In War, There Is Love

Scars | 18+

Demetrius saw black.

He had never felt emotions too intensely—sometimes not at all, if it didn’t concern him and his clan and his people—but a wave of rage so strong blinded him, cut his breath short.

Scars.

There were scars all over her back, healed now, but deep and angry, as if they had been there for years.

And he saw her raise her arms and cover her breasts almost in defense, so now his eyes, that Demetrius was sure were red not because of lust, but because of madness, zeroed in them too.

There were scars on both her forearms too, starting from her elbrows and ending with her wrists. These ones were different, however. Just a single one in one forearm, coming in a circle, and Demetrius would have to be a fool not to know where they came from.

Someone had used a special kind of weapon on her that prevented a faerie from using her magic, one made of iron and magic that embedded deep in the flesh and drained a faerie from any magic they could use to protect themselves.

They were made for faerie soldiers, not princesses.

Not her.

And everything suddenly made sense. The long sleeved dresses, high on her neck, the high gloves. Being intimate with their clothes on the first time a few days ago.

“Maya.” Demetrius’ voice was foreign to his own. It was harsh, perhaps harsher than it should have been because he saw her flinch just a little, before she held her composure again, her blue gaze fixed on his.

Even being naked in front of him, scarred, vulnerable, she was proud. Confident. Etheral.

Goddamit, how bloody beautiful she was. Ruthless. While he was on the verge of losing his damn mind.

“I asked you a question,” he gritted his teeth. Anyone else would have been gentle about this revelation, kind, treating her like glass ready to be shattered.

But she wasn’t glass. And he wasn’t gentle. He needed a f.ucking answer, so he knew who to dismember and kill next.

Simple as that.

And why the hell wasn’t she answering?

“Maya,” Demetrius hissed again. “I won’t ask you again. Who did this to you?”

She held her eyes still, before letting her arms fall on her sides again, her breasts bare to him. And it was f.ucked up how even now, while they should be talking and planning revenge, he needed her with an intensity that ate him up inside.

“It’s none of your business,” his wife said, her voice loud and clear. She made an attempt to get out of bed, but he held her by her wrist instantly.

She was stupid if she thought he would let her get out of this just with an, “It’s none of your business”. It was his goddamn business.

“You’re my wife.” It came out possessive, showing just a glimpse of the madness he felt inside.

Someone had hurt her this badly and he knew nothing about it. Demetrius was a predator, not a protector. It was in his nature. But suddenly the need to hold her, to protect her, to keep her there tucked in his arms and away from the world was overpowering everything else.

“And it means absolutely nothing,” she shot back.

“Maya!” he hissed, tightening his grip to the point she winced, but he didn’t let go either way.

“You’re making a big deal out of nothing.” Blowing a strand of silver hair and seeing as it fell on her eyes again, she tried getting out of his grip once more, to no success.

“Nothing?” Demetrius only drew her closer. “Nothing? You call this nothing?”

“Let go of me,” she insisted, desperately now.

“Who did this to you, wife?” he repeated.

Maya let out a snort. “Why do you even care, huh?” Her voice rose. “This is my past. This has nothing to do with you!”

“This has everything to do with me.”

“I am your enemy.”

No, you’re not. “I don’t care.”

She looked like she wanted to be anywhere but not there with him. And Demetrius couldn’t even understand the pain buried in her eyes. Was he the one causing it? Should he really let her go?

He almost laughed to himself. As if he could.

“Perhaps there’s nothing traumatic about this,” she changed the tone of her voice, making it more sultry. Fake. “Perhaps I like to be whipped, and some lover of mine did me a favor.”

Demetrius closed his eyes for a short second, trying to keep himself in control. This was what she wanted. To push him away, to make him jealous so he wouldn’t ask questions.

Demetrius was older at this manipulating game than his darling wife was.

He took her chin between his thumb and four fingers, forcing her gaze upon his. “But darling, no one knows you better than I do,” he told her. “You’d rather pluck their eyes with your pretty, red fingernails than let them cause you any pain.”

The anger in her eyes that she had been caught caused him to smirk. It was a pathetic attempt, actually. Even if it had been right—which Demetrius didn’t even want to think about—these weren’t whippings of pleasure. Someone had used iron. And maybe other things too.

Demetrius would tear them apart.

Maya removed her face from his fingers, looking away. “I told you once, I’m not flawless.”

Demetrius narrowed his eyes. She had told him, while they were dancing together for the first time, but this wasn’t the point. Did she think for one second that he found her anything but perfect?

“Wife—” he started, but she stopped her.

“This conversation is pointless.”

But he refused to let her go, so he stroked the scar on her forearm with his thumb, feeling as she shook under his touch. “Who hurt you?”

A war was happening in the depths of her eyes. And the urge to draw her in his arms only intensified, but somehow he knew—felt—because of their strange mate bond, that she wouldn’t allow him that.

Not yet.

“I don’t know,” she whispered the words, and if the room weren't so quiet, he wouldn’t have heard them.

His brows furrowed. Every dead cell of his body was on high alert. “What do you mean—”

“It means I don’t remember. It was years ago, I—” she stopped herself, refusing to say more. How does she not remember? What the bloody hell have they done to her? “It doesn’t matter anymore. None of this matters.”

She attempted to get out of the bed again, but he held her back by her elbow.

“Was it your father?” Demetrius growled, ready to tear the Faerie King’s head out of his body if he had ever touched his daughter.

