my soul is eternal

Now, he was utterly unprepared (which was not something Josiah was accustomed to), being caught off guard felt almost foreign on him. "It was not me, Saylor," he confirmed carefully. "That was my brother, Elian."

He needed to bring her focus to that part first, before he could very gently move on to the more pressing issue: Saylor wandering into the Dominion as though it were nothing more than a casual swim through the ocean. His hands reached for her again, trying to stop her from wearing herself thin, fingers pressing into pale skin, soft, yet firm enough to pull her back to him.

"What were you doing there, my love?"

His brother must have felt threatened if he had gone as far as murdering her guards. And could Josiah truly blame him for behaving like a feral animal when kindness had been absent from his life for so long? He had seen what Elian had become. There had been no light left in his eyes.

His touch surprised her and she leaned into it. A choked sob escaped her at his question and what he'd chosen to call her. My love. "I had a meeting with the Demon Speaker." She whispered as she dropped her hands from her face, her eyes averting away from him. "Or... I was supposed to." A pause. "I know what you're probably going to say. I don't need a lecture about going down there. Your brother very much reminded me of why I shouldn't have."

Saylor had grown increasingly confident in her ability to protect herself over the years. Being trained by her mother had been an advantage. But even then, she'd slipped up. She was the reason her guards died. Her guard had dropped in front of Elian. "It's my fault." She whispered. "It's all my fault. I should have anticipated it. He-- his water manipulation was so quick and fluid and--" It had completely thrown her off.

"But you got it, boss. Updates and stuff. Mostly it's just .. art stuff, is all. Right now, really. But anything else, you'll be the first to know. Absolutely swear it."

His offer right back helps her, too, because if there's ever a moment where she takes off too big a bite and gets into deep shit - maybe he'll come and bail her out. Within reason. "I got a couple of runs to finish - but, I'll come see you next time I meet up with her."

He nodded at her words. "That's fine. I know we've scouted a lot of places already, over the years. Resources aren't what they used to be." And even then, they'd been scarce due to the wars. "Yeah. Just keep me updated. And make sure you tell me every time you plan to go out. I know it's tracked, regardless, but... I like to know, personally. Just in case."

She flinches at his diagnosis.

"I need to... pay a debt." she says. "It's not money, it's not goods. But I need to pay a debt." She looks over to the ring, where somebody catches a brutal belt across the face that spills blood and broken teeth across the floor to the surge of an excite throng of cheers. The prospect of being here on the full moon, when the light of Her pulls the ferocity out of her? It's simultaneously humiliating and appealing. Is it a sin to kill if you can't stop yourself?

She should ask Aria's permission.

"I'll do it." She says. "I don't care what you pay me. Just... don't put anybody in front of me that you don't want to lose."

Nolan let out a laugh."I couldn't give two shits of who goes against you. People fight here at their own risk. They know that when they step in the ring." A pause. "How about this..." Nolan took a step towards her with a smile. "After every fight, you tell me how you'd like to be paid. I don't care what it is, I'll make sure you get it."

A light shrug, he brushes off the very idea of it as a mere causality; what was another body in the ever burning pyre of dominion? Perhaps it was crueler if it were true—if all she had to do to be rescued was ask, and she never even bothered to try. "Honestly, you can't possibly expect me to read your mind..." he granting her some leniency at the outburst, after all, so much is unraveling itself to him from a single conversation—the encounter had already proven fruitful, he could afford her this much, then, couldn't he? "You'd be surprised how much happier some people are with a purpose... mortals weren't made to float aimlessly, you know? They lose themselves." and she had already forgotten herself, hadn't she? The bars of her enclosure no longer held her physically, but they were still in there, weren't they?

How could someone like her ever truly be free? There isn't sufficient scar tissue in a lifetime and over to cover up those many scars.

"Mm," he hummed softly in agreement, the soft chime of church bells ringing in the distance, calling you home. Everything about him, from his delicate saunter towards her, to the untarnished white of his gown as it drags against the ground, told her she was safe. There was no corner, no hidden edge to him that was alarming. That was the danger of him, was it not? The serpent in the tree, holding the bird trapped in its vibrant gaze while its tail coiled around it. You are safe, it whispers, as it prepares to swallow you whole. You are safe. "Yes... a common affliction of my kind, I will admit... but there is no rule that way we must adhere to the status quo and settle for being savages..." he paused, his head tilting, bending towards the narrow bump of his shoulder in that subtly predatory way it did as if he was sizing her up.

