long as it kept receiving pleasure like this.
Satisfied to have the dominant hand in the game, Marín could practically read how good the lycanthrope felt from the look on his face. Pleased by that confirmation, she swallowed him again—this time sucking as hard as she could with her delicate mouth while wrapping her tongue around him and making sure her teeth never grazed him, each pull delivering a fresh wave of pleasure.
Oral sex was something she'd done forever. Marín was a priestess of the temple of the amorous arts, and with the heat of her mouth she could soothe the sorrows and pains of clients who used her services. Because of that, the bitter taste and the strong smell of a cock that hadn't been properly washed in days didn't even register to her.
If anything, the lusty skin of a young body thrilled her, adding a certain morbid edge. It wasn't good practice for a priestess to discriminate or have preferences when giving pleasure, but the thought that she was doing with her mouth the cleaning that should have been done from the start made her feel as filthy as what she was sucking—and she loved it.
With his breathing on fire and Marín's mouth flushed with intoxicating color, Dante couldn't help twisting against the chair he was bound to. The pleasure hit like a waterfall, but the dangerous part was the way that torrent promised to end in what could only be described as a volcano about to erupt.
Marín knew when a male was about to climax. When they were close to coming, they started closing their eyes, lifting their heads, breathing deep, drawing in their pelvic floor, and tightening their cock until it nearly burst. But she wasn't so greedy as to devour the best dish all at once.
—Do you want me? —she asked, pulling away just as he was about to spill—. Then come for me. Make me feel your love!
Seconds from grabbing the sky with both hands and floating on a cloud, Dante crashed back to the ground.
—Aww! —he growled. Then he bit through his lower lip with his fangs in a failed attempt to regain reason, and said—: Get ready, because I'm going to give you everything I've got.
At his confrontational words, Marín turned in the small room, whose only bulb lay on the floor beside the splintered table. With her back to the bound young wolf, she bent in a way that exposed everything as she reached down to pick up the whip. Then she lifted her hips again and spread her legs wide.
Dante wanted to tear free—rip himself out of that chair. Rage surged when he saw a small, malicious smile slide over her face, as if she were delighted to have everything under control. Still staring at the tempting, succulent ass that begged to be grabbed, he watched as she began to strike it again and again—hard—each slap landing with force.
The rounded, defined skin of Marín's ass began to redden—each lash drawing a moan, a cry from her most erotic register. Bracing one hand against the wall, she pressed her sensitive nipples to it, so the hardened skin dragged against the rough vertical surface. The friction, paired with the whipstrikes she gave herself, made her shudder with even more pleasure. Tired of waiting for someone who talked and did nothing, she decided to stimulate her exposed, overheated sex directly—giving herself one more reason to keep moaning in ecstasy, enjoying herself because her captive wasn't doing a thing to meet her halfway.
—Again! You're making me lose control! —Dante shouted what sounded like empty warnings. On the edge of desperation, the heat in his body made him sweat; his rapid breathing wasn't enough to ease the choking sensation, and his heart felt like it was about to burst out between his legs, all while he watched the black-haired woman play with herself and wait for him, seductively.
She has to want sex—she has to connect my cock between her legs! the lycanthrope told himself, like a warrior focused on battle and on what his body could do, unstoppable. But now, drunk on fleshly pleasure, one miserable chair and a few ropes held him more efficiently than anything ever had.
The situation—and his own mind—wouldn't let him use his full strength. It also wouldn't let him improvise a viable solution. What will become of me if I can't get free? Dante wondered. She did everything she could to trap me, and I won't be able to do anything to match her.
Rubbing her breasts against the wall, stroking her lower lips, whipping herself, scratching at her thighs, Marín grabbed and spread her two heavy, voluptuous cheeks with both hands, intent on exposing herself completely.
—Here… tight and deep, my holes are waiting for you. Do it when you decide. Use them as many times as you want—I won't get tired of waiting.
Dislocating his wrist and snapping his right arm, Dante forced his body larger, tore free of the ropes binding him to the chair, and lunged aggressively toward the woman offering herself. Like a ravenous animal, eager to bury his face between Marín's open legs, he was stopped by a feeling—something that made him cautious, something that protected him from being trapped by provocation.
It wasn't the pain of his bleeding lip, nor the nasty ache of a dislocated wrist, nor the regenerative burn of a broken arm. It was the raw memory of nearly losing his head when he tried to touch Katherine without her consenting first.
