This is the beginning of Nightmare Rising - converted to first person POV
Note: The original version of Nightmare Rising, Book 3 , Kings of Sorrows and Dreams, is no longer on Amazon as the beginning is extremely dark and contains graphic sexual assault by the villain of the book - The Nightmare King.
PROLOGUE 1892
THE NIGHTMARE KING
Victory.
I could taste it.
I paused in my evaluation of the battle happening below where bodies crashed like waves against the gates of the Spanish fort.
Death. Destruction. Defeat.
Lips peeled back in a rictus smile; I clicked my teeth.
Was there anything as sweet?
The invaders lucky enough to still be on their feet were being forced into retreat; my army, a tide of strength, pushed the losers backward.
See how they run.
Their tails cut off with a carving knife.
Oh, see how they run.
And see them I did. The evening gloom did little to deter my vision or dull the glow of my opposition—a resistance of dream creatures and dream-stitched humans, a writhing brilliance decorating the men with living tattoos.
To those with capable eyes, my creatures were just as visible—a pulse of dark, an army defined by the absence of light. Together we’d swallow the earth. I would make them unstoppable. From watching humans, I’d learned hope never grew as strong or as fast as fear did.
A clot of vivid brightness was being towed in through the crumbling gates. It was as if they’d captured daylight. Even from up here I could tell the luminescence was no ordinary creature. No ordinary dream.
The stir of great wings in the stairwell a moment later gave me my answer.
An angel.
I smelled her as soon as she crossed the threshold; even with my back to her, I knew the angel behind me was female. Mankind had dreamed creatures like this into existence—virtuous and merciful. To me, the bird was nothing more than the spoils of war.
A toy to be kept in a cage until I got bored.
My cock stirred, power a warm flush under my skin. I glanced down my naked body and watched my anticipation grow. Blood filled my veins as they snaked around my erection.
Comfort in the discomfort of being hard.
Despite their idiosyncrasies, this was the one human capability I could envy—the one unexpected delight of hosting myself in their bodies.
Lust, the cataclysm of orgasm, the need to fuck.
The possession of cock and balls, and tongue and teeth.
A paradise discovered, a pleasure I intended to keep.
Smiling, I turned.
She stood her ground, but I could tell my little bird was startled, as a flutter rippled through her wings.
My smile broadened.
I knew what she saw—raw savage.
Naked, my muscles rippled under skin slick with the painted blood of my enemies. My presence filled the room. Everything about me was twice as big as the men around me.
Big enough to make a girl flighty.
She pirouetted, a graceful bird of prey, nails as sharp as talons tearing out throats and breaking necks. Heads lolled from men almost beheaded. Certain death.
I didn’t move.
Didn’t twitch as she plowed through her entourage to come at me.
I was close to immortal, as were all born of the Rift, the moment the universe had been forever changed, the moment a fissure had been torn between real and imagined. The moment dream and nightmare creatures first bled into the world of humans.
A lasso of chain dipped in the essence of nightmare sailed through the air and caught her wings. In her rage, she’d neglected to make them invisible. That was the problem with the righteous; in the end, they were always handicapped by their indignation.
Dareios, my right hand, jerked her backward and wrestled her under control.
I tsked while the angel was restrained. Waited until I had her full attention.
“I understand, my pretty.” My words were a whisper, as if we were conspirators, as if we were lovers. “It’s so hard to come down from the high of fighting.”
She gritted her teeth and said nothing.
“Rutting, on the other hand, requires a different...mood.” I swept past her, lips twitching as I noted her flinch. “Let me help ground you.”
I moved past a mound of boiled skulls and bones waiting to decorate my walls, fluid power carrying me to a large wooden throne. My bulk settled on the furs as my gaze flicked to Dareios. “Clip the wings of our little bird.”
That sound she made...horror or defiance?
A low hum of pleasure rattled my chest.
I’d make her make it again. I’d make her sing.
The spell of nightmare held her tight as she clawed at the lasso, more struggle than fight. Dareios jabbed the long handle of a hammer into the bonds and cranked hard. Each slow twist tightening the vice around her wings.
Pinching.
Pulling.
Popping.
The crack of bones covered by her screams.
