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He loomed over her.
Zoya kept her eyes closed, although she knew it was useless. He could hear the pounding of her heart, the shift in her breathing. She laid on the golden chaise in their sitting room, refusing to disturb him asleep in their bed. He didn’t sleep for long or deeply enough for her liking, so when she caught him quiet and behaving much like a log washed up on the shore, Zoya took to the sitting room rather than slipping into bed beside him.
It was better this way, even though she loathed to be away from him during their quieter moments. When he tended to have restful nights, the storms visited her. She’d toss and turn and kick him awake, and he wouldn’t sleep well for another week even though he never sported dark circles beneath his eyes. It was unfair how a lack of sleep looked good on him.
What she had stopped dreaming about was the demon. How could she dream of him when she saw him in her waking hours, perched on the windowsill of their bedroom window? Sometimes, he would climb into bed with her, half-man, half-shadow. There were days when Nikolai had it under control, and then there were the days that seemed to burst forth from a storybook about wolves that were slaves to the full moon.
She knew the moon was big and bright, full and milky, as it looked over Ravka with what many thought was fondness. She wondered if the moon knew that Nikolai was sleeping well tonight, and that’s why it summoned it forth.
No matter how many times he called it forth and controlled it like a puppet, the demon still made her uncomfortable.
His breathing was softer than Nikolai’s. His touch was gentler, even with the sharp tip of his talons. He drew them across her cheek now as she lay impossibly still. The blankets had fallen away from her. Zoya wasn’t one to feel embarrassment in being caught wearing her silky and thin lingerie to bed, but she should’ve tucked the blanket more securely beneath her to keep her just in case—
Just in case for what? Of all the things they anticipated, this was never one of them.
There were moments when the demon was his puppet, and there were nights when it was the puppet master. Tonight, it took the strings of Nikolai by its talons and played him gently with him.
The demon lingered, staying where he was. Over the last fortnight, the demon would wake, crawl out of bed, and hover over her. At first, it had lasted seconds. He’d linger over her before taking to the skies, and she’d chase after him. Seconds morphed to minutes—and she wasn’t certain if they would morph into hours.
But he remained longer than he did last night. His talon brushed against the apple of her cheek, the corner of her lips, and down her throat. The sharp tip grazed her pulse point, beating fast like an onslaught of rain.
The demon made a noise. No, he did. She’d recognise it anywhere. The low growl sounded like Nikolai when he was frustrated.
She remained still as the demon traced his nail down her collarbones, slipping it beneath the thin strap of her slip. Zoya refused to move. She wanted to understand what it wanted, so she studied it through the way it shifted against and with the air. It seldom disturbed it when it lingered with her. It was almost like the demon had a respect for it. Its wings were gentle against it as they remained still.
His talon traced the strap until it swept across her breast, slicing at her skin. Zoya made a noise unwittingly but stubbornly kept her eyes shut. The demon didn’t draw back. Its talon brushed past her nipple as its fingertips—Nikolai’s fingers, callused and soft and strong—grazed her breast.
Saints, why was she entertaining this?
With her eyes closed, it was easy to imagine Nikolai kneeling beside the chaise. He always liked to take his time studying her, as if she was something to marvel at, like one of his silly and incredible innovations.
When he cupped her breast, his thumb swept firmly across her tightening nipple. His talon had already sliced the silky material open. Zoya kept her eyes closed as her heart thundered beneath his hand. The demon remained where he was, his breathing hard and coming faster than before.
She possessed her answer—or it possessed her. She opened her eyes and studied him, noting how he moved through the air. He twitched and readjusted where he kneeled. When he had come to her over the last several nights, he swept through the air with the same grace as her king, but there was a lopsidedness to his movements. Did the weight of his wings tip him to one side? Could he feel them beneath his skin when he was in this form? But there was also a gracefulness to him that Nikolai didn’t quite possess. She supposed that was the shadow in him. He glided across the small spaces of the room like a shadow stretching from one corner to its opposite.
Why hadn’t he let the demon separate from himself?
