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Saints, something was wrong.
Zoya peeled the sap from her hair as Nikolai stood stock still. She needed to be moving. The storm was brewing within her; Zoya had never done well standing still—she needed to lash out like lightning and be as abrasively loud as thunder. But she remained quiet like air. Assessing the situation as she stuck her fingernail beneath a clump of quickly drying sap meant that she kept her hands moving. It meant she could think. It meant that if she needed to, she could blow her King away with a mere flick of her wrist.
Was it done? Was the demon gone?
Zoya already knew the answer to that.
Daft, echoed Juris’ voice in her head. It felt fainter than she’d like. Zoya wished to hold onto him as she desired to clutch Nikolai. She did neither.
"Nikolai…" She frowned as she watched him jerk his arm. His fingers curled into his palm and… she saw them elongate, blunt nails with dirt beneath them curling and extending into sharp talons. His handsome face shifted until shadows seemed to consume the planes of his cheeks. His shadow extended, becoming wider.
It hadn’t worked.
All that sap, all that torture, all of it—and Nikolai was still trapped in his own honey-laced cocoon, unable to move, his elbow jerking strangely. Wasn’t he supposed to emerge as something bigger and more beautiful? Wasn’t that the purpose of a caterpillar entering its cocoon?
She supposed she was the butterfly in this scenario. She’d entered Juris’ tower an insipid girl still clutching ideals handed to her by a man who only used her and had left it a woman who had the beginnings of understanding who she was. The storm is in your bones. But the monster was still her King.
Zoya couldn’t be afraid, not in this moment. They’d come too far. He was bleeding where he’d been pierced by the thorn wood. She forewent peeling the sap from her hair as she tried to rip at the hem of her blouse to create him a tourniquet. (She’d done this once before when the demon first reared its ugly head years after the end of the war.)
The movement caught his eye.
Hazel eyes were fathomless black. Nikolai’s expression was strange; he peered at her with recognition, but his head tilted in a manner that unsettled her greatly.
"Zoya…" His voice was low, his mouth covered by shadow. It still startled her to hear her name pass his lips when he looked like that. Elizaveta’s sanctuary had grown darker and cooler since her death. It’d grown quieter and duller since all their deaths, in truth, like all that was keeping this purgatory afloat and alive were the three slaughtered Saints. The sand around them grew paler like it was in mourning. The low incessant buzzing of the Sankta of the Roses’ hive was dead. She could only hear the dragon’s breathing now (hers) and the demon’s (his).
Saints, he was alive.
The scent of blood was so thick she could taste it in the back of her throat. His sweat was light to her nose; what made Nikolai so irrevocably him was dulled significantly by the monster Elizaveta had encouraged to the forefront.
Nikolai stood, covered in blood. His spine was hunched as he pressed a bloodied hand to his belly. Droplets dripped onto the sandy floor, soaking into the hard grains and lingering in a tiny shallow pool.
She waited for him to peer up at her, and when he didn’t, Zoya refused to allow herself to worry.
Elizaveta was gone, and the demon remained. Juris was gone, and yet she felt him stand beside her. But why hadn’t Nikolai come back to himself? They’d done everything that was expected of them—
Except she knew, deep down, that the obisbaya required more than being pierced by the thorn wood. A mutual sacrifice needed to be made. Elizaveta sacrificed her hive and herself to see her plan to fruition. Juris sacrificed himself to fulfil his wish to pass his knowledge onto her. Grigori sacrificed his sanity to be the patient inventor who rolled around the tower, making noise as he disappeared and continued to lose himself. The sands around them remained dull and still. Zoya didn’t feel hunger, only fear.
You’re strong enough to survive the fall.
Zoya closed her eyes and tried to push Juris away. It was his memories she clung to, the sweet, honeyed taste of what he knew and didn’t tell her.
Why didn’t you tell me?
Because you’d have sacrificed too much for him. And I needed you.
Nikolai needed her, too.
A step forward drew his attention. Zoya held her hands near her hips, sticky palms facing him. His gaze was hot and intently settled on her. She licked her lips, noting his eyes drop to her mouth.
"Nikolai," she tried again, her voice soothing like a gentle summer breeze. He tilted his head, listening. Tension lingered in his body, but when she took a step closer, he seemed to relax. He was still in there, trapped in his own honey prison. "Nikolai," she repeated, slowly stepping toward him. "I’m here to help you."
