Allene opens her eyes to the glory of the Shadow Keep. Vere powered lights of various shapes and sizes hang from the ceiling setting the onyx and hematite floors gleaming. Standing near a large window through which she can see the purple streaked sky of the gloom realm, is the god of this realm, Lord Aranan. Her fingers itch to trace the hard lines of his pewter face and though he has not yet turned his topaz gaze upon her she knows when he does heat will flow along her traitorous limbs.
“This place is beyond Drasbaine’s Gate,” says Allene.
“Does this mean that I am finally dead?”
“Then why am I here?”
“To ask your favor,” says Lord Aranan.
“Will you help her, my daughter?”
Her rage comes fast and Lord Aranan, caught by surprise, finds himself backing away as Allene advances hands filled with the power of the winter wind and blizzards gathering in her eyes.
“Is there no end to what we must endure? You ask me to watch her struggle with a quest she cannot complete. How much do you think I can take?”
Lord Aranan holds his hands in front of him fingers up and palms out approaching Allene slowly and though her power flares still, he is a god born and takes her pain into his flesh wrapping himself around her, cradling her as she weeps bitter tears.
“I don’t have to promise to help her, our goals are aligned.”
His touch sets her aflame. She struggles against every cell in her body to not bury her hands in his hair and lick the warm flesh of his neck. She shudders knowing that he can feel the heat and smell the musk of her desire.
“I am weak,” she breathes.
“Not of power or even mind but of…”
“Only when I am near you,” she growls placing fingertips on lips and releasing her long-caged passion.
Inspired by Trifecta’s word of the week: