Chapter 4
4449words
(Pink matter- Frank Ocean)
The halls of the palace still stank of the rotten Andrew. His scent clung to the sandstone, fouling the gold-trimmed walls she had worked centuries to purify. Akisha walked fast, the blood in her throat cooling too slowly.
She felt violated.
She needed grounding.
Rasmus scent hit her first — warmed cedar, sun-kissed iron,like an unholy incense smoldering. It wrapped around her senses, thick and unshakable. Her mouth watered. Her fangs ached in need again. She'd tasted him before. And every time since, her body remembered and wanted more.
Rasmus stood outside her chambers, already unarmored, already waiting. He didn't speak as she approached. He just lowered his head — a soldier acknowledging the storm behind her eyes.
Rasmus felt like a fallen god trapped in the body of a vampire. He didn't remember before he came to serve Akisha. He only remembered waking in the ashes of a battlefield, the sun rising red, and her standing there — flame in her hair — asking him his name.
He hadn't had one until she called him Rasmus.
He stayed because something in her made the blood in him calm. The hunger stilled, as if he didn't need blood to live. As if her fire alone was enough to keep him whole. The centuries passed, and though he served under King Rakh, like Akisha, it was her who tamed the part of him that would've devoured the entire world just to feel something.
And then there was the other one — Anubis.
Silent. Ancient. Buried deep inside his ribcage like a dormant curse. It stirred only when she was near. When she bled. When the world asked too much of him, and his skin no longer fit. And he could not speak.
Rasmus didn't know what he was before that battlefield. He had no memories. No sire. No lineage. The vampires whispered about it in the dark when he rose up the ranks — how he'd never fed after turning. How sunlight barely kissed his skin but it didn't harm him. How her flame reacted to him and he didn't get burned.
He should have questioned it. He didn't.
Because whatever he was... it belonged to her.
When she kissed him, the hunger screamed to bury itself in her soul — and yet, he waited.
But the ache in his chest told him he'd found his reason to exist.
Her chambers swallowed them in sheer red drapes and gold.
The room was a shrine to contrast : walls of blackened sandstone glimmered faintly with embedded emberstone veins, pulsing low like a heartbeat. Intricate carvings laced the corners — glyphs older than the new gods.
At the center, her bed rose like an altar: Black ivory posts carved with red flame sigils, heavy velvet curtains pinned back by gold serpents, the mattress draped in dark blood-silk sheets so silky it almost glistened like it was water.
Dozens of small flamebowls lined the space, flickering with magic fire. Some licked the air with golden tongues. Others burned white-hot.
Two silent servants awaited her inside — masked, veiled in translucent gauze, kneeling by the threshold. At her nod, they rose without a word, approaching her like shadows wrapped in ceremony.
They peeled away the layers of her throne attire, the crown of twin serpents and flame, the viel, the golden claw-rings from her fingers, the sacred earrings still faintly humming with heat. Each item was handled like a relic.
Beneath it all, she still wore the red dress — clinging, slit to her hip. Fire-kissed linen, radiant and unrepentant. She hadn't taken it off since returning from the throne room. She didn't intend to, not right now.
When the last piece was removed, the servants bowed low and retreated, the air closing behind them like a sealed spell.
She collapsed onto the bed with a frustrated exhale, the silk bunching beneath her hips, crimping like the thoughts in her skull.
Rasmus stood in the doorway a moment longer — backlit, still, shadowed — then entered.
He was built like a storm held together by spine and will. A god housed in vampire flesh.
He reached behind his shoulders, undoing the clasps of his breastplate. His sculpted muscles shifted beneath skin like slow thunder. Scars laced his torso — old ones, jagged and half-healed — and some that shimmered faintly with divine burn. She'd traced them before. She knew each one like a lover's secret. She had kissed them. Bitten them. Left marks of her own.
But it still stole her breath.
His skin was radiant — deep brown, smoothed like sun-warmed bronze. Across his chest and shoulders ran faint, magma-black cracks, as if something inside him had once tried to break out. They pulsed now... slowly... answering her flame. He wore only black battle wraps, tied low at his hips, the thin fabric clinging in the wrong places like it wanted her to stare.
And she did.
Gods, she did.
Her pupils widened. Her flame stirred.
Because beneath the loose folds, the outline of him was impossible to ignore. Every line of him was taut, like a bow pulled to the edge of release. Her gaze devoured him in slow, deliberate strokes, and he didn't look away.