"Zoya," he said, voice thick and low. She didn’t suppress her shiver. She’d only ever heard him utter her name like that in the early hours of the morning when sleep and exhaustion bothered to claim them. He always spoke lowly like he was afraid of upsetting the Grand Palace as it slept, even though they were in his quarters, tucked away in the furthest room, and as King he could make as much noise as he pleased.
Was he remembering it, too?
"I’m here," she said, keeping her gaze on him. Fear continued to bubble in her belly like a fire, but she felt it lick at her ribcage, warming her. Her heart began to pound, and she knew she wasn’t afraid of him—not anymore. It was anticipation for something else. Nikolai’s dark eyes stared at her unblinkingly, his body impossibly still. Only his fingers curled, talons in the middle of shifting into human fingers.
She knew what needed to be done, even though Zoya wasn’t certain if it came from herself or Juris’ vast knowledge.
Standing before him, Zoya gently cupped his face. His cheek was warm and smooth when he tilted his head into her touch. He closed his eyes, and he looked like Nikolai as she remembered him, sleeping quietly in his bed, dying each night as the tonic took him under. He looked peaceful as he stood before her, even though she could smell fresh blood stain his shirt and seep into the lifelines of his palms.
He rested his hand against her cheek. Zoya ignored the stickiness of fresh blood as he flexed his fingers and reopened his wounds. If he needed to touch her, she’d allow it. The sap was worse than her King’s blood.
"Zoya—"
Her heart thundered when he abruptly pulled his head away from her palm and he was suddenly closer. His teeth grazed her neck, tongue licking at her pounding pulse. She remained still and held her breath as she kept her hand where it was, sliding it into his soft and messy hair. His hands pressed against her hips, a palm sliding to the small of her back.
Tugged forward, Zoya tilted her head to the side and kept her eyes open as she watched the sandy wall remain impossibly still. All she could hear was his breathing, his heart pounding as hard as hers.
She arched into him when his fingers tugged at her blouse and slid beneath the soft fabric. Sweeping his talons up her back, he traced the base of one of her scars; she held her breath, ignoring how she shivered and tensed. Her breath hitched as she leaned into him, her chest pressed flush against his.
"Nikolai," she murmured.
He merely huffed as he buried his nose into her neck. His tongue lapped at her skin, tasting something sweet. He trailed his talons up her back and along the ridge of one of her scars. Once he met her shoulder blades, Zoya gripped his shoulders.
"Zoya," he murmured her name like a prayer. She found herself closing her eyes as she curled her fingers into his torn shirt. "Help me," he quietly pleaded.
You opened the door. But did he know how to close it? Zoya could see within the dragon’s eye the battle she held within her arms. The obisbaya had opened the door to Nikolai’s worst demon, but he didn’t know if he’d survive it. He stepped into Elizaveta’s hive never anticipating walking out of it. What he should’ve determined as improbable was declared impossible before they’d even begun Elizaveta’s experiments. Stupid boy.
He’d survived it, stung all over. Zoya curled her fingers into his shirt and tugged it up and over his head. His creamy skin was stained with black fissures curving to the swell and indents of his muscles. She traced her fingers along his broad shoulders, trailing them around his back and digging her nails into his spine, eliciting a full body shudder from him.
Grazing his teeth against her neck, he licked at her pulse point before drawing his tongue along the curve of her throat, prompting her to tip her head back. She peered at him from down her nose, never wanting to take her eyes off him again. Nipping at her ear lobe, Nikolai’s sharp fingers tore at the fabric of her blouse, half-tugging, half-ripping it over her head. Zoya released his back to let it drop and pool on the floor. Nikolai buried his face in her shoulder again.
His skin was warm and clammy. Zoya rested her chin against his shoulder as she traced the lines curving along his back and dipping into the notches of his spine. She wished to enclose him within the wings of her arms, so she pressed her palms against him, fanning her fingers as wide as possible to try and claim him. Sap smeared against his skin as she rubbed her hand against his back, resting one against the small of it.
Nikolai remained at her neck, tongue lapping at the honey lingering on her skin. When he nipped too hard and elicited a slight hiss from her, she felt him grin against her skin. He tugged her closer, sliding his talons down her back, a few of his fingers tracing the puckered lines of her old scars. She arched into him as he cupped her ass, and tugged at her trousers roughly.
"Nikolai—"
He growled against her neck, keeping his head buried against her. He sniffed her loudly before lapping his tongue against her pounding pulse point and where he’d split her skin.
"Nikolai," she said more firmly. Zoya disliked the breathlessness to her voice as he pulled her trousers down her upper thighs. He slipped his hands against the silk of her panties. She sighed and arched into his chest, pressing her ass into his hands as his fingers clutched at her.
