Devils Dance Floor 1

With his hand on my mid-back and my hand on his shoulder, he began unfamiliar steps. It only took a moment to orient myself as there was still a haze of confusion clouding my mind. His gentle smile allowed me to forget the leering gaze of the rest of the room. Though, forgetting the heat didn't come quite so easily.

I was among the freshly dead offerings hand-picked across time, it would seem. There were so many from which to choose, but he'd come to me immediately. My burial dress lay tattered by the ornately carved stone entrance, torn from my frame as soon as I stepped through. This gala rejected all modesty for its guests, but I didn't mind.

Perhaps that was why he chose me before all others?

Many more beautiful men and women walked through, their burial garments undone as though imaginary whips shredded the cloth as soon as they crossed that threshold. Each new guest to the party covered their form upon exposure. Shock and shame settled on their faces with faint disbelief at the sheer audacity of disrobing them so violently. I had stood taller, raised my chin, and pushed my shoulders back. There was no shame to feel as I was a sight to behold.

It was only he and I in a sea of flame, dancing in rhythm to a song that didn't reach my ears. Though, I felt I knew it by rote. The steps drilled into me under threat of a vine slapping across my back upon a wrong move many years before.

My first taste of pleasure blending with pain came at the hands of my former governess, tasked with training me up into a proper noblewoman. My penchant for being in control meant the harder she pushed me, the deeper my vengeance would eventually cut. I could play the long game, allowing temporary setbacks for overall success.

Her job was to see me married to a higher nobility than my own family was, and she did that well.

So, it seemed fitting to take my pound of flesh by tainting her family line with deviant desires. I had her daughter in my bed the night before I was to be wed.

My delighted thank-you to the cruel mistress who took great pleasure in my pain was a hedonistic fuck-fest that defiled the girl she'd intended for service in a local convent. The girl pledged to forsake all others in favor of loyalty to me in her cries of ecstasy.

My governess wept as I wiped my bloody fingers on her daughter's white chemise. Her daughter wasn't even a year older than me at nineteen. She was due to report to the convent on her 20th birthday, but she couldn't bow to a god she no longer believed in and feared her mother's wrath. The girl's loyalty to me... No, Katherine's loyalty to me was unwavering.

Oddly, I found myself missing her companionship as I danced across the hot floor with my new suitor. I could lead her with little more than my fingertip beneath her chin and the promise of a kiss if she followed my rhythm. But on this dance floor, I was the one being led.

I was the only goddess Katherine cared to bow before after that night in my bed, so I took great care to arrange her employment within my castle, ensuring she stayed nearby so I could enjoy her at my leisure and ensure her loyalty remained true. And with those gestures, my former governess was forced to watch her fairest, gentlest, most demure daughter sink to a depth of depravity even a common whore couldn't fathom. All because the bitch had whipped me as I learned my wedding dance, lest I be less than perfect for my future husband. Because that was my only worth, right?

The steps my ember-skinned partner led me in were the same ones I danced beneath that woman's stern hand and, following the vows forced upon me, my husband's unwanted and wandering hand. The song that played in my head and the rhythm we fell into seemed to match that which I'd danced to with my ill-fated husband.

The beat of the demon's heart beneath my palm ignited that memory of my wedding night. My own heart had raced with the excitement of a new kind of first. An experience I never fathomed before but couldn't wish away the desire for after. It was an unexpected moment of clarity where I fully, for the first time, felt like my own person.

It's important to know that laying with a man didn't disgust me, but the very idea of laying with

that

man had left me fuming. He'd embarrassed me. Tarnished my reputation and made a mockery of our wedding by being a louse that very night.

Barely an hour had passed after our vows when I'd caught him in a dark corner accosting a maid. Then he dared slap me for pushing him away from her. How dare I interfere with his disgusting assault. How dare I deny him pleasure at the expense of my staff. I would learn my place that night. He swore it to me.

My husband didn't understand me. Hell, he didn't even know me; I'm not even certain he knew my name. He split my lip with that slap, and I laughed. The taste of my blood was salty and metallic as I licked it away. And then I smiled. "Dearest husband," I'd said because I didn't care to know his name, either. "If you have needs to be met, it is my responsibility to meet them, so please let me try. I may be inexperienced, but I will do my best to serve you, sir."