"What I wanted didn't matter, there." She said, insistently, her own mind at war with itself as he spoke to her. "And I can have a purpose outside of that." Could she? Thus far, she'd not proven that to herself. Sure, she had a job as a maid but she wasn't exactly good at it. Often, she'd forget certain aspects of the job or just didn't clean as efficiently as the other employees. Freyja was honestly surprised that Malcolm hadn't talked to her yet about her job performance.

The conversation suddenly steered her mind towards another Demon she'd recently interacted with. Vorace. Two Demons, now, claiming that they could change. That they didn't need to be the same as the others, or Demons in the past. It was strange to hear it from another. As if the very idea that they were both different was slowly solidifying in her mind -- believing it.

"What?" She asked, blinking and focusing again. Angel. Yes. She'd called him an Angel. His white attire, with his white hair and his deep smile had brought her relief in their first meeting. She truly believed he'd been an Angel, come to save her. But that very thought had twisted in her mind until she wasn't even sure of it anymore. My Angel she'd call him, smiling, doing exactly as he wanted.

Pompous arrogance and a stick up his ass. At least in Greyson's experience. But then again, he supposed he wasn't his pretty Queen sister, maybe Josiah grew a personality for her.

"Josiah huh? Does he even know the meaning of fun?" Greyson chuckled into his wine taking another heavy sip, enjoying the little buzz.

"I get Adrian—he's handsome, got that...roguish charm that's exciting. Is it the sneaking around, the thrill of an illicit meeting with an advisor that adds to the excitement with Josiah?" He asked his sister curiously. "Feels like the beginnings of one of those smutty little books." He chuckled.

"I mean what do you want to know about me and Anders? So far we fuck, I like spending time with him, he's charming, knows how to flirt and to handle my...needs." Greyson smirked. "Oh and his sister saw me leaving his place the other day, the look on her face said she was dying to ask so many questions."

Saylor frowned at her brother's words, her eyes narrowing slightly as she grabbed the wine bottle and filled her glass again. "That's not... no. I mean, that's not how it started. Other than you, he was the only other person there for me when mom..." Saylor's fingers curled around her wine glass. "He spent some nights with me. Not... inappropriately, just there. Eventually feelings grew between us and... yeah. The sneaking around happened. But I don't feel a thrill out of it. Not really." She had no reason to lie to her brother. Not only did she trust that he'd keep this information to himself, but part of her wanted to know what he thought. What he'd do, even, if he was in her position.

Low laughter rumbled from somewhere his gut, as Raven craved for more. Jakoris had no intentions to make it fast, or easy. Easy is never his style. Fingers explore beneath silken fabric, sliding between her apex, and a mouth wanders along the femoral path of her thigh, teasing. Wanting.

Equally, a warning. So, he provokes, "I don't know if you deserve it."

Smirking, he glimpses up to see Demitri buried in her throat, still. Raven's shock fading in the knowledge that Jakoris isn't so rough at the beginning. A slow predator, devouring every bead of sweat, and every vibrating pulse of fear. "Good girl." She could wrestle with the confliction, whilst he maintained the balance.

Just for a beat.

The two of them were different. One clearly didn't care about giving her pleasure, in the slightest. No small talk -- all bite. But Jack took his time, his hands moving along her body, barely giving her much of anything other than anticipation and need.

He could argue that the conflation of sins with inherent awfulness is passé. No bad sins, as it were. Expound on the nature of sin not as evil but disobedience. A good act committed in defiance of an evil doctrine is still a sin - delectable in it's own right. Sin is just one of many currencies of the soul - what is virtue to one is sin to another. He doesn't though - Freyja would not hear nor understand - nor does he have the energy to change that.

"You'd think any hall of the wealthy or well-to-do, but no. I do quite like to sup from those who are not accustomed to abundance. They feel it more... acutely."

"Hm." Freyja hummed. "I didn't think of it that way." She admitted as she finally saw the entrance to the Haven ahead of them. She let out a breath -- relief flooding her veins. Soon, she'd be in neutral territory. Maybe she wouldn't be completely safe but it was less likely that she'd be harmed while she was there. She couldn't say that, though, about the walk to the Haven. Even though Vorace had yet to do anything to harm her, Freyja still felt like he could and would, if he wanted to. He could push sin against her skin, coaxing her into doing what he wanted.

More than just heat.

