Chapter 65 #2
“Ilyas.” His name sounded like a prayer and my salvation. “My name is Ilyas.”
I clutched Ilyas’ hand tightly as the acolyte led us through an adjoining door I hadn’t seen in my previous visits to this room.
I snuck a glance at the handsome man next to me, and my pulse jumped when our eyes made contact.
Ilyas squeezed my hand once, and I squeezed back—a modicum of comfort assuaging my mounting anxiety.
His palm was large and all-encompassing, clinging tightly to my own slightly smaller hand as we silently trailed the acolyte. My magic continually jumped beneath my skin, as if it recognized the soul standing next to us.
It wanted him.
I wanted him.
Which was a strange feeling after denying myself for so long.
My avoidance only lasted so long, however, as once my training started, I was forced to find a way to replenish the Pleasure Magic hosted within my allotted crystals.
At first, I tried to focus on emotions—happiness, contentment, love.
But emotions were often fleeting, their magic not nearly as sustaining or lasting as siphoning the heady feeling of lust.
Entering a pleasure house for the first time after my forced Awakening was nothing short of traumatic.
My palms sweat as soon as I entered the space, the cloying scents of perfume and scented candles mixed with the tangy aroma of sweat and the instantly identifiable taste of sex.
My pulse jumped with each slap of flesh, my breathing shallowing into pants that matched those intertwined together.
I’d thrown up after leaving the first few times.
Eventually, I was able to keep my stomach from emptying itself, but was woefully unable to stop the horrific scenes of my Awakening playing over and over in my mind.
I learned to breathe shallowly through my mouth with my eyes closed while refilling my crystals.
Needless to say, I hadn’t felt arousal for another person since.
It was like something inside was irreparably broken, like a piece of me died in that dungeon.
But, somehow, it felt like the man next to me was helping me feel again.
The acolyte ushered us into the dimly lit space, revealing a sparse room containing a singular wooden chair and a large bed.
My brow furrowed as I tried to ascertain the need for this space. To my knowledge, Ilyas and I would simply elect to take a Bond and the acolyte would draw the required runes.
“Please remove your shoes and sit on the bed,” the acolyte instructed, and Ilyas dropped my hand to do as he asked.
I simply stood frozen in the doorway.
“And shut the door,” the acolyte added as he removed a leather-wrapped dagger from inside his robe.
Ilyas shot me a quizzical look before folding his large frame under the cream-colored blanket that rested on top of the bed.
“Mage d’Talionis. Today, please,” the acolyte snapped as he regarded me with open irritation. I slowly turned my head to face him. “Unless it is no longer your wish to take this Vessel as a Bond?”
I shook my head, seeing Ilyas’ face fall a fraction at the movement.
The acolyte looked exasperated as he motioned for Ilyas to get up from the bed.
“No, no. That’s not what I meant,” I hurriedly explained. Ilyas paused his movements, eyes trained on me, waiting for me to continue. “It’s just . . . I don’t understand the need for a bed?”
Ilyas’ eyes softened as the acolyte pursed his already thin lips.
“Do you not know what happens after a Mage and Vessel Bond?” Ilyas asked softly from the bed. I shook my head, and Ilyas hummed. “Generally, the Bond requires a . . . physical dedication in order to seal completely.”
“That’s what the blood is for, right?” I asked.
The acolyte shook his head.
“No, the blood is what activates the rune,” he grumbled, mumbling something else under his breath about Lord d’Refan and teaching runes.
I shook my head slightly and looked at Ilyas again, who regarded me like I was a puzzle.
“It means we’ll have to be intimate. Generally, sex is required, but sometimes other sexual acts will do the trick,” he said lightly, and I felt the blood drain from my face as the room spun around me.
Sex?
I hadn’t been able to even think about sex, let alone sport an erection since my time in the dungeon. I swallowed audibly.
“First time with a man?” Ilyas asked and I shook my head, sweat beading on my forehead and down my back.
“Forced Awakening,” I ground out, clenching my fists until I nearly drew blood. His eyes widened a fraction before softening in understanding. Ilyas sat back against the wooden headboard before patting the bed next to him.
“Come, my Mage. We won’t do anything you’re not prepared to,” he coaxed, and I found myself bending to remove my boots before padding on bare feet across the cold floor and climbing into bed next to him. My heart thumped erratically the entire way.