I squeezed the ache in my cock. It wasn’t her pain that felt so damn good—it was her hate.
The angel stood there, broken but not broken, malice glaring up at me. Wings flopping uselessly as feathers dragged on the floor.
“That’s better. No?” Fake sorrow.
“I’m going to take your head, but first I’m going to gut you.”
I nodded my understanding then lifted a pistol from the small table next to me. The angel braced for the repercussion of her threat.
“Do you think—” I paused, as if considering. “—it’s the lighting?”
The shot rang as the rope holding the chandelier severed. With the crash of glass, the heavy structure fell and splintered, shards close enough to shoot up and hit her cheek. The cut slowly bloomed red.
My cock wept, even as her eyes welled but refused to.
“Now that we have the room right, you’re definitely overdressed.” I ran my hand down my chest, drawing her focus to my straining shaft.
She whipped her gaze to the left.
I laughed. There was more than one way to fuck a head.
It required nothing more than a slight nod for Dareios to take a gilded blade and slice through the angel’s white gown, ripping it away in shreds. There was no reason to sully the purity of it. Not with the blood on me.
Not with hers.
Naked, she was the dream mankind imagined her to be. If she lived through the night, I would never clothe her again. Better yet, with her unwrapped, I could smell her cunt—the earthy musk of her. I breathed it in. Such a heady mix, knowing I was going to fuck both flesh and fantasy.
Oh, I really wanted to keep this little bird.
And I wanted her to hate it.
To beg for it.
“I’ll make you a deal.” I leaned forward. “You keep your head if you come to me. Willingly.”
The flash in her eyes was brief, but I knew I had her. Control was easy when you understood the currency—while you fed humans fear, you fed creatures hope. That was the thing about living so long; they never quite believed the game could be over.
I didn’t need to wait for her yes.
“Crawl to me. For me.” My smile was hard and cruel.
She looked at me and then the broken glass between us.
I raised a brow. I offered her life, not the absence of pain.
She slipped onto her hands and knees, dragged them through the brittle fragments across the floor. Her face betrayed every bite.
Every cut.
Every hurt.
If music were expression, her face would be a symphony.
Still...
I held up my hand. “Seduce me. I’ve put so much effort into the mood...” Sinking back, I watched her try to calculate her way across the room.
“Eyes on me!”
I hadn’t moved, but my command cracked with thunder. Her head whipped up as my men snapped to attention. “Do it. Slow.”
Her focus seemed to linger on my neck, and I laughed softly—she telegraphed her desire to kill me beautifully. A part of me hoped she’d try, just for the thrill of it. I stretched my neck to the side, ligaments cracking just to bait her with it.
Caught, a veil of composure smoothed her features. She moved again, like fluid, a slow drag of lithe limbs to reach my feet. Behind her, she left art, a bloody trail of knee and handprints.
“Is that good enough for you?” Her voice was husky with hurt.
“I’m almost convinced.” I reached forward, my finger lightly drawing over the cut on her cheek, painting her lips with her blood.
Her body was coiled so tight with tension I could already feel the warm vice of her pussy squeeze my cock.
It was instinct, when she gasped at the taste of blood, to dip my fingers into her mouth, to slide them over her tongue. Back down her throat.
“Feed me your cock. Let me suck you.” Her smile was all teeth—sharpened white triangles that could shred through flesh.
More games.
I forced my fingers back into her mouth, brute force pinning open her jaw as I caught her tongue.
“On second thought.” I pinched the pink muscle as it tried to wriggle free. “I don’t quite believe you. Bring me a nail.”
Her eyes flared open, her pleas grunted in inarticulate sounds.
I clamped tighter, waiting for my request to be granted.
The metal pin was crude for a task so delicate, but I managed to tack her tongue to my seat more easily than expected. She was clever my little bird, she knew when to fight and when there was no winning.
Oh the games, the games.
I looked down into pupils blown with pain and stroked her hair from her forehead with tenderness.
Then I rose off my seat, balls and cock brushing over her face as she stayed trapped on all fours.
My fingers danced softly along the tips of her broken wings. The muscles on her back twitched and shivered while her body trembled.
I couldn’t resist plucking a feather.
