Lost souls - Chapter four | Lust x reader
Prince of Lust is known for his cunningness, desirability, extravagancy and most of all – cruelty. He can give others the taste of pure joy and desire, but before his victims can grasp on those feelings, he takes it all. Together with any desire to live, what made a being a being, to feed his sin. Where once was utter joy, there was utter hell. But lust is never-ending and always left unsatisfied, just like gluttony – enough is never enough. And so, the prince keeps on taking and taking, yearning to fill that void inside his rotten and wicked soul, or what was left of it, and hiding this very truth from the world and himself behind his jovial and cunning persona.
Reader is a mere mortal, who is trying to make her world a better place by helping only pure souls that are left in the world and tries to improve their lives. At the age of 25 she graduated Veterinary University and became well-regarded by her colleagues. But no matter how hard she tried, sometimes her knowledge, skills and practice aren´t enough to saves lives that matter to her the most. That is sadly a part of her job, of medicine. She is average beautiful honest and perceptive young lady with big heart and sensitive soul, that was hurt and struggled to live many times in her life. And is struggling once again. What will happen when she somehow ends up in completely different world and timeline, far away from home?
What will happen when these two lost souls finally collide? Will they find solace in each other, or will their difference only keep them forever apart?
Maybe their difference isn´t so big after all.
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Warnings into the future: emotional struggle, suicidal thoughts, slow burn, small confidence, lust is a secret romantic, threesome, vaginal sex, oral sex, mirror sex, dirty talk, praise (more warnings will be add in the future),
there will be probably no plot – it will be a journey of two souls finding their way to each other (with eventual porn)
This is for everyone who can´t wait for another book starring Prince of Lust. Because the book isn´t released (and who knows when it will be released) we don´t know his inside character. So this won´t be totally accurate and this is purely my imagination (hell I didn´t even read The Throne of the Fallen or The Throne of the Secrets, because it isn´t still translated to my language) what his character actually looks like. So, this fic will be probably rewritten once his book will be released :P.
And sorry for any grammar mistakes. As you probably found out English isn´t my native language.
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(Everybody knows this shortcut (just how many dirty fictions you read, you freak), but I will still give here an explanation.)
(Y/Nn) = your nickname/short version of your name (given by your family)
(Y/C) = your favourite colour
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There was silence. And there was darkness.
The silence was deafening, unnatural.
I felt as though I was floating. There was no heaviness to hold me down. Just lightness. Like nothing else mattered in the world. It didn't feel like I was existing anymore. And then I understood.
This was what I had wanted for so long. Just existing. But not quite. To finally feel nothing. I have never realized, how much my mind had bound me until I was free of its shackles.
I couldn't help myself but wonder, if this was what freedom actually feels like.
But this little freedom I had finally gained, was snatched away from me again. Now, the reality came crashing down on me.
My senses were returning.
I could hear the crackling of fire, but it was muffled slightly. And there was a freezing cold, crawling itself under my skin, into my bones. It was so freezing that my teeth had started chattering, and my body began to tremble. I was lying on hard ground, and something was pricking my skin.
There was a blinding pain – ringing in my head like thousands of church bells.
The last thing to come were memories. Of today, at the clinic. Another life passing away. Another life that I couldn't stop from leaving this world too soon.
Helplessness. Anger. Disbelief. Grief. Devastation. Regret. Failure. Guilt.
My breakdown. Freya. The owner. My silent, lonely walk home. The river.
Suddenly, I jolted up from my slumber, which made my headache worse. The pain was unbearable. I gripped my head with my hands, in an attempt to ease it. To somehow drive away the blinding whiteness from my vision. I let out a whimper.
When the pain subsided, I looked at my surroundings. But my mind didn't catch up with what I was witnessing. I was in a cell. It had an iron floor, iron walls and an iron door. There was nothing in the cell except for a few pathetic piles of hay, on which I was lying. And a small, flickering ray of light creeping through the barred window in the door.
Panic hung over me like a dark cloud.
I couldn't remember, how I had got here. The last thing I could remember was blinding lights of a car approaching at dangerous speed, and the deafening sound of its horn. And nothing after that.
Had I been hit by the car? Had the driver panicked and brought me here, getting an impression I was dead?
No, except for a headache, I didn't feel any pain. I started checking my body, looking for broken bones, bruises, or bleeding, in case the adrenaline or shock was masking the pain. But I didn't find anything. There were no signs of me having been dragged in here, either. Wherever 'here' was. I felt like I was in a creepy reality show, and this was just cruel joke or hidden camera prank. Who else would have an iron cell under their house?
I rushed to the door, and tried to open it, only to find out the door had no handle or keyhole. I wrestled with the window bars in an attempt to escape, but, of course, they were closed. I started wrestling with the heavy iron door again, praying that I could probably release it from its old rusty hinges, assuming the door weren't looked after. But they looked like brand new and they weren't willing to submit to my pathetic tries and cries.