“The Bond will require—” the acolyte began, but Ilyas cut him off with a hard look.
“I will not force him. We will cross that bridge together.” His tone was hard, brokering no arguments, and my chest swelled in admiration.
This man barely knew me and already was protecting me in a way only General d’Alvey had.
The thought nearly had me in tears.
The acolyte sighed through his nose and shook his head once before pulling the dagger from its leather wrapping without another word. Ilyas took my hand once more, squeezing it once in both comfort and affection.
“The Bonding Ceremony requires use of both forearms, if you could expose those for me now,” the acolyte stated as he moved to my side of the bed first, the dagger gleaming in the low light of the room.
I swallowed heavily, from the magnitude of the situation rather than the potential sting of the blade.
I’d had more than enough of that to last me a lifetime.
The acolyte made a thin slice in my upper forearm, near my inner elbow, before dipping his finger into my quickly welling blood and drawing a complicated looking rune on Ilyas’ right forearm.
With a precision that belied his experience, the acolyte moved to Ilyas’ side and performed the same cut before marking a matching rune on my own right forearm.
As he completed the intricate whorls and lines, I felt my skin buzz and something snap inside; a thin tendril that connected the very essence of my being to the man sitting next to me.
At the same time, the blood-drawn rune sank into my skin, leaving a faint black outline in its wake—a physical reminder of the Bond we just took.
It was like my magic was pulsating just beneath the surface of my skin, desperate to be released into the Vessel that was now tied to me for eternity.
My soul sang and my magic danced at that thought.
He was mine. Forever.
A slow grin spread on my face as I watched in rapt wonder at the look of awe on Ilyas’ own face. I was so enraptured by my Vessel, by this new sensation, that I was barely aware of the acolyte wrapping a thin bandage around the cut on my arm.
“The Bonding is complete, at least on my end. There is now the physical devotion between Mage and Vessel that must occur in order to solidify the Bond completely. Without that, the Bond will fade, as will a piece of your soul.”
My eyebrows raised at the last part, unaware of the potential ramifications.
I gave the acolyte a curt nod before he left the room in a swirl of black robes, firmly closing the door behind him. The silence after his departure stretched between Ilyas and I. It was a hot and heady thing, saturated in lust and anticipation.
I swallowed heavily again.
My soul called to his—recognized his as a piece of us now—and that deepest part of me wanted nothing more than to fully make Ilyas ours for the rest of our lives.
But I was concerned that, even though I wanted to consecrate this Bond with my Vessel, my body wouldn’t respond. That I wouldn’t be able to get hard. That I’d have a flashback. That I’d disappoint him.
Ilyas moved his hand and placed it directly over my erratically thumping heart.
I snuck a glance down at the black mark on his forearm before reaching out to gently trace the lines with my finger.
Ilyas sucked in a breath at the motion, but he never initiated any further contact.
Eventually, I pulled my eyes back to his and saw only compassion and adoration in his sea-green gaze.
“I will not force you,” he rumbled as his thumb stroked against my jaw. “Something deep inside”—he thumped his chest with his free hand—“is pulling me to you, intent on completing this Bond, but I would rather a piece of my soul die than force you to do something that would cause you more harm.”
He paused, gathering his thoughts, as a sadness swept through his captivating irises.
“I know what it’s like . . . to be forced and Awakened before you’re ready,” he whispered, and my heart broke at the admission, at the blatant embarrassment and hurt he felt.
The side of my mouth quirked in a sad smile before dropping it completely. Tentatively, I reached out and cupped Ilyas’ face with my own hand, the stubble of his jaw scratching against my palm.
“I’m sorry that happened to you,” I mumbled, knowing from my own experience that a platitude could do nothing to truly heal the hurt that lived deep inside.
So I offered him a truth of my own. “I’ve only ever been with one person .
. . willingly. We were young, but I thought I loved her.
And maybe I did, in the way only teenagers can. ”
I paused as Ilyas methodically stroked my cheek, pouring affection and care into every pass of his thumb.
“But this?” I breathed deep, “this is more than love. There is something soul-deep that pulls me to you, that lights me from the inside. It feels right.”
Ilyas pressed his forehead against my own, and I clutched at his arms, pulling him tighter against me.