Chapter 32 #2
His lips grazed her jaw, then lower, trailing down to the rapid flutter of her pulse. “Like you have forgotten me.”
Alora panted, trembling as his hand slid up her torso to cup her breast. The bond between them thrummed.
“As though you have not already surrendered in my hands.”
She whimpered at the first stroke of his thumb over her sensitive nipple.
An intensity gathered low in her stomach, her core pulsing in response.
He was speaking of her dreams, her lustful, unabashed desires.
They were bonded, minds connected. She should be embarrassed that he had seen those secretive thoughts, yet ever since he’d kissed her, her body had been aching.
“Shall I touch you until you cannot withstand it?” Rune breathed against her neck, fangs grazing the goosebumps on her skin. “And make you forget all else?”
“Yes,” Alora gasped before she thought better of it.
The shadows lifted her bound hands to the wall behind her and wrapped around her eyes. Her heart pounded wildly but not with fear. Every stroke of his wandering hands melted away her resolve. He must be seducing her with his magic but at the moment she didn’t care.
Good.
She whimpered when his fangs nipped her flesh, pressing deep enough to sting.
Rune licked away the sting before kissing the bite.
His mouth was a brand on her skin, rendering her molten.
His lips left featherlight impressions along her jaw toward her mouth.
She waited for the kiss, but cool air brushed her thighs as he lifted the front panel of her dress.
He chuckled low. “Already wet for me, Alora?”
She flushed at the crude words and tried to close her legs again, but the shadows held her in place. “Rune—”
He tsked, his hands making their ascent up her shaking thighs. His claws snipped away her soaked undergarments. “Oh, no, songbird. You already gave me permission, and I intend to hear you sing.”
She held still, breath trembling, waiting for the warmth of his fingers. But gasped at the first stroke of cool shadow against her folds. They moved over her wet flesh, teasing her slowly, wrapping around a bundle of nerves that made her back arch with a moan.
“Such a pretty little clit,” Rune rumbled softly. “Your scent is mouthwatering. I imagine you taste as good as you smell. If you knew how much I craved you, how I starve to feel you coming on my tongue.”
She shivered at the filthy words, thrilled and scandalized at the thought of his mouth between her thighs.
“Or how often I grow hard at the mere thought of you.”
Every quiet confession sent a wash of shocking heat into her stomach, sinking down further. Her thighs clenched.
He was so close.
The front of her gown was snipped away next, leaving her breasts exposed. The warmth of his breath fanned over them, but he did not touch. She whined, squirming. She wanted his hands on her skin, his mouth on her lips.
But all Rune allowed were his shadows.
They answered his temper, binding her in place.
Every breath between them burned, half fury, half longing.
Each stroke was smoke gliding over her sensitive flesh, teasing until she was throbbing and panting.
Insane with lust. Her hips rocked against the wisps of shadows, her moans begging for more friction.
For him.
It was infuriating that she couldn’t move or touch him. The shadows moved quicker, bringing her to the edge as her orgasm peaked.
And then everything stopped at once.
The shadows fell away from her wrists and ankles, unveiling her eyes. Rune straightened her gown in place. She blinked, dazed, staring at him in confusion.
He gave her a shrewd smile. “Have a good night.”
Then he vanished with his shadows and the candlelight returned.
Alora gaped at the spot where he stood, gasping in shock, her legs still trembling from her fading climax that never arrived.
He left her aching and unsatisfied. Maddening torture. A punishment not of pain but of denial.
And perhaps, a distraction.
She laughed at herself, if only stop herself from shattering the furniture with her anger and humiliation. The folded page crinkled lightly beneath her palm. Alora opened it and a spider lily fell out, landing on her lap.
Her eyes widened.
She picked up the strange scarlet flower with spindly petals. The flower sparked with light the moment her fingers closed around the stem. Her skin prickled in response, a strange energy vibrating beneath her flesh. Like the ring Rune had placed on her hand. But it felt… familiar.
Ancient.
She heard a whisper, faint and breathless like a breeze passing through, as if the castle itself was speaking. A chill snaked down her spine.
The language meant nothing to her ears. The words were eerie, breathed through the stone, and yet it curled around her bones with the weight of something sacred.
