22. Flesh and Blood
DAMIEN
Eloise straightens. “Are you telling me you were, like, a prince in your world?”
I rarely speak of my past life as a royal of Stygarde. Those memories come weighted in considerable sadness, but she needs to understand. “It’s been a long time since anyone called me that, but yes. My parents ruled Stygarde, and I was the oldest of three siblings, although still too young to lead by my people’s standards. I’d barely completed training as a warrior when a neighboring kingdom attacked. The elf mages of Willowgulch have magic much like your witches. A long bloody war ensued that drained my kingdom. The elves learned to magically produce sunlight and used it to trap and kill our soldiers. We’d slayed a fair number of theirs as well. I couldn’t see an end to the violence.”
“What were you fighting over?”
My brow lifts at her question, surprised she wants details. “Land. Specifically, a forested area between our two kingdoms. A wild, neutral territory until a hunting party found a dragon’s egg and everything changed.”
“Like from an actual dragon? They exist there?”
“They’re not native to Tenebris. All my life they were thought to be extinct, but when the egg was found, there was much excitement. A dragon’s body holds magic. The scales and blood can be used in powerful spells. But the elves didn’t dare move the egg. It rested near a river of fire, and it is known dragon eggs must incubate in a hot environment. So the battle became not about the egg but about the forest. The elves wanted it, and the dragon they assumed had laid the egg, for themselves. My people fought to keep the forest neutral.”
“You didn’t want it for your own kingdom?”
“There were times I thought that would be best. How do you protect something if you don’t own it? But my father used to say that no one owned the wild. It owned itself.”
“He seems like a wise man.”
“He was,” I say softly. “Is, I hope, still.” The grandfather clock behind me chimes twice. Pressure builds inside me as I think about my parents, to the point I’m tempted to break into shadow for the relief it would bring. “The truth is that I don’t know if they’re alive. When I was captured, we were at war, and as the king and queen of Stygarde, my parents would have been the first executed if the elves broke through our defenses.”
“You don’t know if they survived the war?” she asks breathlessly. “I’m so sorry.”
This is more than I’d planned to share with her, but I can”t deny indulging her curiosity. “The war had waged for years. One night I was fighting side by side with Cassius and Morpheus when the sky tore open and we were dragged through a rift between our worlds. I thought the elves were to blame because the way the night split was similar to how they called the light to kill us. I found myself surrounded by sunlight, walled off from the darkness and unable to escape. I landed in the center of a symbol, trapped by a coven who I would later learn were Gowdie witches. Cassius and Morpheus landed by my side. I slayed the one who smelled the most powerful, Jane Gowdie, and then used my shadows to fight the other witches so Cassius and Morpheus could escape. But in doing so, I drank Jane’s blood. Blood exchange between supernaturals is dangerous. In this case, Jane’s blood gave the Gowdie’s power over me. My friends escaped, but working as one, the Gowdies captured and bled me. They used my blood, rich with Jane’s magic, to create the candle that binds me to their coven.”
Silence unravels between us, punctuated by the ticking of the clock in the corner. “Why did the Gowdies call you in the first place?” she asks softly. ”How did they even know how to open a rift to your world?”
“The why was clear immediately. It was the time of the European witch trials and they needed a protector. Their family survived because of me. Anyone who challenged them, they’d order me to kill. How they knew about my world and how they drew me here —that is not as clear. I have searched far and wide over the centuries for a way to reopen that rift, and it remains a mystery to me.”
“You want to go home.”
I stare into my glass. “Yes.” Only after a long, fortifying sip of wine do I look at her again. “Do you know what the Gowdie specialty is? Every witch family has a type of magic they are known for, and the Gowdies are unsurpassed in one particular skill.”
She shakes her head.
“Animators. They draw their power from the earth element. The Gowdies can animate anything, including the dead. That’s how they caught me to do the binding spell. They animated my bones, kept me from using my powers while they collected my blood for the candle.” I rub a hand over my sternum at the ache the memory conjures.
“So, you’ve been bound to serve the Gowdies for centuries.” She hugs the pillow tighter.
“Three hundred eighty years, nine months, and eight days.”
“Fuck. No one deserves to be imprisoned for that long, even if initially the Gowdies considered it a punishment for killing Jane.”
I give a low chuckle. “I agree, little bird.”
“Wait, didn’t you say that the Gowdies have commanded you to kill for them over the years?”
Darkness forms within me, a cold bitterness I struggle to keep hold of. “Yes. Thousands.”
“Then most of the people you’ve killed were in service to a witch who was pulling your strings. You didn’t ask to be brought here. You’re not a monster. You were defending yourself.” She says it with such conviction that the knot in my chest loosens just a bit.
“If only the Gowdies saw it that way.”
“But the candle is barely a stub. It won’t be long now before it burns down and you’re free, right?”
I scoff. “The Gowdies will never let it burn out. They’ll make sure I’m bound for eternity.”
“Why would they do that?”
“As long as it exists, I can’t hurt them, I can’t return home, and I am not free to truly join a coven of vampires or other supernaturals. I am their ultimate weapon.”
