Lucien's Khamsin (24 page)

Unbuckling his belt, he kept his eyes on her, not trusting her for one moment not to jump on him and try to scratch his eyes out. Her fury was evident in the harsh, labored breaths she was taking and in the way her jaw was set. That she would make him pay dearly, he had no doubt.

Sibylline licked her lips as Lucien pulled the belt from its loops and let it drop to the ground. As he worked the buttons at his fly, her eyes became slits of smoldering lust.

Lucien kicked off his boots, peeled off his socks, then shrugged the leather britches down his lean hips and stepped out of them. He felt defenseless, vulnerable as her hot eyes raked his nakedness. The cold night air spread over him and pebbled his flesh.

“Strip off my gown,” she ordered.

He knew the way she liked to have sex—violently and with him seeming to overpower her. She wanted him to conquer her, make her like the degrading things he would do to her body and though the entire scenario had always been her idea, he had all too often reveled in the dominance such behavior had always made him feel.

Stepping up to her, he grasped the bodice of her gown and rent the fabric down the middle—popping buttons and stitches to expose her pendulous breasts. With a muscle grinding in his cheek, he slid his hands over her breasts and squeezed until a soft groan escaped her full lips.

“This what you want, bitch?” he asked, saying the words she had taught him so long ago.

His hands were merciless on the softness of her globes—pinching the nipples until they were hard little pebbles between his fingers. Snatching up the hem, he thrust his hand beneath the skirt, found her sex and rammed his fingers deep inside her.

“Lucien!” she cried out, trembling.

He detested the feel of her juices on his flesh and snatched them out of her, ignoring her squeal of protest. He wiped his fingers on her skirt, feeling hot bile pushing up his throat as he tried to rid himself of her smell.

“Take me!” she ordered. “Fuck me, now!”

The skirt was ripped and tossed aside, her stockings torn from her long legs, her heels jerked from her feet and the garter belt at her hips snapped in twain and tossed aside. There were no undergarments to impede the roughness of his hands as they dragged over her.

“You like it rough, don’t you?” he snarled and the flat of his hand slapped brutally against her rounded rump. Her jerked her to him and thrust his thigh between her legs, lifting her from the cave floor. “You like me to be forceful.”

“Aye,” she said and rubbed against his thigh.

“You may have bitten off more than you can chew this time,” he growled and fell with her to the ground.

Sibylline grunted as loose rocks drove into her back and ass. The heavy weight of him had nearly knocked the wind from her and she was grunting beneath him as he shoved his hands into her hair and swooped down to slant his mouth savagely across hers.

Lucien was lying between her spread legs, pinning her down. His hands were twisted in her thick red curls—anchoring her head for the assault of his tongue thrusting deeply into her mouth. He bit her lip, trailed nips down her neck and when his mouth closed around one hard little nipple, he bit until he drew blood.

“Aye!” she said and raked her nails down his back, pressing him closer to her.

Sickened by what he was doing, Lucien wanted an end to the sordid affair and moved his right hand from her hair to inject it between their bodies. He fumbled with his cock—furious that he was rock-hard—and was about to drive it mercilessly into her when he caught sight of a shadow advancing into the cave. He lifted his head and what he saw stunned him into immobility.

The man standing over them was immense—nearly nine feet tall—with skin the color of freshly drawn milk and streaked with a spider’s web of pale blue veins. His lips and eyes were blood red, his fangs so long they nearly reached the tip of his chin. The hand he extended toward Sibylline was as big as a polar bear’s paw with wicked sharp nails that were at least a foot long and curled under toward the palm. Atop his large head was a shabby mane of wispy white hair and a beard that reached nearly to his waist. He smelled of sulfur and decay and wet dirt as he bent down.

Sibylline arched her head back and when she caught sight of the being bent over her let out a terrified shriek that could have broken every crystal wineglass within a mile’s radius.

That huge hand took hold of Sibylline’s hair and dragged her out from beneath Lucien in one mighty tug, holding her squirming body up from the cave floor by a twist of her long red tresses.

