Tristan, p.1
Tristan, page 1
TRISTAN
ROGUE ANGELS
BOOK THREE
LILITH DARVILLE
CONTENTS
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Black Rose and the Three Princes
1. Cassiel
2. Cassiel
3. Aleah
4. Tristan
5. Aleah
6. Tristan
7. Aleah
8. Tristan
9. Aleah
10. Tristan
11. Aleah
12. Tristan
13. Tristan
14. Tristan
Black Rose and the Three Princes Fairy Tale continues . . .
15. Cassiel
16. Tristan
17. Aleah
18. Atroyel
19. Tristan
20. Aleah
21. Tristan
22. Cassiel
23. Cassiel
24. Atroyel
25. Aleah
26. Cassiel
27. Aleah
Epilogue
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Also by Lilith Darville
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BLACK ROSE AND THE THREE PRINCES
THE FAIRY TALE CONTINUES . . .
The connection was instant the moment they met. Atroyel, using a rock musician’s body as his vessel, became her guardian angel, protecting and shielding her from abuse to the best of his limited ability while she grew into a young woman and gave him her love. But, like the princes, Syrael searched ceaselessly for the face in the mirror. Each time his mirror swept the Earth realm, Atroyel’s powers shielded Black Rose. However, his essence weakened with every pass, and after a two-year struggle, his mortal vessel died, forcing Atroyel to ascend back to Bardo… leaving Black Rose exposed to the archangel’s all-seeing magic mirror.
1
CASSIEL
“Fuck!” Shame and fear consume me as I bounce off the curtain of light surrounding my brothers and Aleah as a divine mating bond binds the three of them. I arrive a split second too late to stop Aleah from stealing my brothers from me. Now, it’s up to me to save them. And myself. I refuse to take too close a look at precisely what I’m saving them from. If I do that, I might have to admit a truth or two I refuse to acknowledge.
Rage swamps over me as I watch the three of them linked, locked and awash in divine love. Love and desire bleed through our triplet link in nauseating quantities. This couldn’t have happened; shouldn’t have happened. Nothing was supposed to be strong enough to shatter the triplet bond between the royal princes of the Blue Vale.
Maybe Lord Syrael was right about her.
Where the fuck did that come from? I give my head a shake. Ever since Aleah rescued that child slave Tommy, I’ve been getting flashes better left forgotten.
Fueled by anger that’s building to an inferno, I stalk from the room. One of us has to be fucking responsible here, and as usual, that job falls on my shoulders. Aleah’s detailed agenda that she was so fucking kind to share with us advises she’s touring some private membership club for her godsdamned article. It falls to me to do the fucking prework my brothers should have done. The fucking assholes should know better than let their libidos take priority over the mission to protect Aleah from Lord Syrael at all costs.
“Turn her over to me. You’ll get your brothers back, and I’ll set you free.”
I could swear I hear a deep voice whispering those words in my head, but the thought is gone before I can grasp it. Yet it’s happening more and more, these dark threads filtering through my thoughts. Then there’s the constant hum of heat from our triplet link that’s taken hold of my junk. It’s jerking me one way and the dark threads another. It’s enough to make an angel batshit crazy and lets me know I need to get laid. I can kill the proverbial two birds with one visit to Pandemonium—scout the location and scene with a hot sub.
I stop by my assigned bedroom to take off my jacket and shed my tie in a nod to a more casual look. Wearing one of my signature custom suits to scene at a sex club in the middle of the night is more than a bit of overkill. I’ll be there to survey, not announce my presence, and the high-noon gunslinger look of the 1920’s style clothing I favor makes a statement. So, I tone it down. Many there will be wearing fetish gear, but that’s not my style.
Raphael waits near the door as I step into the main hall, my long outer coat slung carefully over his extended arm.
“Thank you.” I stride forward, and he holds the coat open for me to shrug on. Seeing the caretaker waiting as if he reads my mind startles me, but I’m a master at hiding my reactions from everyone, friend or foe.