No matter how much prey offers itself, never act like a beast. That's your first warning—there won't be a second chance for you to learn, Katherine's words echoed in Dante's mind, the amazon vampire who hunted beasts.
With force, the young wolf—now transformed and larger than the woman—slammed both hands into the same wall where she'd been leaning her forehead.
The room filled with the harsh exhalations of two bodies trying to control the ragged breathing spilling out of them. Dante couldn't proceed—not because he didn't know how, but because he didn't know whether he should. His only reference was the relationship his master had had with a muscular vampire—the one who always took the dominant role in sex when Dante was there.
Marín was surprised—almost startled—because she hadn't expected her captive to change size. A body that had been short now towered over her. When she got the chance, she glanced sideways at his package, and yes—this area had matched the rest of him, doubling in proportion.
—Are you afraid? —Marín asked, noticing how Dante hesitated like a dog held back by a collar—. Interesting, Dante. I give you my consent. Use that fear to your advantage. I know you can—you broke the chairs and the ropes that bound you, —she continued, fascinated, playful in her seduction as she slowly brought her face closer to the lycanthrope's, staring at his lips.
At her words, no longer bracing against the wall, Dante used his now-healed hands to grip Marín's waist for a better hold. Trying to prove he wasn't afraid, he thrust his body forward with force. He still didn't know how a romantic kiss was supposed to go, but he did know how to use his cock—how to bury it all the way in, in one brutal push, into the first hole he found. His mind went blank. His hips moved in a steady rhythm, and even when the motion turned savage, the cadence never slowed.
Feeling wanted under the repeated drives of a burning beast, Marín welcomed the slap of his body against her ass. She parted her lips in a delicious expression of pleasure. She rolled her hips to increase what she could receive and feel. She let her exposed flesh take the edge of his claws so she wouldn't lose the hard piece of meat pounding against the walls inside her.
Like a desperate dog trying to unload everything packed in his balls as fast as possible, Dante began to speed up, feeling he could hit climax any second. But with the back of her hand and a clenched fist, Marín spun violently and landed two blows on the young wolf—eyes shut, face already tilted toward heaven.
A punch right under the jaw—followed by the pain of a brutal upward kick between his balls—hit in the same instant. Confused and disoriented, because he hadn't done anything wrong, Dante dropped to his knees without knowing where he'd failed.
—Remember this is my way, —Marín said as she used the handle of her whip to lift the kneeling boy's chin. He was covering himself with both hands, his teeth grinding as he tried to bear the pain, but it wasn't enough.
Dante tensed every muscle he had, even his face, twisted into a grimace. Then he snorted like a wounded bull, opening his eyes slowly. He wanted to speak, to demand an explanation, but the ugly, throbbing sensation rising between his legs wouldn't let him.
Marín walked in circles around the kneeling body. Many men, once they feel pain during sex, can't continue—they give in to anger and quit. But what was on the floor wasn't a man. It was a beast being tested. Did he pass or not? That was the question.
When she completed her circuit, she leaned forward, lifted one leg over the kneeling boy, and placed her nature—wide, slick, and drenched in fluids—right against his face.
Dante's nose went mad. The pheromones the female in heat was giving off were impossible to ignore—so potent that even with the pain still burning through him, his erection didn't have time to soften. And if it had, it would have risen again like a phoenix, thanks to the bittersweet scent and taste of that magnificent female anatomy.
Radiant—splendid and seductive above everything else—Marín ground herself against his face until she brought herself to orgasm. Balancing on one foot, using the other to brace against the kneeling body, she let go of everything in her bladder along with the pleasure's contractions, determined to humiliate him—because it only made her hotter.
My desire is coming true, she thought. Just like Román said, I can be myself without being afraid he'll break like the others did.
For Dante, the sensation of being dominated felt even better than he'd imagined. The smells she smeared into him screamed a single truth: you're mine, I'm your female. But she wasn't saying anything, even after hitting him twice.
What's the test? he wondered, aching to sink his still-throbbing virility back into that tight slit—bigger and more swollen than ever from being made to wait.
Marín caught her breath and noticed the boy turning active. He was using his tongue to taste the cleft trapping his face, working it with hunger. She felt the softness of his wet muscle, how it opened into her without resistance. She grabbed his hair, moaned for more, kept rubbing—chasing the scorching heat of a lycanthrope's tongue, wanting it deeper, rougher, longer.
