Page 76 of The Musician and the Monster

This time, he poured all his desire into their kiss. He demanded everything, and she gave it willingly, almost like she tried to soothe his pain and suffering with the touch of her lips. And oh, how it did. She had no idea. His light. His beauty.

Drystan slid his hands down until they cupped her backside. With a gentle nip on her bottom lip, he pulled her tight against him, grinding up against the softness between her thighs.

When his tongue teased her lips, she parted them with a soft sigh. He tasted, he conquered, claiming all of her that she would give.

Finally, he released her, sucking in one deep breath after another, his head spinning. Anymore, and he’d give into the temptation to tumble her onto the floor, push up her skirts, and delight her with an entirely different kind of kiss.

Ceridwen’s cheeks were flushed, her lips kiss-bruised, and hair tousled. She’d never looked quite so lovely, and right then, he wanted to give her everything she could ever ask for.

“I’ll let you play for me while I try the spell tonight,” he said between heavy breaths.

She nodded eagerly, wiggling a bit in his lap and rubbing against his cock in the most delicious torment. He gripped her hips again, holding her still. If she kept moving like that, he’d lose his control, not to mention his train of thought.

“If I feel the change coming on, I’ll stop immediately. And if I don’t feel it in time, you have to run.” He leaned his forehead against hers, sharing her breaths. “If the monster breaks free, get to your room and don’t leave it.”

“I promise,” she whispered.

With careful movements, he slid Ceridwen from his lap. Drystan groaned as he stood, adjusting his pants as she averted her gaze from the incriminating view. Her sheepishness was precious, another rare treasure. Perhaps it was best he hadn’t taken it further with her.

He took her hand in his. When she glanced up at him, he rewarded her with the most genuine smile he’d shared in years. With one hand in his and her flute case in the other, Drystan led Ceridwen through the manor and up the stairs to his tower.

Ceridwen gagged as he sipped from a cup of blood. He hadn’t considered this element of his magic and how it might affect her to see it in action. He’d told her, but knowing something and seeing it weren’t the same.

“Are you all right?” He set the cup away, hiding it from her sight.

“Fine.” She gave him a tight smile, one that all but said she was anything but fine, but was willing to continue. This strong woman—she only added to the many ways he didn’t deserve her.

“Where do you get—” She broke off quickly with a shake of her head. “No. Never mind.”

The blood?Best she didn’t ask. She wouldn’t like the answer. He could use his own, and did for the spells he painted, hence many of the scars on his hands and arms. The one on his face was one of the few he hadn’t given himself. That one came from his uncle after his fall. His blood had limited effect when it came to consumption, though, as did animal blood. Most of what he used came from his staff, which they gave freely in small dosesto aid his cause. It’d be a lie to say he didn’t ponder what Ceridwen’s would taste like or how it might affect him, given the power she had over his monster from her music and presence alone. That, however, was one thing he could never ask of her and might decline, even if she offered.

Instead of answering the half-spoken question, he said, “I tried a similar spell that night you found me.” It was the last spell he needed to complete and the most difficult.

Ceridwen nodded, shifting her gaze to one of the shadowy areas of the room. “If the monster rises, I’ll run,” she promised and looked at him. “Should I play now?”

Drystan traced to the bookshelves, hands ungloved and bloody, and selected the Gray Blade from its innocuous place upon the shelf. “Yes,” he said, almost to the blade rather than to her. “Go ahead and start now. Stay near the stairs.”

He allowed her here at her insistence, but he wouldn’t let her anywhere near him while he worked.

Before he’d returned to the altar, Ceridwen lifted the flute and began to play. She chose a lighthearted tune, one that brought to mind lush wisteria, sunshine, and spring days. Yet none of those happy thoughts settled the unease building with him as his monster prowled under his skin, wide awake since tasting the blood. So strange that a weapon meant to defeat darkness required dark magic to craft it.

Drystan placed the blade in the center of the altar and willed his body to relax and the monster to rest. He spent long minutes with his eyes closed, listening to the song, letting it feed happy thoughts into his mind, and blocking out the world. Only when he felt his beast settle did he begin to trace patterns in blood upon the stone. A hint of sound flowed from his lips to join the music as he murmured words of magic in addition to the blood and shape, willing it to take.

Ceridwen’s music picked up in tempo, faster, he’d wager, than intended for the song. From the corner of his eye, he noticed she’d turned her head away from his working and kept her eyes tightly closed, as she often did while playing.

At one point, she peeked her eyes open. Her breath hitched, sending an awkward note into the air. The tune faltered for the briefest moment, but she slammed her eyes shut once more and continued on as he worked the pattern over and over.

The first tune ended, and she started another, her playing calm and controlled once more. Her confidence and strength bolstered his spirit and encouraged him on. He was close, he could feel it, but each swipe of his finger through the blood roused his beastdespite the music. It prowled inside him, waiting for weakness and the opportunity to pounce.

So close. A few more.

The beast sprang, rising up within him and warring for control. Drystan’s body lurched forward, slamming into the stone altar. He curled his fingers against the bloody surface. An agonized moan tore from his throat as the beast stretched against him, throwing itself into his form.

Ceridwen’s music faltered. The flute dipped from her lips as she stared at him wide-eyed.

He moved to grip the edge of the altar. His back bowed. “Go,” Drystan bit out through gritted teeth. The beast was insistent, hurtling itself at him again and again.

She shook her head, her lips settling in a suborn line. “No.” She raised her flute to continue.

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