She knew she should pull away. The obisbaya was over. They’d failed. She’d failed him. But if Nikolai needed this, needed her—hadn’t Elizaveta said that it was Zoya who was the key to unlocking the demon? Not Yuri, not Elizaveta herself, not even Nikolai and his pride. It was Zoya, as she felt it should’ve been all along. She once thought her place was to be the summoner who brought the Shadow Fold to its knees, but she supposed she was the general who was meant to bring her king back home.
"Kolya," she said quietly, liking how he paused momentarily against her. She liked how the syllables sounded in her voice; it sounded like he belonged to her. "Tell me what you need," she murmured. Her skin was as hot as a summer storm. Nikolai’s hands groped her as his teeth nipped harshly at her skin.
She felt his wings open against her fingers.
"You."
Warmth flooded her, pooling low in her belly. It was an answer she loathed, but coming from him, it felt like it meant everything.
Zoya thrust her hands into his hair, gripping the soft strands tightly. It was her who pulled him down to the sandy ground, settling on her knees and removing her trousers and panties before folding her legs between his. It was her who turned them, keeping his face tucked into her shoulder as she gave him her back. She wasn’t sure what compelled her to do it. Dragons’ bellies were soft; their backs were scaled and hard, known to be impenetrable in the stories children were tucked into bed with—so why was it she gave him her back instead of her front?
She knew why the moment he traced his fingers along her scars.
His touch was gentle and human-like, proof that Nikolai Lantsov was buried deep beneath the soft-looking wings sprouting from his back. His silhouette loomed over hers in the sunless purgatory they found themselves in. If he was to be a monster, she supposed it was only fair she showed him her monstrous self, too.
Nikolai’s touch started clumsy, like he wasn’t sure how to move his hands. Palms slid along her sides, along the wings of her shoulder blades. His fingers dipped into her hips and against the bends of her knees. He traced her arms, tangled his fingers into her hair, brushed his lips against the shells of her ears. What was he searching for? A slip of her humanity? Could he feel the ancient monster now lingering inside her?
He moved noisily as he tugged his trousers down to his knees. Too impatient to bare himself completely, his naked skin burned against hers like a firestorm. His shirt remained open, half torn from his talons struggling to wrench himself free of the last remnants of his cocoon. Soft flesh, calloused fingers, touch unexpectedly gentle—he mapped the ocean of her beneath his fingertips, carefully gliding the pads of his fingers against her skin rather than his talons.
He licked the scar that ran almost perfectly along the centre of her spine. Zoya bowed her head, holding her breath, waiting for… what? For Nikolai to find them distasteful? Foolishly, she waited, and foolishly, she was proven right about her assumptions about him. Nikolai wouldn’t look at her scars and see something to sneer at and think her lacking. Even if he touched her with the talons of a monster, it was with the press of a man’s lips that he traced the marred skin like it was something precious to him.
Zoya exhaled softly, prompting him to growl low in his throat. Was that man or monster? Did it matter? His body was warm against hers; her skin prickled beneath his ministrations as her cunt grew damp and she shifted her weight on her knees, pressing her thighs together. He didn’t care that she’d done so, too busy licking at her scar angled toward the left of her shoulder blade.
Cupping the inside of her thigh, he widened her legs. Zoya shifted her weight on her hands and knees, disliking the sand grains sinking beneath her nails. His hips were warm against the back of hers; the head of his cock wet. He pressed it against her inner thigh, shifting his hips against hers momentarily as low rumbles claimed his chest like the thundering announcement of a storm’s approach did the earth.
With a sweep of his fingers against her cunt, Zoya gasped when he rubbed her. Even when she pressed her thighs together to trap his hand, he still managed to escape. With rough movements, Nikolai encouraged her to part her legs, his strength sharper than she remembered it ever being.
"Zoya," he said, and she knew that it was Nikolai, not monster, who stroked the sharp edge of his talon against the cleft of her ass.
Shifting her slightly to tip her hips upward, Nikolai pushed his cock into her cunt slowly, his talons digging into her hips. Zoya tilted her head back and felt the wind sweep her hair over her shoulder as she felt her cunt open for him. When she whimpered, Nikolai didn’t wait; he pushed into her tight cunt with a rumbling moan. His nails dug into her as he rolled his hips with a desperate sound. Zoya clenched around him, keeping her head up, her chin tilted defiantly as the shadows lay thinly across them even without the presence of a proper sun.