His eyes met hers — and for a moment, she saw the solar gleam behind them. Gold irises, smoking faintly at the edges. Not calm, either.
His black dreadlocks fell loose around his shoulders — thick, coiled, wild with power. Gold cuffs and charred bone beads glinted as they swayed, catching the candlelight. Tonight, they hung heavy, damp with sweat and fury.
A curl of heat ghosted from the floor to his ankle. Another teased his thigh. Her flame knew his scent by now. It adored him.
His claws hadn't emerged.
But his fangs had.
Jagged at the ends. Gleaming.
Gifted from Akisha to pierce and worship in equal measure.
They glinted as he breathed through clenched teeth — and she didn't miss the twitch in his jaw, the stillness in his arms, the tension he wore like armor.
Rasmus was not just a man.
He was her tether. Her weapon. Her curse-bound vampire.
But tonight, even he seemed... uneasy.
"What did the King want?" she asked, to fill the space, to push her mind elsewhere.
He didn't look at her when he answered. His voice came low — rough from command, but quieter now. A warrior's voice, worn but unwavering, bowing for her
"Something that must be done on the second full moon."
She frowned, didn't like his tone tonight. Tense. Bitter. Weary in a way no warrior should sound.
"You could refuse," she said, voice low — a dare soaked in honey and heat. "You have me to back you."
His hand gripped the bedpost — hard. The tendons in his arm flexed like braided steel, and the black ivory beneath his fingers creaked from the pressure. The room was silent, but his body spoke in crackling tension.
"I am and will always be the King's servant."
The word servant left his mouth like it burned. But not from shame. From regret. From the weight of a thousand oaths stitched into muscle and bone — all unraveling in her presence.
She was on all fours now, crawling slow, deliberate, across the red silk-strewn bed. Each movement was a dance. Her dress rode high with each shift of her hips, revealing the deep lines of her thighs — caramel skin over carved muscle, kissed by firelight. Her coily curls flowed behind her in a dark, untamed curtain, and wild.
When she reached the edge, she rose to her knees.
"Then let me distract you, Beast of mine."
She reached for his wrist — that tight-knuckled grip — and tugged. Her fingers brushed the heated line of his forearm, where tension thrummed like a harp string.
He resisted. For a moment.
Then let her pull him in.
He dropped to his knees at the bed's edge — towering still but visibly shifted. From soldier to supplicant. From weapon to offering.
She guided his hand beneath her dress, sliding it up her thigh until his palm met her heat — swollen lips flushed, shaven and slick, burning with desire.
"You feel that?" she whispered, close enough that her lips barely brushed his ear. "That's not regret."
She paused, her voice a soft
"That's want, Ras. Mine. For You."
His breath hitched. His lips parted. This was the kind of desire that makes men kill. Or kneel.
She kissed him once, hard, just enough to taste his restraint — then dragged her teeth across his jaw, down his throat. Letting him feel her fangs graze the thin skin stretched over his hammering pulse.
Her flame reacted before he did.
It flared low around her hips, licking up her spine in a slow serpent's coil. The silk sheets beneath them crinkled and shimmered under the pressure. Her power curled like smoke — gold and red — seeping around him in strands of seduction. And he didn't burn.
He never did.
The flame enjoyed Rasmus. It teased him.
It touched him in places she didn't — whispering across his ribs like a kiss that hadn't been granted, coiling around his wrists like invisible bindings, brushing over his jaw with the familiarity of a lover. It made his breath stutter. It made his thighs tense. It made his spine arch slightly, like it wanted to be touched again.
And Afrina purred.
Low. Dangerous. Pleased.
The sound rumbled from Akisha's chest like a second voice layered beneath her own — the beast beneath the empress. It vibrated through her thighs, across his groin, down to the silk-draped mattress that bore their weight.
She pulled him gently — and he let her — until his back hit the bed.
Her hips rolled as she settled over him. The red linen bunched around her waist, her ass bare, heat rippling from her skin. Flame flickered between them like a live wire waiting to snap, casting their shadows in lewd, unholy shapes across the chamber walls.
He tried to move — instinct, habit, maybe defiance — and she shoved his chest back down.
Her fingers scratched over his chiseled abs, nails scratching gently at the golden faded divine scars — remnants of his won battles. Her touch was reverent, like she was reading a holy script etched into flesh.
"You always fight at first. I think you like being tamed by me."