I smiled as my dance partner did. He wasn't privy to my thoughts, and I could reminisce and grieve over the highlights of my life in a private moment as we twirled about the black-floored room. I had such a sense of familiarity with him. His touch ignited something in me, and I felt myself warm and tense as his clawed thumb slipped across my lower lip, just where my husband had once split it. The scar remained even in death, and I flushed at the attention drawn to it. It was as if he were pushing me to remember a moment he couldn't be aware of.

It was only moments after slapping me that my lech of a husband had his hand in my hair, pushing me to my knees before him. I found I quite enjoyed the pull of my hair and forceful display more than I'd anticipated; had it been performed by any other man in that moment, the events would've gone quite differently. But, we were married, and the Marquis had served his purpose to increase my standing. Besides, he had already been caught committing a crime against a woman who would have every reason to end his life that very night. Who was I to deny her that right of self-protection, even against my noble husband.

The poor bastard had given me the exact moment I needed to enact a plan I thought I wouldn't be able to undertake for at least a year after our vows.

While I was on my knees, and before he had managed to do more than loosen his trousers, the thin blade gifted to me by Katherine that very morning slid from its sheath at my ankle. My eyes locked on my husband's, and he looked positively ravenous. His features were strong and angular, and he disgusted me. I brought the blade cleanly through the linen at his inner thigh. He still gripped my hair tight as he grimaced. I believe he thought he'd wet himself until he saw his blood sprayed across my face as I smiled up at him. His grip on me loosened, and he fell quick.

I don't think he even realized what I'd done. He'd been in such a heightened state of arousal and power that he died before his mind had righted itself. I handed the blade to the maid and told her to admit to the deed. To speak plainly on his assault of her and I would assure her safety. She would have a place in my court as apology for my husband's mistreatment of her, so long as she confessed for me.

She did as I asked. The maid pled her case and, while found guilty of a crime against the nobility, was spared death in exchange for servitude within my castle. I brought her into my court as an adviser on feminine protection. It was a scandal, of course, but was quickly swept away as I brought forth many other maids from my grounds who would attest to his lechery in the short span of time he'd been on my family estate. His own family took a payout for their silence in the form of claiming his land rights, glad to be rid of him in the process, it seemed. I maintained my husband's title, but preferred my own; Countess suited me better than Marchioness.

My dance partner's grip on me tightened as he pulled me against his almost unbearably warm body. Sweat began to bead upon my bare skin. Our movement swayed, and I was taken to flow with a rhythm reminiscent of Lucia Quinciani's composition as the words of Guarini's

Udite lagrimosi spirti d'Averno, udite

flitted through my mind.

Or perhaps it was the pulse of his lust guiding my movement and thoughts, for I'm sure his life is filled with a thousand deaths a day and pain was the heart of his story. Maybe that brought that piece to mind, but it was fitting regardless, and I danced with him easily. Willingly.

The red-rimmed gaze of his blackened eyes upon my naked form allowed me to match his steps—whether he heard the same song as myself was unknown but also unimportant—along the warm obsidian floor perfectly. He fed me the timing with a touch and a glance. In a synchronized movement, we were one.

He spun me round a full turn, and I laughed. It carried to his ear, and, for a moment, he closed his eyes as I watched him. His hand grazed my hip, and he blushed so deeply even his flame-toned skin couldn't hide it as his cheeks blackened. Imagine that, a demon of his apparent standing—for they don't hold balls where only one demon dances with a chosen soul before all others if that demon doesn't hold high standing in the realm—blushing at the gentle caress of his fingers upon a woman's skin. It was only then that I realized...

Oh, is that what this is? Am I to be his first?

My smile broadened, and I let him pull me close, his lips so near mine. The smell of sulfur filled the air between us, and while I'm sure most would've shown offense at the unpleasant odor, I welcomed his scent. It reminded me of the whispers 'round the bath. After death had set in, there was always a lingering echo of the darkness the chamber girls could never clean away. I'm sure my skin held more than the metallic hint of the purity I so often stole. Maybe I carried a little of that sulfuric burn in my wake as well. Perhaps that's why its pungent sting didn't deter my smile.

