Chapter Twenty-Eight #2
He shook his head. ‘That’s just the kind of thing you’d say in the dreams, too. Giving me hope. Always giving me false hope.’
‘Enzo, I haven’t seen you since you were first taken from me.’
He looked away. ‘But your shadow did.’
‘My shadow? Enzo, what happened in there? Where did you go?’
He fixated on the tap, a steady drip coming from it.
‘I don’t know,’ he said. ‘Sometimes I thought I was in the Deadlands, where they tell us sinners go, being punished over and over again by a figure in black with no face who liked to flay the skin from my bones. Sometimes the figure shifted into my father, and it was him doing the whipping, just like that dream you walked into. Then the lands would change, and I’d be in a blazing hot desert, an oasis in sight, though when I approached, it was that same never-ending blackness again.
I drowned in those dreams, Elara. I burned, I starved, I thirsted.
Never dying, living through it all. And there was always a figure in black there, watching silently. ’
Elara shook her head as tears began to fall. Gods, she wished she could hold him.
‘You came to me a few times, and I thought at first that it was all true, that you were saving me. Until you morphed into that. That darkness. Just like the others. It would have your voice, but the things it did…’ He closed his eyes, letting out a shuddering breath.
‘And by the end of it, when I was begging for death in that river, my body gone, I came to the conclusion, unequivocally, that it was your shadow that had fabricated it all.’
Elara’s stomach plummeted. ‘That can’t be true. I-I’ve met my shadow before. She saved me. Made me accept myself. There was no evil to her.’
‘Wasn’t there?’ Enzo asked. ‘Then what was it that I met? And why, the moment I woke, if I really am awake, did the magick lash out and try to kill me?’
He leaned forwards, reaching towards some small bottles of oil on the side of the bath. The smell of amber invaded Elara’s senses so acutely that she had to curl her fists at the intoxicating fragrance. Enzo splashed a few drops into his palms before raking them through his curls agitatedly.
‘I don’t know,’ Elara replied, trying to keep her voice steady. ‘The Dreamlands can be a confusing and dangerous place. I’ve heard the horror stories myself from other walkers. But I’m so sorry, Enzo. I’m so sorry you had to live through that.’
He didn’t reply, as though he was trapped within his own head, hands only raking again and again through his hair.
Elara’s eyes fell on the comb within the tray of toiletries, an idea dawning on her.
‘I know I can’t touch you. But maybe…maybe we can have a bridge between us.’
She reached for the comb, holding it between them. Enzo’s gaze softened, and she took a deep breath. ‘If anything happens, fight back, you hear me?’
He nodded, bracing himself, as she held her breath and pressed the teeth of the comb to his scalp. When nothing happened—no vision blackening, no shadows springing forth—she pulled it through his curls.
He near purred, a groan escaping him as she raked the comb down his scalp. Elara’s breath quickened. She wanted to drink up the sound, each drag of the comb an excruciating bliss as her fingers flexed around it, begging to touch him.
When she’d finished her ministrations to his hair, she set the comb down before picking up the washcloth draped on the side.
Enzo looked at her quizzically, but she only let her hands guide her, her heart drumming so loudly that she swore it was two, then realized perhaps that it was Enzo’s heart she could hear thundering with her own.
She dipped the cloth in the warm, scented water, making sure that it entirely covered her hand before she pressed it right over the centre of his chest.
He sucked in a breath sharply, and she waited—waited for the darkness to creep in. But it didn’t. She relaxed her shoulders and unclenched her jaw as she pressed her palm to his chest through the flannel, the closest she had got to feeling him yet.
When his heart drummed against her, she let out a sob, her own yearning joining his, creating a symphony in the air. She removed the cloth from his chest and placed it carefully into his hand.
He seemed to understand her silent plea and, with the damp cloth, pressed his hand to her own chest, soaking her dress’s fabric. She felt her heartbeat thunder against the cloth, so desperate for his touch that she whimpered.
‘I’m real,’ she said hoarsely, and it ached in her physically when she saw his eyes lined with tears as he swallowed. He kept looking to his hand, then to her, in wonder.
They stayed like that for she didn’t know how long, until she gently took the edges of the cloth, pulling it away from Enzo’s retreating hand.
This time, when she placed the flannel over him, it was on his shoulders. She ran it down them, washing him as he tipped his head back, breathing in and out through his mouth with his eyes closed. She passed it over his neck, his broad chest again, the divots in his stomach.
She paused when she reached the lines that delved into a V, disappearing beneath the water.
When her gaze met Enzo’s, his jaw was clenched, chest rising and falling rapidly.
‘Please let me take the pain away,’ she whispered hoarsely. ‘Please…let me love you.’
Enzo nodded, eyes nearly entirely obscured, only a thin ring of fire visible around the pupils.
Her own eyes fluttered shut as her hand, still covered, dipped beneath the water and gripped the base of his cock.
Though the cloth was thick—far too thick for the unbridled connection she yearned for—she sighed at the feeling of how hard he was. She gave a tentative stroke up and down again.
‘Gods’ teeth, Elara,’ he hissed, gripping the edges of the bath so hard that she feared it would break.
She bit her lip as she did it again and he cursed once more, blowing out a breath as he leaned back.
‘I wish it was just my hand you could feel,’ she whispered. ‘Or better yet, my mouth.’
‘Please stop speaking, princess,’ he begged, looking to the ceiling. ‘Or I’m going to embarrass myself.’
She let out a quiet laugh. ‘But since I can’t do everything I’ve dreamed of doing to you, this will have to suffice.’
She began to move her hand faster, and he moaned, low and loud. It spurred her on, the sound of his pleasure so delicious. She revelled as much as she could in the feeling of him beneath her, and when he started thrusting up into her hand, she felt wetness gather between her thighs.
She willed herself not to think of her own want, focusing solely on Enzo and what he deserved.
She moved her hand, gripping harder, moving faster, until finally Enzo let out one last groan and climaxed.
She felt it faintly through the cloth, the throbbing of him as he finished, body shuddering, veins thick in his neck, head tipped to the ceiling in bliss.
She gave one last, long stroke of him before she released her hand and the washcloth, lifting it from the water.
‘How do you feel?’ she asked gently.
His mouth worked, quiet for a moment, before he finally said, ‘I feel like I’m really alive again.’