"Kolya," she murmured. The demon hummed in response, keeping its talon inside the silk of her nightgown. His touch was as confident as always, but there was a slight tremor in his hand. "Kolya," she exhaled, "you won’t hurt me."
The demon hesitated. She once thought his face an ugly thing, a smearing against the King’s honour— but as she looked at him now, she could see Nikolai’s beauty. The sharpness of his cheeks, the slightly crooked bridge of his nose. She liked how his hair fell into his face. His lips were the same—and while his eyes were black, she could see specks of hazel dot them like they were the stars in the night sky.
She extended her hand to cup his face gently. He leaned into her touch, closing his eyes briefly. He exhaled roughly as she grazed her thumb against his lips.
He was still Nikolai beneath the scars.
Could he understand her? Was he in there? She’d witnessed Nikolai summon his demon from within him countless times over the last few months since his return from Ketterdam, his smile proud and the flick of his wrist undeniably confident. But she knew that there were nights when his confidence was all a farce. How much control did he have over the demon? How much control did the demon still have over him?
Did he feel the Darkling’s power rumble through the earth like an incoming thunderstorm, too?
"I’ll want him back," she said to the demon. He closed his eyes and tipped his head even further into her palm. Parting his lips, he grazed his teeth—fangs—against the heel. Zoya shivered, inhaling deeply as she tried to control the stuttering of her heart.
His tongue replaced his teeth. It was courser than she recalled his—Nikolia’s—tongue being. Zoya inhaled deeply through her nose as she watched him; his eyes remained closed as he lapped at the salt of her hand, his tongue tracing the lifelines of her palms. He was slow to navigate to the inside of her wrist, where his mouth latched, and he sucked hard against her pounding pulse.
When he pulled away, the skin was red. He kept onward, alternating between kissing, licking, and grazing the sharp tips of his fangs against the inside of her arm. At the crook of her elbow, he nipped at her. Zoya realised when the chaise’s cushions dipped beneath the familiar weight that he had climbed on top of her. A knee pressed between hers and remained between her legs as he settled his other on her side.
Caged by the demon’s arms, Zoya didn’t panic. Her heart pounded and her skin grew clammy and hot, but she could see Nikolai in the curious tilt of his head. His hair fell against his temples as he eyed her, his dark eyes an endless midnight.
His mouth was hot and insistent against the underside of her jaw. Teeth nipped at her neck, biting a little too hard as he descended to her pulse. Zoya tilted her head as she let him lick and suck at where her pulse pounded hard beneath her skin. She wrapped her fingers around his biceps, liking that she felt familiar soft, warm skin.
"Not so hard," she murmured. The demon didn’t listen for a moment, and then the sharpness of its teeth grew softer. He sucked at her neck, lapping at it with his tongue. She was certain he drew blood with the tips of his fangs.
He licked his ascent along her throat, teeth grazing and lingering at her jaw. His mouth was hot and hungry when he sloped it against hers, and Zoya parted her lips to slide her tongue against his. Her hands gripped his hair, tangling her fingers within it like it was air to slide between her fingertips.
The demon’s weight was the same as Nikolai’s. His hands pressed against the chaise on either side of her, the cushion dipping beneath them. Zoya slid her foot against the pillow as she glided it to the edge of the seat, parting her legs for him to perch between. His weight dipped the chaise as he undid his trousers, tugging them down his hips and leaving them stretched across his thighs.
Resting his weight on one hand, the demon slid his other palm slowly down her side to drag a talon along the sharp jut of her hip. He pulled her nightgown up to her waist, uncaring that half of it was trapped between her and the chaise. Tracing her silk-covered hip crease, he palmed her thigh and brought her leg up to settle around his hips.
Ah, there he was.
There were moments when Zoya worried the lucidity Nikolai experienced as the demon was fleeting. Some days, it seemed like he wasn’t there at all like they’d regressed to the first few weeks when the demon had started to cause trouble for them a few years ago. But when the demon behaved so intentionally in his movements, she knew it was Nikolai steering the ship. The demon was loud and brash, bashing down doors and bumping into walls. He’d left a nasty scratch on her thigh a month ago when he’d leapt from the window, and she had him by the wing.
