14. Leah
Leah
In keeping with the Lord of Malice’s terrible timing, Syrus doesn’t visit me that night.
Of course he’d disappear just when I need to speak to him, and the annoying thing is I can’t even be annoyed because I’m too worried.
He said he would check on me every evening, and I know he meant it—know it without a shadow of doubt, despite how hard it is to believe other things he says, like when he talks about his good reasons that he absolutely cannot divulge.
You’re going to let that go, remember? It doesn’t matter to you anymore.
I might have gained some interesting new skills lately, but I’ve definitely gotten worse at lying to myself. And I would be lying if I said I wasn’t worried about Syrus. Last time the two of us weren’t able to get in contact…it didn’t go well.
So maybe I should reach out to him, even if just to yell at him for flaking out on me.
He described it once as like a hand reaching for him across the realms, a tug on his consciousness, inviting him into mine.
For a few tense moments, I’m afraid I’ll get no response, then there’s a little mental touch back.
A nudge—nothing more. Syrus doesn’t then slip into my mind, and after that brief reply, I’m left alone with my thoughts again.
I’m relieved more than I’d like to admit. The nudge must mean he’s busy, but okay, right? He wants me to know he feels me but can’t possess me right now.
Except…he’s almost always responded before. And the only time he didn’t, he was blocked by Ajax’s magic and fighting a bloody battle against Kaliban’s soldiers.
He’s not in that kind of trouble now, is he? I hate that I don’t know, the temporary relief of his reply giving way to fresh anxiety.
To distract myself, I spend the next day testing those new skills when I can, hiding in my bedroom to call up wisps of shadow, then trying to direct them around the room.
It’s a risky game—if anyone found out, I have no doubt I’d immediately be executed as a demon spy—but I have to be sure it’s not some strange, fleeting phenomenon.
Especially as I can’t test the foot-sticking thing again without it looking very suspicious—or seriously damaging Rowan’s self-esteem.
And of course, I needed to check I could still conjure my lightning.
It’s a fleeting but intense anxiety, the thought that the demon shadow might somehow have overtaken my innate, blood-given magic.
Luckily, I can easily put it to rest, watching the bright, white energy crackle between my fingertips moments after they were shrouded in shadow.
But one fear put to rest doesn’t tackle the others, like me wondering where Syrus is, or what it means if this isn’t the last of random demon traits to crop up out of nowhere. What if the changes keep coming, and next time I can’t hide it behind a moment of clumsiness like I did with Rowan?
When those thoughts start rearing their heads, I try to focus harder on my magic.
At one point, I get a little cocky and even try to conjure one set of magic in each hand.
It doesn’t work, the power fizzling out and fading before it can manifest, but there’s an exciting second when I think I might just do it.
It’s good that I’ve holed myself up in my room, because as the day wears on, the pain in my back grows until it’s worse than it’s ever been.
Maybe I overdid it sparring yesterday or tired myself out messing around with my magic—or is it Syrus’s magic?
But whatever the reason, the upper part of my back is taut and raw.
As evening draws in, I decide it’s too painful to even keep my clothes on, the fabric chafing ruthlessly against the swelling ridges.
And that’s when Syrus finds me, lying naked from the waist up, balanced on my side, and reciting plant names to myself to distract from the throbbing between my shoulder blades.
At least the telltale warning of his arrival gives me a chance to tug my sheet up over my front, keeping me safe from my own wandering eyes and what Syrus might see through them.
“Where were you?” I ask, my pain and wafer-thin patience making each word drip with accusation. Maybe I lean into that irritation more than I need to, just to hide how intensely the relief hits.
“What do you mean?” Syrus asks, his tone quickly shifting from defensive to concerned. “What’s wrong?”
He sweeps through my body, slipping like silk beneath my skin—a touch so light on my back it could be a breath of air.
“You didn’t come,” I said, squeezing my eyes shut. “I needed to talk to you.”
“You mean last night? I know I was late, I’m sorry.” He settles into my body, stretching out like a cat. “By the time I could get away long enough to visit you, you were already asleep, but I did come.”
“Oh,” I say, partly because this didn’t occur to me but also because Syrus’s presence is doing something pleasant to the soreness in my back. “Oooh, right there. Whatever that was…do it again.”
