4
According to Sorren, my hair style was lacking.
Too loose.
Too forgettable.
He sat me down in front of an imposing mirror winged by a dozen candelabras, his ice-blue stare analyzing my hair as if it was the strangest specimen he’d ever encountered.
First, he arranged it in a ponytail, coaxing the dark brown tendrils into a glossy sweep down my spine.
Then he added a few curled pieces that framed my face in perfect symmetry.
“It’s beautiful,” I said in awe, wondering what Erebus might think.
Would his eyes darken when he saw my bare neck?
Would he wind his fingers around the curls that framed my face?
Maybe he’d even lean down and kiss my throat as he’d done at the Revel of Rebirth.
I’d been aching for him to kiss me—for any show of heated affection—for weeks.
My chest tightened as I envisioned his lips on my skin.
As well as what it might mean if he didn’t kiss me.
“It’s not,” Sorren quipped, snapping me out of my fantasy. “It could be better.”
If I had been drinking something, I would have spit it out.
Well, then.
Sorren skimmed his hands over my head, adding ribbons of star-flecked shadow that swept through my hair in glittering, elegant loops.
Where my hair moved, so did the shadows; they acted like tendrils of hair, too.
For the final touch, Sorren wove shadows through my onyx crown, affixing it seamlessly to the top of my head. I looked regal, even commanding.
Sorren made a smug, approving sound. “There. Now it’s beautiful.”
“I’m glad you approve,” I said, chuckling. “I’d hate to not meet your expectations.”
He gave a noncommittal shrug. “When I was a scholar at Evernight, I was expected to attire visiting dreamers during Revels. My talents were highly requested before Erebus arranged for me to join him in his demon-hunting adventures.”
“I can see why.”
“Well, I was the best,” he said, preening a little. “Something to keep in mind, Esmer, is that most dreamers are afraid of imagining all that can be. They become too easily satisfied with the most basic creations, failing to see greater possibilities.”
Sorren added another shadow, this time fashioning it as a ribbon with ends that trailed all the way from my crown to the floor.
Then he shaded my eyelids in a gray shimmer, darkened my lashes, and painted my lips to evoke wet apples freshly plucked.
He assured me that the color would not transfer from my lips unless I willed it otherwise.
It would last through dinner and anything else the evening tossed my way.
Whatever that meant.
“Isn’t this a little too—”
“Extravagant?” Sorren said in a huff, clearly perturbed. “You should look extravagant. If jaws don’t drop when the Seven behold you, I’ve failed. I have a reputation to uphold. And you have a reputation to create.”
“Easy for you to say. You were clearly well regarded by the Seven,” I grumbled. I remembered Ceveon and Sorren at Lelantos’s Revel, flanking Erebus as he strode into the coliseum.
“That was only because of Erebus. Before he was betrayed, Ceveon and I would follow him and Mithras into every strange hidden pocket of the Dream Realm, just to hunt for demons.” Sorren stained my cheeks with a hint of rosy blush, curving the color toward my temples.
“We four were good friends in those early years at Evernight. We took lessons together. Attended demonstrations like dutiful schoolboys. Ceveon was skilled in battle, and I was skilled in creation. A Weaver never chose us, but we didn’t care. ”
“And Erebus? Mithras? What were their talents?”
“They were good at everything,” Sorren said with a shrug.
“Eventually, when Erebus and Mithras became some of the most renowned demon hunters in Evernight history, they were given certain allowances that other scholars were not. Such as Erebus taking Ceveon and me—previously disgraced because Weavers did not choose us—as his direct attendants. Erebus wasn’t revered to the same degree as the Weavers, but he could largely do as he wished.
Even the king adored him. But that was a long time ago. ”
Sorren stepped back, appraising me carefully.
“Now, for your attire. Stand up, please.”
First, a sleeveless satin dress was draped around my body, falling to the floor in a glossy black puddle.
It was effortlessly soft, floating around my legs like smoke.
An obsidian breastplate was next, cleverly shaping my chest and hugging my hips.
I was shocked at how closely the material mirrored my body, revealing every curve.
I’d never worn anything so revealing in all my life, and I wondered briefly if I should be scandalized.
Instead, it was oddly freeing. Sorren knew innately how I wanted to feel.
As if I wasn’t the terrified girl hiding from her fate.
As if I wasn’t afraid to be seen.
Ornate pieces of metal slid over the breastplate, an intricate necklace that started at my collarbone and ended just above my navel.