I checked the room I was locked in once again, just in case I had overlooked another exit. But there was nothing. Not even a window.
Okay, (Y/n), focus. Think straight. What else can you do?
My mobile phone. Maybe I could call the police for help, if there was a signal.
I realized at that moment that I didn't see my bag. Or my phone. Or any of my other belongings.
Someone had brought me here, locked me in a cell, and stolen my bag and its contents.
I started checking my pockets for anything useful. Maybe my phone was in them, I thought naïvely. But they were empty. Just like my plans and hopes of getting out of here.
What else? What else? What else…
I suppose there was nothing left to do but try to catch the attention of my captor. If my prison had been made of stone, I might have stood a chance of defending myself. Maybe a rock might have become loose. Or some rock could have fallen from the ceiling. But my prison was a metal cube.
So, my only hope for self-defence was a handful of hay. Great. Maybe I could aim for his eyeballs and poke his eyes to buy myself time to escape. It could work…
But probably only in another universe.
I suppose I must face the reality head on with nothing but my bare hands.
I came face to face with the freezing iron again and started banging on it to catch someone´s attention.
“Helloooo!!!” I called out into the silence. My voice echoed in the hall, my words coming back to me, as if to mock me. “Is anybody here? Somebody help me!”
Even if someone was standing next to the door or was nearby I couldn't see them, because the window was so small.
I tried several times, ignoring the pain in my throat from all the screaming and calling for help, before I finally gave up. Only when my voice had given out and tears clouded my vision, only then I could hear footsteps approaching and a muffled voice. No. Voices. Several voices. There were more of them. Seven men and one woman.
Even if the driver really crashed into me with his car and, by some miracle, I was left unharmed and then he brought me here, so I wouldn't call the police, it still wouldn't explain why there are so many of them. So, I can check off this scenario from my list.
That leaves me with scenarios in which my chances of survival are very low. The only scenarios left now are – I was caught for sex trafficking, I was caught for organ donation, I was caught by some rapists, or a group of mad people performing some kind of fucked-up black magic ritual. Or aliens are real.
My mind has come up with many scenarios, trying to find an explanation why I was in this mess. Each one crazier than the last.
I didn't like any of those scenarios.
I have never been religious, but now the only thing I can do is pray that I will come out of this alive.
There has been a time in my life when I have wished I had left the world of the living, and I am wishing it again now. To find peace at last. My chest wouldn't feel heavy with anxiety. My organs wouldn't be clenched so tightly that I couldn't eat anymore. I would finally stop vomiting every morning. I wouldn't feel sick when eating even a small amount of food. My mind would be light and empty. It wouldn't spiral. It wouldn't weigh me down. It wouldn't bombard me with every doubt, regret and feeling of guilt. It wouldn't remind me that nothing I ever did never actually mattered. That I let all of these lives down. The only lives that mattered to me. Lives that depended on me and trusted me.
But I never wanted to die like this – raped, sold, or sacrificed. No one does.
The tremor in my body worsened as the silence overtook the hushed voices and the footsteps of men in Oxford shoes approached when the door in the hall opened. The only way I could create the illusion of safety in this godforsaken place was to put as much distance as possible between myself and my only way out. I gulped; my throat suddenly dried up, my heart rate increased and my breathing becoming more rapid. Small clouds of condensed air escaped from my lungs, almost blocking my view of the entrance to the occupied cell.
One pair of footsteps was getting closer… and closer… and closer… The person stopped in front of the door, enveloping my room in darkness. I fought to stop myself from whimpering. I could not let my prisoner see my fear and gain the upper hand.
The door opened slowly and revealed my prisoner.
He was tall. In fact, he was so tall that he had to duck his head slightly to get through the doorway. He must have been over six feet tall.
His body almost filled the space of the doorway casting my cell in darkness. Only a few little rays of light from the torches were brave enough to push past him, but they didn't illuminate his face.
However, it was not his towering height that took my breath away. It was his presence. A presence that seemed to have subsumed all light and time. His presence that could subjugate anyone to himself. He was like a black hole, from which no one could escape, pulling everything within his range into his embrace and crushing everyone and everything in his infinite gravity. Absorbing everything that remained of you.
I have never felt so intimidated. Even more so when he nonchalantly hid both of his hands in his trousers and tilted his head to one side, like a predator assessing its prey.
I didn't realize I had stopped breathing until a chuckle left his lips. “You can breathe, you know.”
His voice was velvet, like finest silk and soft as a feather. His voice was like a lover’s touch – embracing, seductive, thrilling and oh so dangerous. If this was another situation it would definitely have sent different kind of shiver down my spine, than the one I was felling right now.
I released a ragged breath from my burning lungs.
