40. The Lesson
THE LESSON
TALIA
Sometimes I see light under his door at deepnight and again at firstlight, and I wonder if he sleeps. Has anyone ever taken care of him the way he cares for us?
The banquet had stretched late into the evening. It had been a pleasant surprise to reconnect with Peat and Nadir, to talk about research and laugh and drink. She had to wonder if the warrant for her arrest had traveled this far. They didn’t bring it up, and she wasn’t about to ask.
Nadir leaned forward and refilled her wine. “I want to hear more about your work with flux, Salaren. Didn’t you have a fieldwork proposal on that topic?”
The question surprised her. Had Nadir ever expressed interest in her work?
But she had new data and no one to share it with, and the wine made it easy.
She told them about the fluxlines, the foundation stones, the way Starscript interacted with flux.
She worried briefly that she was boring them, but they both leaned in for more.
Peat and Nadir asked detailed questions. When she mentioned how the wolves’ eyes glowed blue, exactly like flux, they exchanged a look before asking about her companions. They were especially curious about Dawn for some reason.
As the meal wound down, she made plans to join Peat in the archives in the morning. He promised to show her what they’d been working on, and he seemed genuinely eager for her input.
The wine still burned warm in her chest when she left the dining hall.
She wasn’t ready for the night to be over, but her companions had slipped away early.
She took slower and slower steps as she approached her room—this dress deserved an after-party.
The corset did extraordinary things for her bust.
She was startled, then thrilled, when Lore caught her elbow.
“How would you feel about a lesson?” he asked. “There’s supposed to be a fabulous library here.”
“A lesson,” she echoed. “On what?”
His one dimple came out. “Whatever you’re ready to learn.”
Not innocent, then. Not even remotely. Amber and smoke curled around her as he moved into her space, and her pulse tripped.
Lore hadn’t said anything since the church, but they’d been circling each other.
Teasing comments. Little touches when the others weren’t looking.
She’d been waiting for him to make a move, and here he was. It’d taken him long enough.
The bond with Dawn felt distant, like a thread drawn tight. Maybe Dawn was distracted. Good. Talia had gotten to be a Starscript scholar again tonight, and she wanted the feeling to last—to pretend that her mind was wholly her own.
“Let’s see the library.” She looped her elbow through Lore’s.
The library doors whispered shut behind them, sealing out the rest of the world. Globes burned a steady white along the walls. She’d never seen flux glow that color before. Shelves packed with volumes bound in silk and leather stretched toward a vaulted ceiling. A lock clicked.
She turned and found Lore standing closer than she expected.
“You promised a lesson.” She reached over and straightened his collar. “Or did you have something else in mind?”
He caught her hand, removed it, and set it at her side. “Always.” A table in the center of the room was carved with glyphs, and he approached it, gesturing for her to follow. “Come here. Tell me what you know about burnout.”
She blinked. “It’s what happens when you channel too much flux. It almost killed you.”
“Close.” He was arranging a set of crystals on the table. “Burnout happens when you draw from a source that’s too weak for the task. You run out of flux; it drains you instead.” He fit one last crystal into place and stepped back. “There’s an inverse condition. Did you know that?”
She shook her head.
“What do you know about how gods are made, Talent?”
“The gods aren’t real,” she answered quickly. “They’re metaphors for virtues and vices, based on old faerie stories.”
He chuckled and shook his head. “No, Talent. I read your essays. It’s a clever theory, but godhood is very real.” He gestured at the table. “When you channel an excess of power, it primes you instead of burning you out. With enough power, anyone can become a god.”
“I thought you brought me here for something else,” she admitted, looking down at her dress.
“We’ll get to that.” He smiled thinly. “I would like to try something new, but I don’t know if you’re ready. It’s very advanced.”
“I think I can handle it.”
He hummed, skeptical or approving, she couldn’t tell. Then he stepped behind her and took her wrists, drawing her forward over the table. His chest pushed against her back and held her there as he pressed her hands into a glyph at the center of the crystals.
Power surged from the glyph the moment her palms touched it, racing up her arms in waves. She gasped as his lips brushed her ear. “Do you trust me?”
She didn’t even think. “Yes.”
“Good.”
One hand slid down each notch of her spine, coming to rest on her hip. His other hand pressed on the small of her back. She tried to turn and look at him, but he didn’t let her.