I welcomed the torch of heat upon my skin as his hand slid along my slender flank. His flush rescinded as he seemed to realize I took no offense at his closeness. Oh, how I relished the flame of desire swelling within me at his proximity. The flash of his sharp white teeth, the grin that came too easily as he dipped me toward the ground. It was a move I was not familiar with, but still welcomed the intimacy it offered as it was so near lying me on a soft bed.

He could've laid me on the hot stones beneath us and had his infernal way with me right there. A captive audience equally horrified and aroused by the sight of a hellish prince falling to lust for the flesh of a mere, well, formerly mortal, woman. My thoughts carried to the darkest possibilities he could offer me. His claws rending my skin beneath his mauling grip. His tongue flicking and circling my breast, suckling me when he's meant only to shred my insides while I screamed in pain and fear. Those sharp teeth raking across my firm nipple with a tease of pain and dots of blood rising to the surface of my fair skin.

I cocked my head and smiled at him, yet he dared to glance away, that flush crossing not only his cheeks but his neck, now, too.

Can you see my thoughts?

I wondered as I watched his reactions.

My smile widened, and I let my mind sink into just a glimpse of the type of depravity my dear Katherine would embrace with me. A thought of lying before him with my legs splayed and hips lifted to meet his made his breath catch. His clawed fingers painted red with my blood as he gripped my waist and rocked me to him caused him to pull me close. His firmness ground against my hip as he allowed himself to get lost in the pleasure of my painful thoughts. An image of allowing the thickness of his sin to probe deep and urge my cries to crescendo with the height of my pain seemed to push him right up to the edge as he growled in my ear, and I drew a deep breath. His claws curved into my flesh, piercing muscle and innards alike, pulling me to him. That allowance seemed to push him over the edge with the desire to see it come to fruition.

In the dance, he spun me until my back was to his chest and his rigid, throbbing sex pressed to the curve of my behind.

Oh, yes, he likes my fantasy. Is it the pain you inflict on me you most enjoy? Or is it knowing I never laid with a man in life, yet my body responds to such a tormented thought of lying beneath you as you lay claim to my damned soul? Which sets your desire aflame dear prince?

His breath was warm on my ear as he growled, then whispered, "Your reputation precedes you, Countess. It is merely your presence that sets me on fire."

I spared a glance over my shoulder at him, the joy in my voice unmistakable as I whispered back, "It's all lies, dear sir. I never slit a single throat." My hand slipped behind me and snaked up his inner thigh.

"No, you slit their thigh as they sat in the bath, spent and dewy with orgasm."

I smiled, my fingers grazing the hardness beneath his clothing. "Oh, perhaps it's not all lies then. They tasted so much sweeter after. No tears, just a little gasp before the tub began to fill. The lies are that I bathed in the blood of hundreds. It was a few dozen at most. Blood of a chosen beautiful maiden mixed with heated water and oils. Anything more would be absurd and wasteful. Besides, I ensured they were spared the injustice of servitude to a husband who bought them like cattle. I gave them love and life and they, in turn, replenished my own source."

He groaned his pleasure at my touch, and I smiled.

"You've never had a woman before, am I right?" I asked.

"You're not wrong," he murmured, those sharp teeth of his dangerously close to my delicate neck.

I leaned my head to one side, offering vulnerability. "Go ahead," I whispered, "take your first taste of my pain."

The ties of his trousers came loose easily as I had him distracted and my hand slipped within the fine linen. My fingers found his warm, hard flesh, and he moaned. For a moment, I thought he'd resist and put on a facade of control. I heard a gasp nearby shortly before I felt the piercing of his teeth to the crook of my neck. My fingers tightened on his shaft, and he thrust toward my hand as his tongue lapped across the wound he'd made. Blood dripped down my porcelain skin, and before I knew it, he had me on the floor.

My hands slapped the obsidian when he pushed me down. His hand gripped my hair and pulled it, evoking a whimper from the pain as he hurt me in just the way I liked. Then I felt it. His firm, absolutely monstrous glans pressed against my opening. I cringed, and he huffed as he gripped my hip and thrust forward.