His eyes burned a molten gold now. His golden fangs half-bared. His claws ached beneath skin that trembled to be touched.
But he obeyed.
Because in a thousand years, no woman but her had ever touched him —
and gods help him, none ever would.
Her hands found his jaw. The stubble grown during his absence poked her palms. She leaned down, slow enough to feel his breath shake, then licked the corner of his mouth.
"You belong here, Rasmus."
She licked his neck — he took a sharp breath, his throat flexing beneath her tongue.
"Under me."
She licked lower, letting her fangs scratch his skin.
"With the flame."
Then she bit him.
Her fangs sank in clean—deliberate, merciless. The puncture was smooth, but the sensation wrecked them both.
Rasmus's hands shot to her hips, gripping with a bone-crushing force that made her gasp around his throat. He growled — not from pain, but from the overwhelming, raw relief of finally being pierced by her again. His claws threatened to burst free as his fingers dug into her flesh like anchors, like if he didn't hold on, he'd shatter apart beneath her.
She sucked deep.
Golden blood welled up and rushed down her throat — thick, divine, scorching like molten honey laced with cedar and lightning. It didn't taste like man. Or vampire.
With each pull, new notes emerged — cloves, iron, something sweeter. Her eyes fluttered shut, and for a flickering second, it was him she seen.
Rasmus above her, pressing into her from behind, hips flush to hers in a red-lit hallway of the palace.
Then another flash — his mouth on her breast, her claws in his back.
Another—his voice gasping her name into her throat as she straddled him by candlelight.
She drank more.
His blood remembered their sins, and it fed them back to her, one pulse at a time.
Rasmus gasped — loud now — and his hips jerked up under her, hard enough to knock the breath from her nose.
His cock was painfully erect now, pressed against the soaked fabric of her dress, straining inside his trousers like it could burst through it and brand her from the inside. She pressed him down again, her thighs clamping around his like molten chains.
He moaned.
It tore out of him like a plea.
Her flame pulsed — brighter now — reacting to the charge. It surged up her spine, spilled down her arms, and wreathed them both. It licked at his wrists, cradled his throat, kissed his jaw.
She grounded herself into him — hips grinding down against his erection — and pulled back with golden blood glistening on her lips, a ribbon of it sliding down her chin. She licked it clean with a slow drag of her tongue.
Rasmus's eyes had gone fully golden, glowing like twin suns. His chest heaved ragged beneath her, every breath a war between restraint and surrender.
"I hate how good that feels," he growled, voice thick and wrecked.
She smirked; lips stained from him.
"No, you don't."
He reached up, but her flame curled tighter around his wrists, pinning him again. He hissed, aroused and helpless.
"I'll break," he warned, voice strangled.
"Then break," she whispered.
And Afrina purred like a lover eager to watch.
He growled now — in submission. In desperate arousal. It was his curse, his punishment for leaving her alone.
His blood still stained her lips. The flame bound his arms. Her hips rolled, cruel and slow, like a sentence being carried out
She pulled back, lips smeared dark gold, and stared down at him — wicked, glowing, and wild.
"Do you want more?" she asked, her voice ragged aswell.
He nodded once. Then again. Then moaned — a broken sound, low and sacred.
And she smiled.
The flame purred.
Afrina laughed.
And Akisha rolled her hips one more time — slow enough to ruin him.
His body twitched beneath her. Hands were not bound in flame any longer. She had released them, but not without warning. He was hers to handle.
"Touch me," she said, low.
And he did. Reverently at first — as if afraid she'd vanish. His palms skimmed her thighs, up her waist, tracing the ridges of muscle and curve. Then hunger overtook restraint.
His hands gripped her hips like a man desperate, then higher — to the straps of her red dress. The fabric was still damp from her heat, clinging like it didn't want to leave her body. He kissed her collarbone like a worshipper at altar—then bit down, a groan rumbling in his throat.
The strap slipped as she threw her head back.
He dragged his mouth across her skin, lips parting against her shoulder, tongue catching the edge of sweat. She tasted like jasmine and rosewater something he didn't deserve. His breath hitched, and he let out a slow straggly breath.
"Keep going," she whispered breathlessly. Her fingers tangled in his dreadlocks, pulling him closer. "Use your fangs."
He bit down again — this time at the crook of her neck, and her body jolted. Her moan was sharp and ragged, filled with pent-up rage and lust. The fabric slipped further. His mouth followed, licking, biting, sucking — and the red dress obeyed his hands, sliding lower, inch by inch.