Raphael raises his palm, and a small vial appears. The nectar inside the vial cloaks our divine grace and magic.
I shake my head and wave a hand, dismissing the idea. “Thanks, but I won’t be needing that.” My tone makes it clear this is not up for discussion. I have more than enough power to suppress my magic, making it undetectable. If I choose to.
Raphael bows his head slightly and the vial disappears. “As you wish.”
“I’ll be at the Pandemonium club getting us registered. I’ll be back in a couple of hours.” I open a portal before he can argue with me and step through into the shadows outside of the private sex club. After explaining my visit to reception, a “serving wench” named Darcy escorts me around the premises. She points out various rooms and explains the pandemic protocols they practice, eventually stopping in the primary dungeon. The social area is full of people in various stages of undress and fetish gear chatting and watching the scenes in the adjoining play area. My attention is immediately drawn to the bondage equipment on a far wall as a large man sidles up beside me.
“Most of the furniture is unique and custom-built for The Woodshed.” The man is shorter than me, but his commanding presence quickly identifies him as a Dom. “My name is Master Zazz. Welcome to our dungeon. The front desk tells me Cyrus Stone referred you to us.” The inflection in his tone doesn’t rise, but there’s no doubt the man expects an answer. He gives Darcy a nod, and she strides off toward the reception area.
“Indirectly, yes.” I match my tone to his. “I’m here to scout the location on behalf of Mosaic Magazine and their contributor, Aleah Hunter. She’s writing a feature series on Cyrus Stone and his Pleasure Palace.” I stop short of opining on how a man with so little imagination can run a sex empire.
Zazz, massive arms crossed over his barrel chest, stares and waits. I stifle my impatience. Getting on this guy’s wrong side will no doubt piss Aleah right off. The thought of her petite body facing off with me once again without fear makes my cock go rock hard. I push the thought away needing to focus on the play before me.
“Are those modified St. Andrew’s Crosses?” I point to the bondage furniture lining the wall. Since flogging and whipping are my favorite forms of impact play, I’m particularly interested in bondage furniture. And having Aleah’s naked body splayed out on it. Again, my cock goes harder still, and I pull my long coat closed. Unlike the exhibitionists in the crowd, I prefer to choose how I display myself in public.
Zazz’s lips quirk into a smile as if letting me know I’m not fooling him for a second. He’s seen it all before and then some, I have no doubt. He nods. “The design is a hybrid between a St. Andrew’s Cross and another piece we developed called the Stickman. They’re comfortable for your bottom and very stable.”
I give a nod to acknowledge his subtle identification of a fellow Dom. “I look forward to giving it a try.”
The tour continues, and Zazz points out various points of evident pride. I listen impatiently as he holds forth about the shibari rigs and rope play, but that’s Tristan’s kink, not mine. However, the custom spanking benches do capture my attention. Another image of Aleah, this time kneeling on the red leather, legs spread wide on the spanking bench, keeps my cock standing at attention.
After noting the bootblack stand for later use, Zazz spends a few moments pointing out the features of an updated suspension cage. Again, not my usual kink as I have no patience for protracted punishment play.
Darcy comes up behind Zazz and stands demurely, head down in submission until he gestures for her to speak. She slides closer and whispers in his ear.
“Ah, good,” Zazz says. “Sensei Master Stone happens to be on the premises, and he’s eager to meet one of the Mosaic Magazine’s entourage.”
My heart rate accelerates at the mention of his name. I put it down to Zazz’s unusual use of the title sensei master. The title lets me know that Cyrus Stone considers himself a BDSM king.
Zazz leads the way down a long hall, opens the door to a private playroom and steps back, gesturing for me to go inside. Eager to meet the kingpin and set the ground rules, I walk forward, barely registering the door closing behind me.
