Chapter 6
CHAPTER
In the days and nights that followed, Varro and I made a routine of portaling in and out of one another’s rooms, surprising each other while keeping these brief visits a secret from the others.
Our hushed whispers and giggles felt akin to a childlike crush, and there was an innocence that surrounded it.
We shielded our budding relationship from the dangers that otherwise consumed us as members of the Imperi.
We fell into a natural rhythm, taking note of each other’s preferences, nuances, and flaws.
His optimism balanced my rooted sensibilities, creating a more hopeful counterweight.
He was a light piercing the darkness that wanted to eclipse my soul, and our bond somehow caused my power to flourish more than ever before.
The regular and dark magic, alike, felt simpler, easier and more obtainable in his presence.
His unwavering belief in my power gave me confidence to push harder.
During our days of training, Saryn and Theory’s critiques lessened, and I had no more fear of them using the other members’ safety as a means to provoke me.
My time spent reading the other Wielders’ journals had transitioned into time spent documenting my own journey.
Part of me wanted to avoid it altogether, out of defiance.
I wanted the Offering to come to an end.
I secretly hoped Basdie would collapse in on itself, and the Order and Imperi would be lost to time so no other families would be torn apart.
But the part of me that knew it was unlikely felt the need to carry on the tradition.
For the others coming after, whoever they may be.
Centuries after my soul had returned to the Gods—if they’d have me—my words and experiences would help guide someone else who was just as lost as I was the day I sat down before these texts.
While many of the journals read like academic notes, I tried to write in the style of a diary.
I leaned into cataloguing the emotions I felt, and the details around the event that had awakened me.
And though no one else within these walls knew Varro was my mate, I wrote about us.
None of the others had the luxury of their mate being present.
While I could not speak to the sealing of the bond yet, or how it might help me avoid the Drift, I still wanted to write my truth.
In these confessions, I expressed how my power felt more present and tangible since accepting my mate as being a part of my life. With each flick and curl of the quill, I had no fear of revealing myself. Saryn and the others would not be able to open these texts without the gift of dark magic.
Varro never complained, but it was impossible not to notice how inflamed his poor gills had become.
The absence of salty air and sea water was doing a number on his otherwise luminous skin, but his gills were taking the brunt of it.
Sea Fae weren’t meant for the dry, cold weather that characterized the Elorn Mountains.
I made it my mission to prepare for him a healing salve that he could rub on his gills to lock in moisture.
In between experimenting with new poisons and antidotes, I was determined to put my talents to better use.
It took me a while to convince Theory that I needed the ingredients, but eventually my persistence—and possibly her irritation—convinced her.
While he could use a small expenditure of his power to heal himself daily, or even enlist Nori’s assistance, there was nothing shielding the sensitive flesh from the elements. This salve would help protect his skin, creating a barrier that limited the damage.
He was bashful when I’d pointed out what terrible shape they were in, so I made sure to gift it to him privately.
I placed the small jar of salve with instructions by his bedside table and signed it Moirai, as if he wouldn’t already know who’d prepared it.
He later thanked me with a small bundle of holly.
Given it was now winter, the valley in the Elorns that once flourished with abundant wildflowers was now mostly lifeless and dusted in snow.
The bright red berries reminded me of holiday celebrations back home, and I was appreciative for those memories.
Nights with Varro were my favorite. He’d sneak into my room and hold me while he told me stories from his childhood, ones that all Sea Fae grew up hearing from their parents.
The sound of his smooth voice lulled me to sleep, and oftentimes he’d have to repeat passages of the tales from the night prior because I had drifted off.
He’d tuck me under the covers and make his way back to his own room.
On even rarer occasions, I could convince him to sing a quiet lullaby.
His singing voice was even more hypnotic, and I told him I wasn’t absolutely certain he wasn’t a Siren himself.
My dreams were something else entirely. They had become detailed sexual fantasies of Varro and me.
Experiences we’d not even approached yet.
Sometimes I would wake up sweating from the intensity of it all.
So many of them felt real, and I was too embarrassed to ask him if he’d experienced anything similar.
Was this just me or some side effect from sleeping in such close proximity to my mate?
Did our bond call to us so strongly that it even sought to bind us in our dreams?
Each morning I’d wake, I’d have to give myself a moment to shake off the memory and remind myself it wasn’t real.
Sometimes at breakfast he’d let his hand graze mine under the table, interlocking our smallest fingers, testing the boundaries of our secret. There were many sweet moments, rivaled only by the encounters where our control unraveled into wild passion.
Most often these acts took place in the privacy of the Vesper rooms. Though anyone with decent elemental manipulation, or even a good swift kick, could make their way through the measly lock, it brought us a minute sense of privacy.
One of those evenings, Varro pulled a small orange from his pocket and began peeling it.
This had become routine, him providing me with small snacks in between trainings to keep my energy up.
He pulled the orange apart and instructed me to sit on the cot while he leaned casually against the wall across from me.
“Cress, let your shields down, and I’ll do the same.”
