6. Leah #2
“Syrus, please,” I whimper, unsure if I’m asking him to leave forever or come closer. I just know that I ache with a deep, wracking need only he can satisfy.
His lips claim mine, commanding and insistent, all but compelling me to open up to him—showing me how good it will be if I do.
And my body responds, nerves coming alive beneath his touch.
My skin dimples, a shiver running over my exposed flesh even as heat tightens at my core.
He’s there, hovering at the edges of my mind and body, and he begins to tease me into a frenzy.
Hands come to rest on my hips as he captures my lower lip between his teeth, pulling on it as he tugs my body against him.
The thick, hard length of him comes to rest along my thigh, and I spread my knees a little wider, inviting him in. Maybe this is okay. Maybe it’s safe to have this—for us to be joined in the way we’re meant to be. We’ve been separated for too long, and this feels so right.
“So eager for me,” he murmurs before ghosting his mouth along my jaw then diving down to suck at the skin on my neck, just above my pulse. It flutters frantically beneath his tongue, like prey quivering in the jaws of a wolf, and I gasp—eager, yes, and excited, and so terrified of what that means.
How can I ever escape his grip when I don’t even know if I want to? When I’m arching helplessly into his touch, moaning at his hands roaming across my body? His fingers dance across my ribs before they slide up, pinching my nipple into a hardened peak that makes me hiss and writhe underneath him.
“Syrus, I can take it,” I whimper. What I should say is that I can’t survive this—can’t survive him. Instead, I’m begging for more, afraid if he doesn’t give me what I need soon, I might combust. “I need you. Everywhere. Please.”
“That’s it, little lamb,” he purrs, and something snags. He hasn’t used that name for me since the night I was almost carved open on this altar. That’s not how he sees me now, is it? “Asking so nicely for me to ruin you. I will give you what you need.”
Then he takes me, thrusting into me as his magic overwhelms my body too, filling my mind, invading me.
I’m gasping at the rush of feeling so full again—but it isn’t long before it’s too much, too overwhelming as it overpowers everything in me.
There’s pleasure—so much pleasure—but there’s no control. Not on my end, anyway.
“You’re mine, Leah,” the voice growls into my mind. “All mine.”
The way he says it sounds dangerous, possessive in a way that sends a chill down my spine. It’s ownership rather than partnership. A cage rather than protection. This is what I must give in return for this gift—bending to every command, ultimate submission.
And if I accept that, it will eventually kill me. I know it.
“I can’t,” I cry, pushing him away—banishing him from every corner of myself.
Instantly, I feel his anger surge, twisting into an inferno that will consume everything in its way.
He roars and tries to dig his claws in deeper, grabbing hold hard enough to drag me back down into the darkness with him.
I wake with a start, sheets drenched in sweat, breathing like I’ve run for miles.
A dream. It was just a dream. I know that. Syrus’s voice never sounded like that, he never spoke like that—like he thought he owned me. It’s a phantom conjured up by my worst fears of what he could be if I’d stayed. Still, I find myself checking my mental walls, making sure they’re still intact.
And when I find them holding firm, untouched by any demon presence, I hate that a small part of me feels disappointed.
The next week continues much the same. I rise and eat with Filippa while fielding stares and snickers as cadets and fledglings alike fixate on my lack of wings. I train, running drills in the morning and attending lessons with intimidating, golden-armored instructors in the early afternoon.
Aside from Captain Hasteed, most of the instructors are totally dismissive of me, acting as if having to make any adjustments to their lessons to accommodate me is an unbearable chore.
Still, I listen and watch carefully and pick up what I can.
When one instructor—a red-haired giant of a man called Baxir—insists on conducting the entirety of his lessons up in the air with the rest of the class, Filippa relays what I missed.
And after lessons have finished for the day, she and Rowan and even Bianca spar with me and offer me advice.
Still, I’m afraid it won’t be enough. I go to bed every night praying for my wings to come, and every morning when I wake and find my shoulders as smooth as ever, I feel like crying.
Four days in, I’m back to feeling like I did in my scavenger days—always on alert, watching my back, ready to snatch what I can from a world that doesn’t want to hand me anything willingly.
I didn’t realize quite how much of that tension disappeared during my time in Infernum, until I’m back in its chokehold.
But if I can just survive this and prove myself, I’ll get what I want, and my power will be the gift that puts me back in control of my life.
I can already feel my magic growing—every day, it’s a little bit stronger, a little more sensitive to my will.
It gives me permission to hope that I might be ready when the first trial comes.
Then one morning, I’m woken at dawn by the a horn blowing down the hallways of the nest. Doors slam, accompanied by the growing hubbub of hundreds of fledglings spilling out into the corridors.
I stumble to my door, heart hammering, and barely need to crack it open before I hear the words I’ve been dreading, murmured frantically by a passing fledgling to her friend:
“It’s here. Colonel Cavat announced it—the first trial.”