Saetan dropped from the Black winds near the outskirts of Draega as twilight was descending. It had been a week since he had sought Tersa's approval of doing what he was about to do. As much as he knew she was a very different woman to the ones who had entered his life before, he couldn't help but marvel slightly at her utter selflessness. Hekatah would have created total and utter turmoil at the thought of his bedding another witch, though it may be simply out of duty. But Tersa understood the danger Dorothea's men were to strong witches, and was not only consenting to what he had to do but actually encouraging.
So then why was there a bitter taste in his mouth, a reluctance to perform his duty as High Priest? Saetan picked up his pace, walking swiftly and silently towards the carriage waiting for him that would take him on the lighter winds to the cottage which the Hourglass had arranged for Luthvian's concealment.
As Saetan felt the familiar lurch of the carriage, he leaned back in his seat and rested his chin on a his hand. Sunlight from the carriage windows glittered on his jeweled rings, rings which gave away his unique positions and exuded power. Saetan hestitated a moment, then reached for his index finger and slipped off the intricate silver ring which signified his status as High Lord of Hell. He vanished it and considered for a moment, then left the ones which symbolised the Warlord Prince of Dhemlan and High Priest on his fingers. Those titles he could openly display, but not many knew of him as High Lord. And if staying ignorant would lessen the woman's fear of him, then there was no need to mention it.
As the carriage came to a halt, Saetan descended and headed for the cottage. The soft twilight had given way to a darker blue and the last faint pink hues of the sunset were disappearing. There wasn't much picturesque about the cottage itself; it was obviously meant to be an inconspicuous and plain as possible. However, the sapphire and red shields he glided through with ease before he could reach the front door said otherwise about the purpose of the location.
He had meant to knock softly, but the two sharp taps sounded authoritative and severe out of habit. A Summer Sky-Jeweled apprentice of the Hourglass coven opened the door quietly, and Saetan inclined his head out of courtesy.
"Welcome, High Priest. I've been instructed to take to to the Lady's rooms," she said tensely, taking in Saetan's Red-Jeweled pendant and his step over the threshold in that swish of expensive black material.
Saetan gave her what he hoped was a reassuring smile to ease her nerves, but it had the opposite affect. Getting more annoyed by the minute, he tried conversation.
"And have you been long in the Hourglass Coven, Lady?" he asked as they went down a narrow corridor.
"Five years, High Priest. Lady Luthvian took a special interest in my apprenticeship a year ago, and I have been in her service since." She led him through heavy wooden doors and gestured inward with a small bow. "I will be here if yourself or the Lady require anything."
"Thank you," Saetan answered as she retreated and close the door behind her. The he turned to face the young woman who was seated precariously on the end of the large, four-poster bed, a strained and determined expression on her olive-skinned face and dark gold eyes. She had a single white streak in her otherwise pitch-black hair.
"Lady Luthvian," Saetan said, his voice slipping easily into that deep timbre which had the ability to reach in and undo a woman from within. The more he could softly seduce her, the easier this would be for the both of them.
"Warlord," she replied, her voice strained with the effort of keeping it steady. "T-thank you for answering the Hourglass at this time of my need." She had a nervousness about her, an instability that Saetan found he disliked after so long in Tersa's calm, reassuring presence.
Saetan reached for the silver fastenings of his cape and took it off, setting it silently on the back of a chair in one movement. Luthvian gaze betrayed a small measure of lust. But it was quickly veiled by anxiety.
"It is my duty, Lady Luthvian- and please call be Saetan. Shall we?" Saetan gestured towards the chairs near the fireplace, on which a bowl of fruit and a decanter of the aphrodisiac brew, Night of Fire, rested; a traditional drink for the Virgin Night.
"You have taken the appropriate measures to prevent pregnancy?"
"Y-yes, ofcourse," she nodded, recovering quickly from his directness.
Luthvian stood up, keeping her hands firmly clasped together. Despite the nerves her walk betrayed, she watched as if in a trance as Saetan took a seat with fluid grace and reached a black-nailed hand for the decanter. He poured a glass for both of them, and warmed it under some witchfire. Luthvian sank into the chair opposite, her back painfully straight and the muscles of her neck taut. Saetan kept his movements relaxed, reaching for a piece of fruit and taking a leisurely bite as if they had all the time in the world.