Couldn’t resist dragging it down her spine.
Couldn’t resist drawing it through her folds to tickle her cunt.
She gargled as wet pooled in her mouth.
I moved between her knees, spreading her thighs as I rubbed my shaft against her cunt to split her seam. “I don’t care that you weren’t ticklish—” My words a warm, dark whisper. “But oh, how I want you to scream.”
I rammed my aching cock inside her, my palm pushing flat against her belly, feeling the sheer violation of it, the hard ridge of me plowing into her. She was tight, tighter than I imagined. Her muscles spasmed as if fighting against the unnatural stretch.
It took a moment for her brain to catch-up with her body, to process the length and girth of me, to identify the threat of being torn open.
She began to struggle. Finally, really struggle.
“Better. So much better.” I drew back slow, drawing a breath between teeth at the sensation of unsheathing from such a tight fit.
I rammed again, rocking her body. Her arms tensed, fingers clawed at the floor. The nail held her in place...mostly. Her splutters spoke of fresh gore.
And still, she tried to shake me off.
“Careful little feathered-snake.” I leaned forward to whisper in her ear, my bulk covering her as my skin soaked up her tremors. “You wouldn’t want to split your tongue.”
Her cunt squeezed me, hard; if I were a lesser being, I’d come.
I sank my teeth into her flesh, biting back my pleasure.
Velvet.
And heat.
And heaven.
There was just my ragged breath and her jagged moans.
It made the loud thud behind me unexpected—the sound of bodies falling to the ground.
I tore myself away from my fuck and spun round to face them.
Two intruders. They’d climbed the outside wall? If they weren’t already, my watchmen were as good as dead.
“Unfortunately you’ve come at the wrong time. And for that, I have to kill you.”
Then one of the intruders stepped forward, a woman. She stepped into the light still shining from the angel, as did her larger male companion. Fuck. The Cucitrice and the male, the Thaumaturge. Immortals. Powerful enemies.
The Cucitrice’s gaze flicked to the angel, assessing.
Ahhh, clever, they’d sent the angel to distract me.
It was the second time the Cucitrice had tricked me, and it would be the last. The bitch had just been marked in blood.
“One day...” I said carefully to her. “I will have you fucked and flayed just for the show of it.”
“I think you love me. You say the nicest things.” She blew me a kiss.
My cold smile answered.
My pistol lay spent on the table, pity. I flexed my fist. The spare chain near my feet would do. I could kill them with that. They had no idea how good at fighting I’d made this human.
The Cucitrice began to raise a flintlock, and I recognized it as an object from the House. It would vanquish any of my creatures with ease. Me? Not so easily done.
With my foot, I flipped the chain up to my hand, caught it and flung, snaking it like a deadly whip. The end accelerated. By the time it touched the Cucitrice the chain’s furthest link was close to light speed. It pierced her chest, killing her instantly, then sped to the Thaumaturge wounding him grievously.
But she’d fired, her finger squeezing on reflex.
The pistol ball struck and burrowed deep into my abdomen. I staggered, sank to my knees.
Curled over and bleeding, I gave orders to Dareios to take the unconscious Thaumaturge to the island, as we’d once discussed. At least we could trap one of them. If only the Cucitrice had survived, I’d have them both.
My gut burned and pain radiated through me. This body was dying. Medicine couldn’t save me, but the body was inconsequential. The nightmare portion of me would be carried away to find another host.
I’d be back.
What had they hoped to accomplish? Petty disruptions.
Always, I lived on.
“Do as I discussed,” I repeated to whoever was out there. “And kill the angel.” She was of no use to him now.
So cold. I shivered and spilled the last of my blood, felt the wash of it over my hand where I clutched my belly. Starved of whatever they needed, my eyesight dimmed.
The beat of my heart stilled.
I reached out blindly grabbing the next unsuspecting body—a medicine man in the west, too far away for enemies to find me.
I stretched for the medicine man’s mind, but the pistol ball had clung to me, transferred with me, and was still inside. I reached for the mind...and the ball stopped me.
Stopped me?
It was only then that I understood the coldness in my gut was not simply damage, the pistol ball not ordinary metal. It was magic, and it harmed my being—all dream-wrought and complex alchemical symbols.
