Page 79 of The Deathless One
Don’t give up on me.
The truth is out there if you seek it.
The messages were meant to give people hope, but she knew that without action, they would no longer look at the messages as notes from their fallen princess, but as a lie. Soon enough, she would have to let people know in person that she was alive. And, distracted with magic lessons, she hadn’t found anyone else to trust here. As always, she and Elric were running out of time.
Even as she left the graveyard, she knew she would wait a few more days before trying to find Callum again. Just a few more days where she could pretend that nothing was more important than lingering in Elric’s arms.
Because a dark-haired demon called for her, and she was a weak-willed woman who wanted to worship at his feet.
They had finally figured out a way to teach her magic in that graveyard. After the first impressive task of bringing that angel to life, she blossomed under his touch. Every time he whispered a suggestion in her ear, his witch turned his magic into something magnificent.
He had a hard time thinking about anything else. The way she arched her back into him, her lips parting on a gasp as she cast her spell. The light panting in her breath as she tried to remember the chants even as he slid his hands along her ribs. Touching her became as necessary as breathing. The sound of her moans became the hymns with which he worshipped.
It was almost as good as being alive. Although he had the strange thrill of knowing that she was almost a puppet in his hands. Every time he asked her to use his power, Jessamine did it without hesitation. And though he had only asked her to do things he knew she would like so far, he also knew that wouldn’t last forever.
Soon enough, they would be forced to protect themselves again. Or perhaps it would be a stranger entering their graveyard. He would turn her toward that person, and he would whisper death in her ear.
Because she trusted him—and because that was what she secretly wanted as well—she would do it. His Jessamine would pull that magic so exquisitely from his chest and unleash it upon whatever unsuspecting fool stumbled into their training grounds.
He wasn’t sure she’d be able to forgive him after that. He wasn’t sure she would even want to forgive him after all that he would ask. Soon, hewould bring up resurrection again. Soon, she would tell him no, but maybe this time he had worn her down enough. Maybe this was the time she would look at him with those somber eyes and whisper, “Yes.”
They’d discovered they created much stronger magic together if he was touching her. And oh, it was both a pleasure and a torment.
Every time she drew his magic out of him, he could feel it pulling and tugging and warming his bitter-cold bones. He wanted to touch her more. Every time she cast a spell. Every time he stood behind her, like he was now. Lingering with his hands on her shoulders while his fingers longed to trail down her arms.
“Do you see that flower?” he said, his voice little more than a raspy whisper of desire and passion.
Jessamine turned her head, looking where he pointed. She was, without a doubt, very much aware of the electricity that crackled between them. He’d seen it in her eyes more times than he could count.
She wanted him.
And he’d never wanted a woman more than in this moment, feeling her use him while he directed her like his own personal weapon. Every time he wanted her to use magic, it was like she had wrapped her hand around his cock.
He had forgotten what lust felt like. All his centuries locked away in that realm of death and torment had stolen the memories from his mind. All he recalled of passion or sex was that it was a tool to be used at the right time.
But he didn’t want to use her. Not anymore. He could easily pluck out all her hidden desires and needs and then use them like a knife to flay her apart bit by bit, but she deserved so much more than a god who wanted to sway her mind.
But he found himself wanting to hear what she wanted. He wanted her to whimper and beg for him to do what she most needed. He needed to hear the moans in her throat and her little cries when he finally allowed her to get what she wanted.
His mind had frayed a bit. Shaking his head, he focused on her again. “Jessamine, the flower.”
“Yes, I see it.” Her breathless whisper made every muscle in his body tense.
“I want you to bring it back to life.”
It was a difficult spell. Not easy for any in his coven to do. After all, they worshipped a god who was directly linked to death itself—resurrection magic was in many ways counterintuitive.
But their connection deserved more than a simple reward for one who laid out sacrifices at his altar. Jessamine took the power of his godhood and wielded it like a sword. Or in this case, like a poisoned chalice handed to the right person.
“Is that even possible?” she asked. “I thought magic couldn’t bring things to life.”
Magic could, just not his, at least in theory. Leaning down, he breathed into her ear, “I brought you back, didn’t I?”
Goose bumps rose on her throat and trailed down the loose neck of her shirt. He watched them disappear underneath the fabric and nearly groaned at how desperately he wished to follow them.
The memory of her lips was seared into his brain. And now? Oh, he wanted far more than a kiss. He wanted to taste that hollow of her collarbone, wondering if she would be salty or sweet.
Elric wanted to indulge in life again. He wanted to devour her whole and come out on the other side, not as something haunted and rotten, but as something complete. A real man, not just the image of one.
