Page 34 of Daughter of the Dark Sun
Ninann’s words faded out as more of Therat focused on quelling the rising darkness within. A breeze blew past, carrying with it the faint rotting scent of the slaughterhouse hidden behind the trees. The taste of blood caught in Therat’s mouth. He lost what tenuous control he had.
A vision of Ninann’s crumpled body at his feet flashed before his eyes. The empty feeling gnawing at his heart grew a little more as whispers of ruin crept through his veins. He licked his lips and sucked in a breath through gritted teeth, trying to drown out the void and force it back into its cage. Ninann’s voice came back into focus.
“… you. This is mysoerl.She is back from her visits to… where was it again, sister?”
Therat’s eyes drifted to Mireithren. Up close, he could see how she once resembled Ninann, but time or neglect had left her body thin. The lines of her angular face cut through the air like daggers. Her raven-black hair with wisps of golden sunlight sat high above her head, dozens of braids twisting together like anever-ending snake. Golden bells and tiny doves decorated her hair; the woman mesmerized Therat.
She is the most beautiful thing I have ever seen.
She is the most terrible thing I have ever seen.
Therat heard Mireithren speaking, but the smell of vanilla and water lilies drifting toward him distracted all other senses. He inhaled short, quick breaths. It proved a futile effort. A nail bit into his thigh; another poor distraction. A faint, soothing melody wormed its way into the periphery of his mind, tugging on his thoughts, begging to be heard. As beautiful as Mireithren, and strangely familiar.
There’s something… no, stop! Focus, damn it. What is she doing to me? Why are you torturing me?
Mind reeling, Therat locked eyes with Mireithren and fell victim to the shadowy maiden’s spell. Those muddy brown eyes bore into him with such intensity that all thought of the outside world vanished. The siren gazed at him with curiosity and amusement, brown eyes turning into pools of inky black. Therat fell into her gaze, losing himself to the song weaving through his mind.
A heat settled in his chest, spreading like wildfire with the quickening beat of his heart. The dry heat of the desert became a cool embrace compared to the fires raging within. Pain overcame the man so familiar with agony; blood boiled in his veins, ripping through his body until the taste of salt and iron settled on his tongue. The pain turned into an almost unbearable surge of pleasure, every cell in his body yearning for more but crying out for less.
As the confusion of desire and hatred for the maiden swelled, Mireithren’s voice floated into his mind, somehow the most beautiful and terrible sound he’d ever heard at once.
I am so sorry, Therat.
That she knew his name or spoke in his mind did not surprise him. Power radiated off the woman. But that she wassorry? The Shadow-weave surged in his heart, recognizing something in his tormentor. Therat wanted nothing more than to hear her say his name again as she tore apart his befouled body. To have the raven-haired Maiden of Shadows hold his rotten heart in her palm as she whispered in his ear…
Death by her hand would taste so sweet.
A hiss escaped from Therat’s lips as his blood thickened, a throb pulsing through his cock. Heat flooded his face as a hand instinctively moved to cover his rising desires. Five seconds or five minutes could have passed; Therat could not be sure. Torn apart by fury at the woman who represented Death and undeniable pleasure, time lost its meaning. He closed his eyes and tried to focus on the air burning his lungs, begging for release. He exhaled, then pulled in a ragged breath through gritted teeth.
Who are you?
A hazy vision of Mireithren standing in a broken, twisted land of rocks took hold. She held a black dagger in one hand and a beating heart in the other. His body lay at her feet, a peaceful look carved into his lifeless face.
I am the one who will give you a purpose.
You would end me. I know of your sweeting siren song!
Therat opened his eyes, sucked back into reality by his revulsion of the woman’s words. The heat disappeared in an instant, replaced with a cool, hollow feeling. The woman—whose true name he still did not know—spoke, a slight smirk crossing her lips as she glanced at him.
“… cross the western banks, but I found myself in the far west, on the ruins of Andeshar. The fires still rage on the northern end, but I found enough life to survive. I count it sheer luck I finally managed to open a portal back to Hylaea. Still, aswanderings go, I do not count it among the worst days of my time away.”
Mireithren’s voice grated across Therat’s mind, rough at the edges as if someone had taken a knife and cut through every word. Therat stared at the woman, unable to comprehend why his body craved the temptress who would only bring ruin. He wanted to inhale the sweet scent of vanilla and water lilies, to feel the warmth of her touch against his skin starved for embrace. But, more than anything, he wanted to get forever lost in those muddy brown eyes and feel the rush of pleasurable pain again and again.
For the first time since the murder of his parents, Therat felt strangely alive. Not floating along and losing control of his thoughts, trying to find comfort at the bottom of a bottle each night. This time, losing control of himself to the woman felt good, safe… wanted.
The realization terrified him.
“The ruins of Andeshar,” Therat managed to cough out at last. “A perilous place to find oneself. Yet”—he pulled in a shallow breath, trying to avoid Mireithren’s gaze—“I sense perhaps it is you others should be afraid of. What an intriguing compliment to your sister.”
A raspy laugh pulled his eyes toward hers.
“I hear that often. Twins needn’t be replicas, life would be much too boring. There is always something to be found in the dark. Would you not agree, Therat?”
A shiver raced down Therat’s spine at the sound of his name on her gravelly voice. Heat flooded his face as waves of hot arousal coursed through his body. He stood up with a jolt. The hot sand under his feet helped pull focus from the confusion of feelings overtaking his mind.
“We-well,” stumbling over his words, Therat reached toward his brother, letting Adon’s quiet presence wash over his mindand cool unwanted desires. “Well, I would say it depends on what you seek.”
Therat couldn’t stop staring at the woman who he only knew by his name. Mireithren. The woman from the Houses of the Sun, who controlled the Song of the Night as if she were its master. The one who drove him to madness with just one look. Bemusement colored those irresistible brown eyes, telling him he failed at a game he didn’t know the rules to.
