This title is intended for readers over the age of 18 as it contains adult sexual situations (including BDSM/light bondage/anal/ménage/multiple partners) and adult language and may be considered offensive to some readers. All characters in this book are of legal age.
Dreamweaver’s full lips curled in a pleased smirk. Oh, how he twisted their minds, how he made them shed their tears, how beautifully they both screamed! What did it matter that only inwardly? He could hear that symphony… Until it got abruptly interrupted by an enraged roar. He recognized the voice and right now it didn’t sound husky and sensual at all. It far more resembled bellowing of a raging bull. He would have tried to promptly disappear but before he could tell from where the sound was coming, Belial was upon him like a hawk upon a quail. The Archangel had only had a blink of time to spin around and face the High Demon. Without a chance to retreat, he was forced to fight.
Neither of them bothered with any weapons. Their bodies served as war hammers and knives at the same time. Belial had rammed into him full speed and the sheer power of the blow made him fly backward and through the crowns until a particularly tall oak stopped his involuntary flight with a loud thud. Shaken but growing equally furious as the demon, he lashed his fist out and connected it to Belial’s jaw in a wicked blow. It only invoked a grunt from the sizzling immortal and yielded him an agonizing jab in his side as Belial’s claws dug deep into his flesh.
Pain veiled his senses in throbbing red. No, pissed off Belial was certainly no fun to be around. Especially not when he was in this form. Dreamweaver’s fingers gnarled like talons as he attempted to bring them close to Belial’s face, wishing to tear the pale flesh open. His fingernails were nowhere close to the High Demon’s claws but still they could do enough of damage. The vice of the High Demon’s grip stopped their motion and the little bones in his right wrist gave way with a sickening crack. But still he kept wrestling with Belial, trying to gain some slack between his back and the tree trunk. He needed to flee. Here he stood no chance to win unless he called his brothers and sister dear. But the prospect of listening to her jeers was far worse than this brawl. Nay, he wouldn’t call anybody.
But the resolve left him quickly when Belial’s knee assailed his crotch without any mercy. Light! Right now a blinding one. Sagging against the tree, he gasped for air and only the lack of it in his lungs prevented him from a yell for help. He must have looked truly miserable because the demon’s claws retreated from his side and a seething hiss closed the fight: “Don’t mess with my pets!” Swallowing hard, he nodded. He wouldn’t. Until the next time. It wasn’t their first brawl and wouldn’t be the last one either. In a twisted way, they both sought and enjoyed opportunities to ruffle each other’s feathers. One way or another.
Nursing his broken wrist, he watched the High Demon retrieving the hopelessly knotted subconscious minds of his playthings, untangling them effortlessly and depositing them back where they belonged. With a snarl he inwardly admitted that this shaking night wasn’t so entertaining as he had hoped it to be. Managing to finally catch enough of breath, he decided for a hasty retreat. Right now he was in no condition for another round and when Belial learned how he had toyed with his pets’ minds, the fury could easily return. Seizing a moment when the demon’s attention wasn’t on him anymore, he rocketed toward the Pathways. Without looking back.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR: Ciaran Dwynvil, the bard of gay erotic fantasy, writes for… the characters. “I’m their happy scribe and their personal bard. When they come to me, their story is already there and they just need an author willing to listen in silent midnight hours, paint their life with words and then sing about it on pages of the books. That’s what I do and what fills my days with joy.” This approach to writing resonates best with thoughtful readers for whom character emotions and plots are just as important, (if not more) as the erotic aspect of the stories. The lines in Ciaran’s novels flow like verses in a minstrel’s tales from the time long passed. Like stitches on a tapestry they create intricate images for those who dare to join the characters in the moments of bliss and in the moments of their darkest hours. Readers will get pulled in a complex fantasy world and will live through stories of faith, life, love and lust that will leave them aching for more. The narratives never use solely one character’s point of view. Just like a tapestry doesn’t rely just on one color, Ciaran’s novels aren’t told in one voice only. All heroes and villains speak on the pages and thus allow a reader to experience their story from multiple perspectives until a rich, complete vision fully emerges.
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