Or damned.
A sudden spark singed her fingertip, sharp enough to sting but not enough to burn. Alora gasped, dropping the flower.
The bloom tumbled down her skirts, landing on the floor.
Then, before her eyes, it withered.
Its scarlet petals curled inward like claws, turning black as soot. The light faded in an instant, and the flower crumbled into ash.
Alora stared, her next breath stalling in her throat.
She glanced down at the yellowed page. There, sketched in ink was the same bloom. Same delicate shape. Same curling, spidery petals. Beneath it, was a caption in elegant script:
Blood Bloom: the corpse flower of the damned. Forbidden to touch. They grow where darkness festers, and calamity looms. For it is a mark of awakening or the herald of death.
Alora’s heartbeat roared in her ears as she read her mother’s penmanship over and over.
Segrith’s words echoed through her mind: the Blood Blooms will sing. They were singing now. She could almost feel them humming beneath the stone.
Whatever this was, it wasn’t a coincidence.
Rune knew. He had to. Every secret he refused to speak, every half-truth wrapped in tenderness—it all circled back to this.
To her.
To the curse.
The flower had withered the moment it touched her. She stared at the ashes on the floor. A mark of awakening. Or of death.
Alora rose to her feet, heart hammering, the page trembling in her hand. She didn’t need Rune’s answers anymore. She would find them herself come morning. And she already knew where to start.
The Gate.
The corridors were silent when she slipped from her chambers at dawn, her boots moving soundless over the stone. The mountain itself breathed slower, darker, as though drowsing.
She descended through the winding halls, following the pull in her chest, the same pull as before as she made her way to the Gate chamber. The air grew hot and stifling. Her gasp echoed through the grand chamber when she found Vorak’s throne reduced to a pile of rubble. Then she smelled the smoke.
“No…”
Alora hurried toward the Gate chamber and when she stepped into the cavern, her heart sank.
The ground was scorched.
Where the Blood Blooms had once glimmered in eerie splendor, was now a ground of scorched ash.
Rune had burned them.
Alora knelt, brushing her trembling fingers over the blackened stone. It was still warm.
He did it last night. Precisely when he pried into her thoughts.
She clenched her jaw, rising to her feet. Anger pressed against her ribs, heavy and sickening. He wasn’t protecting her. He was hiding something from her.
Her fingertips still tingled where the bloom had stung her. It had left a small blister over her scar. She rubbed her hands together, trying to shake off the sensation, but the unnatural buzzing remained.
Rune, she called through the bond tightly. You can’t keep the truth from me!
He didn’t answer.
By the time Alora turned back toward her chambers, fury had steadied her steps. She wouldn’t let him get away with this. The hall was empty until a soft meow cut through the quiet. Nexus padded out of the shadows, golden eyes wide, tail swaying.
“What is it?” she whispered.
The cat meowed again, more insistent this time, then darted down the adjoining corridor.
Alora followed, rushing after him. She found Deimos hovering in a mist of shadows, napping.
He was sent to guard the door she had sealed for Caelum’s safety.
Nexus stopped before it with a soft meow and slipped through it like a ghost. Alora softly gasped.
So that was how he moved around.
Deimos blinked at her sleepily as she pressed on the sequence of glyphs carved into the stone door. They lit and drew open for her.
The sight of Caelum stole her breath. He was pale, thinner than before, but awake and alive. Sitting upright in the grand bed where she had last seen him unmoving.
“By the Seven,” she gasped, rushing to him, tears burning her eyes. “Caelum, why did you come here? You could have been killed!”
He gave a faint, crooked smile. “It was worth it, if it meant finding you.”
Her throat tightened. “You foolish knight.” Alora brushed a hand through his brown hair, half laughing, half crying.
“I am so happy to see you, but you should have stayed in hiding. How did you even enter Karag D?r?” She shook her head.
“Never mind that. What news of Argyle? Of Theia? I thought you might bring her with you.”
Caelum’s smile faded. His gaze dropped to the sheets, fingers tightening in the fabric.
“Caelum?” she whispered. “What is it? What happened?”
He hesitated, then lifted his eyes to hers.
“Theia… sold her soul to the dark.”