Chapter 11 #2
I glance briefly at the Blood Witch and then at the other one, the male witch with the oleander markings, who’s sipping on a glass of water not far away from us, within hearing distance.
His piercing glare is focused on me, not Caria, like a watchdog.
I beckon Emrys to view what I see; we take in this stranger's appearance together as I stare back at the male.
The witch’s blonde hair is almost white, and his eyes are distinct, catching my attention.
One is so light blue that it reminds me of ice, glacial ice, and the other is so dark blue that it’s almost like the night sky.
His skin is tanned, covered in markings and scars from battle, I assume, which is a breathtaking contrast to his hair and eyes.
I notice the male has a much higher density of markings than Caria.
While I admire the brooding man's glowering look, I feel a jealous tug from the bond as Emrys registers my awe at this man's sharp features.
I smile as my heart fills with warmth. No other being exists in this world that could match his dark, ethereal beauty.
I give both witches a curt nod, acknowledging him on purpose to make it clear I am aware of their companionship. As I go up the stairs, I feel his eyes burn at the back of my head, and I dread entering the room to see the people I do not wish to confront.
The door is ajar, and as I push it open, an empty room presents itself. My eyes dart immediately to Mother’s side, her bags, none of them present, no books. Of course not. I drop myself on the bed that is supposed to be for me, sighing loudly.
Emrys steps out of the shadows of the bathroom door. I hoist myself up, looking at my monster, my lover, my companion above all; it is no longer a secret that he and I are together, except for my mother. He sits beside me, the wooden bed creaking loudly under his heavy weight.
He grabs me possessively and showers me with kisses as he tells me I’m his, only his. I giggle, drunk on love, as I welcome his affection.
Yours. Always.
Don’t you dare forget. He growls.
Bite me. I tease.
Beg.
I might.
“You’ll be the end of me, Emrys, and I’ll do it all over again if it means I could love you longer,” I moan.
“Would you love me for an eternity if I offered it to you?”
His voice is vulnerable as he proposes the question, a hint of hesitation as if he is afraid the thought of a forever with him will scare me away.
“Yes! Yes, I would, within a heartbeat,” I say without thinking it over as I face him.
“You’d no longer have one, my little tempest,” he jokes.
I elbow him in the ribs, and he acts jokingly like he’s in intense pain, even though I know I could never hurt him, not physically.
“What a way to ruin a romantic moment,” I huff.
He cups my face and kisses me, his tongue gliding along mine, tasting me. The images he sends into my head of how he wants to desecrate my body cause me to rub my thighs together, heat gathering between my legs.
“That’s my favorite scent on you, next to mine; if only it could linger around me forever,” he muses.
He gets on his knees in front of me.
“I told you only you could get me to kneel.”
With those words, he shoves my dress up, spreads my legs, pulls aside my underwear, and lets his tongue slide along my sex.
I let myself fall flat on my back as Emrys devours me, drinking me like he has been dehydrated for centuries.
I was never one for dresses, but since Emrys, I wear them more often than not, once again proving their usefulness as he has easy access to the parts of my body he desires.
I orgasm on his tongue over and over, coating him with my arousal while he forces me to give him more, lapping at my cunt and clit, reminding me that only he can saturate me like this.
When he’s convinced my body cannot conjure another orgasm, he lovingly puts my slip back in place, the fabric sensitive on my skin.
He pulls down my dress and crawls into the bed next to me, the bed groaning.
I lay my head on his chest, lost in a delirious state of bliss.
He grins at me, his canines gleaming and glistening with my blood, his tongue licking around his sharp teeth, cleaning them.
I never let Emrys heal the bite marks; I enjoy seeing them, as they're a reminder of his commitment to me.
“Did you see him? Speak to him?” Emrys asks as he breaks the silence.
“You know I did, my little shadow stalker,” I say, smirking at him.
“I do. I’m sorry. It's hard for me to stay away from you for a long time. You left quickly, though; what did he say?” He strokes my hair absentmindedly.
“Because he irritates me, honestly. He’s the embodiment of pure arrogance, and I find it off-putting. Also, his vague statement that I shouldn’t be walking in the city today hit a nerve with me.”
