The red snake slithers over the blood-stained floor as he reclines on the throne he has just conquered. He twirls the golden crown, adorned with blue jewels, that he plucked from the previous ruler's head, watching the candlelight dance across its surface.
The snake hisses, climbing into his lap, its red eyes locking onto his mismatched gaze. He smirks, stroking its scales with a blood-stained hand, making them glisten. "Hello, my precious. Did you enjoy the show?" he coos, his voice affectionate for the creature that coils around his right arm. By "show," he refers to the kingdom he just burned to the ground.
The moment is disrupted by the sound of heaving, and his gaze sharpens as it meets that of the King of the South—no, the Ex-King. A smirk spreads across his face as he watches the former ruler struggle against the grip of his men.
"Mercy... please, I beg you for mercy," the old man pleads. Had he not been so irked, he might have considered the pitiful request.
"Mercy? Of course, I would have shown mercy, Your Majesty," he replies, feigning innocence. "But you chose to attack me instead." He smiles sweetly as his men hoist the old king to his feet. "You should have known better."
With a swift motion, he forces the old man's mouth open, allowing his blood to drip into it. Smoke rises from the skin that has been tainted by the toxic blood, curling into the air as it begins to burn through the king's insides. A satisfied smirk crosses his lips as he watches the life drain from the old man, leaving behind nothing but black ash.
He gently pets the snake, feeling his own wounds close as he contemplates the day's destruction. It's fortunate that the king had no heirs; he considers this enough chaos for one day.
*
His tongue slides over the sharpness of his canines, a habit that he hasn't been able to escape as he watches his soon-to-be wife walk down the aisle. She is the image of innocence in her lace gown that they chose together, maroon vines embroidered into her hips and shoulders tastefully. Her midnight blue eyes crinkle feigning happiness as she smiles at the guests before looking at him.
Whatever lives up in Heavens had their merry time making her.
Although he knows that their marriage is nothing short of a business transaction, his heart still skips a few beats at the image of her as his bride. A curl of platinum blonde hair falls into her eyes as she presents her pageant smile towards him and his heart altogether stops, an involuntary smile spreading across his own face.
Fuck, the angels. She must be one of them.
He tries to ignore the paid reporters they hired to cover the wedding as Serafina comes to stand before him, her small angelic face dusted with pretty peach makeup. "Hello, Angel," he smirks, taking hold of her small delicate hand.
He notes with amusement when her eyes instantly cloud over in anger at the pet name, a fake smile replacing the former one as she squeezes his hand, "Hello, Satan," The name that she calls him as an insult almost causes him to cackle with joy.
"Serafina," her mother who walked her down the aisle and was beside her the whole time, chides her softly and Damien would have frowned at the controlling tone had he not driven so much pleasure from it.
He zones out as the priest takes the lead, zoning in when it is his turn to recite his vows. He says his vows with the same passion that he assigned his secretary to write them. But what has his attention returning is the time when the priest gives him permission to kiss the bride.
He wraps his arm around her waist, smirking down at her as he tips her chin up with his forefinger. She's hot to the touch as if she is running, but he takes pleasure in the shiver that she barely suppresses as it runs down her spine. For once, her angelic face isn't a picture of eternal hate when looking at him, rather she looks nervous. Delicate, with those big blue eyes that resemble the night sky and a soft tremble in her lower lip.
She closes her eyes the closer he gets and he would have taken pleasure in her obvious discomfort, had he not been holding his breath himself. The first touch of their lips is shy, he is scared to press harder against hers and her too bashful to push for more.
He feels it, as she breathes in his arms, the slender frame of her. The goosebumps that dot the skin of her lower back, the gentle tremble of her lips against his, unsure how to pull back. That ignites a fire in him, an urge so strong that has him pulling her into him, his hand cupping the back of her neck, squeezing the delicate expense of her skin and making her gasp into his mouth as he deepens the kiss.
She tastes like sin personified, like a forbidden fountain no one is allowed to drink from; so he has his fill. He digs his tongue in her mouth, licks the roof of her mouth, has her award him with a surprised moan and then he pulls back, pecks her mouth, and smiles. Cause too much indulgence in things forbidden can kill you, or curse you to a life of sin.
The crowd cheers around them as she looks at him with those disarming eyes of hers widened in surprise. He takes it as a win and smirks at her triumphantly before she replaces her surprise with a fake smile, put on display for the crowd.
The rest of the ceremony passes in a blur with him faking smiles and good-natured conversations with his arm hooked around Serafina's waist and his mind replaying the ten seconds of the passionate kiss they had. By the time, they leave the venue for reception, he's tired of the whole fiasco, the smile slipping off his face as he places his back against the seat.
"What the fuck?" Serafina voices beside him. He thrums his fingers against his knee, only opening one eye to make sure that the partition panel is up so the driver can't eavesdrop on them before closing it once more.
"What is it, wife?" he asks, bored.
"Do not call me that. And what the fuck was that earlier?" She whisper-yells, her eyes darting towards the front before coming to study his serene side profile, so far he shows no sign of having heard her.
"It's called a kiss, princess. I was supposed to kiss you in front of everyone, you know?" He answers and she is ready to throw hands, her jaw clenching as she inches closer.
"If you think you can fuck with me by doing shit like that-"
"What shit?" he opens his eyes, turning his face so he is nose to nose with her. "Fiesty little ungrateful angel, aren't you?" he moves his hand up as if to touch her but she is pulling back before he can feel the softness of her cheek once more.
"Ungrateful? Should I thank you for kissing me like that?" she hisses, baring her teeth at him as if he disgusts her. And this, her anger, he loves it. Thrives in it. Maybe she believes, her disdain makes him uncomfortable when it does the opposite. He drives more pleasure from her hatred than he does from his most intense orgasms.
"Again, like what? You are making it seem like I had sex with you out there," He unbuttons the top two buttons of his shirt, the bow he was wearing earlier already in his pocket.
Just like he had expected, Serafina's midnight gaze strays to the sliver of exposed skin on his chest before it meets his once more, hardening. "I would volunteer to serve in a war than have sex with you."
He chuckles at that, a surprised sound that fills the space and wraps around Serafina softly. "I wouldn't be so confident if I were you, Angel. Can you resist me?" He teases.
He hears the gulp and the breath she takes before she replies, "Positive,"
And that means only one thing in Damien's vocabulary.
A challenge.
*