His gaze darted to her hands, then back to her lips when she bit the fabric and tore it. What in the world—? “Saylor?” he murmured, hand tensing against her back to steady her on his lap.

A makeshift blindfold. His lips curved into a mischievous, disbelieving smile. He couldn’t decide if she was trying to test him or kill him. Her hands moved against his warm skin, wrapped around his neck, and he let himself feel the shiver than ran down his back when she plead so softly again. A low laugh escaped his chest as he nuzzled the curve of her neck, pressing a kiss just below her ear.

“Hold on tight,” he whispered. Bodies now glued together, his hands slid up her thighs, bold enough to cup her ass before standing. The wet fabric clung like a second skin. “You know,” he said lowly, carrying her toward the door, “I would have trusted you to keep your eyes closed. Believe it or not.”

Crossing the threshold sent his pulse into a wild rhythm. Saylor could probably feel it too, the hard thrum against her chest. Fear and desire coiled together… dangerously. Letting her in here… it was like slitting himself open. He swallowed and gently kicked the door closed behind them. Each step toward the bed felt heavier than the last. The jolly roger lay tangled across his desk, the fabric spilling dramatically over the edge like a secret waiting to be found. He glared at it before carefully setting Saylor down on the mattress.

“Don’t take it off yet, love.” He froze. Love. He’d never called her that before. The most intimate thing he’d ever said to her was wife, and that word had always been born of formality. Good thing she couldn’t see the sudden flush coloring his cheeks. He turned quickly, snatching the flag and shoving it under the bed—the same bed she now lay upon. To hell with it. There was no hiding anything anymore.

His cabin was a wreck: piles of gold and gems scattered across the floor, books and journals stacked haphazardly, clothes and weapons crammed into a single trunk, relics and artifacts from years of sailing lining every surface. Chaos. His chaos. And yet, amid the ruin, a small first–aid kit waited on a shelf. He grabbed it, breath uneven, and turned back to her, expecting an impatient Saylor waiting in the dark.

The man she had encountered when she first set foot on the ship would have done anything to ensure she obeyed his words. And yet… he was gentler again. Back to the Adrian that she knew as a husband. Whiplash hit her suddenly -- her insides twisting with confusion.

Saylor was half tempted to tear the blindfold off. She hated not being able to see what was happening. Where he was taking her. Not only that, but his hands on her skin -- sliding up her thighs and cupping her ass -- caused the fire surrounding her body to increase. It was more than what she thought it would be. It felt like more. And she was suffocating.

His words tore her out of her own bodily sensations. "I don't believe that for a second, Captain." She grumbled as she nuzzled her forehead against his shoulder. At this point, she wasn't sure what to believe when it came to the King. When was he telling the truth? When was he lying? When was he trying to just get what he wanted? Who was he? Did he actually come from the Dryden family?

As he lowered her down, she anticipated something harsh. More wood, or a metal chair. Chains that he'd wrap around her wrists or something that might be more alarming. But instead, she was placed onto something soft and smooth. Her fingers reached out, stretching along the sheets and blankets. A bed. He'd placed her on a bed. She froze as his words caught up to her. Love. Her head jerked towards the direction of his voice, as if she could see him. She couldn't, of course. They'd been married for almost half a year and never had either of them used such a word with one another.

He's messing with me. Saylor thought to herself as she shook her head, choosing to ignore it, along with the rustling he was making around the room. Instead, she focused on what was underneath her -- smiling as she grabbed the blanket and pulled it over herself. She patted around on the bed until she found what felt like pillows and she sighed as she lay her head on one of them. It was more comfortable than what she thought it would be. Better than the one in her cottage.

As she curled in on herself in the bed, she silently wondered how many women he'd brought to this exact bed in the past. Or perhaps, men. That thought gave her pause. She'd never considered being with a woman. And while she wouldn't shame anyone for it, something like that could pose an issue for her and him. They were expected to have a family. Heirs. And if he wasn't attracted to her, then they'd have to figure out other ways to make it happen.

Saylor shoved it out of her mind quickly, choosing not to dwell on it any longer. "Can I take my blind fold off now?" She said into the empty air around her. "Or am I forced to keep it on the whole time I'm here?" If that was the case, she'd begin crawling around the room on her hands and knees, searching and seeing with her touch, instead.

"Guess not all of us," she says with a furrowed brow and a haze of embarassed blood rising to her cheeks and ears.