“Whoring bitch!” the man snarled and shook her so her breasts wobbled and her legs jerked as though she was a marionette.

Lucien jumped to his feet and moved back, his eyes wide as Sibylline dangled.

“Macmillan, please!” she pleaded.

The towering inferno of fury swiveled his shaggy head from Sibylline to Lucien, and impaled the Revenant prince with a glower so brutal the air sizzled.

“So you are one of the many wagtallies this slut has slid her filthy body down, eh?” he bellowed.

Lucien could see tears in Sibylline’s eyes as her hands tried to pry the vicious hold from her hair.

“Answer me, boy!” the man ordered.

Knowing he must be looking at the King of the Revenants, the mate Sibylline had spoken of in such derogatory terms, Lucien dropped to one knee. “I am Korvina, Your Majesty,” he responded.

Tossing Sibylline aside as though she were a used napkin, the man advanced on Lucien. When Sibylline tried to scramble away, Macmillan Laoch spun around and thrust a pointed finger at her.

“Move one more inch and I will twist your lying, cheating head from your body, bitch!” he warned.

Sibylline sat down, drew her legs up into the protection of her arms and began trembling, pressing her head to her knees as though the sight of her husband terrified her.

It terrified Lucien and as the mountain of a being stomped over to him, he jerked him up by one arm and brought them nose to nose. He could not swallow for the spittle in his mouth had dried to dust. The hold on his arm was like tempered steel, digging in until Lucien thought his arm would explode.

“Aye, you are one of the many with whom she has cuckolded me,” the man sneered, sweeping his crimson eyes down Lucien. “I can tell by how pretty you are!” A snort of derision thrust from his thick lips as his gaze fell between the younger Revenant’s legs. “Pretty but with a prick the size of a flea’s!”

Lucien felt like that insect as the merciless stare traveled slowly upward and settled on his own face.

“Have you no notion what that slut was about, boy?”

Shaking his head, too afraid to even try to find his voice, Lucien was ashamed of his reaction to the Revenant king but held in thrall to the man’s authority as though he was a babe in arms.

“She was about to harvest seed from you, you stupid little prick. She would have stolen a babe and taken it with her To The Ground.”

Lucien flinched and his head twisted toward Sibylline, his mouth parted in disbelief. The thought of such a horrendous thing made his blood run cold.

“Not a very bright little wagtally, are you, Pretty Boy?” Macmillan demanded. “I can see why you are her favorite. She has pulled the wool over your sweet little green eyes so often you believe every word she says!”

“I…I didn’t know,” Lucien said, horror at what he had almost done filling what soul he had left.

“And she has your woman in that hellhole she calls her keep and you can do nothing about it,” Macmillan scoffed. “Not only a flea-sized prick but a brain no bigger that a gnat’s!”

Before Lucien could react, the enormous man swept a hand to Lucien’s cock and grabbed it in an ice-cold grip that hurt far more than the light hold with which the Revenant king held it, weighing in his palm.

“Would you like me to relieve you of this puny little tool, boy? Only a man needs a cock and you’re obviously still a boy!” He jiggled Lucien’s tool. “Have your balls even descended? If not, shall I pull them down for you?” He leaned down. “Or off?”

Fearing that was exactly what was about to happen, Lucien’s complexion lost its coloring until he was only a shade or two darker than the man holding his staff.

“Leave him be, milord,” Sibylline spoke up, lifting her head so the men could see the tears staining her cheeks. “He is a good man.”

“Man?” Macmillan snorted. “He’s a child! You woke me from my rest, brought me from The Ground for this?”

Sibylline scrambled to her knees and crawled over to her husband. She reached toward him though was careful not to touch his immense body. Around her, her flaming red hair floated to hide her breasts from view but the thick pelt of fiery curls at the apex of her thighs was in plain view.

“I didn’t mean to draw you up from The Ground, Mac,” she said, shivering. “I didn’t even know I could.”