“You’re going to let go and let me take over,” he said, voice dropping. “We’ll draw from this together. You’ll feel everything I feel.”
Her stomach twisted. This was all moving too fast. “How does that—”
“Don’t overthink it.” A hand slipped between her knees, up her skirts. “Focus for me.”
His hand slid higher, between her thighs. He was about to find out exactly how her body reacted to his attention, as soon as…
“Good girl,” he murmured, tracing his fingers over her wet center. “You’ve been thinking about me, haven’t you.”
Something about that phrase—good girl—landed wrong. Like something you’d say to a child, or a pet.
But then his fingers dragged her underwear aside and plunged into her, and the thought dissolved.
“Imagine,” he whispered. “Every day like this. Learning. Growing stronger.” His breath brushed her ear while his fingers pumped slowly. “And every night, I will take you apart.”
She closed her eyes. She could imagine that. Gods help her, it didn’t sound so bad.
“You don’t have to pretend with me. You can’t hurt anyone when I make all the decisions. You just let go.”
A wave of relief hit her before the wrongness did. No choices, no consequences, no one else paying for her mistakes. But—he’d make all the decisions? That didn’t sound right. It was getting harder to focus.
“What if I say no?” she gasped.
“Then we stop. But you won’t.” Certain. “You’ve been starving yourself your whole life, Talent. I know exactly what that feels like.”
A single small twist of loneliness slipped across the connection before he locked it down. Talia tried to look back, but he was still holding her.
“I’m going to fuck you now.” His voice vibrated down her back. “Hold still.”
Cool air washed up her legs as he pushed her skirts up around her waist. He ran his hands down the back of her legs, and she shivered. There was a rustle of fabric, but she couldn’t see. What was happening back there?
“Breathe for me,” he murmured. “This might feel a little strange.”
She waited there, pitched forward, exposed. Then—
Her empathy crashed open, a door blown wide.
She was still in the library, but everything had shifted.
She was standing, looking down at a woman on a table.
She was strikingly beautiful and coming apart—red dress hiked up around her waist, breasts spilling over her corset with every ragged breath.
Talia had the strongest urge to hold her down and keep her there.
The woman’s braid was unraveling, and...
“Oh gods,” she breathed. “I’m in your head.”
His gaze. She was seeing through his eyes—and feeling what he felt—but she wasn’t in control.
She rode along, fascinated, as they approached her prone body from behind.
Took their time, shifted layers of silk skirts and slid her underwear down, drew out their aching cock and stroked themselves to fullness.
The throbbing tip slipped just inside her silken folds. Then—pushed up and inside her tight, wet heat. At the same time, she felt the intrusion, the stretch and pressure of being filled.
She gasped, and the woman on the table gasped too.
Lore chuckled darkly and rolled his hips in slow, deliberate thrusts. The velvet drag on his cock as he pressed deeper into her body—she felt that. She felt everything.
It was strange, looking at herself from this angle.
Her skin glowed in the low fluxlight, and her hair spilled over her back.
Beautiful and broken. Each thrust drew a small squeak from her lips—too stubborn to give him the sound he wanted, but too undone to stay silent.
An emotion stirred that Talia couldn’t place.
Almost possessive, but more primal. A sense of coming home.
The body on the table shifted, started to turn, and panic spiked. They didn’t want to meet her eyes. A hand pressed flat between her shoulder blades. Not yet. Don’t turn around.
“Look at her,” Lore said. “She takes it so well.”
“Gods—it’s so hot,” she moaned, fighting to catch her breath.
“That’s you. That’s how you feel.” His voice came out rough. “Stubborn and desperate and so fucking—”
He nearly pulled out and she felt the drag on both sides. Loss. Anticipation. Then he drove back in hard and fast, all pressure and tight heat.
“Mine,” he growled, driving home.
Talia was slipping. She tried to separate what she was feeling. Her mind, his body. Her body, his pleasure. But every time she found the edge of herself it slipped away. She’d been trying to—what had she—
He tugged one of her hands off the glyph, guiding it between her legs. Light flared, but the energy was inside her now, lighting up every nerve.
“Touch yourself. Feel what a perfect mess you’re making.”
Their fingers laced together, pressing in where their bodies met, and she felt the jolt from both sides—her pleasure spiking, his satisfaction echoing back.
