Chapter 8 Singularity #3
Cyrus Soltren’s hand grew slack. The glass slipped from his grip, shattering on the floor in a hundred crystal shards.
Each one like the memories he shared with her.
A few revelers nearby stopped dancing, staring at the glass on the ground and the small puddle of purple, before cheering, dropping their own glasses in a shattering symphony.
Cyrus ignored them all.
Vesperin didn’t remember him.
She didn’t remember him.
Oh.
Oh.
He could tell from her eyes. A strange shade of grey, all the color had been leeched from them—same as her hair, pure white, sucking up all the flashing neon lights in Forget You Not.
His club. A place he’d crafted for all the ones who needed to forget. For a night, for an hour…
The only price was one they didn’t know they were going to pay: when they woke up the next morning, empty, forced to face whatever they had run from the night before.
It was Vesperin. His Vesperin. Undeniably.
On Sibeth, in his club, and she looked at him like he was a stranger, and not the male who had watched as his father drove a jeweled dagger into her heart in her past life.
He had been waiting for three hundred years.
Incubi and succubi were immortal, and she had not been.
The dagger had pierced her heart easily, and he had been forced to watch as his father, King Soltren, taught the first in line for the throne a valuable lesson:
Nothing was more important than the crown.
Three hundred years of wishing her reincarnation would show back up, each decade rolling by and eroding his reserves of hope.
Until here. Until now.
Until her.
But he hadn’t touched her yet.
That was all. He had to touch her for her to remember him.
Cyrus shoved past the dancing bodies, feeling time still around him. The music had turned to a haunting, electronic beat, whistling like dark anxiety.
Right before she jerked away, his fingers brushed hers. He waited for her to gasp, to cry, to jump him.
But her cold fingers slipped from his grip and slammed up to her chest, a threatening glint in her hard, grey eyes. "Back off."
She didn’t remember. Why. Why?
Would he have to touch her better, harder? Kiss her?
Cyrus was used to this. It was fine. He was fine. He would be fine.
He was well-versed in the art of playing pretend, of donning masks for the masses. He was a prince, after all.
The crestfallen set to his face shifted imperceptibly, in the span of a breath. His eyes grew dark, his lips quirked up into a sensuous smirk, and he let the tension in his body bleed away as he allowed his eyes to dip and skim over the sight of her, drinking her in like he was starved.
She didn’t remember him.
Or was she just playing?
That was it. It had to be. She had to remember him. Cyrus had never heard, in his three hundred years, of Soulbounds forgetting each other.
She always loved to play with him, dropping her panties on his onyx floors, making him hard and desperate as he chased after her.
Two could play at that game.
"Silly girl, running into me. Better be careful, you might find yourself caught in a trap." As he purred the words, his eyelids fell closed, and he breathed in her scent. God. Just as he remembered. Enticing cherries.
Somehow, he had walked them deeper into the shadows of the club, leaving behind the dancers and pulsing neon lights. She had gone willingly, letting herself be cornered.
Cyrus smirked, feeling the whispers of her interest, tiny bursts of pleasure sickly sweet as it melted on his tongue.
His hand shot out, grabbing her delicate wrist. Her grey eyes widened.
"Let me go," Vesperin said, tone cold and hard. So different from the sweet girl of his memories.
Cyrus ignored her. He tasted her desire, laced with the softness of fear. It wasn’t enough to deter him.
He brought her wrist up to his face and ran the back of her hand over his cheek, luxuriating in her.
"Why should I let go of such a pretty prize? No one else has taken you. I’m only doing you a favor, after all.
" His nose skimmed the veins on the inside of her pale wrist. "Better me than them. I don’t think they would know how to handle you, doll.
" The endearment slipped off his tongue, reminding him of how he used to call her that when he fucked her in nothing but jewels, licked cream from her fingers, or fed from her for hours, giving her orgasm after orgasm.
For an incubus, he was… generous. Wanted to give as much as take. Especially when it came to her.
She tried to jerk her hand away from him, but he held on tighter. "What makes you think I’m interested?"
Cyrus grinned like a feline. "You’ve grown bolder than I remember." The words were drowned out by electronic pulses and roaring cheers.
She stilled against him, her heart thundering in her chest as he raised a hand and brushed his fingers over the edge of her white hair—different from the girl of his memories, but still so beautiful. He sensed her arousal, small and delicate, but there. God, he craved more of it.