Her breasts were exposed now — full, glowing, crowned with nipples dark and stiff from the cool air.
He froze, then let out a low curse in a tongue only the ancients remembered.
His mouth descended. He latched onto one nipple, sucking slow at first, then nipping it with his teeth. His hand cradled the other, thumb circling lazily, flicking just enough to make her shiver.
She ground her hips against him — and felt how hard his cock was..
Rock solid. Jumping. Twitching and straining beneath the thin black linen he wore.
Her fingers slid down his chest, over his ribs, down the cut of his abdomen — until they found the waistband.
"This," she whispered breathlessly "is in my way."
He hissed. His grip on her hips tightened, he dug his blunt fingernails into her sides.
She didn't wait. She hooked her fingers into the fabric and pulled — slow, intentional — letting the linen drag over his skin as if the flame itself was undressing him. The pants slipped over his hips, then his thighs.
He sprang free with a deep bounce — flushed, thick, veins throbbing.
He was thick — gods-dark, mahogany, and merciless. The veins on his cock pulsed like it meant to break her spine in pleasure
She stared. Licked her lips.
"Gods look at what you do to me."
He began to worship her fully.
"You're doing so well," she murmured slowly praising him , cupping the back of his skull. "Keep going."
He dropped lower, licking the underside of her breast, tracing down her ribs, and bit at her side. Not piercing. But claiming. His hands pushed the rest of her dress down her hips, baring her fully — flushed, slick, divine.
She was radiant, her brown skin glowed and her fire surrounded her body. She was magnificent, her back arched in wanting.
His mouth hovered just above her navel. His hands faltered in their grip.
A troubling sound rumbled deep in his chest.
Rasmus blinked, and his pupils were gone.
Gold halos.
Eclipse black.
"Ras...?" she whispered, her voice cracking on the edges.
He gripped her waist so hard, if she were a mortal he would break her in two. His jaw clenched tight enough to snap stone.
His body trembled.
From something else.
Then she felt it.
A stinging pulse... on the inside of her thigh. Like a hot coal had been kissed to her skin. She glanced down, half-expecting blood. Nothing.
But in the faint shimmer of the red silk still half-wrapped around her hip...
A blackish purple glyph, rippling beneath her skin like ink dropped into water.
It wasn't hers.
And it wasn't Rasmus's.
She looked up — and the pinched in snarl on his face confirmed it.
His claws had emerged fully now.
His eyes were leaking smoke.
"Rasmus—" she whispered, reaching for his face.
He wouldn't look at her. Wouldn't speak.
He was in there now — she could feel his divine silence.
But he didn't say anything , Anubis never spoke out loud to her.
So instead, he gripped the base of her throat and kissed her like it was the only language he had left.
There was no tenderness in it. His mouth crashed into hers, hungry and harsh, fangs clashing, tongues tangling like they were fighting to speak the same unholy truth.
Her moan was swallowed whole.
His breath shook against her bared chest as he deepened the kiss. His claws dug into the sides of her neck.
The beast in him growled deep in his chest, and she surrendered.
Her body melted beneath his touch, flame flickering wildly across her skin as Afrina purred her approval. A curl of fire licked up her spine, responding to his rage. His need to protect her the only way he knew how: by owning every inch of her before something else tried to.
He flipped them with a growl that cracked through the chamber like a split in the void between realms. One second, she was dominant, astride him in command. The next — she was beneath him; breath knocked from her lungs by the sheer force of it. And she refused to protest.
Flame bowls flared as her arousal grew, something new coiled in her stomach. Her body jolted, thighs parted, hands fisted in the sheets as he pinned her there.
If he couldn't warn her,
he'd claim her.
He kissed down her neck, sucking until bruises bloomed along her body like freckles. He licked between her breasts and bit above her heart, like a soldier branding a vow into his own flesh. His scent coated her, thick and warm, cedar and sunblood. Akisha moaned and squirmed underneath him.
If he couldn't speak it aloud, he'd spell it in sweat, essence, and blood.
His body trembled above hers. Every muscle in him fought not to sink his fangs into her again and claim her truly. Rasmus — or what was left of him — loomed above her like a ruin come to life. His body strained, trembling with need. With vow. With something older than desire and darker than love. His golden eyes were eclipsed now, seared black at the centers, smoke curling from his lashes like burnt offerings.
His cock throbbed between them — heavy, flushed, twitching with anticipation. Slick from her grinding and his own arousal.