“That helps?” he asks, and a ripple of sensation radiates through my muscles—a firm pressure that somehow reaches deep into the aching center of my pain.
I arch a little, instinctively trying to lean into it.
Syrus kneads across the tight, inflamed area, bringing such relief that I can’t help but release a low moan.
“I’ll take that as a yes,” Syrus murmurs. He sounds amused, but a rough edge to the words hints at something hungrier.
I open my eyes. Now the pain has receded a little, I can remember what I wanted to tell him, the fear creeping back over me.
“Something happened yesterday,” I say. “There’s been a…development.”
“You learned more about the trials?” Syrus says, still using his magic to massage the knots around my shoulders. “Any luck with the oracle?”
“Yes to the first question, but no to the second. Turns out, no one knows much about the oracle. It’s some mysterious force or being that’s linked to the Everlight—I’m not sure which.”
“Not exactly helpful,” he points out.
“That doesn’t matter right now,” I say, wanting to cut to the chase. I sit up abruptly, hauling the sheet with me and folding my chest against my knees so I don’t feel too exposed. “Watch this.”
I hold out my hand and concentrate. Moments later, a swirl of shadow forms in my palm, twisting into a column that rises up past my fingers. Syrus’s presence in my mind stiffens at the sight.
“When did this begin?” he asks.
“Yesterday.” I fill him in about sparring with Rowan—as expected, mentioning his name earns me a disapproving huff from Syrus—and how I tripped him up.
“And you conjured the shadow even without me here?” he asks, so intent that he’s left off his massage.
“Don’t stop,” I say with a whine. He immediately returns to my back muscles, his magic pulsing through them.
“Yes,” I continue, sighing as he works me over. Even if I’m still in a lot of trouble, the relief of it soothes some of my worry too. “I figured it was like me being able to speak Cyrax. Just another side effect of the possession link. Am I right?”
“My guess would be yes, but I can’t know for certain. I suspect that the connection between us is so strong that its magic is influencing you beyond my control, passing over some of my powers and traits to you.”
“Well, as long as being a smug asshole isn’t one of them, I should be okay.” I’m mostly joking to try to take the edge off my panic about this whole thing, but I’m rewarded with a chuckle that I enjoy almost as much as his touch massaging along my spine. “But you say you’re not sure?”
He’s silent for a moment, considering his answer.
“There’s no roadmap for the way the possession bond works because there’s never been a bond like ours before.
Humans and demons cannot be linked this long.
A demon possession would have killed an ordinary human by now.
Your ephilium blood protects you. Perhaps this is how all such connections would develop over time given the chance—with the host slowly becoming more demonic. ”
Demonic. Right. Exactly what a budding citizen of Aradis should be aiming for.
“Do you think it will get worse?” I ask, growing more nervous now. “Like will my eyes turn red or something?”
His presence sharpens a touch, developing an unexpected edge I don’t understand. “I don’t think so. You’re still more ephilium than demon. And more human than anything else.”
I suppose I should find that comforting, but it just throws up a complicated mix of emotions, doubt being the biggest among them. I don’t really know what I am anymore.
“I’m sorry,” Syrus says, and the bitterness is obvious now. “It must be terrible knowing someone you hate so much is rubbing off on you like this.”
I want to offer some snarky response, but right then his touch ghosts down my spine and rolls over a spot in my lower back that’s way more sensitive than I ever realized. It’s perfect, and I throw my head back and practically whimper.
“I don’t hate you,” I say softly when I’m capable of coherent thoughts again.
“Such generous words,” he replies as he shifts in my mind. “Maybe I should be thanking you for the privilege of relieving your pain too.”
But his presence is anything but soothing. He’s not just easing my growing pains—he’s stoking up something else. By now my skin feels extra sensitive, the hairs on the back of my neck standing up, my nipples hardening as they brush against the fabric of the sheet.
“You’re enjoying it,” I say flippantly, tipsy on this delicious sensation.
“Yes, I am,” he says, his voice low enough that I can feel it rumbling through me. “It’s the closest I can come to touching you, and I won’t pretend that doesn’t make me absolutely feral, Leah.”
Oh, this is getting dangerous. Except I can’t help myself, not when—
“That feels so good,” I breathe, the release of tension from my back mingling with my body’s sensitivity to send tendrils of pleasure coiling into my stomach.
“Do you want me to make you feel even better?” he asks.