Chapter 16: The Milk of Paradise
A sarokban álló obszidián tükör fodrozódott.
Cindy lélegzete elállt, ahogy nézte – egy felület, amelynek szilárdnak kellett volna lennie, tükrözte meztelen, csöpögő alakját, hirtelen úgy csillogott, mint a felkavart víz. A felszíne alatt a folyékony tűzerek gyorsabban lüktettek, furcsa, táncoló árnyékokat vetve a fülke bársonnyal borított falain. Nem is vette észre, hogy ilyen messzire jutott a fürdőszobától, mezítláb olyan folyosókon vitte, amelyeket nem ismert, valami, amit nem tudott megnevezni, vonzotta őket.
A levegő itt más volt. Sűrűbb. Ősi rezonanciával zümmögött, amitől fájtak a fogai, és libabőrös lett a bőre a meleg ellenére is.
És akkor meghallotta.
Egy halk, reszelős nyögés valahonnan a bársonyfüggönyök mögül. Nem fájdalom. Nem is egészen élvezet. Valami a kettő között – valami eltört.
Cindy szíve hevesen vert. Illyana.
Áttolta a függönyöket, az anyag hűvösen és nehézen simogatta a bőrét, és egy kicsi, kör alakú szobában találta magát. Még több bársony. Még több gyertya. Egy alacsony ágy, árnyékba borulva. És Illyana, aki a sarokban a padlón kuporgott, egy sötétségből készült köntösbe burkolózva, ami úgy tapadt rá, mint egy második bőr.
– Hé. – Cindy három gyors lépéssel átszelte a szobát, és térdre rogyott a varázslónő mellett. – Hé, mi történt? Mit találtál?
Illyana nem nézett rá. Az arca sápadt volt, a szokásosnál is sápadtabb, a pupillái pedig annyira kitágultak, hogy szinte teljesen elnyelték kék íriszeit. Reszketett.
„Megtaláltam őt.”
"Kit talált?"
Illyana nevetése üres volt. „Én magam. A lány, aki voltam.” Végül Cindy szemébe nézett, és a tekintete meghűtötte Cindyt a vérben. „A gyerek, aki voltam, amikor elvitt. Amikor Belasco iderángatott, és valami szörnyűvé változtatott.”
– Belasco? – Cindy suttogva hallotta a nevet, Illyana múltjának foszlányaiban, amelyekről a varázslónő ritkán beszélt. – Meghalt. Te ölted meg. Te mondtad nekem…
„Én öltem meg.” Illyana hangja alig hallatszott suttogásként. „De a Limbo nem felejt. Mindenre emlékszik. Magában hordozza minden fájdalom visszhangját, amit valaha látott, minden szenvedését, amit valaha okozott. És valami felébreszti ezeket a visszhangokat.”
Cindy gyomra görcsbe rándult. A benne lévő gyermek rúgott – keményen, erőszakosan, mintha ugyanarra a rettegésre reagálna, ami a szívét is szorította.
„Mit jelent ez? Mi történik?”
Illyana elnézett mellette, az obszidián tükör felé, ami mintha saját élettel lüktetett volna. „A pillanatok közötti falak elvékonyodnak. A múlt átszivárog a jelenbe. És a gyermek…” – elcsuklott a hangja. „A gyermek egy jelzőfény, Cindy. Egy fény, amely vonzza az árnyakat. Ennek a birodalomnak a sötétebb részei, azok a részek, amelyekről azt hittem, örökre lezártam őket, most felébrednek. És éhesek arra, ami benned növekszik.”
Cindy keze védelmezően a hasára siklott. A félelem rézízt érzett a nyelvén, de erőltette magát, hogy a hangja nyugodt maradjon. „Akkor megküzdünk velük. Együtt. Ahogy mondtuk.”