“No!” Maya snapped, and because of the finality in her voice he believed her. “Just let me go, Demetrius.” She was growing agitated, angry, and there was pain and pride battling in her eyes. “If you find me so repulsing you won’t touch me anywhere but at my arms, better just let me go.”

It felt like someone had slapped him in the face.

And no one dared to slap him in the face.

“Repulsing?” God, the word sounded bitter in his mouth when it was referred to her. Like the poisons his sister made.

Demetrius wished he had found her repulsing. On every God he didn’t even believe in, he did. Let’s face it, everything would be easier that way.

He would force information out of her.

He would use her as leverage for her father.

Goddamit, he would have been preparing for war now instead of begging his faerie wife to tell him who had hurt her in the past, but yet here he stood. She was his weakness, and it was strange for someone as smart as her to not realize it when his entire clan had started to already.

And she thought he found her repulsing?

“Are you hearing yourself?” His words were threatening, sharp, and she knew in this moment she feared him.

Maybe she should.

“Yes,” she spoke either way. “You’d be f.ucking me instead of asking questions if you weren’t repulsed by my scarred skin. You’ve only had perfect little mistresses, haven’t you? But it’s alright, I can still find someone who won’t think I’m so—” His hand on her mouth blocked the next words from coming out.

Somewhere deep in the fog of his mind, he knew his wife was doing this on purpose. But his instincts won either way. If she wanted him to touch her, f***k her into oblivion so she would believe how much he didn’t find her repulsing, then so be it.

Maybe she’d come to her own conclusions of how crazy he was about her tomorrow, as she limped through the hallway because she wouldn’t be able to walk straight.

“On your hands and knees,” Demetrius ordered, his voice quiet and firm and hungry. Defiance sparked in her pretty blue eyes and he would choose that over the self-loathing any time of the day and night. “Right f.ucking now, wife, don’t make me repeat myself.”

She grabbed his wrist and removed his hand from her mouth, but with gritted teeth, did as she was told.

She could be fierce and powerful all she wanted, in bed she craved being told what to do like she needed air. And Demetrius would teach her how to own it.

But first he needed to show her how much she kept messing with his head.

She waited for him on her hands and knees, not making a noise as she ran one hand through her long hair.

“No.” Demetrius moved her hair away from her back, baring her to his eyes. This was what she wanted. He would f***k her like this so she could understand how much he desired her, despite the anger running in his blood every time he thought of the pain she had endured.

He entered her all at once. No foreplay, no teasing, nothing. She cried out in pain, but muffled it on her pillow, because that was what she had asked for.

“Move,” she gritted between her teeth.

“You don’t give the orders here, darling. I do.” But he did either way. Because she was right there on her stomach, opened wide for him and gripping the satin white bedsheets for her dear life.

Gripping her hips so she didn’t get to move, he slid in and out of her, in a fast pace, rough just as they both wanted it. He was angry, and hungry for her, and desperate, but a part of him still wanted to hold her instead of this.

So he did.

He slid his palms up and down her back, feeling as she stiffened for a split second before relaxing again, as he inspected the scars. Deep and red, as he had suspected them. But the worse were two parallel ones in the middle of her back, where he suspected her wings came out of her body.

Did every faerie have this?

“More,” Maya urged, and he did give her more. He covered her body with his and ran his tongue all over the scars on her upper back, making her tense again. Still, he bit down on one scar on her left shoulder, drawing out sweet blood that almost had him come right there if he didn’t urge himself to hold back.

Even her scars belonged to him. Soon he would cover every part of her with his bite marks until they were all she could see in the mirror. All she could think of.

Right at that moment, Demetrius swore to himself he would make her his. No matter how much he hated it himself, she would be his.

“Husband,” she cried out when he hit a sweet spot inside her and bit down on her skin once more.

“You call my name when I’m balls deep inside you, wife.”

“No,” she refused, but he drew his thumb down right in the crack between her cheeks, not entering but just drawing light circles on it. Her next throaty moan was music to his ears. “Demetri,” she moaned his name this time.

He would have this one soon too. And her mouth. He would have everything.

He would have her secrets as well.

Eventually.

“You think I find any part of you replusing?” Demetrius sounded angry, because he was. “You thought I wouldn’t be as crazy for you once I saw these?”

She whimpered in response.

They were both so close they could feel it in their desperate to chase their releases.

“You draw me mad, don’t you get it? I crave you every second and I hate myself for it.” She started touching herself but Demetrius slapped her hand away. “Don’t you dare touch what’s mine.”

She snorted. “It’s not yours.”

“Yes, it is.”

He cupped her in his hand, and gripped her neck with the other, drawing her on his knees so her back rested on his front. Sucking her earlobe on his mouth, he whispered, “Next time you demand me to f***k you, take only what I give you and nothing more.”

“f***k you.”

He chuckled. “I would, but I’m busy. Now come around me like the needy little wife you are.”

Demetrius could bet she hated herself for it, but she did come either way. Hard. Crying out without a care of being heard.

And he followed right behind her with a low growl. It was all he had ever wanted. Her body, her skin, her scent.

But as if she didn’t feel an ounce of the completion he was feeling right now, she slipped right under him and out of bed, putting her pretty clothes on as fast as she could.

“What are you doing?” he asked her. “Come here.”

But she shook her head no. “There’s no point. We both took what we wanted from each other.”

Anger blinded him once more. “We need to talk.”

“We don’t. I won’t open up to you and cry in your arms just because you gave me an orgasm. My past is mine. It belongs to me only. Get over it.”

That was the last thing she told him before shutting the door in his face.