When her orgasm approached again—when all five senses threatened to drown in overflowing pleasure—Dante stood up, forcing her away. Then he grabbed her breasts, squeezing hard, intending to make her feel pain, but she melted with delight and tipped right into a second orgasm.
Realizing he couldn't pay her back in the same coin, Dante reacted with his freed hands, desperate to reclaim the pleasure she'd stolen—twice. He threw himself to the floor and wrapped his arms around his partner's body, holding her tight to make sure she couldn't slip away or strike him again before he reached climax.
The flame between them burned so hot it flared higher with nothing more than the brush of each other's breath on skin. Without melody, their bodies sank into a tight, relentless dance. Then, without delay, every caress and movement stopped for a single second—both mouths half-open, poised to take what was coming.
Because Dante used both hands to cling to Marín's body, even as his hips drove wildly, he couldn't find the hole—without realizing she was, of course, keeping him from burying himself between her legs. With a playful look, she savored the thick flesh knocking against her button of happiness, and at the exact right moment she let him enter little by little—setting off another immense explosion of ecstasy for her.
After so many failed attempts, tongue out, Dante finally felt the heat and wetness her body had been holding back from him. The moment his cock began to press and harass between her legs—whether it found the right hole or not—Marín brought her mouth down and bit his right nipple with the sole purpose of drawing blood and causing pain.
At the same time, she wrapped her free hands around his thick torso and, with her fingers, searched between his ass cheeks for the forbidden hole. She meant to see how deep she could go—how wide she could open him. While her mouth devoured his right chest, sucking and biting that nipple, her index and middle fingers drove into the young wolf's rear without lubrication—pushing deep, stretching the ring of flesh wide enough to make a proper opening.
Finding pleasure in suffering, Dante dug his nails into her head so she couldn't escape, increasing the speed of his thrusts. Near climax, every muscle in his body began to tremble, and Marín, the moment she felt the lycanthrope's semen hammering the deepest part of her, thought she wouldn't be able to keep enjoying it.
By experience, when a man came during sex, he lost hardness and libido once he spilled four to seven shots—but the lycanthrope wasn't human. He kept pounding with all his strength, again and again, without losing power or virility. She felt the thick flood spilling out of her, splashing between her legs and along her thighs—and it still kept coming. With the bounce of their sticky bodies, the lycanthrope's semen kept spraying until it wet her belly, her chest, even her neck.
It drove her frantic. She wanted to stick out her tongue and taste the flavor of a male on her own skin, and the thought sent her adrenaline spiking. Even after three orgasms she was still recovering from, she chose to give herself to a fourth—without using pain—so she could delay her partner's release and stretch out her own pleasure.
Breathing in deeply, Rey looked to the sides, trying to sit up without anyone noticing. He reassessed his physical condition, moved his right hand, and clenched and unclenched his toes. He remembered sacrificing them to escape the hole he'd fallen into at terrifying speed.
But who was he worried about noticing? The hundreds of people who knew about him? No. He was worried about two particular beings—one of whom greeted him with a furious shout.
It was White, who had warned him to be careful, not to push himself so hard—warnings he'd never listened to.
—With everything calculated!! —the liger roared, furious, inside the intangible world—. Rey, I watched you struggle second by second—falling into a precipice, coughing blood, slamming into walls, losing strength, even losing consciousness. You lost your wings twice, your right arm and your legs. You ended up wrecked—why? To save and earn the admiration of humans who won't return the favor and will try to kill you if their lives depend on it. Rey, you told me everything would be fine, that I could come out whenever I wanted, but I couldn't help you while you were dying.
Thrown by the silence, not knowing what to say to the feline, Rey looked around until his gaze landed on Lía—the vampire—flipping through papers at a desk. She looked back and said:
—I agree. Look around—there's no one here, is there? And even if there were, one way or another, the ones you saved are condemned to die.
Rey brought a hand to his forehead. He hadn't stopped to think when he'd seen the desperate faces of people refusing to die—even in a world built to condemn them. And he had no excuse that could calm White's rage.
—Checking the results of the tests from when you came in, —Lía continued— let me tell you this: even if you use a sorcerer's energy, you'll soon reach stage three of poisoning.
Staring at his hands, Rey tried to decipher why he didn't feel that poisoned. After all, he had reached stage three when he formed the conjuration circle, but with an enchantment he'd managed to reverse it and remain halfway through stage two—even after invoking his way out.