„Nem érted.” Illyana keze kinyúlt, és szinte kétségbeesett erővel ragadta meg Cindy csuklóját. „Láttam, mit akarnak tenni a gyermekünkkel. Láttam a rituálét, amit végre akarnak hajtani. Ki akarják üríteni a baba lelkét, és meg akarják tölteni Limbo esszenciájával. Edényt akarnak belőle csinálni. Egy új Sötét Gyermeket, aki uralja ezt a birodalmat, hogy végre szabadon rothadhassak a halandók világában – vagy meghalhassak.”
A szavak méregként lebegett a levegőben.
Cindy torka összeszorult. „Nem tehetik. Nem engedjük.”
„Az akaraterő önmagában nem fogja megvédeni a gyermekünket ettől.” Illyana szorítása ellazult, ujjai végigsimítottak Cindy karján. „Valamihez lehorgonyoznom kell magam. Valamihez, ami erősebb az emlékeknél. Erősebb a félelemnél.” Végre találkozott a tekintete Cindyével, és most valami kétségbeesett volt benne. „Szükségem van rád, hogy emlékeztess arra, ki vagyok. Kivé váltam. Aki lenni akarok.”
Lassú, forró hullám öntötte el Cindyt Illyana szemében látva. Egy kérésnek álcázott kérdés volt. Egy veszélybe burkolt könyörgés.
„Mutasd meg, hogy már nem ő vagyok” – lehelte Illyana. „Mutasd meg, hogy több vagyok, mint Limbo játékszere. Érints meg. Éreztess velem valamit, ami nem fájdalom, félelem vagy kötelesség.”
Cindy szíve hevesen vert. Saját teste vibrált a meg nem született gyermekük iránti igénytől, az Illyana által leírt köteléktől – a köteléktől, amely gyermeküket ehhez az undorító birodalomhoz társította. De nem hagyta, hogy ez kétségbeesésbe taszítsa a világukat. Nem volt hajlandó.
Talpra húzta Illyanát, és nagyobb bátorsággal, mint amennyit érzett, a bársonnyal borított falhoz szorította a varázslónőt.
– Nem vagy összetörve – mondta halk, vad morgással. – Nem vagy Limbo rabszolgája. Már nem vagy az a rémült kislány. – Kezei megtalálták Illyana vállát, és felcsúsztak, hogy megsimogassa az arcát. – Te vagy a szeretőm. A gyermekem másik anyja. És életem minden egyes másodpercét azzal fogom tölteni, hogy ezt bebizonyítsam neked, ha kell.
Illyana megremegett, szeme csillogott.
– Most pedig – mormolta Cindy, elég közel hajolva ahhoz, hogy érezze a kínzó leheletét –, hadd mutassam meg.
A csók brutális és kétségbeesett volt – minden fog, nyelv és az évek során felhalmozódott magány, félelem és vágyakozás végre utat talált magának. Illyana a szájába nyögött, és kezei Cindy hajába gabalyodtak, közelebb húzva őt. Együtt mozogtak, botladozva és kapaszkodva, míg végül az alacsony ágy mögöttük volt, és Illyana visszaesett rá.
Cindy követte őt lefelé.
Her body had changed over the months of her pregnancy. Her breasts were heavier now, fuller, aching with a fullness that had little to do with arousal. When she arched over Illyana, her nipples brushed the sorceress's chest, and the contact was almost electric with sensitivity.
"Please," Illyana whispered. "Please, I need to taste you."
Cindy's laugh was soft, breathless. "Thought I was supposed to be helping you forget."
The corner of Illyana's mouth flickered up in something that might have been a smile. "Then make me forget everything except how beautiful you are."
Her hands rose, cupping Cindy's heavy breasts with a tenderness that made Cindy's heart ache. Though careful not to squeeze too hard, her thumbs nonetheless stroked across the swollen, overly sensitive peaks. They were a soft, ridiculous pressure that made Cindy's breath catch—a need deeper than touch overriding the sting, rising up from the maternity hormones that saturated her. A bead of liquid gold welled from each nipple, quivering there like dew on ripe summer fruit.
Illyana's breath hitched. Her thumbs spread the glistening drops over Cindy's swollen nipples.
"This is—is this—?"
