Conquest Of The Fallen: Dark Dominions-Chapter 304: Meet the Romanovs

[Recently used Attributes: The Entomber – Nethers Will – Ecstasy – Umbrage – The Carnal One.]

[Unlocked: HELFORCE – ASCENDANCE.]

[Current Title: BLOOD KNIGHT]

[GIFTS: 700 C-rank demon slaves, Charm of Lord Adrianú, 5 Bonded Hel-rings, 1 Djinn.]

[ILL: Sufficiency of the imprisoned Fallen.]

[THE BETRAYED]

[Mark of Cain]

[DING! You also have one unread séance message from your mother.]

"Good grief, Peitho. I didn't ask for a system's report. But since you're here, have we got a [Chronos Bubble] in Equipment, or the arcane shop. Hell! I'll take a Shard if we have it." Rafel had found a disproportioned statue of a Florentine Governor in a recluse passageway. He slipped out of [Noir] into the shadows cast by the stone, right under the aristocratic crook of the statue's nose.

His [Umbrage] solidified into his tall, redhaired self.

He started down the passage just as quickly. The last thing he needed was of a steward of the Gray House to run into him on his walk of shame—and before he had a chance to wipe the princess heir and most decorated cop in Roa off his body.

He was hopping two steps at a time of a curling stairwell when Peitho said,

[My Lord host isn't up to the task of facing a family of Rocasian royalty, is he? Especially when he's just shagged the princess heir. Lord host would like to pause time and take a nap or two.]

"Exactamente! Gods, you really are my S.I.N."

For a Sumer goddess stuck in an Artificial, Rafel made Peitho's work entertaining. He couldn't see her but she blushed at his offhanded compliment. Principalities like him and the rest of the Fallen didn't dish out niceties. She knew he was glad she could read his mind without really doing it, and know what he desired a [Chronos Shard] for. But Peitho's excitement was brief. She knew he wouldn't like her next response.

[I'm afraid, Lord host, we have none… but you're a big boy. You've handled breakfast with a man whose wife you'd just fucked before.]

"If you mean the Count Lucius Penderghast and his Lady, I don't appreciate the humor."

[Apologies, m'lord. I meant nothing by it.]

Peitho quickly amended.

The tragedy of House Penderghast was a sore spot for many in the Capital. Now for Rafel who had known the family, quite well one might add, the spot was a festering sore. Peitho continued, 'if you can sit through that, and Giselle's court, she tried for humor again, what's supper with the Romanovs?

This time Rafel chuckled. "Can you see me rolling my eyes?"

He approached the ominous door that frankly looked like the hardback of a Grimoire which Peitho had scouted earlier. This door led to his bedroom. Given that he had just had Yuki ride him reverse cowgirl seconds ago, he couldn't now ask her to continue with the tour of the Gray House. Luckily, he had a subservient who could multitask.

Rafel reached for the door's latch. "Peitho, this us?"

She gave him the thumbs-up and he gently pushed in. "One more thing," he told Peitho as the grim door swiveled shut, "ignore that bitch's message."

[Ding!] Rafel just as quickly heard Peitho scrub his notifications of any and all messages tagged mum. Neither of them bothered to pause and check how on sunny Eldorian earth Lilith could've sent a séance call to him in a prison like Eragonn. Rafel was still too fueled by rage of a demigod to hear the whiff of her name. He wondered how many of his sidechicks Lilith had brutally flogged and then flayed for daring to stick their tongue into her neph…sorry, son's mouth. And then surrendering their enslaved souls into her [Arcane Rune] for eternal torment.

Lilith had once told him the red glowworm that lit his window every night was Suria, his eighth-year private tutor in the Holocaust Tower.

Back then, he'd thought she was kidding.

Now, HEL NO!

That fucking glowworm really was Suria.

The only thing she'd done was forget to sit close-legged one hot night during his [Vampire Culture] class. Rafel remembered bragging to his uncle, Asmodeus; that Miss Suria had the dampest, cleanest panties in the world. And then, poof! Miss Suria was gone.

So no shit! He'd delete Lilith's goddamn messages all day.

[You have to deal with her.]

Updat𝓮d from freewēbnoveℓ.com.

It was Peitho, conjuring softly in his mind.

"I know," Rafel answered. "When I return again to Titans Landing," he promised, more to himself than Peitho.

Right at that moment, twelve seconds just after he'd stumbled his way into the occultic-looking bedchamber—which had him thinking someone must really be a fan, three polite knocks sounded outside. "Uh—" Rafel was still forming words when the door opened. His fingers twitched on the gold buttons of his shirt when four very young teen girls came padding in; they had only little, transparent, white shifts.

Fuck him, but they looked like quadruplets.

"We're here to get you prepared, Ambassador," they said as one, the union of their shared stares freezing Rafel where he stood.

He tried not to wonder what else they could together as they marched for him, surrounded him, and took the buttons off his fingers.

One undressed him. Two led him to the bathtub. One started running water. Together, they washed him like he was a Saint.

