All Chapters of Burning Embers: Scorching Tales of Desire : Chapter 61 - Chapter 70

In the weeks that followed, Aaron began to notice a strange and troubling pattern.It started subtly. A visiting noble’s favored knight who once emerged from Aaron’s chamber never made it home. A young captain assigned to Aaron’s guard rotation was ambushed on his return ride. Another, one of the more brazen, who had stayed in Aaron’s bed for two nights straight, simply vanished. No trace. No explanation.By the fourth incident, the palace hushed with rumors.Those who entered the Duke’s chambers at night never returned.Aaron didn’t believe it at first. Refused to. But then, after an evening spent sipping wine with a knight from the Western border, he awoke to blood on the tiles outside his chamber. The man’s ring, his family crest, lay in the fountain.After that, no one dared come close. Not out of respect. Out of fear.Victor, ever silent, ever watchful, stood on the sidelines like the perfect Hero. Cold, composed, focused. B

The throne room gleamed with marble and gold, but tension thickened the air like smoke.Victor knelt, posture rigid, eyes fixed on the red carpet stretching up to the imperial dais. Duke Aaron stood beside him, tall, composed, face carved from the same cold stone as the pillars lining the room.Emperor Melikor leaned forward on his throne, crown casting shadow over his brow. “The Dark Forest festers with beasts,” he said, each word deliberate. “We’ve lost a dozen patrols in a month. The southern provinces are vulnerable. We cannot allow it to spread.”Victor’s voice was curt. “Then send me. I’ll burn them to ash.”The Emperor’s eyes flicked to Aaron. “You’ll go, with the Duke. This requires more than brute strength. Command, composure… clarity.”Victor didn’t so much as glance at Aaron. “As His Majesty commands.”Aaron bowed low. “We’ll leave by dawn.”His tone was formal, but clipped, brisk, distant. The two men turned

Victor stayed crouched, breathing hard, a sheen of sweat clinging to his chest. His cock twitched again, still half-hard, streaked with the remnants of his release.Aaron watched him from where he stood, wiping the blood and seed from his glove with quiet precision. But there was a pause in the way he moved.A silence.A shift.Victor looked up.And Aaron, finally, looked back.Not at the Hero.But at the Villain.“…It’s you,” Aaron said softly.Victor’s lips curled. “Took you long enough.”Aaron didn’t flinch. “That thing inside you. It wasn’t new.”Victor rose slowly, step by step. His muscles rippled, drenched in shadow and moonlight. “No. It was never separate from me. The magic just… gave it form.”Aaron’s breath caught.Victor stepped forward, slick fingers reaching for Aaron’s throat, not to choke, but to hold. “You never let me touch you like this before.”

The throne room of the obsidian palace echoed with wet sounds, squelch, slurp, pant. Prince Valcoz lounged atop his blackstone throne, head tilted back, lips parted in exasperated boredom. His horns glinted like knives in the dim candlelight. His hair, silver as powdered moonlight, clung damp to his throat.A low-ranking demon knelt between his legs, mouth working eagerly, throat clenching with each desperate attempt to appease his master. But it wasn’t enough.Valcoz’s eyes didn’t even flicker."Still empty," he murmured, voice a dark purr. He reached down, curling his claw-tipped fingers into the demon’s hair and yanking them back with a wet pop. A string of saliva snapped in the air."You’ve done this a thousand times. It’s not your fault," Valcoz said, bored, dismissive. His crimson eyes bored into the demon’s panicked face. "But it never reaches far enough. Never burns deep."He stood. The lesser demon scrambled back, bowing low. Val

Jacquiem had always believed in absolutes, light and darkness, good and evil, the divine and the damned. But here, in the heart of the demon realm, wrapped in the scent of obsidian and fire, those absolutes began to blur into something terrifyingly intimate.He sat on the edge of the lavish bed, golden sheets clinging to his sweat-damp skin. His fingers gripped the silver rosary still tied around his wrist, a relic of devotion, now biting into his flesh. It used to anchor him. Now it burned like a brand.He wanted to rip it off.He wanted to scream.Valcoz watched him in silence from the other side of the chamber, lounging on a throne of midnight stone, bare chest glistening beneath the soft glow of enchanted lanterns. The demon prince’s expression was unreadable, lips parted slightly, eyes flickering not with hunger, but with something deeper. Something like worry."You're still wearing it," Valcoz said finally, his voice low, reverent.