Chapter 56 Lies We Tell Each Other
Lies We Tell Each Other
Shadow and I stand in the bedroom, on a different plane of existence, and I have no words.
The room mimics a grand, old-world bedchamber—tall arched windows line one wall.
The bed’s canopy is draped in gauzy fabric that’s impossibly thin yet taut like a membrane.
A faint, metallic scent lingers in the air, like rusted iron beneath perfume, and there’s an unnatural chill despite a roaring fireplace, its flames flickering an eerie, green-tinged glow.
The space between Shadow and me is tremendous. In a matter of mere hours, nothing is the same.
He isn’t who I thought he was.
And neither am I.
The overwhelming urge to throw myself at Shadow steals my already tortured breath.
I want to lose myself in him, or rather, ground myself in him.
I want him to claim my mouth, to wrap his tendrils around me, to take control and own my body in every respect like he always does, when things are spiraling out of control.
I dampen between my thighs as I think of how many tentacles it will take to fill me until I can't think anymore. Until I'm gushing and shaking with orgasm, my mind cleared of all this mess. Until he drives away the memory of the lies and betrayal he inflicted.
The slow-moving tentacles around Shadow suddenly still and his misty eyes deepen to crimson. His mouth splits and a forked tongue licks across his fangs as he inhales deeply. "Evie." The two syllables emerge tortured and filled with lust.
He knows. He senses my body's reaction to him.
A low rumble emanates from his chest as he advances on me. When I step back defensively, he halts.
"Evie?" he asks in confusion.
I’ve never recoiled from him.
"Don't," I try to command him, but it comes out weaker than I want it to.
Shadow snaps straight as if I slapped him. "We need to leave this realm, now." I’ve shot him down and now he’s all back to business.
Instead of answering his urgency, I wrap a hand around one of the five posts framing the large, round bed. I swing around on it lazily. "Do you think there will be food at the celebration?" I ask airly.
He growls in response. It’s a warning.
"I wonder if I could even eat the food here. Can I?" I ask.
"This isn’t a game, Evie. If you stay, you die."
My lungs jerk and heave, struggling with the air again, threatening to dissolve into another coughing fit. My head turns light and dizzy when I cut off the spasms, holding the bodily response back.
"You see? You can't stay here. It's hurting you. The atmosphere is tearing you apart," he insists.
"You should say thank you." I manage to get the words out, though they are a labored wheeze.
"What?"
I swallow hard, forcing the gritty air down. "You should thank me. For saving you from the Pit of Oblivion."
His glare could cut glass. "What?"
"Thank me." An edge of hysteria creeps into my voice, a manic laugh bubbling up from some dark, broken place inside me. It's the sound of someone falling over the edge of madness though I suspect I fell over the cliffside long ago. "Didn't you hear? I'm the Nexus. I'm special. I matter."
The words taste like ash on my tongue, a bitter mockery of the validation I've always craved.
Shadow's expression softens, just a fraction. "Evie, you've always mattered."
I shake my head, vicious in my denial. "They bowed to me, Shadow. Me. The unwanted slut, the useless whore." The words of my foster parents, my school mates, and worse bounce around in my head. "Suddenly I'm a queen, and you... " A cruel smile twists my mouth. "You should bow too."
Something flickers in Shadow's eyes. Resentment? Regret? Acceptance? I don’t know, and I don’t care to ask. I’m tired of always putting him first, of taking whatever scraps he gives me.
Slowly, deliberately, he sinks to his knees, his gaze never leaving mine.
The room seems to darken, thickening with a quiet, dreadful anticipation. His shadows ripple across the floor, merging with the inky patches in the walls, creating an abyss that stretches toward me, as if the room itself waits to witness his submission.
A sick, anger-fueled satisfaction fills me at seeing him obey.
He's controlled me for so long, pulled my strings without my knowing. But now, I hold the power. Now, he'll dance to my tune.
I lift my tank top over my head, quickly unhooking my bra and dropping them to the ground.
Shadow begins to rise.
"Stay," I bark.
He stops.
I'm stepping into the role I was just gifted. So many emotions fight in a chaotic battle for dominance, but I've got a firm grip around the twisting coils.
I have power now, and I intend to use it.
Then I shimmy my jeans and panties down after toeing off my boots.
The air is cool against my bare body. I drag over a surprisingly normal, albeit gnarled looking chair until it drops with a heavy clunk in front of Shadow.
I settle back in the seat as stately as if it were my throne, my fingers curled around the ends of the arm rests.
"Now, thank me," I repeat.
I don't know how long before someone returns, potentially walking in this scene I've created, but I don't really give a fuck right now.
Shadow hesitates. "How would you like me to thank you?"
"My queen," I correct.
He pauses. "My queen." Something dark and dangerous underlines his words.
Something solid forms in my chest when he calls me that. Something sure, and real. I'm not entirely able to grasp the position I've been thrown in, but I'm learning to adapt faster these days.
"Pleasure me, from where you kneel," I command.
A group of shadowy tendrils snake forward, slithering over my skin with a deliberate slowness.
They twine over my bare collarbones, crawl up my ankles.
A sigh escapes me as I revel in the familiar velvety touch of darkness.
A couple of them twirl around my nipples, plucking and playing until they are taut peaks sending messages of need to my center.
One of them slinks up my calf before it follows the trek of my inner thigh, causing me to shudder in anticipation. When it brushes up my slit, I drop my head back and melt a little.
The tentacle spreads my eager moisture experimentally brushing and probing shallowly.
The velvet chair beneath me feels like it’s swallowing me whole, as though the upholstery is damp and pulsing with its own rhythm. The fabric clings too tightly, pressing against my skin, hinting that beneath the luxurious surface there’s something slick and raw.
"More," I whisper, feeling the pressure tighten around my throat, the tendril between my thighs thickening, pressing in deeper, stretching me.
My mouth falls open, a broken gasp slipping free as he fills me, and my eyes fly open to see him watching, his stare devouring me. A faint, electric hum vibrates through the floor, as though the castle itself is reveling in this twisted display.
My head drops back, taking in the ceiling. The tar-like substance shifts, as if breathing. The air thickens, rich with a strange blend of musk and metallic sharpness that settles heavily around us, pressing against my skin like a second layer.
I can’t tell if all this is real, or if nothing is.