21. I Am Yours to Ravage
21
I AM YOURS TO RAVAGE
Frothy pints of beer floated across the tavern, a roadway of glasses traveling in the air to their designated tables. Chatter of voices and high-pitched laughter filled the room.
“I don’t mean to pry, Everett,” Eleanor, the mage with ginger locks, said from across the table, “but you’ve been hanging around a lot these days.”
Her appearance had evolved from the look of a young adult to a woman. Her round features had thinned, and the loose skin of her freckled arms had toned.
Cassian sat his pint down and licked his lips. “What can I say? Hollow City has grown on me.”
Isla, sitting beside him, looked over. She was a mess of untamable curls and vivid-brown eyes. “And I suppose that includes our city’s founder as well?”
Her coy smile and raised eyebrows warmed Cassian’s cheeks.
He averted his gaze down to the ale dripping down the sides of his stein.
It had been a year in the Mortal Land since Cassian started making regular appearances as Everett in Hollow City. He’d gotten to know Finnian’s apprentices well, the layout of the city, the residents, and their businesses.
Eleanor was the more extroverted one, often speaking what was on her mind, regardless if it was an appropriate time to or not. In the last year, she’d developed a city council made up of humans and mages, and she took the liberty of supplying a staff to help with mayoral duties.
Isla was more introverted, and her down-to-earth demeanor did well to hide her fierce nature. She ran the organizations loyal to Finnian with assertiveness. As his name and title continued to spread, mages from all over flocked to Hollow City and devoted themselves to him.
“I suppose we have you to thank,” Eleanor said, propping her elbows up on the table. “Before you came along, we couldn’t convince Finny to wear the attire fitting for a city founder. Those horrid linen shirts with half of his chest exposed.” She rolled her eyes. “He presented himself as an angsty adolescent that had just rolled out of bed.”
Isla chuckled lightly, twirling her finger in one of her long curls. “He appears more official—and intimidating . The members of the organizations are terrified every time he pops in for a visit.”
“The waistcoat is a sophisticated look. If only he’d wear a tailcoat as well,” Cassian mumbled.
Eleanor barked out a laugh, smacking her hand down on the table in unison. “I think I would die of shock if that were ever to happen. Isla tried to buy him a pair of regal top-boots once, but he refused to part with the old ones he had.”
“He’s a creature of habit. And values comfort above all else,” Isla said before taking a sip of her brown, malty beer.
Cassian had grown accustomed to his days in Hollow City. Disguised as Everett, he’d often roam the streets and explore the businesses—the pastry shop that served delightful lavender tea, banks, printing presses, and grocers. His favorite, though, was a tailor shop where he purchased a fitting pair of trousers, a white muslin shirt, and a single-breasted waistcoat in Finnian’s size. Measurements memorized on the tips of his fingers.
The outfit was intended to be worn during official business, and when Finnian had tried it on, he groaned and tugged at the high collar.
“It’s befitting for the founder of the city,” Cassian had told him.
“Not a damn chance,” he’d muttered, face scrunched in discomfort.
Cassian smiled the next morning when Finnian teleported away, wearing the outfit.
“Finny didn’t intend to be caught up all night at work,” Isla said, plucking a few peanuts from the bowl at the center of the table, “but three new organizations arrived to present their products to him. I imagine he won’t dally around if he knows you are waiting for him.”
Finnian kept busy with the underbelly of the city. Humans stuck to one side, mages to the other. The Bogart Strip was hidden in the magical side where Finnian had created his black market, safeguarded by a portal only mages could step through.
Cassian would lie next to Finnian in bed and listen to him gush about all the arcane trinkets and potions in its ominous alley. Despite his innocent excitement, the market attracted attention from all sorts of dodgy visitors. However, it was a huge contributor to the revenue of the city, while simultaneously the biggest cause of conflict.
As covens of mages congregated and settled, competition arose, rivaling began, and it seemed like each day, more and more were requesting to meet with Finnian—for he had to approve items before they could be sold in his market.
“Tell us about yourself, Everett.” Eleanor cracked open a peanut shell and popped the contents inside of her mouth. Her eyes were cloudy from the alcohol. “What do you do?”
Cassian rested back in his chair and took another swig. “I am an undertaker,” he said, the first occupation correlating with death to pop in his head.
“ Oh .” Isla stifled a laugh in her palm, exchanging a look with Eleanor.
Laughter spewed out of her. Bits of peanut spit across the table as she doubled over. “You were probably thrilled to arrive, only to find it’s ruled by a necromancer!” She banged on the surface of the table, wheezing in between her giggles.