Cindy nodded. "The baby's feeding time." Her voice felt tight, constricted in her throat. "But I'm early. The flow is... heavy." She bit her lip, her cheeks heating. "I need relief."
A dark, possessive fire flickered through Illyana's eyes. "Then let me help."
Her head dipped to one nipple, mouth opening and drawing the slick, sensitive tip between her lips. When she sucked, something broke inside Cindy. The milk released in a sudden, warm rush that was as humiliating as it was relieving. Illyana drank, her throat working, swallowing deep and greedy. The sensation was maddening—a tugging, primal pleasure that went all the way to Cindy's womb, making her inner muscles flutter.
"Christ," Cindy breathed, her head falling back. "That feels so wrong and so fucking right at the same time."
Illyana hummed around her, the vibration passing through the sensitive tissue, stimulating every nerve ending. A fresh pulse of milk flowed into her mouth, and she swallowed it down, a satisfied, gluttonous sound rising from her throat as she drank deeper.
Her other hand came up, working the other breast with a knowing, rhythmic massage. Cindy cried out, hips bucking, a flood of wetness soaking her thighs and the low-slung leggings she'd hastily pulled on before wandering the corridors. The fabric was damp and clinging and Illyana pushed against it with the heel of her palm, right over her clit.
"Agh—fuck—" Cindy's words strangled in her throat.
"More milk," Illyana growled, pulling away from one nipple just long enough to mouth at the other. She licked her lips. "I'm thirsty."
She latched onto the other side, suckling with the same rhythm—and Cindy thought she would die. The pleasure was too much, a heady overload combining the primal release of her breast milk with the persistent pressure of Illyana's hand grinding against her soaked leggings.
"Need you inside me," Cindy begged. "Please. Need to feel you."
Illyana's response was a fierce suckle and she finally, mercifully tugged at the waistband of Cindy's leggings with her other hand. The fabric tore—not with brute force, but with a whisper of magic that had been roused and sharpened by desperate hunger. The wet garment was ripped away, revealing Cindy's slick, swollen folds and her clit standing swollen and eager from its hood.
"Legs open."
It wasn't a request.
Cindy obeyed instinctively, crying out as Illyana pressed two long fingers against her entrance, coating them in her slick wetness. Then, with a sudden, brutal thrust that punched the air from Cindy's lungs, Illyana drove inside her.
"Mmm, that's a good cunt," Illyana growled into Cindy's breast, fingers bottoming out inside. "So wet for me. So tight. So goddamn perfect."
With her mouth still latched on, suckling lazily, she set a rhythm. Quick, harsh digs into Cindy's core that made her words dissolve into liquid sounds. Her thumb moved to her clit and pressed, rubbing the sensitive bundle of nerves in tight, repetitive circles.
Cindy was gone. Her world had narrowed to the pull of Illyana's mouth, to her thick, moving fingers, to the edge of a precipice that was fast approaching. She gasped, clutching at Illyana's platinum hair, fingers tangling in the silken strands.
"Come for me," Illyana commanded, breaking her mouth from the breast for a sharp, ragged breath that nonetheless tasted of sweet milk, her tongue tracing the nipple she'd abandoned. "Come all over my fingers, pretty. I want to feel your cunt milk my hand."
And Cindy came.
Her body convulsed, a wordless scream tearing from her throat. Orgasm wrung her out, her inner walls clutching and releasing Illyana's fingers, her milk spraying in hot, thick ribbons from her untouched breast. Illyana lunged, catching the spray with her mouth, over her tongue, coating her lips, swallowing every last sweet, thick drop meant for their child.
She didn't release her fingers, riding Cindy through the spasms, until the pulsing finally subsided. Only then did she slowly withdraw, her hand dripping with Cindy's climax, which she brought to her mouth to lick, keeping eyes on her lover's flushed face.
"You're intoxicating," she whispered.
Cindy pulled her down, crushing them together. "You're insatiable."
Illyana's laugh was a little less hollow now. She kissed Cindy, letting her taste the mix of milk and her own slick on Illyana's lips, letting her taste that surrender.
