Conquest Of The Fallen: Dark Dominions

Rafel tried to shoo, but the animal hopped on the duvet and continued staring.

Since when did squirrels of the forest become like pigeons of the Capitol; striding brazenly through the streets, side by side with man?

The rodent\'s interest seemed more piqued by his obvious naivete, and Rafel quickly wiped the shock off his face. As he brought a hand up to his face, a light sweat came off with it. Fever? Rafel sighed and dropped his hand. He looked around, for the first time noticing his quaint surrounding. He was in a large cabin.

It was one wide, tapering structure, with bedroom, dining area, and entertaining quarters in the same vast space. There was no partition of curtains, and the only door was the one in front.

It had many windows though—which was good. The cool morning breeze was a salve to his burning skin. Rafel felt like he\'d run a marathon over the boiling crater of a volcano. His teeth rattled if he breathed too hard. That bastard, Mephistopheles had really done a number on him; stabbing him with a fucking lightning bolt. Hell!

—and Cora. Aye, Corazón?

Rafel did not want to think of her and instead, thought of the singing birds and the rushing water of a creek nearby. At least, his paranormal [Abilities] weren\'t muddled, or worse—gone. He tried to sit up in the spring bed but fell flat on his back. The thick blanket wrapped him like a swaddler, and someone had covered his chest injury in soft white bandage strips.

\'I look like a fucking mummy! Fuck that bastard, Meph. I\'ll find him. I\'ll kill—\'

"Ouch! Fuck." He cursed aloud. His exertion had strained his ribs. Even the slightest movement felt like concrete blocks over his chest. His would was near fatal. Rafel tried to be strong, but the pain was too great.

He fell back on the pillows and grinded his teeth hard. He hated being weak.

He hated it with every blood cell within him.

He saw the door was slightly ajar but couldn\'t rise to it. He settled with listening to the nature sounds filtering into the cabin—and ignoring the idle squirrel whose staring now bothered on pestering. Rafel made faces at it, and the tiny rodent drew even closer. It\'s furry face went comical. \'Yeah right, laugh at me. Go on!

I, Champion of Hel can\'t even chase a bothersome rat.\'

Rafel abruptly turned his head when he heard the cabin\'s door whisper open. It creaked softly.

In came a woman he recognized but couldn\'t name. She had a rocking bod, and with her back turned to secure the door, he couldn\'t ignore her tresses of pure white. She turned also and stiffened when her blood-red eyes met it. It was only for an instant before her features softened. He noticed she made no move to chase out the offending squirrel.

She started speaking as she made for him, dropping the wicker basket of plucked apples in her grasp to the Valhallan rug.

"You have really strange eyes, Apollyon—scared me for a moment there. But then, you are THE Apollyon; makes sense for you to be scary. Anyway, I\'m glad you\'re awake. I\'m sure you\'re pretty foggy-headed and may not remember me. I\'m Sekhmet, and I\'ll be your nurse for. .

.well, until you\'re able to stand on your own two feet again."

Rafel pored over her looks as she touched a warm cloth to his forehead. The woman was bewitching. She was not nervous. Her kind of pretty was wild, it made Rafel think horny and hardcore. She would be fire in bed. It did take a certain kind of woman to live on a paradise island in the middle of the ocean.

One who was confident in her ability to love herself at night—love being the keyword.

She was saying, ". . .your fever\'s broke, thank the gods! I only gave you Coconut\'s milk for the migraines. You couldn\'t take down anything else before the full brunt of that goddamn fever hit. It\'s been two days, but you are a strong young man," she touched and massaged her soft fingers into his shoulder.

Uh, okay.

"—I don\'t anyone who could be injury from a divine weapon in such record time. But I think you are ready for something liquid now, don\'t you?"

Rafel\'s mouth hung open. He was speechless. Was it just him, or was this island witch\'s words sounding like come-ons?

"Are you okay? You haven\'t said anything." She touched the warm cloth to his forehead again. "You are more than the usual pale. I\'m thinking we start slow on food, let you climb on to an appetite. What say you, huh?"

"Uh, s-sure," Rafel finally found words. In the face of her near breasts, he forgot his fever for a minute.

"Sure?"

"I mean—whatever you have in mind."

Sekhmet laughed. "Oh!" It was then it hit her; that her words might have sounded like innuendos all along. She blushed a bit. "WHAT I HAVE IN MIND," she was still smiling. ". .

.is bone broth!" She pronounced.

"Ugh!" Rafel\'s head fell back.

"Hey!" Sekhmet was giggling now. "It\'s the only thing that\'ll help you recover! But after, when you\'re strong enough. . . we\'ll see."

Rafel\'s amber pupils rounded at the sultry trail her voice took.

. . .when you\'re strong enough. . .we\'ll see.

\'I\'m strong enough now!\' he wanted to yell. \'Place your hand there—you\'ll see.\'

"Rest, Apollyon. I\'m not going anywhere."

Sekhmet smiled knowingly, patting his forehead dry with the napkin and pulling the quilt up to his neck. "There you go; snug and warm." She rose to edge toward the fireplace completely on the other end of the cabin. She added kindling and logs, and flames licked at the hanging pot. In moments, she had the broth going, steamed in myrrh leaves and hot peppery spices.

Rafel didn\'t close his eyes immediately. Oh no, he didn\'t.

He let it wander to the full ripples of her pleated skirt, the simplicity of the country cotton, but the sensuous way her exotic figure swayed this way and that in it. Her immaculate apron was tied in a cute bow behind, by the dip in her small waist. Her hips flared out. And when she bent to stir. . .

"Oh, lord!" Rafel guffawed.

Her butt didn\'t need his proactive mind. It pushed out through her wear; he could see ass cheeks move, their supple outline command the island wind to glue the cotton to each ripe mound, caressing and dipping gently in between. And his hands itched to grope. To weigh. To fondle and jiggle and spank.

The gods of the Underworld were good to him: keeping him alive and delivering such a wonderful, ash haired forest witch to cuddle him back to health.

Ordinary luck couldn\'t match this—ever.

Rafel relaxed back for the tempting view until sleep would claim him. It was the first time his mood was raised since the Titans Landing, and he smiled wide. \'Let the great nursing begin.\'