“I think you picked the wrong city to find employment in.” Isla playfully nudged his arm, smiling wide.
Cassian cleared his throat and crossed his arms as Eleanor’s laughter echoed over the clatter of voices. He bit back his smile, watching her freckled cheeks turn bright red.
Nobody in Finnian’s city perished. Ghouls were stationed all over the crevices and dark alleyways along the magical side. They were his eyes, his ears, his civil guards.
Cassian’s fingers twitched each time he strolled past one of the undead creatures, itching to relinquish its soul. A habit ingrained within him that he learned to counteract by reminding himself how much the ghouls and necromancy meant to Finnian.
“I work outside the city,” he explained. “It is why I am gone for weeks at a time. The war has, unfortunately, kept me busy.”
Eleanor wiped the corner of her eyes, coming down from her cackling. “I must say, Everett, I did not believe opposites attract until now. You give rest to the dead bodies while Finny revives them.”
Isla shook her head at Eleanor, amused.
“That sounds like a brutal line of work.” She turned her head towards Cassian. “It seems the war has no end in sight.”
“I guarantee Everett has no desire to talk about the war,” Eleanor said pointedly, in response to Isla. “Let’s talk about other matters far less depressing, shall we?”
Isla gave her a playful look and stuck out her tongue. “In that case, we need refills.” She stood from the table.
Eleanor gulped down the rest of her beer and then said, “It is your turn to cast a charm on the barkeeper.”
Women were socially not allowed to order drinks in bars. A preposterous concept that Cassian could not wrap his mind around, but nevertheless, he found it amusing to watch the two mages cast their charms and get their well-deserved way.
“Everett?” Isla gestured to his half-full pint with her eyes.
“Yes, if you don’t mind.”
They both started across the tavern to the bar.
When they returned, they didn’t ask any follow-up questions about Everett.
As the night carried on, Cassian sipped on his beer and listened to them tell stories of the past—all revolving around Finnian.
Once, he’d used his sorcery to mark a large, runic sigil above the entire city just to make it snow for a child. Once, he’d disguised a simple pear as a heart-shaped mound of gold and donated the profit back to his mages. There were many onces , and Cassian couldn’t determine if all were true, but he smiled at the thought of Finnian’s kindness. Although, the stories only made Cassian miss him more.
Eleanor became louder and more animated the more she drank. Isla’s laughter transitioned into hiccups.
Cassian’s gaze flitted from them to the door. It had been a few weeks since he’d seen Finnian. Duties in the Land and Council business had kept him busy.
Acting as a warden to souls had taken a toll on his mental energy. Just in the past week, he’d approved over two thousand to be reincarnated, punished seventy-eight rotten souls and tossed them into the Serpentine Forest, and dealt with the twenty-two souls who had attempted to escape and were caught by the Errai near the gates of his Land.
Tension was growing among deities because of the war. Division was slowly forming. They were choosing sides between the High Goddess of Peace and the High Goddess of War. Iliana had called five Council meetings in the last month to discuss the matter. All of which, Cassian had avoided Ruelle’s presence and vanished the second their meeting was adjourned.
Silas, the mortal who was shunned from his home country as a child, was the catalyst for the violence. It was no surprise that the High Goddess of War backed him.
Julian, the mortal on the opposing side, gave several failed attempts to cease the war against his brother. The High Goddess of Peace was doing all she could to answer his prayers.
Soon enough, someone would act out of line and the Council would be forced to intervene. In turn, Cassian would have another divine being to punish in his prison.
He envied those with no responsibilities. In the last year, he’d grown greedy with his time and how much of it he spent with Finnian. They went through lulls where their schedules kept them from seeing one another, and Cassian often daydreamed of a time where that wouldn’t be the case.
The night creeped into the early morning hours. Isla and Eleanor abandoned hope that Finnian would arrive before the sunrise and left Cassian at the tavern alone.
He switched from beer to bourbon and moved to a table in the far corner. The tavern was quieter now, dim lights like rays gleaming through honey.
He was hidden from the women circling the tables of men like vultures. Propped up on laps, whispering lustful promises in their ears until they couldn’t handle it any longer and stood up with the woman in hand, venturing out the back door of the tavern into the shadow-littered alleyway.
Cassian swirled the bourbon in his glass.
One year of time with Finnian. Three hundred and sixty-five days with him that seemed to have sped by like a falling star. How long would Ruelle give them?
Cassian stared at his reflection in the bourbon.
