Chapter Twenty-Seven
SANORA
I was back in the dream.
But this time, the archer was the only one I could see.
The silver-haired girl was nowhere to be found.
Around me stretched nothing but rocks. I wasn’t simply standing on them, I was swallowed by them.
Everywhere my eyes turned, the landscape was crowded with rocks, some only knee-high, others towering above me as though desperate to reach the sky.
And there were also stones. In the midst of the big rocks were stones balanced one atop the other, as if defying gravity through sheer intent.
I knew what they were. Stone stacks were markers, tributes and monuments raised for the dead. Each one meant remembrance and loss of a loved one, and there were five stone stacks, four of which were taller than the person stacking them.
It was him—the archer.
Thrax.
He was standing before the smallest of the stacks, a slab of rock gripped in his hand. I was hidden behind one of the taller mounds, as I watched him place the stone gently, almost reverently, on top of the fifth stack.
My throat tightened. Five lives. Five graves. Five people he had loved enough to remember in silence.
When he turned after placing it, I saw his face fully for the first time.
No hair or haze to blur him from me. And even in a dream, my heart stuttered in my chest, pounding painfully at the sight of him.
He looked…rugged here, more raw than he ever did in reality.
His hair was longer and unkempt, falling in wild strands around his face, his expression hollow.
He stepped away from the little stone monument and sat against a great boulder, his shoulders dropping.
Thrax brought out a dagger—his dagger—and he began to spin it loosely between his fingers.
His head was tipped back against the rock, his gaze fixed on the towers of stone as though they were the only things anchoring him to the world.
My chest ached slightly at the sight of him like this, like this when no one was watching, when it was just him surrounded by memories of dead people.
And then he shifted his grip. My stomach lurched as I realised what he was doing.
He angled the blade so the sharp edge cut against his own fingers as it spun.
I gasped, clamping my hands over my mouth, eyes wide as crimson lines split open on his skin.
But before the blood could even well, the wounds sealed, vanishing as though they had never been.
Again and again, he let the steel bite into him, only for his body to heal before pain could even have its moment.
My gaze dragged up to his face to see there was no emotion there. No sign he even registered what he was doing to himself. His expression was empty, a void stretched across sharp features, and somehow that hurt worse.
It made me wonder if the timeline was after the moon’s wrath, if I was seeing him as he had been when the world crumbled, after everyone was gone.
But before the thought could properly settle inside me, a white glimmer appeared at the edge of my vision.
I turned and saw her—the moon’s offspring, her silver hair gleaming like frost, her white dress glowing unstained against the grave-like stacks.
She walked towards him so quietly that he didn’t even notice, lost in his own torment with the blade still spinning endlessly.
Suddenly, the image of them began to fade, replaced by the familiar heaviness of my bed beneath me. A pressure clamped on my bladder, tugging me back to reality with urgency.
I sat upright, swung my legs over the edge of the mattress, and dragged myself out of my room, squinting against the harsh light in the hall. The bathroom door gave way under my push, and as I took one step inside, I froze.
The faint drip of the shower echoing in the air peeled my squinted eyes apart, then they began to widen by a fraction.
I didn’t really think much of the image of Thrax appearing in front of me. Until I remembered I was in the bathroom, and he was standing under the fucking shower.
The fog of sleep fled my body in a heartbeat.
I stared at him. He stared back.
The silence thickened between us, and I braced myself for the part he’d curse me out and drive me away with words.
But no. He didn’t. Instead, his gaze remained calm and unreadable, as if it were perfectly natural for me to be standing there while water cascaded over him, as if this was nothing out of the ordinary and he wasn’t standing stark naked under the shower with his cock gripped in his fist.
My stomach cinched, heat curling low in my body as my breath caught sharp in my throat.
I had walked in on him masturbating.
I had walked in on the Soulless Man, hand wrapped around his cock, stroking with the slow rhythm of someone who didn’t care he had an audience. He didn’t look offended or even affected by it one bit.
My legs had gone weak by the door as I watched him, his eyes pinned on me in that predatory way that felt more dangerous than anger, his strokes growing a little rougher, jaw tightening.
With a swallow that burned down my throat, I summoned courage and closed the door softly, sealing myself inside with him.
The air grew heavy, his presence consuming the room like smoke.
My mouth dried at the sight of water trailing over his chest scar, over muscle carved into perfection, down to where his fist worked his length, veins straining beneath as he hardened further.
My gaze fell lower to his muscled legs, the sight of his whole body making my thighs clench.