She felt something brush the base of his cock—her own fingers—and she shuddered.
For one dizzy moment she was Talia again—and then she slipped back under.
“That’s right, let go,” he murmured. “I have you.”
The channel bond flickered with Dawn’s distant concern.
Talia didn’t have the energy to block it, but she didn’t want Dawn here.
Didn’t want her to see how far she’d slid.
But Dawn’s presence didn’t intrude or try to stop her.
It steadied her. Dawn’s heartbeat next to hers gave her a rhythm, and Talia followed it. Suddenly, the room came into focus.
Her emotions separated from Lore’s like oil and water, and her thoughts were her own.
She watched along with him as his cock slid into her body.
Witnessed, each time, the flare of his satisfaction.
He needed this—the power, the domination.
He felt close to something very big, something that he wanted, and she was the threat.
If he let her look, she might see how much he needed her.
He doesn’t know I’m here, Talia realized. He thought she was gone, dissolved into his spell, but she was wide awake now. She felt powerful standing there. In control. She could do anything, try anything, and no one would know.
Harder. Talia pressed the thought into Lore’s mind. Fuck her harder, Lore. She can take it.
That shocked him. She felt it ripple through him—a surge of surprise, then approval, then crackling desire that nearly swamped his self-control. He took a breath to steady himself. It was almost funny, how easy that was.
Talia felt stronger with each stroke, watching her body rock forward, feeling Lore coming undone. The pinching need to push deeper, take her harder, seemed to overwhelm him. He was frantic with it.
He tugged one of her knees up onto the table to hit a better angle. His muscled back hunched over her like a rutting animal. Savage. Rhythmic. He thought he controlled her. Possessed her completely. She let him think he had.
Enough.
She closed her eyes and slipped back into her body. She felt him behind her, hammering home almost to the point of pain. Knowing how feral he was for her made her giddy, and she let herself sink into the other side of it—the excruciating pleasure of being destroyed.
“I hate how good this feels,” she gritted out, each word wavering in time with his thrusts.
“I know,” he hissed. “Fuck.”
She felt him pulse and erupt, and she cried out as her own pleasure crashed down behind it. He groaned and pumped into the grip of her body, fast and off-beat, and then it was over. He pulled out and took a step back.
When she turned to face him, his eyes were mostly black with just the faintest halo of gold. He searched her face, frowning in concern.
“Still with me?” he asked.
“That was—”
“Too much?”
“Absolutely not the lesson I expected.”
Relief washed over his face. Her hair was loose and wild, and he brushed it back behind her shoulders. “You continue to surprise me, Talent. Next time, I’ll let you stay longer.”
He had no idea.
“Tomorrow?” She surprised herself with the question.
He hesitated, just for a second. Then he smiled. “Of course. Same time?”
She nodded, still catching her breath.
He adjusted his pants and shirt and paused to look at her. “You’re so fucking broken, Talent,” he said with a crooked smile. “I wish I’d known sooner. I have so many plans for you.”
He shook his head and turned on his heel. The door clicked shut. If I’m the broken one, you’re beyond repair. Too late with the comeback, as always.
The bond pulsed at the edge of her awareness.
Had Dawn felt all that? The library’s thick walls, the flux humming in the air, maybe it had muffled the connection.
Talia felt a flash of annoyance and gratitude mixed together.
She was sure it was Dawn that had pulled her out and given her solid ground.
She’d wanted to keep Dawn out of her head, but she was glad she hadn’t been alone tonight.
Her body still buzzed with power, and her palms tingled where they’d touched the glyph. She’d never channeled that much before. Even with the bond, she’d never felt that strong. And yet. She wrapped her arms around herself, suddenly cold despite the flush heating her skin.
Lore had told her what would happen. He hadn’t asked or made a suggestion.
Told her. As if she’d already made the choice and just didn’t know it.
She’d actually enjoyed the sex, but the way Lore had taken possession of her affinity was alarming.
What else could he do, if he could tap into her power?
His need and isolation went deeper than she could have guessed.
Even his desire for her was laced with fear.
And what was all of that about becoming a god?
Talia’s legs shook, and she sank into an armchair. She pressed her hands to her face. They smelled like sex and amber and smoke.
Do you trust me?
She’d said yes. Hadn’t even hesitated. She wondered when she’d stopped asking herself that question.