For the Hate of God

To sleep with the devil

Meena’s POV

He inhaled my scent and closed his eyes. He let my hands go and touched my cheeks gingerly as he continued to trail down my face carefully like he was an artist who painted on canvas. Wherever his fingers trailed, I felt my skin was burning and about to crack open under his touch. His touch was warm yet light like a feather, causing tingles of pleasure and gooseflesh to ripple throughout my body and hit me right down to my core. He then pressed his soft, warm, ripened and edible lips against mine while gently rubbing, licking and teasing mine, asking for access to deepen our kiss. He tasted like mint, fresh and alluring yet warm, wet and soft. His minty body scent mixed with sandalwood cedar and musk saturated all my senses.

An unwilling moan escaped from my mouth as I surrendered to desire, which pulsated through every atom of my essence. No, this is not lust. This is greater than desire. This is a pure thrill and bliss caused by innocent and divine, outworldly love. This is a complete surrender to the one who is destined to be loved by us and for us to be loved by him. His wet and warm kisses became more intense as he trailed them down my neck while caressing my hair.

My nails morphed to claws, and I cut his hair tie with one of my talons, causing his fiery, magnificent, auburn mane to spill all over us, tangling with my lavender locks. His hands started to wander down my jaw, and I could feel the wetness between my legs as my excitement grew when he ripped off and tore my shirt and bra in half with one swift move of his hands. His warm touch embraced my breasts, and his wet tongue was swirling around my hardened n*****s.

I quickly became a moaning mess as he moved down to my wet and pulsating core. A ripple of pure pleasure caused me to moan his name as he sucked, licked and played with my swollen c**t whilst holding me still in place by gripping my hips with his hands firmly.

“Little wolf, do you know what it means to sleep with the devil? If you play with fire, you will get burnt? Are you sure that you want this?” He lifted his gaze, looking at me intently but with a diabolical and mischievous expression playing on his steel-grey gaze. I just nodded numbly in response to his question. He crawled back up to me, continuing with his gentle yet hungry attack on my body as he trailed kisses on his way back to my lips. And then we melted into a kiss full of fervour and desire. This was more than a lust.

This was a carnal need to become one in body, flesh and soul. “This is how your little, sweet p***y tastes, little wolf,” he said as we broke our kiss to catch a breath. He started to trail down my arms, leaving the sweet, fresh, wet, minty trails of his lips wherever he tasted me. He fanatically and hungrily kissed every inch of my skin as if he wanted to devour it. And then he looked at me. His irises started to flash, loom and morph between their human, steel-grey patches and the fiery blaze of his devil.

Suddenly, he grunted and winced as he clutched his chest and jumped away from me abruptly, standing next to the bed in all of his naked glory, still holding his chest as if he had, I don’t know, a heart attack. Something was off. He looked at me with menacing fire and fell to his knees. Marcellus voice sounded distorted and distant: “Odium perdet Endymionis primogenitum sanguine. Hora mortis eius non cognoscetur donec amor deiectus ex cinere non resurgat et radicem eius frangat, sanguis odii sanguinem quaerit et manus amoris effunditur.” He looked at me with black dust that filled his eyes.

However, fire cracks were looming through obsidian crevices around his eyes as if they were fighting over for control with black magic that possessed him. It looked like there was some internal battle happening within him as he roared in a surreal scream which sounded like a clamour calling for murder. He shrilled “Ramaalen” and “Sanguineabyss” before he flumped on the floor and dissipated in the gust of black whirlpool.

My breath was heavy. My joints started to crack, rearrange and dislocate while lilac fur spurted across my skin as I was about to change to my true Lycan form. Beneath my fur, runes of moonlight shimmer rippled, etched and stained my arms, each letter inscribed spiked and burnt as if it was branded and forged with hot iron. Each letter caused new pain that was hard to bear. Malignant pain echoed through my body, and this magic that surged in me forced the shift of my Lycan. It hurt more than my first shift.

Am I dying? It surely hurts as if I am dying. Is this one of his last tricks to torture me before I die? He did promise me to feel every second of his mother’s pain back when we fought here in Nerzelis. He said he would return it to me tenfold, so is that it? Unwillingly, those ill-fated words that left Marcellus’ lips before he vanished left my lips, too. Like someone else is controlling my body and actions. In a voice that sounded nothing like mine, those words were coming out of me together with my screams of pain, over and over again. My eyesight was blurred with obsidian haze.

After Lord knows how long, the pain started to ebb, and the runes on my body started to fade but did not disappear.