I tasted the first bite of fear.
What had they done?
Copyright © Cari Silverwood and Nicolette Hugo 2017
THE NIGHTMARE KING
Victory.
I could taste it.
I paused in my evaluation of the battle happening below where bodies crashed like waves against the gates of the Spanish fort.
Death. Destruction. Defeat.
Lips peeled back in a rictus smile; I clicked my teeth.
Was there anything as sweet?
The invaders lucky enough to still be on their feet were being forced into retreat; my army, a tide of strength, pushed the losers backward.
See how they run.
Their tails cut off with a carving knife.
Oh, see how they run.
And see them I did. The evening gloom did little to deter my vision or dull the glow of my opposition—a resistance of dream creatures and dream-stitched humans, a writhing brilliance decorating the men with living tattoos.
To those with capable eyes, my creatures were just as visible—a pulse of dark, an army defined by the absence of light. Together we’d swallow the earth. I would make them unstoppable. From watching humans, I’d learned hope never grew as strong or as fast as fear did.
A clot of vivid brightness was being towed in through the crumbling gates. It was as if they’d captured daylight. Even from up here I could tell the luminescence was no ordinary creature. No ordinary dream.
The stir of great wings in the stairwell a moment later gave me my answer.
An angel.
I smelled her as soon as she crossed the threshold; even with my back to her, I knew the angel behind me was female. Mankind had dreamed creatures like this into existence—virtuous and merciful. To me, the bird was nothing more than the spoils of war.
A toy to be kept in a cage until I got bored.
My cock stirred, power a warm flush under my skin. I glanced down my naked body and watched my anticipation grow. Blood filled my veins as they snaked around my erection.
Comfort in the discomfort of being hard.
Despite their idiosyncrasies, this was the one human capability I could envy—the one unexpected delight of hosting myself in their bodies.
Lust, the cataclysm of orgasm, the need to fuck.
The possession of cock and balls, and tongue and teeth.
A paradise discovered, a pleasure I intended to keep.
Smiling, I turned.
She stood her ground, but I could tell my little bird was startled, as a flutter rippled through her wings.
My smile broadened.
I knew what she saw—raw savage.
Naked, my muscles rippled under skin slick with the painted blood of my enemies. My presence filled the room. Everything about me was twice as big as the men around me.
Big enough to make a girl flighty.
She pirouetted, a graceful bird of prey, nails as sharp as talons tearing out throats and breaking necks. Heads lolled from men almost beheaded. Certain death.
I didn’t move.
Didn’t twitch as she plowed through her entourage to come at me.
I was close to immortal, as were all born of the Rift, the moment the universe had been forever changed, the moment a fissure had been torn between real and imagined. The moment dream and nightmare creatures first bled into the world of humans.
A lasso of chain dipped in the essence of nightmare sailed through the air and caught her wings. In her rage, she’d neglected to make them invisible. That was the problem with the righteous; in the end, they were always handicapped by their indignation.
Dareios, my right hand, jerked her backward and wrestled her under control.
I tsked while the angel was restrained. Waited until I had her full attention.
“I understand, my pretty.” My words were a whisper, as if we were conspirators, as if we were lovers. “It’s so hard to come down from the high of fighting.”
She gritted her teeth and said nothing.
“Rutting, on the other hand, requires a different...mood.” I swept past her, lips twitching as I noted her flinch. “Let me help ground you.”
I moved past a mound of boiled skulls and bones waiting to decorate my walls, fluid power carrying me to a large wooden throne. My bulk settled on the furs as my gaze flicked to Dareios. “Clip the wings of our little bird.”
That sound she made...horror or defiance?
A low hum of pleasure rattled my chest.
I’d make her make it again. I’d make her sing.
The spell of nightmare held her tight as she clawed at the lasso, more struggle than fight. Dareios jabbed the long handle of a hammer into the bonds and cranked hard. Each slow twist tightening the vice around her wings.
Pinching.
Pulling.
Popping.
The crack of bones covered by her screams.
I squeezed the ache in my cock. It wasn’t her pain that felt so damn good—it was her hate.
The angel stood there, broken but not broken, malice glaring up at me. Wings flopping uselessly as feathers dragged on the floor.