"It’s been so long," Cyrus murmured against her hand, undone. "You smell the same."
Would she taste the same, too?
Cyrus was suddenly desperate to find out.
He knew that he would not let this night end without being inside her. Would not let this game end until she screamed his name and told him she remembered.
"Dance with me?"
The incubus’s words made Rin shiver. The icy fog swirled around their ankles, and though the music throbbed loud enough to shake her bones, all she could hear was her heart.
Her throat was dry, and the alcohol buzzed in her veins, making her want to grab him and taste him. She was starting to forget why that was such a bad idea.
He said the same words as the male from earlier, but coming from him, it sounded dangerously enticing.
The gems glittered on his pale cheeks—she wanted to touch them.
His fingers were tender where they held her wrist, and in the quiet of the stolen shadows, she felt memories return.
No, she pushed those memories away—she wasn’t ready to escape from this haze of forgetfulness.
That was what compelled her to say:
"What’s your name?"
The incubus shook his head with mirth in his eyes, red hair curling around his temples. "Call me Cy."
"Why did you act like that earlier? Like you knew me?" she asked him.
"I thought you were someone else, but I’ve never been so glad to be mistaken," Cy murmured against the inside of her wrist, making her breath hitch.
She found the teasing promises of what she was searching for in his eyes—oblivion.
"Okay," Rin said.
The incubus arched a brow and hummed, as if he wanted her to speak the words herself.
She spoke softly. "I’ll dance with you."
His fingers pushed between hers, and her eyes dipped to the body chain draped over his chest, hooked around his neck and waist in a soft fall of glittering diamonds. "A dance with me, doll, is one you won’t forget."
He led her onto the floor, and she let him.
The bodies and music wrapped them up in swaths of sensuality, dripping with seedy decadence. A dichotomy that should’ve been off-putting, but only made her blood burn hotter.
Cy’s hands landed on her hips, and he tugged her into his front. This close, she realized how much taller he was than her.
"Place your hands on me," he purred.
Her palms hesitantly fell to his waist. He sighed playfully, fingers encircling her left wrist as he tugged it to his shoulder.
She didn’t have any space for worry. Not with the music, not with his proximity. His body chain was cold under her fingertips as she brushed her hand over it, skimming over his lithe muscles. His groan ripped through her.
The pulsing beat of the music turned heady and sensual.
Dazed, slightly confused, Rin let her head tip back, the iced smoke not able to dispel the sweat beading on her skin this time. She was hot, burning.
She wanted him. This strange incubus with red hair and gems on his cheeks. She wanted to forget. To use Sibeth the way it was intended. For pleasure.
Sensing her sudden shift, Cy’s hands tightened, purple eyes trapping her.
His hand burrowed in her white locks, and he grabbed her face, tilting it up to his. His lips pressed upon hers with bruising force. Like two magnets, searching for the perfect spot to collide.
He tasted like berries and salt from a chaser. She was inexperienced with this—she tried to ignore the warning bells tingling in the back of her mind. Did she really want to do this? Or was she just chasing an escape?
He didn’t seem to mind her fumbling inexperience. Their dancing stopped as he held her tightly, consuming her with his lips. The tip of his tongue skimmed over the seam of her mouth, seeking entry. She parted her lips, letting him in, and he swept his tongue over hers, playfully dancing with her.
Her core throbbed, and her fingers curled against his bare chest. She needed to breathe.
Rin’s other hand tangled in Cy’s red hair, tugging, making him groan—a sound that rumbled through her body and made her nipples tighten under the silk of her dress.
His hand skimmed up, along her side, until he cupped her breast in his hand, kneading the soft swell of it. She moaned, feeling warmth bloom on her cheeks.
All too soon, he pulled away, forehead pressing into hers as he continued to softly stroke her silk-clad nipple. The crowd continued to dance, and Rin spotted others entwined among the flashing lights. They were only a pair of bodies in a sea of lives. Inconsequential.
Her breathing was heavy, lips swollen and aching. His were bitten to a deep red, glimmering with dampness as he spoke. "Let me take you away from all this noise. I want to be the only one to hear the sounds you make."
Rin nodded.
In a blur of searching hands, flushed skin, and scorching looks, Rin led the incubus back to her hotel.