“Hell’s rod, bitch, you drew me from counting my cock hairs and you didn’t know you were doing it?” he exploded. “For that alone I should squash your little wagtally into dust!”

“I will do whatever you want, Macmillan. Just don’t hurt him,” she pleaded then looked at him. “Why were you counting your cock hairs?”

Lucien breathed a ragged sigh of relief when the huge man released his hold on Lucien’s penis and turned to kick out at his wife, missing her but sending her scrambling back from his oversized boot.

“You torment the addlebrained little wagtally but don’t want me to do the same?” her husband sneered. “Where is the equality in that, Sibylline?”

“There has never been equality between us, husband!” Sibylline said as she gained her feet. “You made sure of that with your plethora of whores jumping in and out of your bed at the drop of a skirt!”

“And why was that,
wife
?” Macmillan snarled.

“You cheated on me first!” she threw at him. “I but returned the favor!”

As the two argued over who had been the one to instigate the trouble in their marriage, Lucien gathered his clothes, drawing on his britches as quickly as he could. Being naked in front of the giant of a man was intimidating enough, and Lucien could still feel his massive arctic paw on his cock.

“Come here, bitch!” Macmillan demanded, pointing at the ground in front of him.

Sibylline shook her head. “I’ll not be your punching bag ever again!” she denied and turned to run.

Despite the immensity of his bulk, Macmillan Laoch moved with the speed of light. He caught her by the hair, wrapped the long wealth several times around his wrist, and pulled her back to him, slamming her naked body into his thick chest.

“Do you really think I would let you be defiled with the get of another warrior, Sibylline?” Macmillan hissed.

“I want a child!” she cried, beating at his chest with her fists.

“You can want with one hand and shit in the other!” her husband pronounced.

“I want a child!” she repeated, kicking out at her husband.

“You will fetch this boy’s woman and then you will go with me To The Ground,” the colossus ordered. “Any child you have will come from my loins!”

“She can stay where she is!” Sibylline shouted. “I never intended to return her anyway!”

Lucien’s heart ceased to beat and he staggered back, colliding with the wall. “Sibylline, please!” he begged. “I cannot live without her.”

“Then die, Korvina, for you will never see her again,” Sibylline spat in anger.

“We’ll see about that,” Macmillan said and reached between her legs, thrusting his enormous hand into her cunt with such force Sibylline screamed in agony. Another hideous shriek peeled from her lips and blood gushed from between her legs. When her husband withdrew his hand, he held a bloody pocket of flesh in his palm.

Sibylline’s eyes went wide in horror and she reached out for what he held as blood gushed from between her legs.

“Fetch his woman and his friend and bring them here or you will never get this back!” her husband warned.

Lucien stood transfixed as he watched the blood dripping from the giant’s hand. He knew little of female anatomy but it didn’t take a genius to realize what lay in Macmillan’s palm was Sibylline’s womb.

Sobbing like a child, keening as though her heart would break, Sibylline dropped to the ground as Macmillan released his grip on her hair.

“Do you hear me, bitch?” the huge man demanded.

“I want a child,” she whimpered.

Macmillan cursed. “Aye, well I’ll give you one when you return this boy’s plaything to him.”

Looking up with red, swollen eyes, Sibylline searched her husband’s face. “You swear?” she asked. “You aren’t saying this to trick me?”

“It is tedious being alone in The Ground,” Macmillan confessed. “I thought I’d enjoy the rest but the last woman I had was a bore and gave me as much mental stimulation as a cold enema. At least with you, I might find the after-unlife somewhat amusing.”

“Macmillan, think of it!” she said, hope entering her tearful eyes “Think of all we could teach her!”

“Him,” her husband corrected.

Sibylline frowned but she got to her feet. “Perhaps twins? You could do that, couldn’t you?”

Macmillan slapped the meaty palm of his free hand over his cock. “I have fourteen inches of prime pecker that says it can!”