Chapter 18 Unforeseen Beckoning
Unforeseen Beckoning
EMRYS
The words leave my lips before I realize it.
Come find me. Fuck. Her raven-black hair, those eyes that remind me of a storm above the ocean—tumultuous and restless, seeking release—that pale skin: everything about her invites me, beckons me.
When I saw her, a need took hold of me as if our souls were familiar with each other from a past life. It is a selfish urge.
For centuries, I’ve hidden myself in the shadows, never making my presence known, turning myself into a myth.
A threat to ensure children don’t act out, a horror story shared among townsfolk, some even saying I do not exist at all.
Then she comes along and lures me out of my shadows…
I need to know her—know her name, touch her, feel her skin.
It's been a day since I’ve seen her. Part of me hopes she’s smart and stays away from me, dismissing it all as a daydream, but my core begs for her to find me, to give in to her curiosity—my Lucem Mei.
I sigh as I stretch my legs, walk to the window, and look outside.
Rows of trees fill my view, their leaves rustling as the soft breeze guides their words to my ears.
A human woman, another one… she has entered our grounds… She seeks the fortress, you. Her heart is pure; her mind is poisoned… Strong-willed… We like her…
Then, utter silence. My mind fills with racing thoughts that refuse to settle.
She is coming out of her own free will; she listened and heard me.
I bite on the inside of my cheek, unsure what to do.
I didn’t think this part of the invitation through; I never expected her to come here.
Didn’t anyone warn her about the dangerous Umbra living here?
My stream of thoughts is interrupted by cautious footsteps. She’s here.
The woods led her straight here, just like I instructed them.
Fuck. I see her appear in the long hall, and I disappear into the shadow, out of her sight.
I trail next to her, worshipping her while she admires the paintings.
I can’t believe a creature as beautiful as she roams my dormant hallways, bringing life to the space with her presence.
I smirk as I hear her mutter. To appease her, I leave the door ajar and light the candles, the room now dimly lit. With confidence, she pushes open the door and strides into the room, the canopy bed taking up all her attention. As she fingers the silk, I can no longer contain myself, and I speak.
“Do you like how that feels… human?”
Startled, she turns around, her gray eyes round, searching for me, a sight I no longer want to lose. I need her to always look for me when she’s not near me.
“Are you that scared of me that you reside in the shadows?” she retorts.
My little human has either no self-preservation, or she truly isn’t afraid of me.
Intrigued, I tell her she shouldn’t be so careless; she might end up in a situation she can’t save herself from.
Then, I step out of the shadows, revealing myself for the first time in a long time.
Her eyes snap to me, taking me in; I know she’s as intoxicated with me as I am with her.
My soul almost rips itself from my body to tangle with hers.
A dance of interrogation begins, a form of communication to acquaint ourselves with each other, pretending we do not want to tear our clothes off and melt together. My Harlot, my tempest, a storm only I can tame.
“Please, Emrys, please tell me more,” she pleads.
“Don’t beg too often, Harlot. I might enjoy hearing you say my name like that too much,” I tell her teasingly.
I inhale, her arousal filling the air, the scent driving me to the brink of madness.
It takes all my restraint not to throw myself at her, to pry open her legs and make her mine.
I need her to want it, to tell me she wants it.
I mock her arousal to clear my head; her wanting to leave brings me back to the present.
I want to beg her not to go, to never stray from my side ever again.
Instead, I sternly tell her to stay, luring her back with her thirst for knowledge.
After speaking for hours, she tells me she has to go, and again, I fight the urge to drop to my knees and plead with her to stay.
If only she knew the power she holds over me.
I contain myself, but I no longer have the will not to seduce her as I glide my fangs along her porcelain neck, and she sighs with contentment. The desire to kiss her is overwhelming.
“I will stay the night,” she says.
The sentence removes the remaining barrier that keeps me contained, and I press my lips to hers.
When she opens her mouth to let me taste her, it is a delicacy I have never tasted before.
My entire body is set aflame. Her blood tastes like daylight, the sun, morning dew, spring, and summer combined.
Our bonding is dangerous, yet neither of us can halt it; nothing could have prevented our souls from unifying.
The sensation is unlike anything I have ever experienced.
The forging of our souls—a desire that roots itself inside us—is not just a feeling or a need, like hunger, but a passion and a yearning for each other, our souls recognizing one another as if from a past life.
She is me, and I am her; we are but the same being.
I feel my essence flowing into her while she takes hold of me.
Her eyes darken from my shadows; my eyes lighten by her light.
Our minds are connected on a conscious level; we will never be alone, always near each other, even if we are separated.
Our storm is violent and tumultuous, only contained by our souls. As long as we are together, no grounds will be shaken by either of our wrath.