A large man sits on an oversized padded chair upon a raised platform, like a throne on a dais. Muscular legs are spread wide, and a hairy forearm sits on each throne’s arm, a bullwhip curled in one hand. As our eyes meet, his glow with an ethereal black light. Images of the time when he had guardianship over me and my brothers comes flooding back. It’s as if he rips away the bandage hiding the festering boil of dark magic that he planted in my soul to make me submit to being a plaything for him and his friends. Fear and loathing swarm through me as his dark power pours over me, taking control of my muscles and mind.
“K neel, Cassiel. Bow to your master.” His deep voice brings back another torrent of images from the torture I endured as a child. Torture I suffered at the hands of him and his patrons to save my brothers from a similar fate. I lock my knees, refusing to bow, ignoring the fear choking off my air supply. I’m no longer that boy.
I hear the snap a split second before the pain hits the tender spot at the back of my knees. I drop to the floor, bowing to Cyrus Stone.
2
CASSIEL
Terror bolts through me as one of Lord Syrael’s henchmen slams my forehead to the floor. Searing agony spiders through my head, competing with the pain in the back of my legs. Lord Syrael used his expert whip skills to strike where my hamstrings meet the backs of my knees, causing angry heat to run upward from there into my glutes. Hate joins the fear as the bastard chuckles.
“Well, well, well. It’s been a hot decade, Cassiel, but it was only a matter of time. Welcome back to the fold. Now, let’s get down to business.” Lord Syrael’s tone darkens. “Let’s have a look at you.”
Nausea follows the fear as my head snaps up and Lord Syrael’s onyx eyes drill through me.
“I sent you boys to recover something that belongs to me. Where is it?” He coils the whip around his hand as if readying for another strike.
Another bolt of hatred tears through my system at the way he refers to Aleah. One of his belongings. One of his pets. Just like me. “If you’re referring to Black Rose, she’s with the Druids, sensei.” I bite the words out, determined not to let this bastard get the best of me despite knowing I’ve already lost.
Lord Syrael gets off his throne and crosses the floor, stopping when he’s about a foot in front of me. The guard yanks my head back, so I have no choice but to look at the sensei master. He studies me for a long moment as his black eyes laser through me. Finally, he frowns as if he’s not happy with what he sees and snaps his fingers. On cue, a woman wearing nothing but a harness and collar steps forward and holds out a bowl, head bowed in total submission. After choosing what looks like a tiny slug, he dangles it in the air and says, “àithne tha thu a ‘dol a-mach agus purge.” I command thee, go forth and purge. Lord Syrael grabs my jaw and forces my mouth open.
“Before we begin, let’s get rid of the taint of divine magic.” He drops the slug into my mouth. “This parasite will reverse the effects of the light and return your memory tenfold.”
My attempts to close my throat are futile, and the fucking thing slides down my esophagus. I start to gag, but the guard holds my head rigid while Lord Syrael clamps my mouth shut, making it impossible for me to do anything but swallow. Moments later, it’s as if the slug replicates and spreads throughout my body, leaving needle-sharp pain and darkness trailing in its wake like storm clouds consuming the light. After several agonizing minutes, the pain subsides into a kind of deep despair. The hard shell around my heart makes it difficult to take a deep breath, so I settle with several shallow ones.
“First, little Cassiel, you’ll receive your punishment. Sadly, I’ll have to make it particularly painful to remind you of your place.” Lord Syrael snaps the whip, and the sound takes me back to memories of when I was a plaything at his infamous sex parties. Bile rises in my throat, but I swallow it down. I need to stay strong, just like all those years ago. For my brothers. For Aleah. I slam the door shut on thoughts of them. Lord Syrael can read minds, and I refuse to let his evil near even the thought of those I care for.