“Who are you? What do you want from me?” I asked him. My voice cracked and my lips were dry. I was surprised that I could say anything at all, given that my tongue was glued to the roof of my mouth.
“Now you are stealing words from my mouth, darling.”
I couldn't see his face, but judging by his tone, it was definitely twisted into a cruel smile. Meeting him on the street I would say it was a seductive smile.
Then he took a few steps forward and entered my cell. He moved to the side so that the light would finally show his face. As if he wanted to make this conversation fair for both of us.
“I don't think so.” I furrowed my brows, and he raised one of his.
Now, half of his face was visible. And he was breathtaking. His face looked as if it was sculpted by Michelangelo himself. He had sharp features, high cheekbones and golden skin. His dark brown hair was slightly wavy and neat, and his full lips were curved sensually.
They were charcoal black. They were like two deep pits that threatened to swallow you whole, if you looked into them for too long. I was afraid that, if I didn't look away, I would never escape. I can imagine there would be someone, who would love to fall into his trap and be at his mercy. To be enveloped in his embrace and die happily in it. I wasn't that brave. I didn't have the luxury or the emotions to subjugate to.
I blinked and quickly looked away. After that, the temperature dropped out of sudden. Goosebumps popped out on my skin, my hair stood on end. It was so cold that I couldn't help but hug myself. Tremors took over my body again. I looked into his eyes, and it was a miracle I didn't collapse from their intensity. If there was any warmth in them, it was replaced by fury and cold calculation.
I examined the rest of his body. Under the tailored suit – black jacket, black trousers – was an undeniably well-built body of a great fighter and lover. The fact was underlined by his chest, which could be seen, because his purple shirt was halfway undone. His appearance of dangerous seducer was completed by a black waistcoat decorated with silver thread. Symbol of luxury and cold emotionless elegance.
He was the very embodiment of seduction.
“Why am I here?” I found my voice again. “You could have left me, where you have found me. I didn't see the registration plate, or who was driving the car in the darkness. I had nothing to report to the police, you could have just left me there, still unconscious.” My voice was a little shaky, but I managed to finish speaking. This was my chance to convince him (or them) to free me.
He just leaned against the iron wall, mockingly, his hands still in his pockets. He smiled at me and said: “No police can help you here, sweetheart. But I think you already know that.”
Yes, I knew that. But hearing the devastating truth sucked all hope of escape out of me. Despair was my only companion at that moment. I wanted to stand up to his statement, but I didn't know how.
He then took his hands and crossed his arms over his chest. “And what is a car?”
“No. No, I am not.” He said it so convincingly, utterly confused – by the word and my question.
He studied me with his cold eyes. He took a very good look at me, like I was an opponent who might pounce on him at any moment, calculating the most effective way to take him down.
My heart was beating so fast, I thought it would burst out of my chest. He then pulled himself away from the wall and took a step towards my trembling form. I took a step back.
“Do you even know where you are? And don't try to lie to me. I can sense a lie.” Another step. I took another step back. But I inched closer to the exit as well. Probably my only way out.
“I don't know. You are the one, who brought me here. What kind of stupid question is that?” I didn't want to anger him with my attitude, but I get very defensive when I'm scared.
“Because you are the one who showed up, practically on my doorstep, somehow you also got around the Hell Gate, only me and my brothers can open, and the Sin Corridor.”
Hell Gate? Sin Corridor? What the hell is this guy talking about? I suppose I was captured by a satanic cult after all.
He took another step. I took a step towards freedom.
“And let's not forget about your strange belongings and your talk here about some car.” I didn't understand where he was going with his questions. Another step. The exit was closer.
“So let me ask you the question, you asked me first. Who are you?” His height was practically towering over me, even though there was still four feet between us.
“You didn't answer my questions, so why should I answer yours?” I suppose someone would call me bold. Maybe I was. But I was also frustrated at not getting any answers. Just as him. And he only spoke nonsense to me.
He hummed. His eyes ran over my small frame. A little spark of interest ignited in his tempting eyes.
“You don't give in easily. I like that.” The corner of his lips lifted. And little wrinkles (and maybe a little dimple) which showed up, the ones that show up when you smile wildly from the bottom of your heart, on his flawless face, only added to his charms.
“Very well. I will satisfy your needs for answers, and you will answer mine,” he purred. Mischief radiated from him, and the hair on the back of my neck stood up.
“I am Prince of Lust. One of the seven Princes of Hell.”
I didn't know what to say to that, actually. Really. What should I say to this delusional man? What approach should I use? I have had to deal with many inappropriate, angry, crazy and complete airhead clients in my profession before. But I really didn't know what to do with him.
“Yeah, of course. And I'm a fucking unicorn.”
Okay. It wasn't the best approach.
“I have seen plenty of unicorns in my life, so I can safely tell you are not one of them. And I can sense your lies, so again, don't even try to lie. Let me ask you one final time.” Step.