She'd been flung into this cursed life, and never understood why she didn't work like the others she's happened across in the years since. The Moon had been the only thing to coax the wolf out of her skin. She'd found the judgement of other wolves when she'd come here in search of a way to fix her sister, in how little she could control herself. The Alphas, the Demon she now found herself sworn to, body and soul, and the Moon.

Autumn scoffs at the not trying hard enough, but she's thankful when he changes the subject.

"Sure," she says. The coin's valuable, sure, but it's the blood dried on her knuckles that pays for what she wants now. It's all she's good for, she thinks - bereft now of magic. It's easy enough, coming back, bare-knuckling people into begging submission. She'll lose, eventually, but not yet. "Whatever works."

"And what would you want in payment if I ask you to come back here during the next full moon?" Nolan betted he could get more money flowing through the room than normal, if there was a full fledge werewolf in the ring. "You could ask almost anything of me, as payment." As long it was within his means, of course.

That was the thing about master illusionists like Heathcliff. Their illusions were good. So good that the illusionist, in fact, did not need to dip into anyone’s mind to get them to believe that the illusion is good. It was all about timing, circumstances, the surroundings and, most importantly, imagination. Utilize it all and the illusion was perfect, serving its purpose with a guaranteed preferred outcome.  Naturally Heathcliff hadn’t come that close to Nolan. He had been exactly where he was this whole time, but only up until the illusions were triggered. That was the moment he’d turned completely invisible, letting the shadows of the night swallow him whole, his skin now a glamoured mirror reflecting everything but himself to blend further in, become part of the scenery. It almost felt like he’d astral projected out of his body as he did so, seamlessly leaving the illusion of himself where he stood mere second ago to continue on lingering there in his stead just like all the others.  Impassive green eyes watched Nolan twist and turn all around as nine illusions kept popping up in sequence, keeping him occupied while Heathcliff made his silent escape, retreating towards the woods and away from the entire scene. He knew it. This mouthy youngling had meant to harm him. Heathcliff did not need a bet or force to make Nolan do what he wanted him to do all along. The syringe was revealed and Heathcliff was done entertaining his potential demise. To get tricked by a baby mosquito? That would’ve been humiliating. Luckily, impossible too. 

Heathcliff continued his retreat towards the woods where he had come from in the first place, picking an unpredictable, weaving route, more silent than a shadow, as invisible as a breeze, his step light and careful and his wings slightly raised so he’d leave no telltale trace in his wake. If negotiations were not on his terms, then there will be none. The little vampire-demon could be checked on later through Heathcliff’s informants with the few bits of info the fae had gotten on him while they spoke. Who knew, maybe everything that left Nolan’s mouth from the moment he’d opened it was an untruth anyway? The illusion Nolan had tried to stab smiled mockingly as Nolan’s arm simply passed through it. Then it faded away, leaving eight others, all of whose pairs of green eyes watched Nolan with the same mocking smirk under them.

"Your cowardice is showing!" Nolan laughed out loud as his eyes darted around, trying to figure out what he was missing. Who he was missing. He ignored the smirks of each illusion, stalking across the sand, then through grass, as he hunted something that he couldn't see. But he could smell. Oh, could he fucking smell. Not only that, but the man, Fae or not, had a heartbeat.

"How about I make you a deal?" His voice was raised as he slowed his pace, no longer trying to chase -- but to coax. "You give me some of your blood, a couple of pints, and then you can ask something of me. Come on! You're a business man. Let's talk business."

It responds with an indignant sniff; then his button nose wrinkled, as if it had caught the scent of something decaying, and unpleasant. "Disobedient dog that you are..." the young boy croons softly, an unmistakable air of passivity clinging to his cloying speech. It is a wonder he has managed to keep all of his teeth for so long—perhaps Heathcliff would not be too upset if he were to remove just a few? He had so many to spare... it'd hardly be an imposition.

A jagged line of teeth peeked briefly as the thought simmered. "Are you being a good boy, jasssper?" the name rolls with ample satisfaction off his forked tongue, as though he enjoyed holding it captive for a moment too long—it digs into the meat of his shoulders with strained tolerance instead of obeying. "Say please."

It was much harder than what he originally imagined.

"Of course I am." Jasper snapped at the other, as if it was a wild delusion that he was being anything other than a good boy. But then Baekyong asked him to say please and that was the last fucking thing that Jasper felt like doing.

