Page 26 of The Deathless One
Dropping his head into his hands, he ran those scarred fingers through the strands. “Comfort the witch,” he breathed.
There wasn’t much that he knew comforted their kind, other than power. They didn’t call him to ask for anything along those lines, anyway. All they cared about was his magic and what he could offer them. That was the nature of his patronage, unlike his brother the Warrior Son, who fucked anything with legs. Some that didn’t have legs, too, if he remembered right. Although his memory of his family was still rather hazy.
Blowing out a breath, he sat up again to look at her. She was such a tiny thing. Nightmares were apparently terrifying to her, and he had no way of knowing what would ease that fear.
A low rumble rolled through his chest, the growl deep and echoing in the room. Strangely, she seemed to hear it. Jessamine relaxed in her sleep for a moment, and then went right back to twitching.
Warmth. Rumbling sounds. What else had she liked when she was a child?
It seemed he could still sift through her memories even when he wasn’t in his realm. Interesting. A small part of him wanted to explore her current thoughts just a bit more—was she thinking of him?—but he had all of her past to go through whenever he wished. Perhaps it wasn’t fair of him to want to know more.
He flipped through the memories of her soul until he found the perfect thing. And it was so easy to conjure.
Sinking onto his knees beside her, he hovered his hands over her. Words poured from his mouth, the ancient tongue flowing with power and pulling at all the meager remains of magic he had to keep him in this realm. But he needed to do this.
Shadows ripped from his hands, wispy things, delicate as smoke but strong as steel. They coiled around each other, drawing in until they had almost a physical manifestation. Baring his teeth, he forced them into atighter swirl, giving them life where there had been none before. Just as he had for her.
With one last spark of power, nearly dragging the air out of him until he could no longer breathe with it, he severed the spell. Gasping, he braced himself with a fist on the floor. He had to stay here. Just to see what he had conjured—or, if he was being honest, to see her reaction.
Jessamine stirred, her eyes blearily blinking open to see the small bundle of shadows that had curled in the vacant space near her belly. She was wrapped around his gift, her knees drawn up to cradle it against her heartbeat.
“What?” she whispered, her hands coming down to comb through the fur that he was certain was soft as velvet. “Where did you come from?”
The tiny void pressed against her skin yawned, revealing a bright pink tongue and a set of teeth that were razor sharp. Its tail was maybe a little too long for its form, and it was certainly the largest kitten he’d ever seen in this realm, but it was a cat nonetheless. Pointed ears flicked at the sound of her voice.
It stood, stretching its front paws out and flexing long nails in the rags. Tail in the air, it flattened its chest against the floor while pinning its ears back in a long stretch of its spine. But then it sauntered up to Jessamine’s face, rubbing that soft fur against her chin before curling up again next to her chest.
The heavy sigh that followed clearly said the kitten was exhausted, and what was all the fuss about?
Her eyes flicked up to find him crouched there, his hand still braced against the floor, looming above the two of them.
“Was this you?” she whispered, as though she was afraid to disturb the kitten now purring very loudly.
He didn’t know what to say. The way her eyes filled with tears, and all that hope in her gaze, it did something to him.
The Deathless One decided then and there that he preferred her angry. The feisty witch with a scornful mouth was infinitely easier to deal with than the woman before him. He didn’t want to see her so pliant fromsleep, warm and snuggling with one of his creations. He didn’t want to see that small smile at the corners of her lips, or the way she looked at him like maybe he wasn’t so terrible. Maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t the nightmarish god that she’d always heard about.
This soft version of her was too tempting, and it hurt too much to look at her and know it was all a lie.
Grunting, he stood so he didn’t have to look at her. “Every witch needs a familiar, nightmare. Make good use of it.”
“What am I supposed to do with a familiar?”
He shrugged, already feeling that ever-present tug of his realm. He’d used too much power, and now he could hardly keep himself here with her. “Care for it. Get rid of it. I don’t care what you do with the beastie.”
But the lie fizzled on his tongue even as he said the words, because she drew the kitten closer to her face and breathed in the scent of his magic still lingering on its fur. “Thank you.”
He disappeared before he could do something foolish. Before he could decide to stay a little while longer and crawl onto those rags with her. A kitten would keep her nightmares at bay for now.
He would banish them forever.
The cold breeze of his realm covered him, sinking into his skin as ink immediately grabbed at his legs. The remains of those gravesingers wanted to keep him here. They had given their lives to lock him away for good, to steal his power in one final attempt to save a dying kingdom. And they had failed. Instead, they were stuck with him here. Knowing what they had done.
He turned toward their spirits, dark claws pushing through his fingers even as he summoned chains out of the dark waters. He would think about these complicated and unwelcome thoughts later. For now, he had witches to bind.
He knew it wouldn’t take long for Jessamine to summon him after that. She was a naturally curious little thing. That was what had brought her to this abandoned manor and what had led her to trust a rotting figure of a witch.
Soon enough, she would call upon him again. All he had to do was wait.