“This will serve as a little reminder of what lies ahead if you fail me,” Lord Syrael says. A stunning fae wearing a large strap-on and holding a long whip steps out of the shadows and takes a position beside him. I gasp as light hits her face, and I recognize her. Flare Sugartree, the fae princess who stole and almost destroyed my heart, gives me a smile that doesn’t reach her cold purple eyes. I start as I realize the white designs that used to be part of her irises are now the same onyx as Lord Syrael’s. As she rakes her eyes over me, she licks her lips in anticipation, giving me a moment to wonder why she’s here on Earth. Typically, the fae live in a dimension that keeps them separate from humanity, but Lord Syrael probably demanded her presence for the sole purpose of humiliating me.
“Now, let’s get this scene started,” Lord Syrael says as two of his men wheel a spanking bench into the center of the room and lock it in place. A slight nod of his chin and the bastard holding me jerks me to my feet.
“Don’t fight my little pet, Cassiel. The slugs are programmed to attack any attempts to stop their clean-up of divine magic to madness. Fight them, and you’ll end up mad as a hatter.” Lord Syrael throws his hair back and booms out a laugh at his bad joke. It stops as sharply as it started, and he turns his attention back to me.
“My little parasite will help you to break Aleah’s will. I want her ready to submit when you bring her to me,” Lord Syrael says.
“And just how do you propose I do that?” I spit back.
“It shouldn’t take you long to remember the mind games we used to play using self-doubt to penetrate defenses. The parasites will help with that. Now, would you like to undress, or would you rather have my men do it for you?” Lord Syrael’s mild tone doesn’t deceive me. If I allow his men to do it, I’ll have many more bruises than any whipping will give me. I assume Lord Syrael isn’t about to disable me before I deliver his grand prize, but he’s also been known to turn a blind eye while his men land a couple of solid punches to the kidneys or a knee to the tailbone. Nothing crippling but resulting in weeks of pain and misery. Biting back my anger, I remove my clothing, folding it neatly on the floor, delaying the inevitable for a few precious seconds longer.
When I look up, Lord Syrael gestures toward the bench. I glance toward the door where two of the lord’s men stand guard.
“Don’t worry. Zazz knows better than to disturb me while I’m in my private playroom.” Cords of power stream from Lord Syrael’s fingers lashing me to the bench spread-eagle, face first. There’s no mention of a safe word as he takes his place before me. I resort to taking more shallow breaths trying to stop my heart from shattering into the stratosphere.
“Look at me.”
The slugs make me incapable of fighting his power—my head snaps up at his command. Crack! The singletail whip explodes like lightning from his hand and snakes through the air like one of Medusa’s hairs. A shudder slips free as I remember just how skilled Lord Syrael was in this kind of extreme impact play, how much he liked to use the whip to draw a pattern of razor cuts across my ass and thighs. The fucking demon lord smiles at my involuntary reaction. I wish for just one second that I could reach for that glimmer of divine light I’d seen while with Aleah. But if I do that, Lord Syrael will see it and take possession of the link. If only I could see my brothers one more time before the demon lord’s evil turns me into a puppet who will betray them.
The guard drops my head, and Lord Syrael moves out of my field of vision, and I almost feel him widen his stance and brace himself to deliver the second blow. I block out everything but the pain, determined to stop Syrael from stealing what remains of our triplet connection from me. Crack! Crack! The blows rain down on me, and soon what can only be blood droplets trickle down my thighs. I try to lean into the pain but fail, one of the reasons I can never be a submissive. I despise pain and humiliation. Yet, I did both to Aleah at the first opportunity. I do not slip into subspace. I simply endure.
Eventually, there’s a break in the pattern of pain, and Flare’s sharp nails rake down my back through the stinging cuts covering my ass. A hand lifts my chin, and I’m looking into swirling black patterns in purple eyes. “So nice to see you again, Cassiel.” She hefts the huge strap-on dildo in the other hand, making sure I see the implement of her torture. This Flare is not the young woman I’d known and loved. Instead, this beautiful fae houses a sex demon with enhanced power.
