Contemptress [Kyros]

He was waiting.

He was sitting on the edge of his bed, looking at the door.

He'd showered and dressed, putting on a pair of jeans and a regular dark t-shirt, though he still wasn't wearing any shoes. This was progress. Prior to today, he'd been drunk, half-dressed, and passed out across the room.

His left arm was a mess of bruises, evidence of his attempts to self-medicate with the now-empty box of horse tranquilizers under his bed, and the recycle bin was filled with empty bottles.

But his room was clean and, even if it wouldn't be for long, so was Lochlann.

His hands where shaking.

He was waiting for her. For all he knew, this might be his last night alive. He wasn't sure why she didn't kill him the last time, but he couldn't walk without a rush from pain to punctuate every step with her name. Guin. Guin. Guin.

There was a sound, something that made him look up, though he didn't get up.

"The door is open," he said.

"Hello Lochlann,

She stood in his doorway and Lochlann met her eyes, but he didn't hold her gaze for long. He eyed her body, her face, trying to figure out what it was that he was missing, what it was about her that drove him to the edge like this.

"Hello Guin," he said. Calling her by her nickname might have started as an attempt to annoy her, to break that shell a little bit, but now it was just habit. His voice sounded like he felt--tired, used, washed out.

"You might as well come in and close the door," he sighed, then shrugged. "Unless you don't want to. I don't care. Do what you want. But we need to talk."

He looked like he might get up off the bed and approach her, but Lochlann didn't move. His hands were shaking, his voice cracked, but he said, "I need to know what you're doing to me...and why. I can't take it anymore, Guin.'

"I need you to tell me everything you know, Lochlann," she said. "About me. About you. Everything."

She had a knife, but Lochlann barely seemed to care. He'd been stabbed since the last time he'd seen her. That didn't mean he was eager to get stabbed again, but he no longer care if she killed him. He didn't want to die, but death would be a relief.

"Tell me. Now."

"I know that I can't stop thinking about you," Lochlann said, closing his eyes. "I know that I spent six months thinking I'd killed you while I was in rehab, but you were alive when I came back. I know I spent every waking moment haunted by you, and every night when I closed my eyes, you were hiding in my dreams."

He opened his eyes, his gaze wandering up her body unabashed before settling on her eyes. His gaze was serious because he was broken.

"I know I'm a monster, but you must be worse. What have you done to me, Guin? Is this a spell? You need to remove it. I can't live my life when everything I do is because of you."

"I'm being dramatic?" Lochlann asked. His breath came out when in 'hfff' when she pushed him onto the bed, but he didn't fight it. "You're the one with the knife."

She was straddling him and Lochlann realized he was hard. A low, cruel sound escaped his lips and forced his throat closer to the knife. It took him a moment to realize he was laughing.

"I know I want you like I've never wanted anyone else," Lochlann told her. The words were sweet, but his tone was bitter. "I want to fuck you like you've never been fucked and then drown you in the lake. I want to posses every part of you so badly that it's destroying me. Is that what you want to here, Guin? That I want to eat you? That I'm a cabyll-ushtey, a glashtyn, a kelpie, each uisce, a water horse? Is this what you wanted to hear, you witch?"

What did he know about her?

Nothing. She was a god damned ghost. No one could tell him anything about her he already knew, and Lochlann was damn persuasive when it came to getting information.

Guinevere Haze is a good student. Guinevere Haze is a hard worker. Guinevere Haze is at the top of her Class.

Nothing about her family, where she was from, how long she'd been on the god damn island. Nothing about what sort of witchcraft she had, or what sort of spell she placed on him, or how she was always in his head.

It was so hard to think while she was squirming against him like that, and if she'd been any other girl, he'd have grabbed her hips and held her against him while he ground into her and asked if she'd liked it.

He sneered up at her and caught her eyes. She still had the knife. This was a gamble.

"Make me," he said.

Lochlann did not see this coming.

He didn't see himself coming tonight either, not with the cold steel of a knife pressed up against his cock. This was the second time in a few weeks he was being held at knife point while a beautiful woman pleasured him.

Why was he so terrified?

Why was he so terrified when holy shit this felt great. Lochlann's entire existence was designed to give physical pleasure. It was what he lived for. It was a hunting tactic, too, because a girl who fell into his arms and his bed fell just as easily into the bottom of a lake. He believed they tasted better, too, but he'd never openly admit this.

But that was giving pleasure, not receiving it.

Lochlann knew what his end game was when he brought a woman to bed. He didn't know what Guinevere's was. He did know that he was helpless and that she'd spent months owning his mind, and now she was owning his body. His hands fisted the blankets, trying to stop himself from thrusting into the skilled movements of her mouth, because Lochlann refused to let her own all of him.