Sickness clotted his stomach at the thought. Ruelle was infuriatingly patient. She would wait. Let Cassian’s thread tangle with Finnian’s until he’d forgotten what life was like before him. It would be the best way to inflict more suffering when she finally decided to meddle.
Fear welled up in him each time he envisioned Finnian’s absence in his life. Crippling, paralyzing fear he did not know how to solve.
In time, he would curse Naia, make a bargain with her, and then curse her again. The Himura demigod’s blood would be his and he could do away with Ruelle. However, that was years away. He needed a solution at the ready— just in case .
Only, coming up with one felt like digging for a needle in a haystack, as the possibilities of Ruelle’s hand were limitless.
He let out an exhale and centered his focus back onto his surroundings—the calm setting of the tavern, the cool glass in his hand, the smell of peanuts and smoke in the atmosphere.
It had been hours. Finnian was probably held up with more tasks. That’s how to-do lists worked. Cross one thing off just for another to be added.
I should wait for him at home.
A click of heels sounded along the wooden floor.
Cassian lifted his chin.
“You look like you are in need of company,” a woman purred.
She did not wait for permission before sliding into the chair beside him. The strong fragrance of her perfume burned his nostrils.
She crossed her legs under the table, and her heel brushed up Cassian’s shin.
He moved his foot, breaking their connection.
She leaned in and rested her arm along the back of his chair. The tight dress she wore hugged her hourglass physique like a glove. It sported a daring neckline, and the position she sat in gave Cassian a clean view of her cleavage.
“I am in no need of company.” He sat his bourbon on the table, ignoring her close proximity to his space. She’d arrived earlier in the night with three other women. They’d gone their separate ways and made several rounds amongst the men.
She brushed her lips along the side of his neck, and a pang shot up into his skull.
His stomach knotted and he recoiled. Blood rushed to his head and his heart accelerated. His vision swam and swayed a bit.
He gripped the edge of the table to stabilize his balance. The teeth of his divine energy cut into his veins and latched onto the magic infecting his blood.
She came closer, nuzzling her breasts against his arm. “You don’t look so good.” Her voice wrapped around his ears like a song.
A surge of heat flushed in his abdomen. Tension pulled his muscles taut.
What is happening?
Cassian shot up from the table. His legs wobbled as he put distance between them.
He had never been one to have lustful urges towards a pretty face alone. If feelings weren’t involved in the matter, he rarely gave them the time of day. He barely knew this woman. Logically, she was attractive, but he couldn’t make sense of the burning ball of need in his chest. The intensity beating in his blood, hot and pulsing up the sides of his neck?—
He lowered his hand to the spot she’d kissed. Raised, puffy skin met the tip of his fingers.
Nausea churned in his gut.
A spell.
“It seems you’ve had too much to drink.” She rose from the chair and trotted towards him.
He stumbled back until he hit the wall. His breath hitched. The cold surface overwhelmed his heated skin through the material of his waistcoat.
“I am fine,” he gritted out.
“Let me assist you.” Her hands came down on his chest and smoothed across his abdomen, an instant trigger of arousal he did not approve of.
“It is more pleasurable if you give into it.” She wedged her knee in between Cassian’s legs, gaining access to press her hips into his. The friction she created against his length filled his mind with a smog. It was like trudging through tar without escape.
He couldn’t teleport and risk revealing his identity to a mortal, and if he tried to cast an illusion in this state, he could potentially hurt her.
She nuzzled into the crook of his neck and drew circles along his skin with her tongue.
Cassian shuddered, the sensation rolling a sickness in his stomach. The blood beat thickly in his ears as he attempted to push himself off the wall and?—
The woman was thrown back.
A body forced itself between them. Its presence swift and sudden, blowing a sweet earthy gust up Cassian’s nose.
She staggered, tripping over her heels, and caught herself clumsily on the edge of a nearby table. Tendrils of her dark hair flapped in front of her mouth from her rapid breath.
She hooked her head up and her small features contorted with indignation, stained red lips curling up in a snarl. “Don’t you dare lay a hand on me?—”
Recognition stole the words from her mouth and melted the anger from her face.
“I suggest you find another man to cast your trickery on, lest you enjoy losing your tongue,” Finnian warned, his tone tight and impatient.
The woman dropped her chin in a frazzled apology and rushed past them towards the exit.
Cassian let his head fall back against the wall. A cold sweat broke out over his body. He pulled at the crisp collar of his waistcoat.