Raven feathers, so black they gleamed with an iridescent sheen, were added below my hips, trailing to the floor like another layer of my skirts.
Sorren then placed a matching cape, a deep, regal violet, around my shoulders to join the waterfall of shadow ribbons, feathers, and satin.
Lastly, a pair of gauntlets, a bit more dramatic than the ones I usually wore, slid over my arms, seamlessly wrapping around each finger.
I scarcely had time to process my transformation.
Erebus strode into the room, stealing what little breath I had left.
Sorren had dressed me to match him. An obsidian breastplate, framed by a grand cape interwoven with shadows and feathers, clung to his muscled chest and narrow hips.
His long legs were garbed in inky satin, and armored boots covered his feet to his lower thighs.
His gauntlets were a mirror of mine, brutal and sharp.
When Erebus saw me, his lips parted.
My face burned under his abject approval. At the threads of long-awaited heat in his gaze.
“As I said. Jaw-dropping,” Sorren said with a grin, moving to exit our chambers.
“What you created is perfect,” I managed, trying to resist the magnetic pull of Erebus’s eyes before I had the chance to properly thank Sorren. “Thank you for everything.”
Sorren was still beaming from ear to ear.
I’d never seen him so smug. “I will await your call, Shadow Weavers. The sky is darkening; our guests should be here soon.” He added suggestively, almost like an afterthought, “But don’t forget—you alone are the rulers of this domain.
Even if they knock, you can choose to let them in whenever you are ready. ”
What was that supposed to mean?
Sorren laughed to himself, shutting the tall bedchamber doors with a resolute bang.
“Hello,” I greeted, stiffening. I think my stomach dropped to my toes.
“Hello,” Erebus echoed, shadows forming delicious swirls in his eyes.
“Are you ready for this?” I quickly asked. Internally, I cursed myself. I should have been complimenting him. I wanted to compliment him. But instead I’d jumped straight to business. “They’ll be here any moment.” Coward.
Erebus raked a hand through his moon-white hair, uncharacteristically flustered. “Are you?”
Was I ready?
The thought of meeting the other Weavers made my limbs feel like water.
The Seven had once lavished Noctis with beautiful dreams, but these were the same Weavers who’d betrayed Erebus.
Who’d lost their grip on the Dream Realm and let it be overcome by demons.
And then there was Mithras; I’d worshipped him nearly my entire life, trusting him with the fate of our kingdom.
“No,” I answered honestly. “I want to be ready, but I’m not.”
“Then perhaps I should give you some strength,” he suggested, eyes dipping to my mouth.
At the growing heat in his gaze, a slow, toe-curling warmth pooled in my stomach.
Was he insinuating what I thought he was?
“Or,” he continued, stepping closer, his voice a seductive murmur, “perhaps you’d rather take it from me yourself. ”
I definitely wasn’t imagining the delicious fire in his eyes.
It had been weeks since we last kissed, and I was positively ravenous for his touch.
It was embarrassing how many times I’d fantasized about his hands gripping my waist, his lips giving life to mine.
If I leaned in just a little more, if I let the tension snap between us, I didn’t think he’d hold back.
And Maker help me, I didn’t want him to.
There was also the unfortunate possibility that if I didn’t get it out of my system now, I’d make a very inappropriate scene at dinner. It would be a shame to stare at his mouth like a starved fool while the other Weavers discussed battle strategies.
“Please do,” I whispered, daring him to close the gap between us. My chest was nearly grazing his, but we still weren’t touching. “And I’ll give it right back.”
Erebus pressed an achingly slow kiss to my lips, almost reverent in how he lowered his face to mine.
His lips were soft as silk, a stark contrast to the angular, wicked beauty of his body.
I treasured the slow, unhurried way he moved his lips against mine, following his lead as I kissed him back.
If he wanted to savor this moment, I’d happily oblige.
I ran my fingers through his white hair, coaxing a shiver from him that resulted in me making a breathless, eager noise.
His clawed hands immediately gripped my shoulders.
Searching. Seeking. Grounding. His mere touch sent jolts of heat down my spine even through the fabric of my cape.
“I can’t believe I went so long without touching you like this,” he groaned into my mouth.
“I’d prefer to not wait that long again, if it’s all the same to you,” I shot back.
By appearances alone, our touches would seem chaste.
Unhurried kisses, hands touching only hair and shoulders. No teeth. No tongue.
So why did it feel so feral?