Little Killer and her Dark Emperor

Little Killer and her Dark Emperor
“I hate you because of how much you’ve ruined my life and the lives of so many others. You can’t seriously believe that whatever lust I felt for you could erase that.” My lips trembled as I spoke but there was no fear in my voice. It was clear and filled with the rage I kept buried beneath too many layers of confusion, grief, and unwanted desire.

He pulled back and tilted his head, studying me like he could peel away every emotion I tried to hide.

“No,” he said after a beat. “I don’t believe it can erase it. But I do believe it can twist it. We can reshape it into something neither of us can escape.”

As his words sank into me, his eyes dropped to my breasts and I watched them turn darker.

I moved further away from him instantly, my breaths coming out softly. 

This wasn't me playing hard to get. I just didn't want to be consumed by this because I gave in once.

“I didn’t ask for any of this,” I muttered, my hands clenching tighter around me.

“You didn’t have to,” he replied. “Some bonds were fated in blood and choice has nothing to do with it.”

I hated how his voice, dark, filled with centuries of command wrapped around my body like a vice. I hated even more how some part of me wanted to believe him.

I convinced myself that he wasn't someone I could ever understand. He was a bloodthirsty demon, who fed on people’s love, loyalty, and misery.

“I want to see Armen. What have you done to him?” I demanded out of nowhere. 

“He’s in my underground dungeon,” he replied with an infuriating smile. “Would you care for a visit? Maybe it’ll jog your memory and remind you of what we shared down there.”

“I want to see him,” I said, quieter this time. Less demanding and more afraid of how I would find Armen. 

I didn't know what to expect. What had he done to him? 

“As you wish,” Vale replied, calmly. He threw my dress to me and I shrugged into it. 

He didn't offer to help with the zip and I didn't ask. I was just glad he had put more space between us. 

I spotted large black satin slippers lying carefully near the wall, clearly, it was his. Without overthinking, I went over and slipped my feet into it. They were far too big, but I didn't care. Anything was better than squeezing back into those damn heels. Or walking barefoot.

He had already begun to walk out, expecting me to follow, and I did.  

I didn't bother scouring for my panties since I couldn’t be sure exactly where it was. 

When we descended through the main building, I caught the wall clock in the grand foyer reading 3:30 AM. 

It was well past midnight, though you wouldn’t know it. The house was bathed in artificial golden-white lights that made it looked like it was midday.
And gods, it was freezing.

I wished I had a jacket wrapped tight around me to shield me from the biting chill, but there was nothing. Just me and the cold.
Still, I had to be strong. I was the one who insisted on seeing Armen.
He’d probably return here to rest and he had found me sprawled on this couch, naked.

He didn't have a jacket on either. But it didn't seem like he was bothered by the cold. 

How could he when his whole presence was colder?

He wasn’t used to the chill; he was the chill. 

I followed behind him to the side corridor and we went down the stairs. The further we went the colder and heavier it got. Until we reached a sealed iron gate. He observed me after unlocking the gate with a black master key. 

“Armen breached my dungeon, freed you and every prisoner within, and killed five of my men. He confessed to acting alone but I know better. He is not nearly that formidable. When your memories return, and you confirm that Hawke aided him, I will give you what you desire most—your freedom.”

“What? I thought you said I’m a special guest, not a prisoner?” I snapped, incredulous that he could so easily contradict himself.

His eyes like golden fire gleamed as he replied. “You’re not just any prisoner,” he said smoothly. “You’re a prisoner of my pleasure, and you’ll beg to stay in that cage before long.”

My breath caught in my throat as he held my infuriated gaze for a moment, then he pushed the iron gate open.

“Do you remember being here?” he asked, but I couldn’t speak. All I could smell was the suffocating stench of dried blood thick in the air and a deep, crushing weight in my chest like the onset of a panic attack.

I hesitated at the threshold. Most of the cells were empty now, but the longer I stared, the more the memories sharpened. I saw ghostly flashes of hollow-eyed prisoners who once filled them, sunken and broken.

I could remember them telling me that escaping this dungeon was a fantasy. 

My steps slowed, but the moment I reached the familiar junction, a narrow hallway with reinforced steel bars, I stopped entirely.

It came rushing back.

“You bastard. Let go of me. You can't just kidnap me.”

Flashback of my desperate and angry voice as I pulled against his strong grip played in my mind like a broken reel. 

“Welcome home, little killer,” 

I felt my legs weaken when more clear memories of how he had chained me and collared my neck in a massive cell for days… and paraded his Blood Slaves before me. He’d feed on them and make them writhe beneath his hands and mouth, right in front of me. 

I could remember the choking and whimpering sound of the girl who had begged not to be touched in front of me like others. 

I remembered everything now.

How he had bitten and fingerfucked those girls like it was a performance, but really, it was intended as a punishment for me.

He wanted me to watch. To ache. To yearn to take their place. It was all a manipulation scheme. He meant to seduce me until I surrendered wholly to him.

“Can’t bear to watch?” 

“Do you still want to kill me, little killer?”

Echoes of his degrading words lapped in my head and I caught myself glaring at his back. 

Vale paused almost at the same time too like he felt the pressure of my glare pressing between his shoulder blades. He turned his head slightly, just enough for me to capture a ghostly smile on his face.

“You planning to stab me in the back with your eyes, little killer?” he asked, his voice low and filled with dark amusement that made my heart beat faster. 

How I hated that nickname. How could he make being called a murderer sound like a twisted endearment?

Forcing my feet to move, I walked to the big iron gate of the cell he had once kept me in. 

“Don’t call me that,” I muttered, trying to prevent any more memories from slipping back. “You don’t get to romanticize the things you made me do.”

Vale let out a low chuckle, the sound echoing off the cold, stone walls. “Oh, Nyx…” He drawled, and I swallowed a choking breath. 

I didn't want him calling my name like I meant something to him.