She stared up at him, all of her lips bared and wet.
"Ruin me, Rasmus. Or are you waiting for my permission?"
That was all it took.
He growled and it was so deep, she skipped a breath — and thrust into her in one brutal, heaven-breaking stroke.
Her flame exploded, and her back arched into him. Akisha seen stars as Rasmus filled her, it felt it was never ending.
The flame continued to burst from her skin in a blinding, liquid bloom — gold, scarlet and bright orange— wreathing her body in divine wildfire. The silk sheets beneath them singed and smoked at the edges. The flame wasn't gentle. It clawed at him. It claimed him. It coiled around his spine and her hands dug into the base of his skull like a second soul waking.
He didn't stop.
Couldn't. Not that he wanted to.
His hips dove quick into hers again — then again — and each thrust was a vow branding into flesh, no words were needed. The sound of their bodies smacking echoed through the chamber like war drums muffled by their moans and grunts.
His cock drove in her deep, hitting something sacred inside her that made her spine arc, flame haloing her like a goddess on the edge of destruction.
Her moan wasn't majestic. It was Afrina's, too — layered and primal. The beast within was snarling her delight, coiling around her womb with purring heat.
Rasmus leaned down and bit her again — hard, on the slope of her breast — and her scream shattered the flame around them into shards of light. His mouth flooded with her blood, and he sucked as he fucked, rutting into her like he was trying to cleanse the glyph with the sheer violence of his devotion.
His thrusts grew rougher — deeper — like he was trying to bury himself in her completely, balls and all. He gripped her hips, dragging her into each stroke, their bodies meeting in wet, hungry slaps. When he leaned back, Rasmus watched — watched the way his cock sank into her, how her slick heat clung to him, pulling him in again like she never wanted to let him go.
The flame answered — rising and dancing. It stroked his back, tangled in his dreadlocks, singed his thighs. She was on fire and he didn't burn not once.
He belonged inside her flame.
She wrapped her legs around his waist and used her heels to dig into his back, shoving him deeper it hurt too good.
"Faster," she gasped, her voice cracking. "Don't you dare hold back."
His only answer was a savage thrust and a growl that echoed like Anubis himself roared approval.
Then he shifted.
Not fully — not the way he did in battle — but enough to get the point across. His golden fangs lengthened. His eyes lost all gold, replaced by black suns. His hands blurred into clawed shadows as he slammed into her again. He exhaled and sweat covered his chest.
She screamed his name — or tried to. The sound was swallowed by his mouth as he kissed her again Their tongues battled, her fangs clashing with his, and blood ran slick between their lips.
Her flame surged around them — hotter, wilder, erotic — tongues of it lashing the stone walls, spinning into glyphs of lust. They lit up one by one, old spells flaring awake in time with his thrusts.
He pounded into her like he was trying to leave pieces of himself behind. Each stroke was a brand. Each moan a note. And when her pussy clenched around him — tight, slick, greedy — he snarled and bit her shoulder to keep from breaking.
Then came the sound she'd waited for:
A choked, gasping moan pulled from the bottom of his soul.
He was close.
And so was she.
Her nails raked down his back, scoring golden blood. Her flame surged again — this time not in defense, but climax. It wrapped around his cock like velvet heat, dragging him deeper, pulsing around every thrust.
"Come in me," she hissed, voice not her own — Afrina growling through her. "Mark me inside, beast."
He obeyed.
With one final thrust, so deep it forced a cry from both their throats, he came — hard — groaning against her neck as his body jerked, pulsed, emptied into her with a heat that matched her own. The world went still for a heartbeat — then shattered.
Her flame exploded one final time — erupting outward in a ring of gold fire, blasting the chamber walls with divine pleasure. Every bowl of fire roared high, casting dancing shadows of their writhing bodies across the black stone.
He collapsed over her, trembling, cock still buried deep inside, their sweat mingling. The sheets were thrown about somewhere burnt in the room. His chest heaved. His mouth kissed her throat in reverence. Her thighs still shook beneath him, gripping him like she never wanted to let go.
And for a moment, she swore she heard a laugh —
It echoed faintly through the chamber like a whisper from the mirror.
And then it was gone.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Guys, if you made it this far.....
Please give me some honest thoughts, do you like it before or after? Do you want longer or shorter chapters?
All this is made with love for you. :)
VoteComment
Please and thank you.My little goons.
I see you. I adore you.
Stay feral.