“That’s better. No?” Fake sorrow.
“I’m going to take your head, but first I’m going to gut you.”
I nodded my understanding then lifted a pistol from the small table next to me. The angel braced for the repercussion of her threat.
“Do you think—” I paused, as if considering. “—it’s the lighting?”
The shot rang as the rope holding the chandelier severed. With the crash of glass, the heavy structure fell and splintered, shards close enough to shoot up and hit her cheek. The cut slowly bloomed red.
My cock wept, even as her eyes welled but refused to.
“Now that we have the room right, you’re definitely overdressed.” I ran my hand down my chest, drawing her focus to my straining shaft.
She whipped her gaze to the left.
I laughed. There was more than one way to fuck a head.
It required nothing more than a slight nod for Dareios to take a gilded blade and slice through the angel’s white gown, ripping it away in shreds. There was no reason to sully the purity of it. Not with the blood on me.
Not with hers.
Naked, she was the dream mankind imagined her to be. If she lived through the night, I would never clothe her again. Better yet, with her unwrapped, I could smell her cunt—the earthy musk of her. I breathed it in. Such a heady mix, knowing I was going to fuck both flesh and fantasy.
Oh, I really wanted to keep this little bird.
And I wanted her to hate it.
To beg for it.
“I’ll make you a deal.” I leaned forward. “You keep your head if you come to me. Willingly.”
The flash in her eyes was brief, but I knew I had her. Control was easy when you understood the currency—while you fed humans fear, you fed creatures hope. That was the thing about living so long; they never quite believed the game could be over.
I didn’t need to wait for her yes.
“Crawl to me. For me.” My smile was hard and cruel.
She looked at me and then the broken glass between us.
I raised a brow. I offered her life, not the absence of pain.
She slipped onto her hands and knees, dragged them through the brittle fragments across the floor. Her face betrayed every bite.
Every cut.
Every hurt.
If music were expression, her face would be a symphony.
Still...
I held up my hand. “Seduce me. I’ve put so much effort into the mood...” Sinking back, I watched her try to calculate her way across the room.
“Eyes on me!”
I hadn’t moved, but my command cracked with thunder. Her head whipped up as my men snapped to attention. “Do it. Slow.”
Her focus seemed to linger on my neck, and I laughed softly—she telegraphed her desire to kill me beautifully. A part of me hoped she’d try, just for the thrill of it. I stretched my neck to the side, ligaments cracking just to bait her with it.
Caught, a veil of composure smoothed her features. She moved again, like fluid, a slow drag of lithe limbs to reach my feet. Behind her, she left art, a bloody trail of knee and handprints.
“Is that good enough for you?” Her voice was husky with hurt.
“I’m almost convinced.” I reached forward, my finger lightly drawing over the cut on her cheek, painting her lips with her blood.
Her body was coiled so tight with tension I could already feel the warm vice of her pussy squeeze my cock.
It was instinct, when she gasped at the taste of blood, to dip my fingers into her mouth, to slide them over her tongue. Back down her throat.
“Feed me your cock. Let me suck you.” Her smile was all teeth—sharpened white triangles that could shred through flesh.
More games.
I forced my fingers back into her mouth, brute force pinning open her jaw as I caught her tongue.
“On second thought.” I pinched the pink muscle as it tried to wriggle free. “I don’t quite believe you. Bring me a nail.”
Her eyes flared open, her pleas grunted in inarticulate sounds.
I clamped tighter, waiting for my request to be granted.
The metal pin was crude for a task so delicate, but I managed to tack her tongue to my seat more easily than expected. She was clever my little bird, she knew when to fight and when there was no winning.
Oh the games, the games.
I looked down into pupils blown with pain and stroked her hair from her forehead with tenderness.
Then I rose off my seat, balls and cock brushing over her face as she stayed trapped on all fours.
My fingers danced softly along the tips of her broken wings. The muscles on her back twitched and shivered while her body trembled.
I couldn’t resist plucking a feather.
Couldn’t resist dragging it down her spine.
Couldn’t resist drawing it through her folds to tickle her cunt.
She gargled as wet pooled in her mouth.
