Chapter 36 Gaetano
Gaetano
I do the most desperate thing a man can resort to—and the most masochistic thing an illusionist can inflict upon himself. I create an illusion of her in the middle of the room.
A woman with Nicole’s figure, face, and hair appears. She walks toward me with a seductive sway, the blue dress I once stripped from her hugging her body.
She’s so real, I almost forget she isn’t.
She approaches, her warm hand sliding across my chest. I grip her hips and pull her close. She lets out the same muffled moan I remember. The illusion is flawless. I can have her exactly how I want to.
As long as I don’t look into her eyes.
Just before my lips reach hers, I make that mistake.
I meet her gaze. It’s empty—beautiful colors, yet lifeless.
I push the illusion aside. She falls to her knees.
The pain in my body blends with the contempt crawling through me.
I despise what I have to do to Nicole, but if I don’t…
What would the last five centuries and every harvest mean?
The illusionary Nicole kneels before me, head bowed. I place a hand on her hair, just as I will in a few days. Magic flows through my veins, but I can’t bring myself to play out the rest of it—the way my magic will consume her body.
Instead, I give her a mental command, and she obeys. “No one’s ever saved me before,” she says.
I hold her chin. “Say it with feeling!”
“No one’s ever saved me before,” she murmurs, her tone somewhere between shyness and husky temptation.
“Stand up and undress me.”
She does. Her movements are mechanical and devoid of emotion. When her fingers reach for my belt, shivers run down my spine. I freeze, and she ceases moving.
My blood surges, sharpening my senses. I glance over my shoulder, as if expecting a presence. A few harvests lurk in the corners, but the castle is otherwise as empty as ever. And yet…The hairs on the back of my neck prickle.
Could Nicole have used the dagger? I lowered the castle’s wards so it would be accessible to her at any time. Could she appear any second now? A strange unease crawls under my skin. My palms start to sweat.
I stare into the dark, but no one’s there. Still, I wait.
Half an hour passes before I even notice the illusion, now standing and awaiting my next command like a marionette. With a flick of my hand, she dissolves into shadows.
An illusion might satisfy my lust, but what I crave goes far beyond that.