I shrug, irritation seeping into my system at Elijah's indirect order and his lack of trust in me. I loathe him, yet I feel a hint of a need to make him trust me.
“Interesting,” Emrys says, more to himself than to me, “I’ve been expecting a happening of some kind, especially after the provoking display of publicly killing that witch. So far, it’s been quiet, too quiet, on both sides, frankly,” he muses.
Emrys is right; retaliation should be in place after a human kills a witch for no apparent reason besides being a Blood Witch.
It was daring, too, calling it a show to gain attention; the humans wanted as many people in the public as possible, and wanted them all to see—to witness.
A warning to all creatures of the darkness that they do not fear them.
They don’t appear to possess any Aurum. Otherwise, Emrys would have told me.
He would be able to smell it and feel it.
I wonder if they’ll keep their promise today, if they’ll kill another creature, if it is a witch once more, or another being, vampire, or perhaps werewolf.
No, no were-beings; for some reason, all of this feels more personal, aimed only at the witches and vampires.
Hunters. Damnit, how could I have missed it?!
Emrys sits up straight, pulling me in tightly, crushing me into his broad, muscled chest as if protecting me against something, someone.
“What? Hunters? Do humans hunt the Darkness? Without Aurum? How?” I say, surprised.
The idea of humans hunting nightwalkers is one of madness and ridicule.
How are they even protecting themselves?
How does Elijah defend himself? I shake my head, erasing that thought and replacing it with a different one: hope, a hope he’ll meet his demise so I can continue my beginning.
If Emrys is right, he is hunting beings far more powerful than him, creatures that can end his life in the blink of an eye.
Having his life force drained erases the burden he evokes within me.
A sharp sting takes hold in my head, and I grasp my temples.
I start massaging my sides vigorously; the ache subdues as I force the longing for Elijah’s death out.
It seems an unpleasant side-effect of the curse, no ill thoughts about my supposed soulmate.
Commotion stirs outside, followed by loud noises and shrieking screams. Fast as lightning, Emrys hugs me against himself, stepping into the room's shadows, out of sight. Traveling through the murky shadows, we appear in a dark alley as Emrys picks me up, carrying me through the maze of tiny streets. He’s faster than I, and we’re walking in and out of the shadows as he tries to understand what is happening and where the disturbance is coming from. He halts abruptly.
“There,” he says in a low, gravelly voice.
He points at a group of figures—the humans from the fair, armed to the teeth, acting like unhinged savages.
Some of them wear skulls from, I assume, witches or vampires as masks.
I see humans jumping atop vampires, catching them by surprise as oak stakes are driven through their hearts.
Large, sharp axes sever hands with daylight rings from their owners, causing vampires to burst into roaring flames until the wind takes their ashes.
Witches are brutally assaulted before they can finish their spells or call their powers to work for them as humans, from a distance, send arrows flying across the square with their crossbows, effectively landing in their body parts and crippling them.
The air fills with a metallic tang while screams and cries surround us.
Blood is splattered everywhere, staining the stones a new shade of red.
It’s utter mayhem. The bustling activity has now turned into a raging murder spree.
To my surprise, I see the night creatures flee instead of attacking back.
The message from Elijah this afternoon is now clear: I was not supposed to get caught in the crossfire of this small war that erupted by their doing—a declaration by humans against the dark creatures.
Then it hits me. There was never an actual fair; it was all a scheme to catch those living here off guard; the intent was to provoke the darklings by killing their kin.
To understand the willingness of the citizens of Valorya to retaliate and seek revenge.
Their little display of murdering that witch was nothing more than a sickening way to test the waters.
A thought creeps into my head; mating with a hunter, one who kills for sport and takes joy from killing a helpless creature.
Repulsion takes hold of me. Never. Not in a million years will I align myself with an individual with such a perverted mind.
The soul bond inside me agrees with my assessment and decision, reinforcing my disgust. As I witness the scene before me, my lips curl into a disapproving snarl.
I fail to understand why the vampires and witches of this city do not fight back and let this onslaught persist.