I moved between her knees, spreading her thighs as I rubbed my shaft against her cunt to split her seam. “I don’t care that you weren’t ticklish—” My words a warm, dark whisper. “But oh, how I want you to scream.”
I rammed my aching cock inside her, my palm pushing flat against her belly, feeling the sheer violation of it, the hard ridge of me plowing into her. She was tight, tighter than I imagined. Her muscles spasmed as if fighting against the unnatural stretch.
It took a moment for her brain to catch-up with her body, to process the length and girth of me, to identify the threat of being torn open.
She began to struggle. Finally, really struggle.
“Better. So much better.” I drew back slow, drawing a breath between teeth at the sensation of unsheathing from such a tight fit.
I rammed again, rocking her body. Her arms tensed, fingers clawed at the floor. The nail held her in place...mostly. Her splutters spoke of fresh gore.
And still, she tried to shake me off.
“Careful little feathered-snake.” I leaned forward to whisper in her ear, my bulk covering her as my skin soaked up her tremors. “You wouldn’t want to split your tongue.”
Her cunt squeezed me, hard; if I were a lesser being, I’d come.
I sank my teeth into her flesh, biting back my pleasure.
Velvet.
And heat.
And heaven.
There was just my ragged breath and her jagged moans.
It made the loud thud behind me unexpected—the sound of bodies falling to the ground.
I tore myself away from my fuck and spun round to face them.
Two intruders. They’d climbed the outside wall? If they weren’t already, my watchmen were as good as dead.
“Unfortunately you’ve come at the wrong time. And for that, I have to kill you.”
Then one of the intruders stepped forward, a woman. She stepped into the light still shining from the angel, as did her larger male companion. Fuck. The Cucitrice and the male, the Thaumaturge. Immortals. Powerful enemies.
The Cucitrice’s gaze flicked to the angel, assessing.
Ahhh, clever, they’d sent the angel to distract me.
It was the second time the Cucitrice had tricked me, and it would be the last. The bitch had just been marked in blood.
“One day...” I said carefully to her. “I will have you fucked and flayed just for the show of it.”
“I think you love me. You say the nicest things.” She blew me a kiss.
My cold smile answered.
My pistol lay spent on the table, pity. I flexed my fist. The spare chain near my feet would do. I could kill them with that. They had no idea how good at fighting I’d made this human.
The Cucitrice began to raise a flintlock, and I recognized it as an object from the House. It would vanquish any of my creatures with ease. Me? Not so easily done.
With my foot, I flipped the chain up to my hand, caught it and flung, snaking it like a deadly whip. The end accelerated. By the time it touched the Cucitrice the chain’s furthest link was close to light speed. It pierced her chest, killing her instantly, then sped to the Thaumaturge wounding him grievously.
But she’d fired, her finger squeezing on reflex.
The pistol ball struck and burrowed deep into my abdomen. I staggered, sank to my knees.
Curled over and bleeding, I gave orders to Dareios to take the unconscious Thaumaturge to the island, as we’d once discussed. At least we could trap one of them. If only the Cucitrice had survived, I’d have them both.
My gut burned and pain radiated through me. This body was dying. Medicine couldn’t save me, but the body was inconsequential. The nightmare portion of me would be carried away to find another host.
I’d be back.
What had they hoped to accomplish? Petty disruptions.
Always, I lived on.
“Do as I discussed,” I repeated to whoever was out there. “And kill the angel.” She was of no use to him now.
So cold. I shivered and spilled the last of my blood, felt the wash of it over my hand where I clutched my belly. Starved of whatever they needed, my eyesight dimmed.
The beat of my heart stilled.
I reached out blindly grabbing the next unsuspecting body—a medicine man in the west, too far away for enemies to find me.
I stretched for the medicine man’s mind, but the pistol ball had clung to me, transferred with me, and was still inside. I reached for the mind...and the ball stopped me.
Stopped me?
It was only then that I understood the coldness in my gut was not simply damage, the pistol ball not ordinary metal. It was magic, and it harmed my being—all dream-wrought and complex alchemical symbols.
I tasted the first bite of fear.
What had they done?
Copyright © Cari Silverwood and Nicolette Hugo 2017