Page 35 of Monsters' Manor

Once it’s gone, Silas lets out a low groan and bands a shadow around my shoulders, nudging me to face him.

“Lovely,” he breathes. “You’re absolutely lovely.”

The soft awe in his words sparks a fire low in my belly, making me bold. My hands land on the button of my jeans and I smirk at him.

“And you haven’t even seen all of me yet.”

His gaze snaps up, shadows clearing enough for me to see the naked hunger in his eyes.

Holding his gaze, I unfasten and unzip them, shimmying my hips and working the tight denim down my legs. His shadows follow the path my hands make down my hips and thighs, tracing the shape of me and whispering over my skin.

When I reach for the waist of my panties, Silas lets out a choked noise of protest, stopping me.

“Leave those.”

They’re nothing but black cotton, but they may as well be French lace with the way Silas is looking at me.

“Lay down, Rose.”

My whole body hums with awareness—of Silas, of his magick, of the darkness gathering close—as I lower myself to my bed and lay back on my pillows. Silas follows, shadows ghosting across my skin as he hovers over me.

A wisp of midnight trails over my lips and I gasp, tasting the crisp flavor of him on my tongue. It dips lower, exploring me, mapping a course over my jaw and down my throat toward the slope of my breast.

“What I wouldn’t give to be able to kiss you for real,” Silas murmurs.

His words send a pang of unease through me. “Is this… alright for you? Touching me like this when I can’t touch you, too?”

“It’s more than alright, my darling. When I’m here with you, like this, your pleasure is mine.”

“Really?” I ask, a bit of a hitch in my voice over his use of the endearment. “Do you mean that literally?”

“Yes, Rose. I do.”

As if to demonstrate, he curls a shadow around the tight peak of my nipple, squeezing in a brief jolt of pleasure-pain that has me stifling a moan and arching off the bed.

A rough sound breaks from Silas before he speaks again.

“Is it alright for you?” he asks, drawing back. “If this is all too strange, or if you’d rather not be with someone who can’t—”

“No,” I say in a rush of breath. “This is good. I want this.”

Despite the reassurance, Silas stays silent for a few moments, indecision still darkening his expression.

“Would it be different if we… if you had an anchor?” I ask.

It’s just a guess, an inkling tugging at the back of my mind from when he mentioned it before, but it seems to hit close to the truth.

“If I had an anchor…” he says slowly. “I would be able to shift from this form into something more… solid. Corporeal.”

The idea of it makes my chest tighten. Silas, solid and touchable. What would that be like?

“And have you ever had an anchor?”

A few seconds of weighted silence follow my question, and Silas’s shadows pull back even further. I curl into a sitting position and find him hovering near the side of the bed. In the silver moonlight his expression is tight, guarded, and unmistakable sorrow and regret thread through his next words.

“No, I’ve never had an anchor. I thought I’d found someone once, but it wasn’t… it wasn’t quite enough.” He shakes his head and lets out a short, harsh sigh. “PerhapsIwasn’t enough. Perhaps there’s something wrong with me that makes it impossible to—”

“Don’t say that.”

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