If I didn't make the effort to keep some distance between us, his chest would be touching mine.
“Or should I ask, what are you?”
“Uuuuuh… human?” I said, putting all the absurdness of the situation into that word.
“That's a question, not an answer.” His frustration rose to the surface.
“Look, it seems like you don't want me here, and I don't want to be here either. So, I'll do us both a favour and leave. I won't report this satanic session or whatever it is you're doing, or whatever you think you are, and now I'll gladly take my leave.” Then I sprinted out of the door, turned left into the hall — the direction from which the captor had come — and rushed to my freedom. Or so I thought.
Instead, my face was met with a solid wall. Before I could blink off the shock, I felt a grip on my arm. A very strong, uncompromising grip.
It wasn't a wall. It was a chest. A chest which was wearing a black shirt and a black waistcoat adorned with golden snakes. Looking up, I was met with a pair of shining gold eyes. Gold eyes.
Just like the man who had just been speaking with me just now, he had olive brown skin, which was perhaps a little paler, making his eyes stand out more. His features were very sharp and solid as stone. A golden crown sat atop his raven-black hair. He was strongly built, like a warrior – and I could tell, I almost broke my nose from his sturdy chest muscles. Authority and superiority were practically dripping from him.
I took a step back, but he wouldn't let go of my arm, no matter how hard I tried to pull away.
“Not so fast.” The mysterious man said to me, his tone uncompromising.
Then I noticed the other attendees. There were five other men and one woman, the latter of whom was standing next to the man who was crushing my arm. So I heard them right before.
The woman was wearing similar black attire, adorned with snakes and flowers. On top of her head sat a golden crown. Her eyes were golden and pink, alive with a devastating, tempting, and vengeful fire. They were windows to her soul, which was filled with fury. Without a doubt, she belonged with this man.
I shifted my attention to the other men.
Next to him stood another man, who was quite handsome. He was pale, paler than the others. His hair was the colour of liquid white gold and silver. Slight stubble was growing on his square jaw. His ice-blue eyes penetrated me with curiosity and prudence.
Next to the beautiful woman stood a man with the most beautiful green eyes I had ever seen. His face was covered in a short-cut beard. He was assessing me carefully. I couldn't help feeling that a wolf was watching me.
Behind them stood another one, who looked as though he were made of bronze. His dark-russet eyes showed no hint of humanity. They were a void. The void that eats and eats, and still has not had enough. He could own the world, but it still wouldn't be enough for him.
The other had broad shoulders, hazel eyes and brown hair with golden and red strands, that shone in the torchlight. His lips curled into a small smile, as if he had just tasted something delicious and was already longing for more. His nose looked like it had been broken a few times, yet this made him no less inviting — quite the contrary, he carried himself with the ease of a man who always found a feast waiting for him. If he were a college student, he would be the type that never missed a party, drinking until dawn, enjoying orgies, and never growing tired of indulgence.
The last one was right behind the man in black and gold, who still hadn't let go of me. As if he couldn't bear the thought of standing in the background. He had blue eyes that spoke of royalty. He had a scar running from his chin across his full lips. But he didn't hide it under his golden chestnut curls. He held his head high, wearing the scar with pride.
“That wasn't very smart.” I heard a velvet voice say behind me. I turned around to face him. In the full torchlight, he was even more breathtaking.
“What? Trying to escape from your captors, who might hurt you or kill you?” I said in my defence.
“Oh, but we don't want to hurt you. You haven't given us any reason to hurt or kill you. But you haven't given us a reason not to either, because you're either not answering my questions or evading them. We have a lot of questions for you, though.”
“I don't want to answer any questions you have, you who think you're some hell prince of whatever.” A not-so-silent snort was heard behind my back. The charcoal eyes took a look to the source and froze the concerned one with his stare.
Then he turned his gaze to me, and a crown of flames appeared upon his head. A literal crown of flames that was conjured out of nowhere.
My knees trembled and I could hardly breathe at the sight of him.
“Who are you?” I was so afraid of this being, that tears came to my eyes. I couldn't move. My body stagnated. My brain couldn't decide whether to flee or fight. I just stood there, ready to beg for mercy, if necessary.
“I am one of the Seven Princes of Hell. The Prince of Lust.” he repeated. “And behind you stand the other six. My brothers.” his hand waved at them nonchalantly.
“Perhaps we should change the environment, don't you think? That might loosen your tongue.” With those words he threw his cunning smile at me. I gulped.
He approached his brother, the one who was still holding my arm, and whispered something so quietly in his ear that I couldn't understand a word. But the man with the crown slightly tensed — no reaction showed on his face though — at what his brother said to him. When two guards came up to me, he finally released my arm. And the tense strong grip was exchanged for harsh ones. Then I was escorted to the manor, under where I was being held.