The demon—Nikolai—pressed his hard cock against her silk panties. A talon brushed against her hip as he wedged it beneath the fabric and tore it.
"You’ll be paying for that," she murmured. The demon didn’t reply; he never did.
Zoya curled her other leg around his waist to draw him closer. The demon’s eyes were intently focused on her; he peered down at her, lips parted, and Zoya tilted her head to the side as she cocked her brow expectantly. Shifting her hips against his, she gasped when she felt him rub against her.
She arched her back off the bed as she clawed at his back, her nails dragging along his white and too-loose, ruined shirt. His hair was still soft in her hands; she played with the hairs at his nape as he thrust his hips into her. The demon grunted as Nikolai would. The demon moaned as Nikolai would. When she opened her eyes and saw a head of golden hair, she thought for a moment he’d come back to her.
But the demon’s eyes were black when he looked up at her, and the scars around his eyes shifted like shadow serpents. He parted his lips and dropped his gaze to her mouth, and Zoya bit her lip as she regarded him with a challenging tilt of her head.
"Zoya."
That was enough for her.
"Come on," she breathed roughly, digging her heel into his back. She cleared her throat against a rumbling moan. "Your Tsaritsa demands your fealty."
The demon’s lips quirked upward. He didn’t offer her a quip—he never did; all he ever uttered was: "Zoya."
His mouth was hot and hard against hers, his fangs a little too sharp against her lips as he bit her. Zoya didn’t pull back when she felt the tip of a fang slice open her bottom lip. She didn’t turn away when she tasted a slip of her blood on her tongue. Cupping the back of his head, she pulled him closer and dug a heel into his back to draw him into her.
She gasped against his lips as he stretched her open, biting his bottom one sharply. She sliced skin with her bared teeth; Nikolai—the demon—hardly flinched. His hands were hard against her, one tucked beneath her back to draw her closer to him and to push in deeper while the other remained curled along her thigh. His weight was crushing, but Zoya amplified the air around them to keep herself from sinking.
He wouldn’t let her drown. The demon never could.
The demon’s hips pushed against hers. Thunder rolled over the gardens outside their chambers. She felt it rumble through the floor of the bedroom. When the demon pulled away from her to dip his mouth against the underside of her jaw, she opened her eyes to see shadows overhead. His wings were wide and spread, glittering like a pattern of stars on a cut-out of night. They flapped gently.
Zoya kept her legs wrapped around him, pushing up into him as she felt his cock slide deeper inside her. He felt different to Nikolai, thicker like he needed to take up more space in contrast to the larger-than-life personality that laid dormant inside its shadowy self. She grabbed at his back, managed to paw at a wing, and arched off the chaise as he held her tightly to him like he was about to take flight with her in his arms. His thrusts were sharp; he mewled against her neck as he shallowly bit her skin. Zoya didn’t try to control the tide of him fucking her; she dragged her fingers into his hair to cup the back of his head and clawed at his back, feeling familiar muscles move beneath her fingertips.
The demon came with a grunt and a sharp press of his hips, his body growing taut above her. But where she remembered this body pressing on, slipping a hand between them to add another piece of himself inside her, the demon remained still on top of her.
The wings’ disappearance was grotesque as they noisily slid into the skin of his back. Nikolai groaned softly as he appeared on top of her, the size and shape of him shifting above and inside her.
She anticipated he’d become boneless and heavy on top of her, but Nikolai held his weight against the chaise as he grimaced. The wings took too long to retreat beneath his skin. Zoya had watched it once, determinedly refusing to blink as they shifted into skin and left him raw with a rash for days after. She trailed her fingers along his back, grazing her nails against his nape to settle her fist in his hair.
He slipped from her touch like water.
She frowned. Breathlessly, "Nikolai—"
Tugging her nightgown to her stomach, he pushed her legs open and shuffled back against the chaise. She was splayed unattractively on the golden cushions, but Nikolai looked at her with a hunger she’d seen in the demon’s face.
His gaze lingered on her before he trailed his eyes over her body, similar to how the demon often looked at her like she was a meal. Like she was something he wished to devour. He never looked at her like she was something to possess. But where there should be a black nothingness, a cloudy, unreadable expression of dark desire, bright hazel eyes met hers instead.