I did as he instructed, but with a bit of hesitation. It had become the norm to guard our minds at all times, even from each other—especially from others. One slip of our true thoughts and feelings to anyone listening in would leave us exposed, so we’d become very good at fortifying them.
He walked over to me and knelt down to the ground, placing himself between my feet, resting on the stone floor at the edge of the cot. The position was already beginning to make my stomach tighten in knots with anticipation.
As if he were saying his thoughts aloud, the vivid illusion he began to draw with his imagination painted clear pictures of his true desires, playing out in refined detail as I connected my mind to these thoughts.
In his fantasy, he wasted no time, untying the drawstring of my pants.
Plucking the laces through each hole and loosening the waist. My breathing became unsteady at the suspense of Varro’s next movements.
Before me, the real Varro placed a small piece of orange in his mouth, the juices glistening on his lips as he gave me a devious smile.
He lifted my shirt up slightly, exposing the bare skin of my belly, and he took another small piece of orange and crushed it in his strong grip, letting the juices dribble down my skin.
The cool sensation of the droplets made my muscles taut, and I became even more eager to reach out and touch him.
He projected images of him sliding my pants off, exposing my sex to him as he remained on his knees between my thighs.
In reality, he leaned in and, at the same moment I felt him lap up the citrus from my stomach, he sent me visuals of him diving between my thighs and assaulting my core with his rigid tongue.
Flashes of images where my thighs rested over each of his shoulders; both of his hands holding me firmly against his face; my fingers intertwined with his white curls, tugging tightly.
My body was on fire with want, eager to experience these images he conjured. Varro leaned up and cupped my chin with his hand, running his thumb gently across my lower lip.
“Do you want to taste?”
His finger still pressed firmly against my lip; I nodded as I continued to grow more restless for him.
He gently slipped two fingers in my mouth, sliding them across my tongue as my lips closed tightly around them.
I sucked, tasting the sweet, orange flavor combined with the saltiness from his skin.
As I savored the taste, he continued to fill my mind with images of me riding his face, grinding my hips and sex against him.
My eyes began to close, letting myself sink deeper into his fantasy. Suddenly, Varro stood, his frame still placed solidly between my thighs. I had become so wet with arousal from this torment. He tilted my head back to look up at him.
“Open your mouth,” he instructed.
I was pliant in every way for this male.
I parted my lips again, ever so slightly.
He held another small piece of orange above me and squeezed, letting the liquid drip from his fist into my open mouth.
The tart droplets fell against my tongue, and I licked them from my lips, noting the wanton look in Varro’s eyes.
I watched as his chest rose and fell rhythmically, matching the intensity of the energy between us.
It was becoming too much. “What are you doing to me?” I questioned breathlessly.
He bent down to my ear and whispered, “Every time you so much as look at citrus, I want you to think of me. I want the smell to make you long for my touch, and the taste to make you remember me devouring you…all of you.”
The moment he finished speaking, he knelt once more. My lips crashed into his, and he tugged and tore at my pants. He began to place rough kisses all down my stomach, looking up at me from just above my slick sex.
“Focus on your feeling of pleasure in your mind, and I promise you, you’ll never have felt anything as good as this.”
He ran his tongue down my center, beginning to work me with his fingers simultaneously.
My legs tightened around him, and I groaned in deep satisfaction at how well he knew my body and what it wanted, without my ever having to say a word.
I tried to do as he instructed, focusing my thoughts on the way his actions felt, unsure of why he asked this of me.
Weren’t my moans and gasps enough to show him my adoration?
Instantly, every sensation seemed heightened.
My legs began to tremble, and I tried to cage my moaning through clenched teeth.
My body was hot all over, like ticklish flames dancing across my skin.
There was a strange, deep numbness that balanced against the most intense orgasm I’d ever felt.
They glided back and forth along one another, both refusing to let the other take over.
Waves of profound pleasure, surging and waning.
My eyes were shut tightly, and though I could still feel Varro doing amazing things to my body, I also felt as if I were on another plane of existence.
My chest heaved as I fought for release.
The feeling could only be described as the sound of a violin string hitting a higher note with each draw of the bow.
The notes unending, the bow unyielding. It felt so good, but I could not sustain it.
I writhed against his mouth as I felt his hand reach up; my fingers clutched around his as I sought to fall into the final crescendo of this deafening symphony. One final note, and there it was…the descent into quiet nothingness, following a single, gasping cry that I could not contain.
Tears began to stream down my face, yet I was not sad. I almost felt a giggle leave my mouth. I was in a dizzy fog from lack of breath. He pulled me into his lap on the ground, and I wrapped my naked legs around his waist and rested my tired head on his shoulder.
“What in the three moons of Demir was that?” I panted.
He ran his hands through the sweaty tendrils of my hair and pulled a piece back, exposing my ear.
“That, my fated one…is what Siren Song feels like alongside your orgasm.”
I gasped in surprise at what he’d done. I’d never imagined his gift could be used in such a way. He was an artist with what he’d done with the instrument of my body.
I clung tighter to him and whispered back, “I will never hold that kiss against you again.”
Varro let out a small chuckle, and I had no idea how I was ever going to make him feel half as good as he’d just made me feel.