2 #3
It was all so instinctive—pulling darkness from their hearts and channeling it back into the shadows that fed our domain.
Some dreamers sagged in visible relief; others stretched out wide, taking their first true breaths.
They certainly showed no signs of adoring us, but they recognized the freedom we offered and the war we were willing to wage alongside them.
“I was worried about you,” Erebus said, changing the subject as he brushed a few strands of hair from my forehead. My skin responded immediately, warming under his touch. “How are you feeling?”
“Much better,” I said. And it was true; my headache had ebbed, and the hunger under my skin was nearly sated. All I could focus on now was how pleasant his fingers felt against my temple. “Were you the one who carried me to bed?”
“Of course it was me,” he said, bristling. “I wouldn’t let anyone touch you. Especially not after what Raelion tried to do.” He eyed the horizon as if the red-eyed demon could return at any moment. “It was a mistake to call him here. He nearly burned down our castle and us with it.”
I shuddered, remembering how Raelion had taken control. “It was a realistic illusion.”
“Was it an illusion? Because that was unlike any I’ve ever seen.
” Erebus dropped his hand and adjusted his sword, channeling some of the final threads into its blade.
“That demon is far too dangerous to trifle with. It would take the combined legions of every single Weaver to stand a chance against him.”
The shadows slowed to a halt around us. For now, the dreamers were lighter and nimbler on their feet.
Some meandered to their new dwellings; others remained in the courtyard, happily chatting with one another.
I marveled at how the landscape had changed from something lonely and soulless to something magical and alive.
It was such a stark contrast from the demon-infested hell Erebus had lived in for five hundred years that it brought tears to my eyes.
“The buildings you made are beautiful, Erebus. This place looks so different from how it was before.”
“Ceveon and Sorren helped direct me,” he said in a clipped tone. He sheathed his sword quickly, willing it back into his palm with one fluid slam. I followed suit, except with a lot less force. “I’ve lost the ability to conjure comfort, it seems. The feeling is too far gone.”
“You don’t give yourself enough credit. What you’re capable of creating is breathtaking.”
“‘Breathtaking’?” he asked, arching a brow. True to form, the man was skeptical of my praise. It was maddening.
“Yes, ‘breathtaking,’” I shot back. “Or would you prefer I call it ‘terrifying’?”
His lips quivered, just slightly. He was very close to laughing. “‘Terrifying,’ I could believe.”
“I mean it. You’re incredibly gifted, Erebus. All I can manage to create are bloodthirsty demons, it seems.”
“You won’t have any trouble shaping this domain to your own design,” he said, voice softening. “You will love it, I think. The art of creating. And I cannot wait to see the beauty of your imagination as you do it.”
“I don’t want to interfere,” I said, glancing away. I wanted to help, but what if I only brought more ruin, more destruction? I’d nearly destroyed the castle when I’d imagined Raelion. “You’ve done a fine job without me.”
“Look at me,” Erebus insisted, tilting my face toward his. “You will shape this domain into your design. It is as much yours as it is mine. That’s why we haven’t touched the castle itself. Or our bedchamber. I wanted to wait for you.”
Our bedchamber? My stomach fluttered at the insinuation. At the conviction in his tone. This would be my world now. And I’d be sharing it with him as an equal.
Erebus guided us so we were no longer visible to the dreamers below.
Slowly, he slid his fingers through my dark hair, lingering on every curl.
I shivered, leaning into him. I still wasn’t used to him without a draconic helm covering most of his face.
Tousled moon-white hair fell to his shoulders, his bright silver eyes swirled with shadow, and his decadent, wicked mouth was partially open.
He was a broken man who’d yearned to be free and finally was.
Perhaps it wasn’t appropriate with all the acolytes so close, but I wanted to kiss him.
Desperately.
“Then we should attend to the castle next, right?” I asked awkwardly, eager to change the subject before I acted on my impulses.
Surely it wasn’t the time or place. Surely he didn’t crave me as I did him.
But the intensity of his stare, the way his lips were parting, gave me pause.
He smoothed a strand away from my face, making me shiver.
It was embarrassing how much he affected me.
Just a brush of his clawed fingertips and I was undone.
“Restore it to its former glory before the Weavers come.”
“I don’t care to restore it for their comfort,” he growled, his mood instantly darkening.
As if on cue, a large painting fell inside Erebus’s—no, our—bedchamber, crashing to the floor in a heap of dust and ripped canvas.
We locked eyes, and the laughter that followed felt like home.
“But with your comfort in mind, perhaps I’ll consider it.”