A gentle set of hands clutched his shoulders. The straining in his muscles eased momentarily.
“Are you alright?” Finnian asked, his voice soft, concerned.
He loved the way Finnian spoke to him, tender and slow. A constant silencing of the fluxing thoughts in his mind.
But it also made him become all too aware of the strong stream of warmth spreading down into his groin. The pinpricks of magic trapped in his bloodstream throbbed in response to his overwhelming desire.
Perverse fantasies flowered in the front of his mind—taking Finnian up against the wall, on the table, the bar, the floor.
He squeezed his hands into fists, as if he held onto the fraying thread of his self-control. “I need you to let go of me.”
Finnian studied him for a long second, eyes narrowing. He lifted his fingertips to the side of Cassian’s neck.
Tremors wracked down into his stomach. His breath rushed out but didn’t return.
In the past, Cassian had loathed the blank expression Finnian wore so well. All his emotions hidden, Cassian found it extremely frustrating how he could not read him. As they grew closer, those blank expressions became fewer and far between. Mostly when they were around others. Never when it was just the two of them, though.
Only now, the blank expression remained set in stone on his face, and Cassian felt an old sense of resentment rise in his chest with the question on his tongue: can you undo the spell?
Finnian inclined his head, exposing the curvature of his throat in a delicious angle. Quietly, he gauged Cassian’s demeanor and the feverish tint to his pale skin. His lips twitched.
“Finnian,” Cassian growled.
His smile grew as he took a step, pressing his chest snug against Cassian’s shoulder. “It appears you’ve been bewitched.”
Cassian’s hips trembled. He arched into Finnian’s pelvis, creating a pleasureful pressure against his own arousal.
Shame burned through him. The same lust aching inside of him to devour Finnian was what he’d felt for a stranger less than a few seconds ago.
He pressed his head back against the wall. “Remove it,” he rasped, slinking the crook of his elbow over his eyes. His forehead was hot and damp.
Finnian hooked Cassian’s chin with his thumb and index finger. Slowly, he rotated Cassian’s head sideways, jutting out the part of his neck infected with the mark.
Finnian’s mouth came down over his skin. A gentle, languid stroke with his tongue.
Cassian shuddered from the sensation as Finnian dragged his teeth across the mark and broke away.
“Come on.” He lifted Cassian’s arm from his face and guided it over his shoulders, supporting most of Cassian’s weight. “Let us go home.”
His lust had evolved into a frenzied, manic need by the time they stepped into the entrance of Finnian’s house.
“Cassian, High God of Death and Curses, bewitched by a lowly wench.” Finnian teased, slumping down to lower Cassian onto the edge of the mattress. “They are known to bed men and then steal their belongings. Quite the conniving seductresses, if you ask me.”
“Shut… Up.” Cassian clawed at the buttons of his waistcoat. “Fix it. Undo the spell.”
Finnian kneeled in between his legs and assisted him with the buttons. The feathering of his fingers against the fabric zipped heat straight down between his legs. “Who says I can?”
“You raise my souls from the dead, but you cannot do something as simple as this?” Cassian scraped the back of his hand over his damp brow.
“I missed you,” Finnian said, guiding his arms out of his waistcoat. “I apologize for being so late. You didn’t have to wait there. You should’ve come home.”
Cassian’s pulse vibrated in his ears. He hung his head to his chest. Every inch of him felt like it was on fire. He squeezed his eyes closed. “Why can I not fight through this?”
Finnian lightly worked the tunic over Cassian’s head. “It will pass. You will just have to endure the lustful rage for a few hours.”
Cassian’s eyes popped open, and he straightened up. “I think I shall go then.”
“Whatever for?”
The mattress dipped behind Cassian.
He looked over his shoulder to find Finnian removing his hearing aid. He placed it on the bedside table beside his necklaces and lay back on the bed, smirking. He’d already shed his own waistcoat and unfastened the buttons of his shirt. The opening hung low and exposed the chiseled cut of his chest, honey-tan skin, flawless, a canvas inviting him to mark it up with his teeth.
Cassian’s eyes widened, comprehending Finnian’s coy response. “Absolutely not. Not—not like this.”
Finnian sat up and lifted onto his knees. “You want to, though.” He crawled towards Cassian. “I see the way you look at me, the way you wish to devour me. So why not take advantage of the spell and do your worst?”
Cassian looked straight ahead at the wall, his jaw pulsing, warring with himself to remain firm in his moral decision. “Lust and adoration are two different things.”
