Chapter Twenty-Three #2
His eyes dance with amusement as he drags them from my lips to meet my wide-eyed stare. “You will know should I ever seek to claim you, little demon.”
Gods, the low, velvet rumble of his voice is going to unravel me.
Heart thundering between my ribs, I cling to logic with slipping fingers and yank my face away, stepping back.
His teasing smile grows, enraging me. At the same time, a shiver of anticipation and excitement sparks its way down my spine.
My mind becomes flooded with the demonic need to dominate this fae.
It burrows into my skin, sinking deep into my bones where it festers and grows.
“I’ve waited three centuries for you, I can wait longer still,” he says with a lazy smirk.
Shaking my head, my feet skirt back another few steps. “Do you understand what you’re asking for? A contract. You will serve me until death.”
And as a creature being hunted by the god of death, his death is all but guaranteed.
“I need you to trust me. If this is the only way I can earn your trust tonight, I’ll sign.” He pauses, a brow arching. “Unless I’m mistaken and you do not feel what I do.”
As my breathing shallows, the sound of my own heart in my ears deafens me. Swallowing hard against the lump in my throat, I shake my head. A feeble attempt to lie.
He smirks as if he knows better.
The distance I’d placed between us dissolves in a few steps, and with a gentleness I didn’t expect, he pulls me into him by my waist.
“Offer me,” he says quietly.
“Why are you so insistent?” I demand, pressing my hands against his chest to push him away, but his arms lock me in place.
“Why are you so reluctant?” he counters, grinning.
His gods damned eyes are going to be the death of me.
This fae, this Sovereign King, is laying himself at my feet.
The darkest parts of myself swell and grow, my blood singing with the prospect of claiming this mortal as mine.
How easy it would be to seduce, beguile, and charm everything I could ever want from him.
The power he could grant me over mortals, the reach and influence I would have—Netharis would jump at the opportunity.
I might even enjoy it.
No, there is no might.
I would enjoy him.
With a desperate haste, I shove the thoughts away.
“That night on the field, I meant what I said,” he says, and despite my silent pleading, he continues to give me the stare that threatens to drive me into madness. “You belong here, with me.”
“Why?”
“I think you already know why, little demon,” he says, placing a hand over mine and dragging it over his heart. Through his shirt, and under muscle and bone, the steady beat of his heart becomes clear. “You have driven me to the precipice of madness.”
Against logic, against everything that makes any semblance of sense, my innate vibrates and midnight black shadows billow between us. His thought-stealing arms release me and I suck in a sharp breath, retreating further. As the shadows vanish, a contract unfurls itself.
A contract.
His contract.
With a smirk and an arched brow, Ryc’s eyes lock with mine and do not leave. Lifting a thumb to his mouth, he pierces the fleshy pad with a fang. He presses it against the parchment without hesitation, without words, staring into the depth of my soul as he does.
The contract resonates instantly, growing bright red before vanishing in a swirl of shadow. The blood magic used to forge and reinforce the contract accepted the agreement without question. A tingling shiver works itself down my spine and I breathe deep against it, unable to tear my eyes from his.
The effects of the contract are immediate, intoxicating me, my eyes fluttering closed. Heaving a deep sigh, euphoria floods my veins. Finally, I can breathe. I’ve never experienced this kind of pleasure. It’s unlike anything I’ve ever known.
It’s addicting, and as it fades my innate uncoils and unfolds itself, sweeping through me in a slow, leisurely fashion. In the darkened corners of my mind, a golden rope blooms into life and some unknown light reveals the end of a corridor.
Long, empty, and coated in layers of dust, the floors are lined with stacks and piles of books, scrolls, soul crystals, and broken furniture—chairs, dressers, tables.
The channel between us is reminiscent of the tower in the hells.
Specifically, reminiscent of the state of the library after I’d unleashed myself upon it.
The braided rope hangs over the windowsill of an open window, it’s the only window shedding light—the rope is shedding light.
Looking at the rope causes a strong pulling sensation in my chest, as if I could follow it through the window and find Ryc on the other end.
A space in my mind now exists as a dedicated reminder of our tether, our bond.
Ryc’s light touch at my collarbone forces my eyes open. He’s slung his cloak over me. His hands smooth the lightweight fabric over my shoulders.
“It’s chill tonight, and you’re shivering,” he says, his voice low as he fixes the silver clasp.
Am I?
And is it because of the cold or because of what I’ve just done?
Again his scent envelops me and I breathe in deep.
“You didn’t read it,” I say, my voice barely above a whisper, remaining perfectly still as he finishes with the clasp. I don’t trust my hands, I don’t trust my feet, and I clearly cannot trust my mind. “You have no idea what you’ve agreed to.”
He takes my hand and places the dagger in it firmly, curling my fingers around it. “Whatever it is you demand of me, it’s yours.”
I stare at the dagger in my hand. “What is this?”
He laughs, a low, quiet sound. “It’s exactly what you asked for when you went into Embers and Ashes.”
My eyes shoot wide and race to his before they grow narrow. “Do not lie to me, Ryc. I know what bloodstone looks like—”
“Then you should also know pure bloodstone doesn’t exist in this realm.
Not anymore. Netharis made sure of that,” he says, tilting his head.
“What little that remains has been forged into a bloodstone silver alloy. It’s not as powerful, but it will end an ethereal creature should you pierce the heart. ”
The moonstone of the dagger glints maliciously in the night as if in warning. I stare in awe at the weapon in my hands capable of killing a god. How have mortals been able to hide such a thing from the pantheon? Do the gods care weapons like this exist? Surely Netharis knows. He has to.
A realization washes over me like the light of the slow rising sun.
It’s hope dangled overhead, just out of reach.
A heartless notion often abused by the gods. Especially by Netharis.
The gods know no mortal will ever get close enough to be able to use it.
Lifting my gaze, Ryc gives me a warm smile.
“I will stand beside you,” he says softly, “while you bury it in the hearts of those hunting you.”
“You would have me upend the realms?” Celesta’s words resonate in my mind.
He shakes his head in a slow toss. “I would have you live, little demon.”
His words wrap themselves around my pounding heart and squeeze. No longer able to trust myself or the demonic urges of my blood, shadows sweep over me. As they vanish, I’m left standing in the dark of my temple bedroom, staring at the dagger in my hands.