When she pulled away and the cold air hit his exposed skin and her hands gripped him too tightly, Lochlann gasped. His hair was starting to turn damp with sweat and his cock was throbbing in her hands.

"I know," he said, resting his head down on the bed, his breathing strangled. "I know that no one has ever seen you without your gloves on, even in the summer."

He couldn't help it.

He groaned.

He didn't mean to show weakness like that, but it was too late. He sat up, ignoring the sensation of cold against his sensitive skin, and slid a hand under her chin to angle her eyes up towards him.

He was searching her face, and his green eyes were boring into her own, looking, prodding, using whatever magic he had.

"Why are you doing this to me?"

He wanted her to stop. He didn't want her to stop.

When she pulled off her glove and pressed her hand to his cheek, Lochlann didn't flinch. He closed his eyes and leaned into it.

That's what he'd needed.

He didn't realize it, but he needed to feel her touch him. The sensation of her withered flesh against his own ignited a spark inside of him. He ground up against her, pulling her hand from his face and kissing each knuckle.

Before he could say anything, she pushed him down and stole his breath, ripping open his shirt with that wicked knife of hers.

"I could snap your neck with one hand," she purred. "I could take everything from you in only moments."

Lochlann closed his eyes and laid his head down on the bed.

"Then do it," he said.

He'd thought a lot about dying. He thought he was ready for hell, because if he did have a soul, that's where he was going.

He was not prepared for the heaven that was Guinevere Haze's cunt.

When she slid herself onto him so painfully, aching slowly, Lochlann couldn't breath or move or exhale until do anything but surrender to her body. When she finally started to move, his breath came out in a long, painful exhale and he thrust into her, rocking his hips with her movements, trying to maximize the friction on her clit.

He slid his hands up onto her hips, steadying her into a rhythm, but unfortunately it put his hands in a position where he was helpless to defend himself.

"I'm going to mark you," she rasped, smiling headily. "Then you will be mine, and you will tell me everything."

The meaning of her words didnt' sink in until she cut him. Lochlann let out a noise that was half moan, half strangled attempt at saying her name. Spots of pain danced on his vision but it didn't stop his body from responding to hers.

She was saying something else, something about owning him, but Lochlann's head was swimming between the pleasure and the pain and he could barely make out a response.

He felt her body spasm against his and Lochlann held her against him tighter, pushing into her even as she gripped him and came. The small gasp of his name drove him over the edge. He wasn't ready to come yet, but he wasn't going to lay here any longer.

When she collapsed onto him, Lochlann took her mouth with his, and he kissed her hard and rough. He took advantage of her sudden collapse to roll her onto her back without leaving her. He tore off her panties and tossed them to the floor and spread her legs further, delving into her at a whole new angle. One hand went quickly to her shirt, unbuttoning it and then immediately to her hand that was still holding the knife.

He directed it to the area right between her breasts and with a quick motion of his hand over hers, he cut off her bra. He let go of her hand, and his hand instantly went to her breast. He palmed it, and then drew back and rolled the tip between his fingers, teasing her with it.

With his other hand, he pulled her hair, tilting her head in an angle where he could kiss and suck at her neck as he pleased. He kept his mouth on some part of her at all time, breaking only to whisper to her.

"You took one from me, so now, let me give you pleasure. I want you screaming. I want you to fall asleep touching yourself and wishing it felt as good as this."

She was speaking his language, cursing him with her body, and Lochlann was responding in kind. No one could mistake the hatred between them as lovemaking, but Lochlann swore that, for a moment, he felt something warm between them.

It was probably all the blood dripping down his chest.

Never had pain felt so good.

The knife at his throat and her nails dragging sinful marks down his back made him groan, but the pain couldn't compete with the taste of her. He'd never been fucked like this before.

His heart was racing and his head was swimming. He felt like he was high and a part of him worried that the crash from this might kill him, but Lochlann didn't care.

He wanted more. When she came again, Lochlann pulled away and trailed frantic, desperate kisses down her body, his mouth pausing long enough only to linger at her breasts, and then continued its descent.

"I'm... I'm going to kill you,"

"I'm going to make you cum," he said.

He pressed his mouth to her sex and slid a finger inside of her, coaxing her body gently. She was dripping and he ate her like a starving man, lapping and licking and sucking at her slick flesh while his fingers mimicked the way she'd fucked him earlier.

There was almost something tender about the way he pleasured her, and when Lochlann realized that something like emotion was starting to creep into the moment, he pulled away suddenly.