Finnian’s finger skimmed up his spine, the warmth of his breath moistening the side of Cassian’s neck as he leaned in. “Oh, but they go wonderfully well together, don’t you agree?”
His shoulders went rigid. “Finnian, I have no desire to show you anything but gentleness, and if we do this, I will ravage you until there is nothing left.”
“I am yours to ravage.” Finnian punctuated his statement by sinking his teeth down on Cassian’s shoulder.
Cassian groaned and snapped around. His hand cupped Finnian’s cheek, and he hooked his thumb underneath his jaw, using the grip to pull him into a starved kiss.
Finnian slumped back, allowing Cassian to climb onto his lap.
His hands moved in a rush, stripping Finnian’s shirt. Desire thrummed like a bursting ravine in his veins. Gods, he’d missed him. The way Finnian playfully nipped at his bottom lip, the small noises he trapped in the back of his throat in moments of pleasure. Each intimate and raw detail they shared felt sacred.
Finnian stretched out Cassian’s bottom lip with his teeth as he broke away and lowered onto the mattress. His hair spread out around his face across the satin, and he stared up at Cassian through hooded eyes.
Cassian remained propped up on his knees straddling Finnian, breathing hard with bruised lips.
He shucked his shirt off and bent down, kissing along Finnian’s ribcage, sinking his teeth into the skin.
A light gasp escaped Finnian, followed by a shiver that wracked his body.
Cassian’s tongue stopped, and he lifted his lips to look up.
Finnian stared down at him, his gaze dark from the swelling of his pupils. “Do that once more, and I don’t think I will last much longer.”
Cassian smiled. The urge in him was carnal, animalistic, to hear him make the sound again.
He sank his lips back down over Finnian’s skin, leaving drowsy kisses between each crevice of his ribcage. As he did so, he worked to unfasten the buttons of Finnian’s trousers.
Finnian writhed, his hips jerking up and his hands burying into Cassian’s hair.
There was a satisfaction in seeing the crazed need for release on his face, trembling in his limbs.
Cassian pushed the waistband of Finnian’s trousers down. Before he could descend his kisses further, Finnian grabbed a fistful of his hair and tugged.
Cassian sat up on his knees. “Let me have my way,” he said through a breath, restless with the need to tease him a bit more.
“Oh, I intend to.” Finnian reached up into his drawer, grinding their lengths against each other as he did so, and pulled out a vial of oil.
A quiver of nerves bolted up Cassian’s spine as he rushed to unfasten the buttons of his own trousers, never realizing the effort it took to remove an article of clothing. A pang of frustration clenched in his chest as he threw the pants onto the floor.
He went to lift his leg over Finnian to trade positions.
Finnian snatched a hold of his wrist, stopping him.
Impatience gritted in his molars as he stiffened to hold himself up on his knees. “What?—”
“Stay as you are.” Finnian handed him the vial of oil and lounged back on the pillow, thoroughly enjoying the baffled look on Cassian’s face. With a bastard smirk, he said, “Ravage me .”
The desire buzzing through his bloodstream was excruciating. But now this?
A deranged laugh shook out of Cassian. He rubbed a hand over his face, sitting back on his heels.
For a brief moment, he wondered if this was Ruelle’s revenge. A fate that led to being bewitched, pumped full of lust, and plagued with an unclear head just to be tempted in the cruelest, most agonizing way he certainly could not resist.
“Finny.” His voice cracked, and he brought his fingers into his hair, curling and pulling at the roots. “I cannot— will not —do this for the first time under a bewitchment?—”
“I removed it back at the tavern,” he said.
Cassian blinked at him, dumbfounded. “You did?”
“Yes.” He lifted up on his elbows, a cocky gleam in his eyes. “I also plan on finding that mage and burning her lips for placing them on you.”
But how ? —
That infuriating kiss on his neck.
Cassian slowly unraveled his fingers from his hair and let his arms float back down to his sides. He couldn’t tell if he was more aroused or furious by his cunningness. It was amazing how easily one deity could push him to the point of insanity.
“What you are feeling is not a lie.” The mischief in Finnian’s expression rearranged and a tenderness took its place. He dipped his chin to grab ahold of Cassian’s gaze. “The side effects of the spell still linger in your blood, but it only heightens your desire. It no longer makes you lustful for anything with a pulse. How you feel, what you crave right now, is not a lie. You love me as I love you. Now, would you please just?—”
“You are going to drive me to madness.” Cassian doused his length in the oil.
Finnian barked out a laugh, flipping over onto his stomach. “Consider me your curse, then.”