—Don't think you can do everything! —White snapped, seeing on his companion's face the telltale look of someone discovering new possibilities to explore—. Sorcery always has consequences when you depend on it.
—Regardless of the fact you're a homogeneous mix of two species, —Lía went on— and even though there are no human records of a sorcerer capable of using silent invocations the way you did with the subjugators, I don't believe you can freeze time or use resurrection magic.
Rey shook his head. He knew such spells existed, but he didn't have what was required to cast them. And it wasn't as if he had the time to study and develop fields that gods had poured their lives into just to create and refine half a spell.
—So you're not safe from dying, —the vampire finished.
White growled, bared his teeth, and pinned his ears back. Rey, to disguise the fact he had no argument that could save the lives of hundreds of strangers, leaned into the young vampire's knowledge instead.
—How do you know so much about sorcery and bodies like mine?
With a subtle smile, prompted into remembering her past, Lía answered his curiosity with willing clarity.
—In my house we recruited special servants and escorts, and little by little I grew interested in all the knowledge they accumulated. But we never managed to recruit anyone as extraordinary as those who can use the tool employed in the creation of the universe—who can shape supernatural events at will. If my father had ever had a sorcerer at hand, he would've given his soul just to learn the path.
When I try to look into her eyes, I can't read inside her soul, Rey thought, confused, aware that so many things made him act irrationally even as he tried to listen to her. I end up on her lips… and they reflect my desire like a trap. For a moment I thought I could master this involuntary pull, but now her breasts seduce me too—her hair, her hips. I try to impress her, I want to please her, I crave acceptance, and it makes me lose focus. Behind her is this temple, and behind this temple there's an entire civilization crushed under an enemy, and behind that are the humans. I'm not ready.
—Before you make the insane decision to try to lose everything and sacrifice your life for people who are going to die anyway, I'm asking you—please—think about yourself. It's not entirely wrong to be selfish. Do it for me. Will you promise me?
White roared at the vampire's proposal, taking advantage of the moment to tighten her grip on Rey's choices. Still, it would bring the beast peace if her companion agreed to the promise, because as an animal she wasn't as good with words—she couldn't persuade the young man the way Lía could.
Even though White left without saying or doing anything else, and Rey said yes to the promise, Lía noticed how her own lips flooded her spectator's heart with desire. She tried to keep the conversation going as long as possible, but when she reached the end of it, she didn't know what else to say.
—Ignore that, —Rey added, referring to the way he was looking at her, trying to move on and focus on other curiosities—. For some reason… do you know the intention of those beings who cover their eyes with crystal, breathe through a tube, and wear full-body suits beneath this place?
Thrown off by the question, the dyed-haired vampire chose to focus less on the question itself and more on why the young man—so newly arrived—would even have that doubt.
—It's not in my interest to know more than I need to. But… is that what you saw in the hole?
Again, Rey nodded.
—That's the decontamination team, —she answered, the melancholy returning to her face despite her efforts to erase it, because the thought of a method designed to kill so many people turned her stomach—. Since you rescued so many, I suppose we've bought ourselves more time to think of something.
—For now we're forced to stay inside the temple, Lía, doing nothing but waiting, —Rey thought as he smiled.
—Don't you think we should do whatever makes us feel good? —the vampire said, finishing his thought aloud.
Even if Rey hadn't said it directly, if he resigned himself to the pleasures of the flesh, he knew that if he was right, he would have to wait for the worst to pass—because only then could he make his move.
—In my room? —Lía pressed on with her questions and insinuations as soon as Rey nodded—. There we can sleep, have some fun, and I can teach you things you haven't seen.
Rey answered the proposition with a smile, then slid off the table and walked to her side.
—I could never tell you no, and you know it, —he told Lía.
Gilgamesh sat on the throne in the only castle in Belldewar, his face openly amused as he watched the floating screens. The hundreds of cameras filming inside the Temple of the Amorous Arts were imperceptible. That temple was under Román's control—the director responsible for creating the perfect stage.
So he shouted, euphoric:
—Magnificent!! Capable of saving hundreds of beings, strengthening the weak and destroying the strong—the new hero! My new friend! I can't be patient, not after waiting so long.
Before his two most loyal servants, the sovereign emperor—arrogant in posture—yelled and swayed from side to side.