He grabbed her body and rolled her again, pushing her onto her stomach and then climbing on top of her. He nuzzled her entrance with the tip of his cock, his legs shaking with the need to take her, but he held off for a few moments while he kissed up the length of her spine. He bit the back of her neck, grabbed her beast, and then forced himself into her like an animal.

He didn't want to ride her like this for long, and eventually he'd rock back and pull her up in something like a reverse cowgirl. His hands roamed her body before one settled on her clit and the other on her breasts, touching her even as he fucked her. Unfortunately, it freed her hands and left him vulnerable to her next onslaught; he might be holding her, but she was still the one with the knife.

His blood was smearing across her, marking her like a sacrificial lamb, but Lochlann knew he was the only one in danger of dying.

"I don't want this to stop," he whispered, surprised to hear the desperate words escaping from his throat. "Do you feel how hard I am inside you? It's because of you. All of this is because of you."

This was a desperate game. How many times could he make her come before she killed him? How long could he share her body before she slit his throat?

Everytime she protested, Lochlann fucked her harder. This was a matter of life and death, and every movement she made with his body reminded him of it.

His breath was coming in short, ragged bursts, interrupted only by his desperate attempts to whisper her name. Every touch by his wandering hands and mouth was an assertions that she was his. She might have marked his body physically, but Lochlann was marking her in his own way.

If he lived through this night, Lochlann knew that he was going to hear the breathless way she said his name every time he dreamed. Would he ever be able to dream of anything other than Guinevere Haze ever again?

When she cut his hand, he hissed and then bit her harder on the neck, sucking on her skin in what would surely leave a mark. He palmed her breast, which only served to smear his blood across her skin further.

"You are mine," she growled, squeezing down on him, "You are all fucking mine and I'll kill you before you can run away."

In response, he tore her jacket from her and puller her skirt up over her head, revealing the rest of her exposed skin. That little bit drove him even closer to the edge.

When she pulled away, a plaintive, pleading noise escaped the back of his throat before he even realized he'd made it. He was quickly rewarded by the the return of her body, and Lochlann kissed her back, savoring the taste of his last meal.

Her arms wrapped around him and Lochlann held her back, burrying her face in her neck, kissing the tender spot where it connected to her shoulder while she screamed his name and he felt her body trembling around him. Her cunt squeezed him so tightly Lochlann couldn't move. The rush of warmth soaking him caught him by surprise, and his grip on her was almost as tight.

It was like watching a car crash over the side of a bridge in slow motion. He could hear her cursing him, her words going fainter, but Lochlann couldn't do anything. He realized his vision was starting to tunnel even as he came inside of her, filling her soaking pussy until it dripped over the edge.

It was too late to stop, though. He lifted up his hand in front of him to look at the cut she'd given him, and Lochlann realized he'd probably need stitches, because it was still bleeding.

His head was swimming. He closed his eyes.



When he opened them, Lochlann didn't know where he was. His room was dark and had a musky, coppery smell to it that left him feeling both unsettled and sated all at once. He didn't move at first, because there was something warm in his arms, something pressed up against his burning chest that numbed the ache deep inside of him.

Lochlann buried his face into Guinevere's hair and fell back to sleep.




Lochlann's mouth was on her neck. He was sucking at her skin and nibbling gently while he ran his hands over her body. His touch now was tender, feather light strokes meant to soothe. It was the lazy caress given to a lover when he was still in that state between sleep and wake. He found her ruined hands and clasped them between his while he slept.




When he woke the third time, it was raining.

Lochlann was leaning over her, his breath coming in ragged pants. If he caught sight of himself in the mirror right now, Lochlann would not recognize the dead man staring back at him. His entire body trembled, aching with a need he couldn't explain.

He touched her hip and the pain started to abate, and Lochlann knew that the only thing that would make him feel better was to have her, have all of her, right now.


He pulled the bloodied sheets away and kissed down her body. He'd need water, of course, but they were on an island. They were never far from water. He'd kiss her while he dornwed her and--

Lightning struck.

Lochlann blinked and drew back from her as though he'd been burned. He fell to the floor, looking for his pants, fumbling in the darkness instead his hands found--

--blinding pain shot through his head as the thunder rumbled outside.

His amulet.

Two years. It'd been almost two years since he last held it in his hand, and Lochlann needed it, right now. He slipped it over his neck and even though the pain cascaded into him, he stayed human. He ignored the part of him that wanted to pull Guin from the bed and to the lake with him.

He found his pants, then went back to his bed, dropping to his knees. Hands shaking, he found her, and he kissed her mouth.

Lightning struck again.

"I'm not running," he promised her sleeping figure. "I'm not running."

He would die for Guinever Haze, but Lochlann wouldn't be the one to kill her.