He was gloriously devastating.
Need slammed between my legs unbearably, my clit throbbing. I wanted to touch myself so badly I could scream. I was wearing just an oversized sleep shirt, but my skin was burning hot with heat.
The weakness in my legs had me leaning against the door.
And he watched, aware of what he was doing to me.
I’d seen only two men naked in my life, and none of them had come close to looking as powerful and lethal as this man did.
None of them could hold themselves like a god of war unravelling in front of me.
His hand moved faster, each stroke more rough, and my mouth went dry, hips pressing to the door like I could grind the ache away.
I couldn’t stop myself from imagining him breaking me apart with that cock, my body no match for the eternal length he held in his hand.
The thought made me ache with violent need, even as I knew there was probably no chance it’d ever come close to me at all.
But a girl could dream.
The bathroom counter and the bathing chamber stood on the left side of the wall, while the toilet was on the right side, far end and closely opposite the chamber.
His grip tightened, dragging from root to tip. I swallowed hard, my hand sliding down, desperate to ease the pulse between my legs.
Thrax’s eyes narrowed in disapproval.
“Don’t.” His voice was dark enough to rip fireflies through my chest. “You’re a walking time bomb already.”
I didn’t know what he meant by that, but I froze, my fingers twitching against my thigh. My pussy throbbed so badly it hurt, slick pooling where I clenched my thighs tighter and tighter. He was torturing me with nothing but his voice, nothing but his cock in his hand.
“Eyes up,” he ordered.
I dragged my gaze away from his length, from the veins swelling under his fist, up to his face.
The veins in his neck stood out, jaw tight, his expression dark and destructive.
His hungry eyes burned into me, as though he could barely restrain himself from taking me and breaking me open against the door.
It felt like he’d rip me apart if he lost control.
“You want me to touch myself,” I whispered.
“That would kill me.”
I held my breath, those words affecting me more than they had the right to. “How?”
He didn’t respond like I predicted. My clit swelled harder, my body screaming for just a touch.
I asked, “Am I the first to see you like this?”
He didn’t answer again. He just stared, gaze dropping to my lips, my breasts, as if every inch of me was pulling him closer to the edge. His strokes turned more violent, fist pumping his cock with a desperation that looked painful.
His jaw clenched, face shadowed with darkness so intense it unsettled me. A whisper broke from him, almost soundless, as if it had slipped free from the thoughts in his head.
“The things you do to me.”
I almost didn’t hear it. Almost. My breath stuttered.
My gaze fell again, shameful and unstoppable, to the gleam of precum slipping from his cock.
I nearly whimpered, my thighs squeezing together until I could feel my wetness soaking me.
I wanted him so badly it hurt. I wanted to rub against my own hand and ease the uncomfortable swell between my legs.
“Eyes on me, Sanora,” he gritted, voice fractured with the violence of his own restraint. His strokes turned savage then, as if his plan was to wring his life through his cock.
I forced my eyes back to him, and its effect on him was instant.
His head snapped back, veins bulging, every muscle taut, his body a canvas of breaking control.
A raw, guttural sound ripped from his chest as hot ropes of cum spilled over his hand and onto the floor, mixing with the spray of the shower before disappearing into the drain.
I couldn’t think, couldn’t even breathe. I watched the Soulless Man fall apart in front of me, fucking his fist until his body shuddered with release.
It was nothing short of cinematic. A ten out of ten.
And then his head lowered, those black eyes spearing me as he let his cock go.
I nearly choked on the lump lodged in my throat as I saw it fully.
Damn. He was perfectly endowed, thick, and still hard as if his orgasm hadn’t done a thing to sate him.
He really looked like a man who could go again. My mouth watered.
His chest rose and fell heavy as he increased the shower to rinse himself clean, water sluicing over muscle and scar. Then he stepped out and snatched a towel from the rack, wrapped it around his waist, and stalked towards me.
I still couldn’t move.
Thrax swept his wet hair back, then reached for my face, his finger grazing along my temple as he slid my hair behind my ear.
That simple touch—soft where he was all hard edges—shot lightning to my clit, a cruel reminder that all I could do was watch him and there was nothing I could do to have him that instant.
His eyes stayed on mine, voice hoarse. “That was the best release yet.” He leaned closer, words hot against my skin. “Now feel what you do to me.”
When he reached for the knob, I moved to the side, letting him open the door. He walked out, leaving me hot, aching, and desperate in the bathroom with my clit swollen and my body screaming for my own release.