Page 80 of The Deathless One
Clearing his throat, he turned his attention back to the flower as she blushed and turned her gaze toward it as well.
She stammered, “I just…willit back to life?”
“What do you think I did when I found you in my realm?”
She licked her lips, a dart of a pink tongue that made the blood rush to his cock. He had to lean away from her slightly so she wouldn’t feel it pressing against the small of her back.
“I suppose,” she said, her voice low and throaty. “Perhaps you wanted me to wake up?”
“If that’s how you want to see it, then tell the flower to wake.”
“What if it doesn’t want to?”
“Do you think I cared?” He wrapped his arm around her shoulders, his forearm dangerously close to her breasts as he drew her back against his chest. “Do you think I saw you lying in darkness and wondered if you wanted to wake? No, nightmare. I said to myself, look at this woman with hair black as midnight and the soul of a witch. I need her alive, and I don’t care if she wishes to rest. For me, she will rise.”
A shuddering breath erupted from her lips, and then they both groaned as she pulled magic from him. He could feel it coursing through her veins, through her very-much-alive body that felt so warm in his grip. The magic coiled through them, wrapping tightly around their forms and then releasing to find the flower, which then went from dead to blooming so deep red that it looked like it was dripping blood.
It happened so quickly he could have blinked and missed it. It was… magic. In its purest and finest form.
He’d forgotten such magic was possible with his power. He tucked her closer against him, forgetting that he was hard and wanted to hide that from her.
“No one has used my magic for good in such a long time,” he murmured. “It was always used for power and pain and torment. Every witch who has taken from me, sacrificed me, dug knives into my sides, did so in a bid to do terrible, awful things. But you, Jessamine. You give life to stone and make flowers bloom.”
“Don’t think I’m perfect. I also killed a man with that power.”
Oh, he remembered, and it still made him bare his teeth in pleasure. “Yes, you feral witch. You killed a man who betrayed you. A man who you trusted with the life of your family, and who took that life and stomped it beneath his unworthy heel. You were his reckoning, and you were glorious in your ruthlessness.”
She shook her head against his shoulder. “Glorious or terrifying?”
“They are the same.”
“The longer I am with you, the more I wish to be that avenging creature who steals this kingdom back.” Her voice turned low, guttural withpromise and something that sounded eerily close to desire. “I was once afraid of blood and gore, but now I fear I have seen so much of it that I no longer care.”
He squeezed her a little tighter, drawing her ever more against him. “No war was ever won without blood being spilled. You do not have to kill them all, Jessamine, but you may have to make them all bleed.”
And the thought of her making someone bleed made himache. She was beautiful in her anger. The rage made her eyes flare with dark promises and her chest heave with righteous breath. That version of her gave him visions of him on his knees before her, worshipping his way between her thighs. He loved the part of her that came out only when she felt attacked.
She mused for a few moments, silent in his arms as they both stared at the flower she’d brought back to life. Then finally she whispered, “I’ve been thinking about the men who killed me.”
“Have you?”
“I could feel how afraid they were. Most of them had been told witches were terrifying creatures who would harm them. They thought if they didn’t hurt me, that I would hurt them. And I knew it.”
“Yes, so you said.” He still didn’t like the thought, but compassion was part of who she was.
Without compassion, Jessamine would have been like every other witch he’d met. An ambitious woman who would get what she wanted no matter what the cost was. But she saw the world through a different lens, whether because of her upbringing, or perhaps it was simply embedded in her soul to care about others.
“It’s just…” She blew out a long breath. “One of them wasn’t afraid of me. He hit me because he wanted to. I had seen him before, in an alleyway when I was trying to summon you. He saw the bowls I carried in my bag, and he knew what I was. He gave me a warning and then left, but when he saw me again, it wasn’t a warning. It was like he knew me.”
“He recognized a witch. He’s probably seen many of your kind before. Probably killed more than we wish to know.”
“No.” She twisted to look at him over her shoulder. “Heknewme,Elric. Like he knew who I was, and he just stood there, watching the others. He was the one who suggested using the knife. He wanted me dead, and I don’t know why.”
He hummed low under his breath. “Perhaps all those messages you’ve been leaving are becoming a problem.”
“It wasn’t the messages on the walls.” That furrow appeared between her eyes again, as it always did when she was thinking. “He knew me. Like someone had told him to look out for me. He wanted me dead, not just a witch. Me.”
That was concerning.
