HER LUST THEIR CHAINS
( Dark Romance, Fantasy)
Chapter 1: Blood on the Blade
Elyra's dagger sank into the slaver's throat, hot blood spraying across her face as she twisted the blade and yanked it free. The man crumpled, his scream cut short, and she didn't waste a second. She bolted through the shadowed alley of Korrath's undercity, her boots pounding the cracked stone, the weight of the stolen Ashen Heart shard heavy in her pocket. Behind her, shouts erupted—more slavers, armed and furious, closing in. She didn't look back. Looking back got you killed.
Her breath burned in her lungs as she ducked into a narrow passage, the air thick with the stench of rot and coal. The shard pulsed against her thigh, warm and alive, its cursed magic humming through her veins. She'd snatched it from a black-market auction, a fragment of the Ashen Heart—a relic said to bend life, death, and desire to its wielder's will. Her bloodline, the last of the Veyrin clan, was the key to unlocking it. That's why they wanted her—slavers, warlords, anyone with power to gain. And tonight, she'd made herself a target.
A shadow loomed ahead, blocking her path. She skidded to a stop, daggers raised, her heart hammering. The man stepped into the dim torchlight, shirtless, his broad chest glistening with sweat and scars, muscles rippling as he gripped a massive axe. Zane. The warlord of Korrath's northern district, a beast of a man with a reputation for crushing his enemies—and bedding them first. His dark eyes locked on her, a predatory glint in them that sent a shiver down her spine. Not fear. Something hotter.
"Hand it over, girl," Zane growled, his voice rough as gravel. "That shard's mine by right."
Elyra smirked, wiping blood from her cheek. "Come take it, big man. If you can catch me."
She lunged, feinting left, but Zane was faster than he looked. His axe swung, missing her by inches as she rolled under it, slashing at his thigh. The blade grazed his skin, drawing a thin line of blood, and he grunted, more annoyed than hurt. Before she could strike again, a cold laugh echoed from the alley's shadows.
Another figure emerged—Cassian, the necromancer, his lean frame bare from the waist up, runes glowing faintly on his chest. His black hair fell over eyes that promised pain and pleasure in equal measure.
"Zane, you're too slow," Cassian said, his voice a silky threat. "Let me handle her." He raised a hand, and the air thickened, tendrils of dark magic coiling toward her. Elyra felt a pull, her body tingling, her thoughts muddling with a sudden, unwanted heat.
His necromancy could twist emotions, and he was aiming straight for her desire. She shook it off, gritting her teeth, and threw a dagger. It grazed his shoulder, breaking his focus, and he hissed, stepping back.
"Enough games," a third voice cut through, cold and lethal. Theron, the assassin, stepped into view, shirtless like the others, his chiseled frame marked with old wounds. His longsword gleamed, and his gray eyes bore into her with a mix of hatred and something deeper. "The shard dies with you, Veyrin. My oath demands it."
Three men, all after the same prize—and her. Elyra's mind raced. Zane wanted the shard for power, Cassian for his twisted magic, Theron to destroy it. But they weren't just after the relic. Their gazes lingered on her, hungry, possessive, drawn to the curse in her blood that made her a magnet for their lust. She could use that. She had to.
She bolted again, weaving through the alley, but they were relentless. Zane's heavy footsteps thundered behind her, Cassian's magic tugging at her senses, Theron's silent pursuit closing the gap. She reached a dead end, a crumbling wall blocking her escape. Turning, she faced them, daggers ready, her chest heaving. The shard burned against her skin, and she felt its power stir, responding to her racing pulse.
Zane reached her first, his axe raised, but he paused, his breath ragged, eyes fixed on the sweat glistening on her neck. "You're trouble," he muttered, lowering the weapon slightly. Cassian circled to her left, his fingers tracing the air, a smirk playing on his lips. "Give in, Elyra. Let me taste that fire." Theron stayed back, his sword steady, but his jaw tightened, a flicker of conflict in his gaze.
Elyra laughed, low and sharp. "You want the shard? You'll have to get through me. All of you." She stepped forward, letting her stance shift, her hips swaying just enough to draw their eyes. The air crackled with tension, their desire a weapon she could wield. Zane's grip on his axe loosened, Cassian's magic faltered, Theron's resolve wavered. She had them, for now.
Before they could react, the ground shook. A guttural roar split the night, and the wall behind her cracked open, revealing a maw of jagged teeth and glowing red eyes.
A bloodwraith, drawn by the shard's power—and her blood. It lunged, claws slashing, and Elyra ducked, rolling toward the men. Zane swung his axe, severing a limb, Cassian unleashed a blast of necrotic energy, and Theron's blade flashed, cutting deep. But the wraith kept coming, its focus on her.
"Work with me, or die," she snapped, her voice cutting through their shock. They hesitated, then nodded, their eyes still burning with that mix of lust and rage. The fight was brutal—claws raked her arm, drawing blood that made the wraith screech in delight. Zane shielded her, his body pressed close, Cassian's magic brushed her skin with an electric thrill, Theron's movements synchronized with hers like a dance. Together, they brought the beast down, its body dissolving into ash.
Breathing hard, Elyra stood, blood dripping from her wound, the shard pulsing hotter. The men surrounded her, shirtless and sweat-slicked, their chests heaving, eyes locked on her with renewed hunger. "You're not getting this shard," she said, her voice steady despite the ache in her arm. "But stick around. I might need you."
Zane grinned, a dark promise in his eyes. Cassian licked his lips, his magic stirring again. Theron sheathed his sword, his gaze unreadable but intense. The night wasn't over, and neither was their chase. Elyra turned, leading them into the shadows, knowing she'd just bound them to her in more ways than one.