—The moment he tastes a woman's flesh, the others and he will be ready. It doesn't matter what Román has said. That slippery god looks like he's preparing something too. Open the entertainment channels. Let the universe witness what I have to offer them. While the audience watches the day-to-day—minute by minute, second by second—of these candidates' lives, they'll see me defeating evil with my own hands. More than defeating them, I'll destroy their will to face me and turn him into my servant.
Behind the massive doors of the throne room, a heated argument erupted outside. Even as the guards did their best to block the man trying to see the emperor, he forced his way through and flung the entrance open.
The moment the gates parted, Heliúk pushed in, desperate, still slipping out of the guards' grip. With his first step inside, the subjugator broke into a run and dropped to his knees before Gilgamesh. No one followed him. They simply shut the doors, because they knew entering the throne room without authorization meant an automatic sentence: decapitation.
Heliúk knew the consequences well, but from the deepest part of his heart he believed the situation demanded it. The only thing he wasn't sure of was whether his life would be spared or not. He swallowed hard, trembling, and bowed as deeply as he could in respect and apology. When he raised his head, his voice unsteady and wavering, he said:
—My lord, all-powerful, praised and strong, I know my fault, but I come to inform you that I have discovered that, under the command of your right hand, Román, there exists an abominable individual. The temple must be thrown into space and detonated as soon as possible. Oh great and wise Gilgamesh, who has walked the path of knowledge, hear my words so you may take the necessary precautions.
—And what is the penalty for a fault like this? —the monarch asked, his tone almost understanding.
—Death, —Heliúk replied, shaking and sweating where he knelt.
—Death is not enough. Trash like you isn't worthy of being called human, —the king said, arrogant and cold. Heliúk wanted to ask why, but the answer came before he could—. You turned your back on a battle. You fled combat and your duty. You used my name to your advantage and you present yourself before me with that face—without doubting, without questioning my words. Am I not the all-powerful sovereign of this moon that became a sun? Am I not the one who knows, sees, and plans everything?
Heliúk went pale. He nodded at Gilgamesh's words and realized that on the floating holographic screens were the three Fallen from the Sky, Román, the temple's survivors, and the priestesses of the amorous arts.
—I dreamed of his arrival, —the sovereign said—. He represents a future. He will be, and will remain, nothing less than my friend of the soul. Someone who would replace my Enkidu. In anticipation of this, my magnificent presence granted Román permission and warning—to make him qualified to stand at my level.
—But with the danger he represents to this planet, how is it possible you allowed such a—? —Heliúk couldn't finish. The anger in his voice had become disrespectful to his father's ears.
One of Gilgamesh's two attendants cut him off. With a single gesture of his hand, a mysterious force clamped down on the mouth that dared to speak nonsense.
—Feel gratitude that not everything is lost with your life, —the monarch said, as Heliúk's body was hurled violently into the massive closed doors.
Unable to do anything but beg for his life and plead forgiveness for his offense, the instant he felt his mouth released, Heliúk blurted:
—I don't know what I was thinking, I beg you, my lord and sovereign, I swear I will never again offend you with my presence. Spare my life!
—Mikk. Paul. —Gilgamesh called his two subjects by name—. Carry out my sentence. I have no intention of wasting my time executing a coward. After all, if I dirty my hands, I won't be any better than he is. Still—make him suffer as much as possible.
The moment the sovereign's words made clear he denied any fatherly bond with the condemned, the body pinned against the doors dropped hard to the floor. Heliúk began to scream, frantic. He tried to crawl away, but Paul raised his hand again and, with an almost gentle motion, opened his palm toward him.
Across the breadth of the room came the unmistakable crack of bones snapping.
Twisting in agony, the subjugator didn't even get the chance to run back the way he'd come—his legs had been completely destroyed.
With the flesh of his feet tangled in his clothing, Heliúk could swear he looked like a twisted rag, like it couldn't be real. But the pain told him otherwise. Blood seeped out, spreading beneath him, and the two men assigned to enforce the sentence were already moving.
What I did—what I fought for—and to end like this… is this right? Heliúk thought as everything blurred and his vision failed. I can't move anymore. It's not even that I'm tired. Oh, Father… from the moment I knew it was you, I believed I would be the son you could be proud of. What happened? I don't know.
Gilgamesh lifted a tankard of wine in his hand and turned his attention back to the floating screens, because the Fallen from the Sky had begun to move again—with the vampire at his side.