He had meant the gesture to be one of assurance. Instead Luthvian's knuckles were white from wringing her hands tighter, and she licked her dry lips. Her gaze followed the fruit to Saetan's lips, lingered, then fell to the Black jewel around his neck, the tip visible beneath his black shirt. Boldly, and to Saetan's slight surprise, her gaze travelled lower. When she looked back up there was a desperation in her eyes that Saetan couldn't fully place- was it out of lust, or out of fear of being broken? A troubled young woman. Certainly.
Saetan removed the glasses from the withfire and held one out towards her. With difficulty, she untangled one hand from the other and reached for it. As she took it, he deliberately let his fingertips touch hers and the nails run along them slightly, possessively. Her breathing hitched in her throat and she immediately brought the glass to her lips before she could cough, and hastily took a large gulp, as if willing it to numb her.
Saetan took a few small sips, deciding he might as well enjoy the rare flavour which he hadn't had in years. In a few moments, the temperature of the room seemed slightly warmer, and a subtle tingling was going through his viens, as if his blood itself had warmed too. It was a pleasant sensation, one that firstly relaxed him. He glanced over in Luthvian's direction. Perhaps he should have warned her of the brew's nature. The large gulps she had taken in her anxiety had hit her immediately.
She looked drowsy at first. She licked her lips again. Her gaze was stripped of it's panic to leave the lust. In one movement, Saetan drained the small amount remaining in his glass. Slowly the relaxation turned to pleasant awareness, an awareness of the power in his body and the sensuality in hers.
His movements were almost lazy as he stood and leisurely closed the distance between them. It felt so obvious, no natural that they should make love. Distantly, Saetan recognised the effects of the brew, but in physical reality he was vanishing Luthvian's dress to expose the thin shift beneath. Her breathing was laboured as she backed up against the bed. Saetan lay her on it carefully, and she stiffened slightly in renewed fear at the vulnerable position.
"Relax..." Saetan said silkily as he leaned over her in the bed. "Relax." She sighed and arched up against him. He traced a black-nailed finger down the contours of her jaw and down to her collarbone. It tore the flimsy material of her shift down to her waist. With trembling hands, she pulled it down her shoulders.
The fire was dying down. As he vanished both of their remaining clothes, his red jewel restored the original height of the flames in a ripple of mild power. He positioned himself between her, but she immediately stiffened. He didn't move. With slow, deliberately seducing kisses, from her lips to her stomach, he made her shiver, torn between desire and panic. Eventually she relaxed, but Saetan still didn't move.
Instead he let her as she slowly, tentatively reached up and ran her hands up his chest to his wide shoulders, caressing the muscles beneath her hands shyly. The movement would have had no effect on him had they not been intoxicated by the aphrodisiac. In fact, if she had dared touch him that way in any other circumstance, he would have had those tiny wrists in an iron grip and a threat in his tone. Some of that sentiment must have shown in his eyes, for hers widened for a moment and the caresses stopped in slight fear.
Saetan mentally kicked himself for that momentary lapse. He couldn't afford to have her terrified. A frightened witch was a broken witch on this night. But to his surprise, though the slight fear remained in Luthvian's eyes, he could feel her warmth, and her body was quivering with anticipation, longing, aroused to the breaking point. Fear on a Virgin Night, Saetan was used to. But arousal due to fear? A troubled young woman indeed. A witch couldn't afford to feel desire through danger in this realm. For the two were often inextricably linked, and with dire consequences.
As he pushed forward in one fluid stroke, his lips came down on hers in a highly distracting kiss. She let out muffled gasps of pain, which eventually turned to mews of pleasure as he took them both to the moment of delirium and back.
After a few moments regaining composure, and mentally reaching out to check that both her inner web and jewels were intact, Saetan rose from the bed and called in his clothes. The brew was thrumming quietly through his viens now, less in potency but leaving a calming feeling of satisfaction in it's wake.
Luthvian pulled the covers over herself, and watched him with traces of desire in her eyes. Her chest rose and fell steadier, the blush was leaving her olive skin.
She said nothing, so neither did he. As he fastened the final button of his shirt and strode to the chair to pick up his cape, he heard her tentative voice; "Thank you... Saetan."
Her tone softened when she said his name, and Saetan frowned inwardly at what that could foreshadow. But his face remained one of cold elegance as he inclined his head and pulled on his cape.
"You need not fear any longer, Lady," he answered, and left the room, striding down the corridor swiflty and barely sparing the apprentice witch a moment's glance as she opened the front door for him. He suddenly longed more than anything for the calm, warm embrace of Tersa.