Instead, he reached behind him and tried to grip on anything he could find of the other. "I said get off! Personal fucking SPACE!" Fingers dug into flesh and Jasper assumed it was an arm but he couldn't be quite sure, and then he tugged and yanked as hard as he could.

It brought him a sort of perverse joy to see her speak so ill of others, the underlying cruelty of her words as desperation swelled in her throat. He seizes the opportunity to attack, without missing a beat, chiding in the gentle, subtle ways he prefers. "They're not dogs, Freyja… don't be crude." the delicate, shiny jewels he had borrowed from his master chime as softly as church bells as his hand moves through the air, effortless, sylph-like in the fluidity of his movements, carefully tucking a white tuft behind the arch of his ear, flaunting all of that pompous, feline-like grace without a hint of humbleness. What a fickle thing, she was. He was almost disappointed she did not came crawling at the snap of a finger—though he supposed it did made things more interesting in the long run.

But who was he kidding? He loathed delayed gratification. He waited because he was made to wait, but seldom by choice.

The ground beneath their feet trembled, and he felt the stir in the air—at first it did not occur it could be coming from her. She was held no power back when they met—a time he recalled rather fondly. An angel, she'd called him; and for a moment the doe-eyed look in her eyes had nearly convinced him he might be one. Devils, angels, was there ever much of a difference between them aside from intent? He had been called so many things throughout the centuries—demon, fiend, angel, lord, savior, god. Perhaps the truth laid somewhere in between.

"Where I want you to be?" there was a flicker of surprise in, those large, dollish eyes widening into an aghast expression, batting those fair lashes at her unwittingly. "Do not put words in my tongue, little bird. A drop of power, and mortals go mad with hubris..." he sighed loudly, making his disappointment known. "If I wanted you there… you'd be there." dragged by her feet, with claw and teeth; who could hope to stop him least the one holding his leash tugged at it and demanded otherwise? "And yet…" he gestured then, palms open, eyes skimming through the walls and bookshelves as if to say: are you not free? Are we not here, conversing? Is this not proof enough of my kindness?

Favorite meant compliance. Attention. Good and bad. A disgustingly sweet word that had wrapped around her in the past where she begged to remain. A favorite. Because then, she wouldn't be left alone all the time.

Freyja dug her nails into the bare skin of her arms, forcing herself to focus on the brief pain she was causing herself rather than the emotional turmoil that threatened to cause the ground to shift and crack. "And if you wanted me elsewhere, before, you could have brought me elsewhere!" She found herself hissing at him, without even thinking of how he might react. Maybe she had put words in his mouth but what did it matter anymore? Actions spoke louder and his, the past, had showed that even as his "favorite", he hadn't done her many favors. He hadn't allowed her to leave.

Blood bubbled at the crescents in her skin. Freyja dug in deeper. Maybe he could have brought her back, if he wanted her there. But he'd only just found her. Right? Right? It didn't make sense. "That's... Demons are cruel. I know you've been kind in the past but--" She hadn't expected this. The calmness in his voice at times. The way he was speaking as if he only wanted to see her happy. The fact that he had even claimed, multiple times, that he'd missed her.

"Just for me." Freyja repeated in a low, monotoned voice as her head dipped and her eyes found the ground. It had finally stopped vibrating -- her magic receding back into her. As if it hadn't even been there in the first place. Her mind ran over possibility after possibility, deciphering his words until they were a jumbled mess in her head. Yarn that she'd finally managed to untangle after leaving the Dominion, only knotting back together in his presence.

When he took her hand and laced their fingers together, she smiled brightly tugging him down to join her. As soon as his fingers slipped under her shirt, finding bare skin, Selene hummed in satisfaction, arching up into the touch more as her own fingers tangled into dark curls.

"Tired? Definitely not—you haven't even worn me out yet." She teased with a playful grin. Selene eagerly returned the kiss as soon as his lips stole hers, happily letting herself get lost in the moment.

A chuckle escaped his lips as her body responded to his touch, arching and needy as his hands splayed over her bare torso. "How long do you think you'll be able to last?" He asked out loud before biting down on her lower lip and tugging on it. He could easily manipulate her blood and help her last the full twenty four hours but he knew it would be rather exhausting for her, in the end.

And he never forgot a face.

"You gonna bite me again when it kicks in? You know, so I can compare and see if it really does make you feel things better." Leo reasoned, a smirk on his lips after swallowing the pixie down, eyes meeting Jasper's again.