Nikolai moved his hips, his sounds coming unburdened. She knew that this was him; the monster was always soundless, calculative even when it wished to torment her by letting her hear its breath. But Nikolai was always loud, and his panting filled the entire tower, the sands almost shifting beneath his rough breathing. Her breathing was shallow; the wind swept lightly across them, threading its fingers through her hair and failing to cool her clammy and hot skin.
His fingers were hard in her hair as he pulled it against her back and away from her face. He bowed against her, pressing his chest to her back as he rocked his hips against hers and settled in deeper. Sharp fingers pressed into her skin; she felt a nail split her hip shallowly open. Zoya rocked back against him like the tide fighting the wind; he thrust into her, movements shallow as he refused to pull his chest away from her back.
Pressing his hand between her legs, he searched for her clit with the heel of his calloused palm. She bucked against him when he found it, eliciting warmth to burst through her like dragon fire. Zoya gasped, her moans loud in the silence of their purgatory. Thunder shook the sand tower.
Gripping her hips, he thrust into her, skin slapping loudly against skin like a ricochet of his bullets. She could feel Juris’ consciousness tug at hers, but she swept him away with a dragon’s wing. This wasn’t for him; it wasn’t for any of them. The tower may be dry and dull, the sap congealing in her hair and in pockets of her skin, but this was hers to claim with him.
Nikolai’s talons dug into her hips when he came, piercing skin as he kissed his hips sharply to hers. She felt his come slide down her legs as he shifted his hips, almost pulling his cock out of her. But he pressed in again, shuddering against her as she clenched around him in some insipid attempt to keep him within her.
She felt the thickness of his cock shift inside her as he changed. Talons turned into fingers against her breasts, his chest warm and his wings still a heavy weight against his back. Nikolai looped his arm around her again to press his palm against her cunt, his human fingers searching for her clit to rub it. She shuddered against him, bowing her head as her clammy skin stuck to his. He groped one of her breasts, relying on her to keep them afloat as she pressed her weight into her hands and knees and rocked against his hand.
Zoya felt the lightning burn inside her, heard the rolling of thunder as it shook Elizaveta’s tower. The storm outside encompassed them like a hive. Zoya pressed her legs together as she came, burning half the sandy floor beneath her.
She panted, keeping her head bowed momentarily. When she lifted it, he pulled his hips away from hers, cock slipping out of her cunt as he removed his hands from her body to sweep her hair away from clinging to her damp skin.
"The demon isn’t gone," he said against her ear. Nikolai kissed the side of her head; Zoya knew that was the only thanks she’d accept, granted she didn’t want any thanks at all. He remained curved over her, a protective shield covering her back. His skin was warm and clammy. She liked that his nails were now blunt and black as he settled a hand next to hers on the sand. His weight was comfortable, if a little heavy. "It didn’t work."
"It did," she murmured. Her hair hung in her face, some of the strands sticking to her shoulders and back. Zoya kept her hands pressed against the sand, digging her nails into the floor that felt simultaneously soft and hard. "You came back," she said. Turning her head, she tried to catch his eye in her peripherals. "You came back, Nikolai."
"To you," he said. She couldn’t discern the expression he wore—and wasn’t sure if she wanted to. He licked his lips, his hazel eyes bright and wide as he looked at her. His hair was a mess. Some sap clung to his cheek and the corner of his lip.
"Now I know how to shut you up," she teased lightly, her voice soft. Her breathing remained rough; the storm outside lingered, the rumble of thunder a whisper now.
Nikolai smiled. "Don’t get used to it," he said. "What are we going to do?"
Zoya exhaled, thinking that perhaps getting dressed and pretending this never happened would be the best way ahead. But she didn’t wish to forget, even though she wouldn’t mind dressing in what was now a torn blouse and sap-stained trousers. "Leave this ridiculous place and eat food."
He was slow to move away from her, shifting clumsily onto his knees as he removed his chest from her back. He was warm like the sun. He rose, and she turned to sit on her ass, watching as he tugged his trousers over his soft cock. His skin was flushed pink, some of his blonde hair stuck to his temples with sweat.
Peering down at her with a crooked smile she liked a little too much, he held out his hand. "I hope the next time we do this, I’m the one on my knees before you."
"There better not be any honey involved." Zoya rolled her eyes and took it, allowing him to take all her weight and lift her to her feet. He swept his thumb over her hand and didn’t release it. Her heart thundered. She didn’t tear her hand from his, clasping their fingers together.
He smiled, his expression brightening. "Ah, my dear Zoya, why would we need such a thing when you’re already so sweet?"