Calm Before the Tear - Caelum

She's stopped fighting. For now. Her chest rises in uneven little gasps as I hold her there, her pulse a flutter beneath my palm. I could count the beats if I wanted to. Could tell her how many times her heart raced the moment she realized it wasn't just the door that betrayed her, or the window, or the world, but her own body. She's trembling for all the right reasons, and every twitch of muscle makes it harder to think.

My cock is already stone, straining against the fine fabric of trousers that cost more than this whole rotting building. I knew she would be receptive, but when I felt that warm pussy throb against my thigh, I nearly blew in my pants right there.

It's absurd. Standing here in this rancid hovel, mold bleeding from the walls, a mattress thinner than my patience beneath our feet, and all I can think about is fucking. Making her beg on her knees for my dick, cry for it, until she can't remember what she was before she became mine.

I glance around the apartment, if you can even call it that.

No possessions, not even a second pair of shoes. The blanket on her mattress looks like it was salvaged from a corpse. There's a bucket in the corner I don't want to investigate. This isn't a home. It's a hiding place, a wound that never healed. With me, she'll never want for anything again.

Not food, nor shelter. Not the constant fear that sleep might invite something worse than hunger. I'll give her silk instead of stained blankets, velvet instead of vermin. She'll sleep in a bed that was once owned by a king who begged me for death on his knees. And when she wakes, there will be fruit already sliced, steam curling from imported tea, her clothes laid out in fabrics her skin has never known. I'll build her a wardrobe of blood-threaded lace and armor kissed by starlight if she asks. I'll carve out a wing of my estate just for her. Let her fill it with whatever her strange, bruised heart desires: books, knives, living things in cages.

And she'll learn. Gods, how she'll learn.

What she is. What her body can do. What it was made for. I'll teach her how to wield the storm I see tearing open the universe within her. I'll drag her power to the surface, screaming if I must, until it kneels for her like the rest of the world. I'll kiss every scar, memorize every sound she makes when she's writhing under my tongue. She'll scream my name until it's the only one she needs. I'll teach her pleasure like scripture, over and over and over, until she forgets what pain ever felt like unless I give it to her.

Because I will. When she's ready.

Money is dust. Time is a toy. I have both in abundance, and I'll spend them on her like water. I'll give her centuries if she wants them, an eternity. Burn kingdoms to make her laugh. Erase names, rewrite histories, and offer her entire bloodlines wrapped in gold.

All she has to do is submit.

And she will.

But because one day soon, she'll crawl into my bed of her own volition, slide her fingers into my hair, press her mouth to mine and whisper the words I already know are waiting beneath her stubborn tongue: I'm yours. And when she says it, it'll be forever. She'll love me for it.

She shifts in my grip, pulling me out of my vision and I finally let her feet touch the ground. Gently, let's just leave my hand around her throat for now. She doesn't thrash again, is far too smart for that. Her eyes flick to the space behind me, is that pleading in her eyes?

Charming. After all this, she still has a glimmer of hope. I'll have to break that. With a flick of my wrist, the air behind her splits. A vertical gash tears through the room, slicing open the veil. Wind curls through it and the edges shimmer, too bright to be from this world.

She whimpers. Ah. There it is.

Her body goes taut, shoulders locking, fingers twitching. My pet doesn't know whether to fight or fold. She looks up, fixing me with those glassy, doe eyes, bottom lip trembling, the beg sitting in her throat. I've never wanted anything more in my entire afterlife.

"Shh." I pat her head like a cherished toy and lower my lips near her ear. "No need to be afraid. I'll take care of everything."

She blinks up at me, broken and absolutely beautiful. My cock twitches again, forcing a drop of moisture from the tip. My jaw clenches so hard it aches. Focus, I tell myself. Not here. Not yet. We step through the tear, and I know I've fucked up.

The ground doesn't smell like my estate's outer ring, it reeks of old blood and something acrid. There's no shield or wards here. No line of protection drawn in bone and shadow to keep the filth from slipping in. I missed the mark, distracted by the sound of her breathing, by the feel of her pulse under my hand, by the taste of panic clinging to her skin like perfume. Because I want her, to strip her down and see what kind of sounds she makes when she stops pretending she doesn't need someone to own her.

Fuck. We're exposed, meters from the safety of the estate. Now we're surrounded.

The creatures that wait here don't come with snarls or screams. They creep through the veil easily because this is where it's thinnest. Three of them, no, four, draped in skin suits, barely holding together, walking like men, smelling like anything else.

They step out from the brush at the tree line where they've been waiting, most likely drawn to her power like I was.

I pull her behind me just as the first one lunges, its arm swinging wide with claws too long for the fingers it stole. I let go for a split second, to draw a blade from the shadows.

She yelps, the sound whipping my head towards her just in time to see one leap forward and slap it's disgusting flesh against her bare arm.

They're skin on skin and fuck if I don't feel the burn of it in my own bones, a sizzling, unnatural contact that pulls a scream from deep in her marrow. A full-bodied, guttural roar. Her mouth opens wide, spit flying into the air as her back arches at an unnatural angle.

The fucking ground shakes.

Light explodes from her chest, a magical embodiment of her will alone. Raw power, instinctive and brutal. The creatures drop like puppets with strings severed, limbs twitching, mouths slack. The air smells of melting things. One lets out a choking gurgle before its body caves in on itself.

She collapses on the grass, sobbing. Her small hands curled into fists, shoulders trembling under the weight of what she just did.

I've never been harder in my life.

She's a fucking miracle.

I walk over slowly, blades retracting back into shadow, my boots squelching through what's left of their corpses. Her tears streak down filthy cheeks, and she looks up at me like I'm the monster.

She might be right.

But she's mine.

And I've never been prouder.