Their inquisitive eyes, youthful smiles, and budding breasts were a welcome entertainment for Rafel as they dressed him afterward. They chose silver and blue. He wished for black. But for these amazing girls—especially the one with the blonde triangle of dewy curls shimmering at the juncture of her thighs, he wore the blue berét they fitted on his orange ponytail like a General and his double Eagles.

A lanky Junior-marshal waiting outside led him straight to the Supper Hall, hiding his smile all the way.

'This freaking place is full of groupies.' Peitho told Rafel privately.

Still he gave the crushing fanboy cop no smile or autographs.

Somehow it made the young man even happier.

'I guess devils aren't a mystery anymore,' Rafel returned to Peitho. 'Everyone just expects us to be brutal.'

In his mindseye he knew Peitho was smiling but she was silent the rest of the way.

In the West, they weren't particularly religious. The ones that were, were polytheistic. And so Rafel wasn't shocked to hear no bell tolling at suppertime. If it were in Titans Landing, the monks of the Martyr and other zealots of some new religion would at this time be turning the temples knell into a war effort.

"Israfel!"

Rafel had just put one foot into a resplendent 20-foot high hall when Mikhail's voice came clear across.

"Come, my friend. Come, please."

[A GIANT GROUPIE!]

'Hush!' Rafel berated Peitho.

"…meet my family." Mikhail was all smiles, haloed in the pouring light of the chandelier as one of the statuesque stewards in blue and gold uniforms, the signature colors of House Romanov came near and helped Rafel into a seat at the grandest diaphine dinner table he'd ever seen. It was set like a hearing of the Nine Realms was in order. Yet, it was just suppertime for the royal family of Rocasus, and their polished ginger-haired visitor from the Sunling lands of the Capital.

Rafel shared the head of the longtable with Ursula. He took his seat beside her.

"Welcome, Lord Bludthïrste." The Legata kissed his cheek. Rafel nodded stiffly. Ursula was just so gorgeous tonight. The Alien Marquess. What a MILF!

'I wish I fucked her too. Then maybe my dick wouldn't be so gungho under this table.'

The Romanovs were entirely unaware of their visitor's salacious thoughts as they regarded the handsomest man they'd ever seen, each in their own way.

Lord Israfel Bludthirste to them was so full of life, a wealth of wisdom, and a lifetime of war. And a really big dick!

He had so much to give.

Rafel on the other hand was thankful to whomever had made the dinner arrangement, placing Ursula at his side. If she'd been in front of him, how the shit was he supposed to not ogle a total cougar, blessed as she was with those sinful curves, that delicious height of woman, three ripe peaks of soft, squeezable flesh, and those green river eyes.

"Thank fuck," he breathed.

He was nervous when he greeted, "Good evening, everyone…or is it Howdy?"

He touched two fingers to his chest and forehead like how he'd seen aplenty do.

Ursula touched Rafel's hand on the table.

"You don't need to be nervous." She looked around at her children, all alien-beautiful, then she completed, "House Romanov adores you."

Rafel nodded. Her mouth was moving but he wasn't listening to a word she was saying. And it wasn't out of disrespect. He…he just wanted to shove his cock through those lips.

Her python hair curled sensually across one caramel shoulder, dipping into her cleavage, the serpent wiggling contentedly.

Gods mighty and mundane!

Rafel threw his eyes away. This woman, hotter than the desert sun, was the most powerful entity in the Western Republic, and here he was, gulping her tits like a bitch.

And yes, though he could have her begging for his nosh in seconds like a primeval harlot if he equipped his [Lustsonance], he didn't. He remembered why he was here. He remembered Ravenna and Corazón.

So instead, he looked next to his old academy friend and gestured with a nod of the head to the five sweet girls fanning both his sides. Mikhail quickly caught on; "Oh, where are my manners?" He looked from Rafel to his sisters and began introducing them one after the other, from their mother's left, around the longtable to Rafel's right: "Lord Israfel, I present our firstborn, Yukima Nassai. I believe you've already met…"

And fucked! Rafel volunteered, but just to himself.

"…our secondborn princess, Janai IIona. Myself, the third-born and prince heir. Our fourth-born sister, Mariposa. And Hinari Okyo, our fifth-born. And finally," Mikhail's presenting hand fell on the last girl, the one seated closest to Rafel. The one he thought initially was a boy, but for the prettiness to her face and the little points through her swan gown. "Daschelle Novak, our mother's sixth-born."

"Nice to meet you, Blood-prince." Daschelle took Rafel's hand before could avoid it; she shook warmly. "Call me Dash."

Yukima offered coolly from the other end, "never mind her forwardness, she is still a minor."

Daschelle puffed. "I'm…I'm—"

"All of fourteen years? Yeah!" Yukima volunteered, bringing laughter to the whole table.

Rafel was still smiling when Daschelle poked his arm on the table, drawing his gold eyes to her.

"Yes?"

"I'm old enough," she said.

And Rafel just had to turn away. He was surprised he was the one who did it first.

There was something in Daschelle Novak's fairy-blue eyes.

Something not right.