I pour myself another glass of wine. I wish alcohol had the same effect on shades as it does on humans. Still, the mild effects are something tonight.
“You and I are so similar.”
Intrigued, I narrow my eyes on her. “How so?”
“People like Tony and Jane Gowdie are bullies. They pull us into their orbit, use us, and then hang us out to dry. Maeve, she probably doesn’t know the whole story. She inherited the candle. But this… servitude has gone on long enough.”
“We’ll free you from Tony,” I promise.
“And I’ll let the candle burn,” she says with sudden certainty.
I focus on her with an intensity that makes her squirm in her seat. “What are you saying?”
She swallows. “After we save my house, I’ll free you. It’s time. I’m not sure how I’ll explain it to Maeve, but I’m certain I won’t be able to forgive myself if I don’t break your curse.” She holds out her hand. “Do we have a deal?”
Time and time again, I promise myself I’ll stop indulging in Eloise. Every time I touch her or taste her blood, I fall for her just a little bit more. She may be human, but she’s enchanted me. Already I find it impossible to accept I’ll have to leave her when my work here is done. But tonight, here in her parlor, this isn’t about the candle at all.
How can I resist her now that she’s proven to be an angel in human skin? Eloise has no idea that the Gowdie candle will never burn down. It’s taken me a century to learn that truth for myself. The wax is enchanted with my blood, immortal blood, mixed with that of a powerful witch. It will last as long as I do. The only way the curse can be broken is by more powerful magic. Curse-breaking magic.
Eloise doesn’t know that, however, and her promise to free me is genuine. She truly intends to try.
And that means everything to me.
Damn, magnificent woman.
Isn’t it torture enough to be tempted by her delectable blood, the pleasure of her warm skin, the scent of her that lingers in my dreams long after I’ve left her? Now I’m drawn to her vulnerability, to her selflessness, to her bravery. Maybe it’s too late. Maybe I’m hers already. I was so worried she was a witch trying to bind me that I never considered I might love her, and what is love but the wickedest web.
I stare at her offered palm, overwhelmed by the sincerity in her offer. “Oh no, little bird. We cannot make a deal with a simple handshake.”
Her lashes flutter. “What do you have in mind?”
I remove the wineglass from her hand and set it gently on the end table. Fisting the pillow in her lap, I toss it across the room. Then, I lean over her, bracing myself on the back of the sofa.
“Spread your legs for me, little bird.”
Her answering gasp feeds my fire. Her eyes lock onto mine for three long breaths. Slowly, with a hard swallow, she parts her thighs. I drop to my knees.
“This dress has been taunting me all night.” I nudge the hem of the purple sequined number higher on her hips and toy with the strappy black thong underneath.
She clears her throat. “Damien, I wasn’t making a bargain. I’ll let the candle burn because it’s the right thing to do. You don’t have to… do anything. I don’t want you to think...” She can’t even finish the sentence. Gods, does she believe she’s coercing me? Even the thought is preposterous. I skim a palm under her dress, up her lower belly. Her breath falters.
“If you think for a second that you’re forcing me to do anything right now, you’ve been willfully ignoring your effect on me tonight.” My voice is thick with need for her. “I’ve wanted you from the moment I saw you in this dress. Unless you intend to command me to stop?”
“No,” she says quickly, breathlessly. “I don’t want you to stop.”
I slant her a wicked grin, wide enough, I’m sure my fangs are showing. Hooking my fingers into the sides of her thong, I slide it down her legs and over her feet, tossing it aside. Her pulse ratchets faster, its soft drumbeat and her breath the only sounds aside from the ticking of the grandfather clock. Spreading her knees wider, I lower my gaze to her most intimate area and lick my lips. As if she could be any more of a temptation, her pretty sex glistens, ready for me, and the scent of her desire makes my blood heat.
“You’re perfect.” My voice is wrecked, low, and gritty. Tugging her hips forward, I drag a knuckle over her drenched slit, and she rewards me with a moan.
I love her this way, totally exposed to me. At my mercy. Her eyes grow hooded. A light blush stains her cheeks.
Gods, I want to taste her, and I will not deny myself. Not this time.
“Little bird, look at me,” I whisper, an unexpected note of reverence in my voice. When her green eyes meet mine, I lower my mouth to her center and lick. The noise she makes is all the encouragement I need. With no place else to be until dawn, I settle in, lapping her folds in long, teasing strokes. When she writhes against my mouth, I flick the tip of my tongue across her clit, then suck on that tender nub as she arches and moans. Quicker now, I flick, suck, circle, watching her chase her pleasure until I fall into a rhythm.
She squirms, digging her fingers into my hair. Gods, she tastes like a fine, dark wine. I reach down to one of her feet, massaging the arch before lifting her leg to set it on my shoulder. The position opens her wider, and I thrust a finger into her, stroking inside while I relish her. Her thighs begin to shake. I want to feel her come, want my face slick from her wet heat.
She digs her nails into my scalp. “Oh God, Damien!”