Page 50 of A Dance Macabre

Except—

A prickle at my neck makes me snap my eyes open.

Mercy stands on the opposite side of the water from me, the bathhouse cloaked in darkness, with only a few candles and the silver gleam of the waxing moon outside illuminating the room.

My treacherous heart skips a beat, and I almost start playing off-key. I catch myself just in time and instead start playing even more fervently as I take her in from afar.

Her face is bare, wearing the same short black nightgown and chiffon robe as when the Oracle visited us earlier. It was childish of me to storm out, but I could hardly stand being in the same room as Mercy.

I’m plagued with the thought of her cunt sheathed around my dick. Plagued with the thought of her telling me all the ways she could kill me while still letting me fuck her.

I despise her.

I crave her.

I will have her.

Her eyes reflect the flickering flames of the lit candles, her stare just as ardent as mine. The violin music fills in the silence between us, the air shifting into a living, breathing thing. It growls and moans and begs for attention, but all I can do is watch Mercy.

She undoes her sash. Her movements are deliberately slow. I swallow hard. First falls the robe, fluttering delicately around her bare feet. Then her fingers slide under the thin strap of her nightgown, letting it slip over her shoulder. Then goes the other strap. My throat goes dry. Her eyes burn. A small shimmy of her body. The dress falls. And my violin nearly falters once again.

The sight of her …

If I didn’t know any better I’d think she was the servant of the god of lust for how affected I am right now. Or even my own god of idolatry, for my sudden and blinding need to worship her.

My chest begins to rise and fall faster and faster as I hunger over her naked body. I trace the shape of her with my gaze, the curve of her plump breasts, the smooth lines of her stomach, the swell of her hips, the small crescent moon tattoo near her pubic bone.

She starts for the stairs leading down into the water, never breaking eye contact.

I continue to play, the notes building and building and building.

Step by slow step, the water rises higher up her legs, until she’s covered up to her waist. She glides up to the opposite side from where I’m standing and faces me, leaning her back againstthe edge. Her gaze darkens when her hand disappears under the water, and by the subtle fall of her mouth and the gentle flutter of her eyelashes, I know exactly what she’s doing.

I experience a sudden and maddening hysteria watching her touch herself in front of me, unable to actuallyseeher fingers, let alone her cunt.

The music stops.

I practically throw the violin across the room in my haste.

Already bare-chested, I tug my pants down, briskly taking them off before storming down the stairs and into the water, now just as naked as Mercy.

Her eyes narrow in challenge as I approach her and although I’m bedeviled by desire I notice the small grin of victory she’s trying to conceal.

She thinks she’s gained power over me.

“You vile little whore,” I can’t help but hiss.

Her laugh is mocking and before I can reach her, she dives and disappears under the water. I slam my fist in the water, splashing myself in the process, but I’m too strung out to care.

She reemerges a few seconds later, at the opposite end of the large bath. My cock hardens as I watch her smooth her hands over her wet slicked hair, breasts bouncing with the movement as water lazily drips over her face, her jaw, her lips.

My muscles coil tight, jaw clenched and teeth grinding.

Her gaze snaps to mine. “What’s wrong, Wolfie?” she says tauntingly as she idly glides through the water. “Displeased to see me in yourpreciousbathhouse?”

The pet name sends an unwanted shiver down my spine, and I begin to slowly approach, my eyes on her like a predator with their prey. “When in these waters, you should be tithing tome, Crèvecoeur,” I say slowly.

She scoffs. “Tithe to you?” she replies, giving the water a small flick of her fingers. “You mean compliment you? Is thatreally what pleases your god?” Her eyes track my movements while we begin circling each other. She pouts mockingly. “Your bloodline is a farce.”

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