Page 82 of The Deathless One
In this moment, she wanted to undo every single touch that had ever caused him pain. She wanted him to look down at her with those dark eyes, through those scars that marred his body and face, and she wanted to know that he felt true pleasure with her.
She had followed him into that dark place before, during her dreams. This time, she would do it intentionally.
She turned to the gravestone altar and stretched out on it. Like thecarvings of men and women around her, she crossed her arms over her chest and let her eyes drift shut. The tug of magic at her core and deep inside her chest, where she was connected directly to him, already told her what she wanted to know. She could let herself go because this form was little more than a shawl she could don whenever she wished.
Jessamine left her body and joined him in the realm of never-ending darkness. Not dead. Not asleep. Just as herself.
The darkness was as startling as it always was. She blinked, trying to get used to the bitter bite of shadows. Inky hands wrapped around her ankles, trying to hold her in place.
But she knew what they were now. Memories. The lingering remnants of the witches who had come before her, and how dare they try to stop her. Hissing, she kicked at the hands even as she ripped at the darkness covering her eyes. Shewouldsee in this realm. She would live and they would not stop her.
A shrieking echo of witches long dead barraged her ears, and with it, the darkness fell away.
And there he was.
Waiting for her.
He sat slumped upon a throne made of bones. One roughened hand rose to caress the scar on his lip as his jaw bounced. His legs were spread wide, black leather tight around his lean thighs. The loose black shirt he wore bared a muscled torso covered in stab wounds and scars that had never healed quite right. And yet, he was everything she had ever wanted.
Dark eyes flaring with desire, he murmured, “You followed me here, nightmare.”
“I did.”
“Why?”
“I think you know why.” When he remained silent, Jessamine reminded herself that she was a princess. No, she was a queen. Even a god needed to bow to her. “To finish what we started.”
He quirked an eyebrow. “You want me, nightmare?”
“You know I do.”
He slowly pointed to the inky ground, all commanding energy and powerful prowess. “Then crawl to your god, witch. And I will give you what you desire.”
A small part of her melted at the thought of giving him that much control. Yes, she wanted to crawl to him. She wanted to beg on her hands and knees for a god to give her an ounce of his attention.
But a much larger part of her mind remembered that she was a queen. And no man would ever again make her beg on her knees for anything.
Stepping away from him, she tugged hard on their connection. Color spilled from the whispered desire on her lips. Bright blushes and vibrant reds, dripping from her body and spreading across the floor. Rainbows burst to life around her feet, throbbing with magic as they swirled together. Emerald greens tangled with golden yellows in a weave of color. From the iridescence roiling at her feet rose vines, thorny and strong, winding their way around and through the throne she built. Rosebuds bloomed, decorating the form with bloodred, until her throne was ready for her.
Where the Deathless One sat upon a mishmash of skulls and other bones, her seat was a much more delicate creation made from a woman’s mind and attention to detail. She had conjured herself a throne of delicate thorns, blooming red roses, and hidden bronze underneath.
Mimicking his position, she spread her legs wide, leaning back in her chair. Hooking one leg over the arm, she set her elbow on her raised knee and framed her face with her fingers. “Oh, no, Deathless One. It is you who will crawl to me.”
A pulse of power radiated off him. His throne liquefied underneath him. One moment, he was sitting like a conquering god surveying his spoils, and the next…
Oh, he was on his knees. Crawling up to her with his eyes filled with desire and a predatory movement in his shoulders with every single moment it took him to get to her.
He crouched between her spread thighs, his gaze more than hungry. He was starving.
“You wish me to worship you, nightmare?” he rasped.
“Yes.”
“My pleasure,” he all but growled before spreading her legs farther apart.
The ache in her hip joints was quickly replaced by shock as she felt the tingle of his magic trailing up her calves. She watched as the fabric of her clothing slowly disappeared. A shadow passed over her, leaving in its aftermath nothing but her pale, pale skin.
She had only a moment to be shocked and perhaps slightly embarrassed at being so exposed before him, spread out as she was, but he wouldn’t allow that. Not her Elric. Not her god.