"I need you closer," Illyana panted, breaking the kiss.
She shifted, positioning herself above Cindy in a way that caused a jolt of electricity to spike through them both at the first slide of wet, bare, aching cunt against cunt. The sensation was raw, primal, their bodies pressed intimately together—all heat and slick, the friction glorious.
"Look at us."
Cindy was burning up. The feeling of Illyana's clit sliding against hers in her own pooled juices was overwhelming. She reached between them, spreading her own lips, and repositioned Illyana so that the swollen bud was caught exactly where she needed it. Illyana's hips instantly snapped in motion.
"Yes," she hissed. "Yes, right there, don't stop."
Their combined slickness made their grind sloppy, wet, perfect. The delicious friction, combined with a bond that was deeper than the physical, had them panting into each other's mouths and gripping at sweat-slicked skin.
"Watch, Illyana," Cindy panted. "Watch my belly when we come. Feel our baby kick for you while you make me come."
Illyana looked down. Watched as she moved against Cindy, saw her rounded stomach quiver. As if on cue, their child kicked—a strong, undeniable thump that Illyana could feel through the wall of Cindy's abdomen as it pressed against her own.
A guttural noise broke from Illyana's chest. The vibration, the fierce possessive rush, tipped her over the edge. Her hips rutted without rhythm now, urgent and honest, rubbing with a frantic need.
"Come with me," Illyana demanded, voice raw. "Make me feel you come. I want to feel our child kick as you fall apart for me."
Cindy was already there. Her body tightened and arched, and at that exact moment, the baby kicked again—a strong, powerful movement that seemed to vibrate through them both. The shared orgasm that hit them was blinding.
They shook and cried out together as the wave crested and shattered. Their clits ground together through the aftershocks, prolonging the bliss until they were limp and exhausted, dripping with sweat and the remnants of their pleasure.
Cindy's milk leaked from her breasts, pooling harmlessly on her stomach. The scent of sex, sweat, and the pale milky sweetness hung heavy in the air.
For a long time, the only sound was their ragged breathing.
Finally, Illyana stirred, pressing a soft kiss to Cindy's damp forehead. "I can feel the change," she confessed, voice barely a whisper. "The darkness. It's receded. For now."
"For now?" Cindy echoed, the chill of dread returning. She traced Illyana's brow, the tired lines around her eyes.
Sliding off, Illyana curled into her side, one hand resting over Cindy’s belly. "She's still here—that hungry thing in the shadows. She's not gone. But I'm stronger now. Strong enough to protect what's mine."
"Ours," Cindy corrected.
Illyana smiled then, a real smile, and it gave her face an unguarded beauty that stole the breath from Cindy's lungs. "Ours."
From the hidden alcove, in the obsidian mirror where the veins of liquid fire still pulsed, a dark shape could have been watching—breathless, waiting, and patient.
The child in Cindy's belly kicked again, and Illyana gasped, pressing her palm more firmly against the spot. "I think they liked that."
Cindy snorted, slapping her shoulder with the last dregs of her strength. "Shut up."
"I'm serious. You have a very appreciative baby in there."
"Shut up."
Illyana's laughter rang out free, but after a moment, it was quieted by a contemplative stare at the mirror.
"Don't be a shadow," she told it, her voice low, intimate, yet laden with an echo of steel. "I know you're there."
The obsidian surface stilled. A shape peeled away from its depths, coalesced for a moment into a vaguely feminine silhouette, tilting its head at Illyana in a gesture that was eerily familiar.
"Do you now?" A slow, silken voice filtered from the mirror. "How amusing."
And then it was gone, evaporating like a whisper on the wind, leaving nothing behind but the faint, lingering scent of ozone and forgotten sins.
Illyana was already reaching for her Soulsword, eyes scanning the room. "Cindy, stay behind me. Now."
"Yes," a voice seemed to breathe from the silken drapes themselves. "Stay behind her, little spider. It won't save you."
The candles guttered, then went out, plunging them into a darkness that was alive and hungry and endless as the heart of Oblivion itself.