It felt as though I'd been stabbed by hot iron. I muffled my cry beneath my fist as I bit into my own flesh, and he thrust harder, faster. I curled my fingers, trying to grip into the solid floor but failed as he pulled my hair and bit down on my shoulder again. It was almost unbearable, but I maintained my composure beyond a gasp and utterance that could've been from either pain or pleasure.

I won't scream,

I thought as I looked over my shoulder at him. The tears in my eyes probably gave away the intensity of the pain he'd caused me. Still, the soft moans and rocking of my hips back to him certainly insinuated I felt nothing but pleasure.

His lips curled into a smile, and he bit down harder, thrust deeper, and yanked more violently. I grew accustomed to the pain quickly, and it was only then that I noticed the silence. There had been murmurs and whispers, fearful cries and gloating laughter before that. Now, the black and flame ballroom sat silent except for the slapping of his body against mine.

A deep laugh sounded behind us, and I dared not turn around. I'd heard that laugh before. In my dreams, in my nightmares, and in my own laughter after every kill.

"You've chosen, then?" the deep voice asked.

My prince, as I now knew him to be, pulled my hair harder and thrust deeper. I bit my tongue to the point of drawing blood to avoid screaming in pain... or pleasure; I still wasn't certain which would win out.

"I've chosen. I want her." His words were labored between grunting breaths, and blood dripped from my lip as I bit even harder.

"You've chosen well. She will be a challenge, but I'd expect nothing less from you and your need to prove yourself."

A clawed hand lay beneath my chin and lifted my face. And then I felt fear. His skin was the color of blazing ember, darker than that of my dance partner, but apparent that they shared a lineage. His horns looked far too heavy for his head to support, but he showed no sense of strain as he stared me down.

"You want his flame, yes?" the visage of hell asked.

I nodded.

He could burn me, mark me, and make me his time and time again, and I would behave as though it were the first time each time.

The fiendish creature grinned, his teeth sharp and bright. "Then scream for him."

I refrained, and my prince dug his nails deeper and pushed himself into me harder. The larger, older fiend tipped his head, observing me as I refused his young demon the claim he sought. His claw curled upward, piercing beneath my chin. Tears streamed down my cheeks, but I made no sound. I had borne more pain than they had inflicted already. The pain of life was far worse because I enjoyed being alive, and death had scared me. Now? I was dead; there was no further for me to fall. No, this was little more than a tease for me, an offering to let me explore the edges of my limits without fear.

The demon's smile grew, and he leaned down, his breath tickling my ear as he pushed my hair from my face. "Your pain is beautiful, Countess. Let them hear how pleasurable it can be. Ease their fears, stay their shame. Welcome them to the depths of hell, and I will overlook the turn of the tables once you're behind closed doors."

For that, I screamed. I released the building pain and welcomed the way my body writhed against my damned suitor. Then I moaned. A gasp forced from me at the young demon's deep thrust as the hand beneath my chin released.

The elder demon turned, his hands held high, then his voice boomed across the ballroom, "Zagreus has chosen his first soul for torment. The rest may be claimed as you wish."

And the echo of my moans became lost in a sea of screams. My head lowered and fingers recoiled from the crimson spillage making its way across the shiny black stone upon which I knelt. Recoiling from blood was new to me, but I understood it immediately. This blood was impure. Bound to hell and therefore unworthy of me.

The demon prince grasped my hair and pulled me upright. My knees spread, and my back arched to his desire. I moaned at his claw on my breast, scraping beneath the full swell as he turned my head and forced a deep kiss on my lips. My hand lifted to his jaw, stroking it as he thrust once more.

Then, and only then, did I understand what was meant by accepting his flame. The heat of his ejaculate burned me. A deep, searing pain that caught me off guard. I cried against his lips as he refused to release me from our kiss. He muffled me with the force of his hand in my hair, pulling my lips tighter to his. He pushed deeper, burned deeper, and I trembled.

Never had I been reduced in temperament so quickly. His lips pulled away, and he tilted his head, taking in the fresh tears trailing down my cheeks and the quiver of my chin. And he smiled. The audacity of smiling at my reduction. The sheer disrespect it portrayed. My anger found a spark and flamed as I smiled back at him. "My turn." The unevenness of my voice couldn't be hidden, but he laughed, then bashfully looked down as he dislodged himself from me.