Page 38 of Ghoul Me, Maybe
Her legs wrap around my waist, bare heels pressing crescent moons into my flesh. “Show me.”
We move like the tide—relentless, inevitable. Her pussy takes me whole this time, slick and clenching, her gasp sharp against my throat. Every thrust sparks those cursed golden threads brighter, our hips painting streaks of light in the dark.
She claws at my shoulders. “Harder. Before you—ah!—fade on me again.”
I snarl, slamming her pelvis flush to mine. “Not. Possible.” Salt drips from my hair onto her breasts. Each droplet glows where it lands.
Her laughter breaks into a moan. “Christ, Elias—thestrings?—”
“Ignore them.”
“They’re inside me now!”
I still. Lift her hand—glowing filaments weave through her veins. “Told you I’d haunt you proper.”
She licks a stripe up my straining forearm. “Cheap parlour trick.”
I resume pounding into her, pace brutal. “This cheap enough for you?”
Her cry cracks midway through. The threads flare as she comes, back bowing off the rug. I chase my own release between gritted teeth, fingers bruising her hips.
The relic thrums from Sienna’s discarded satchel, casting amber ripples across the ceiling. My fingers tense against her hipwhere golden filaments still pulse beneath her skin—too vibrant now, toothere.
Her jaw flexes. "If you fade away…"
"I'm already dead, dove."
"Don't.” She jabs a finger into my phantom collarbone. “You’re here. Right now. Proved it thoroughly.”
The relic’s pulse quickens. Shadows bleed gold at the edges. Lightning flashes.
Thunder rattles the windows. I press the relic between our palms. It resonates like a struck bell, casting our entangled shadows on the wall—a single silhouette. “Could kill us both.”
“Like you said: you’re already dead.”
“And you’ve an answer for everything.”
She kisses me—slow, deliberate, sealing the argument. The relic’s heat spreads through my veins, a living current where only cold lingered for centuries. Her teeth catch my lip.
Through the window, the waves roar louder. Somewhere beneath that black water, theCeleste’sbones stir.
CHAPTER 15
ELIAS
I’ve seen madness before.
Men cracked open by sea storms and sleepless nights, muttering about mermaids with knives for teeth and gods that crawled up through their bilge water. But Lyle Brightwater?
He doesn’tseembroken.
He’s the kind of mad that dances on the edge of truth and delusion, always three steps ahead of everyone else and five steps too deep. Which makes him the most dangerous type of fool—especially now.
He barges into the shop like a storm with a caffeine addiction, arms full of maps, jars, and something that smells suspiciously like melted wax and desperation.
“Found it!” he shouts, nearly knocking over Mira’s ward shelf.
Sienna jerks upright from where she’s hunched over the table. Her hair’s still damp from the near-drowning, skin pale, lips pressed into a line that says don’t screw with me.