"We can’t have this, can we?" He pressed his fingers to her inner thighs, grazing her with his nails. She whimpered when his fingers brushed her sensitive cunt. "Him in you."
She rolled her eyes. There was no point in reminding him that the demon was him—it never did well to go against the story Nikolai intended to weave. Instead, she played along, pressing her foot against the edge of the chaise to spread her thighs wider. The movement drew his gaze down.
"Are you jealous?" she asked, amused.
He scoffed. "Of course not."
She laughed. "You’re jealous of your own demon. You’re an idiot."
"I prefer 'handsome idiot who can make you come'."
"That’s too many words."
"My speciality, Zoeckha."
"What do you intend to do, Nikolai?"
"Clean you up. We can’t have the Queen of Ravka looking a mess, can we?" When she narrowed her eyes, he smiled. "Looking a beautiful, delectable, distracting mess."
With a pleased exhale, she smiled, "Much better."
Nikolai shifted against the chaise until he was in a position he was pleased with. He didn’t resettle his cock between her legs—he was soft and shiny with her slickness, and she doubted he’d be coming any time soon—but he shuffled back so he could bow his head toward the apex of her legs.
He spread her open with his fingers as he flattened his tongue and curled it inside her, licking at her. He remained where he was, pressed tight against her, the heat of his face sending the furnace inside her into overdrive. Zoya tried desperately to focus on the softness of his hair, but she squirmed beneath him, skin growing flushed and pink at the idea of him licking his own come from inside her. Pressing his hot mouth tight against her, he licked at her inner walls, curling and flattening his tongue as he lapped at her.
"How do you taste, Kolya?" she murmured as she did her best not to wiggle. It was impossible not to. It was easy to accept the demon as him when she had him in her arms and between her legs. She reached back to grip the chaise and shift her upper body in an attempt to keep her lower half still for him. His hands anchored her hips and pinched her tightly to keep her in place as he tilted his head and licked at her.
With her heel against his back, she pressed down hard. "Kolya," she murmured as the wind swept across them. Her breathing grew laboured. "Your Koroleva asked you a question." He sucked at her lips, his tongue curling against her inner walls. She moaned low in her throat, breath hitching.
She felt him smile against her. He continued to lap at her until he pulled away, his face wet and shiny and pink. "Not as good as you, moya Koroleva." He disappeared between her legs, his fingers joining his tongue as he spread her open.
He shifted his face against her and licked at the seam of her cunt instead. Saints, he was a tease. Her breathing grew rough and ragged despite her attempts to calm it. Zoya jolted when he sucked on her clit. He kept his fingers inside her, curling them as he pumped them in and out, and hummed a ridiculous tune she hated to hear on the True Sea.
Zoya pressed her heel tightly against his back. She reached for his hair and gripped it, pulling him closer when she wished to push him away. Fire curled low in her belly and warmed the tips of her toes. She pushed and pulled at him as she began to writhe on the damp chaise and came with her back arched and a thrashing of thunder shaking the bedchambers and window glass.
Nikolai kept his head tucked between her legs as he continued to finger fuck and suck on her. Gently pulling away, he pressed a kiss to her lower belly, then another near her navel, travelling up the length of her with kisses until he sloped his mouth against hers. One of his hands was tucked against her leg as she curled it around him.
Looping her arms around his back, Zoya pulled him flush against her, uncaring of his weight on top of her. She liked his weight. She liked the smoothness of his back, the charcoal of his fingers, and how he chose to stay with her as the demon and as himself.
"See?" he murmured against her lips, nipping at the bottom one. He licked at the bloodied cut. "I told you I’d always come back to you, my lighthouse."
"You called me your horizon," she corrected derisively. A lighthouse was trapped in place, with duplicates positioned all over the map. A lighthouse couldn’t follow him wherever he went, not like the horizon.
"Is that not the same thing?" Nikolai tucked his hands beneath her and rolled them over and accidentally onto the floor. Luckily for him, he broke her fall.