When my ability to breathe and see returned, I saw a woman my age leaned against the wall, watching me intently. She had lilac hair similar to mine, but it looked lighter. Her hair was ash blonde with lilac shimmer. She had one steel grey eye like Marcellus, and the other eye was lavender, like Aralyn’s. Her facial features remotely resemble Marcellus.

“Who are you?” I asked.

“I am Elantria, little wolf, not that it matters. I came here to save you two from the same fate that destroyed your parents. Your curse is not Marcellus’ battle to fight but yours. My brother has more important issues to deal with at the moment. If you care about him, help him to save Wengarthria.

For he is Wengarthria. Fall of Wengarthria would be his demise too. In the same way, as your fate is entwined with the Moonlight curse, his fate is grounded and rooted with Wengarthria. Choose your future actions carefully, firstborn grandchild of Selene and Endymion.” she said and disappeared in mixture of lilac and obsidian dust and haze. What was that? I thought to myself.

Malleteagan‘s POV

Although I am the firstborn to my parents, they have parented ten more daughters afterwards. Luckily, none of my sisters has the same fate as I do, as the Moonlight curse is cast only on the firstborn of our bloodline. And I am glad that none of my sisters have the same destiny as I do. I would lay my life for each and every one of them without a second thought.

I would allow myself to be cursed a million times again if that would mean that my sisters would be spared of having the same miserable fate as me. And now, here in front of me is the monster who is killing his own brother. The blood of his blood. “Are you any different than him? You are far worse monster than he is, you killed our fated mate, our other half of the soul, and now you are turning the hell upside down to kill our child.

And you knew very well what are you doing when you fought Larrisa in Amaaralva. You sought and fought with the clear intention to murder her, although I was begging you to think and get some reason, you did not listen. You even brazenly changed to our Lycan form to kill Larrisa, using my body. And now you want to kill our pup, the only evidence that testifies how truly we loved her and she us. You want to kill your own child, you psychopath. And why? Because of some corny vendetta excuse.

Lies!!! You are a liar, manipulator and murderer!!! You want to kill her because you are the same coldblooded monster with twisted and wicked mind as this puny mosquito that you are looking at with so much disgust right now. You are the one who shall be least invited to say that you are appalled. You dare to watch him with detest, disdain and loathe. But the truth is you are even worse than him. You are killer of your mate and your child—you disgusting hypocrite. Aralyn is our daughter. The blood of our blood.”, after many years of silence Erzelus finally spoke to me.

“Shut up mutt!!!” I yelled at him through the mind link. Stupid bastard! I shoved him deeper into my mind. I preferred the years of silence he treated me with, rather than his moaning.

I was speechless as I watched Kandreah draw the life energy out of his twin. I couldn’t do anything to stop him. I have an army, my army and their army too, with me that I have to think of. If he can do this to his brother, what would stop him from slaughtering any one of us? I have went through Sodom and Gomorra in this ever so long existence of mine. I have killed many people, those good, the bad ones and evil ones alike. But some things are sacred. We were all gobsmacked and stunned as we watched Kandreah with terror. This heinous murderer was draining the blood out of already ashen and unconscious body of his twin. This was an act of cold-blooded, sacrilegious and monstrous manslaughter. His cringeworthy eyes were not of his usual citrine colour but have now emitted odious neon burgundy shade, probably because of his bloodthirsty ridden hysteria.

He was unfazed by our presence; it looked like he only saw the blood of his twin. He obliviously slurped the last atoms of his brother's life. Kandreah looked nefarious, sinister, despicable, distorted and absolutely out of touch with reality. He only stopped when his brother’s limp corpse crumpled on the battleground as a paper bag. As soon as Thersar’s cadaver fell onto the ground, Kandreah seemed as if a thunderbolt struck him.

He followed the suit of his twin and collapsed next to his brother’s dead body, swaddled in the eddy of scarlet and black smoke. Kandreah opened his dreadful eyes, now back to their citrine tone and dragon-like irises. He looked like he was on watery grave made of his twin’s blood. He touched his brother's cheek before he bit the dust and whispered through what looked like a death rattle: “I am sorry, brother, I love you.” Kandreah closed his eyes, and a tear drop slipped out of his eye before he exhaled his last breath.

Both of their faces appeared peaceful yet with sad expressions as they passed away. They looked completely identical. Only difference is that Kandreah’s lips were still smeared with Thersar’s blood. Ominous silence wrapped around Sanguineabyss.