Chapter 19 Elowen
ELOWEN
I’m dimly aware of footsteps on the gravel path behind me, but I don’t look up. I can’t. I’m too lost in the awful, burning ache inside me—the relentless need that won’t ease no matter how tightly I press my thighs together or how hard I try to breathe through it.
It feels like I’m unraveling–like something inside me is coming undone, thread by thread and soon there will be nothing left of me.
The need is unrelenting. The curse is so strong I feel like I might be dying but there’s nothing I can do to save myself–nothing anyone can do.
“What’s wrong, little one? Why are you crying?”
The deep, familiar voice cuts through my misery like a blade.
I gasp and look up at once, my vision blurred with tears. For a moment I think I must be imagining him—that the curse has driven me half-mad and now I’m conjuring him out of nothing.
But no–he’s really there.
Theron stands just beyond the arch of the trellis, his broad shoulders framed by trailing green vines and bright yellow blossoms. His hands are on his hips, his stance steady and solid, but there’s nothing hard in his expression. Only concern.
I swipe at my eyes quickly, embarrassed to be seen like this, but it’s no use. More tears spill over, hot and humiliating. At the same time, something else rises inside me at the sight of him—a sharp, desperate surge that makes my whole body throb.
The need spikes so suddenly it steals my breath.
Theron seems to see it–or sense that I’m in pain. He closes the distance between us in a few long strides and crouches down in front of me. The movement brings him close—close enough that I can feel the heat of him, smell the faint scent of smoke and metal that clings to his skin.
He reaches out and cups my cheek, his rough hand warm and steady and I lean into the touch before I can stop myself. Oh Goddess, it feels so good. Just the simple feeling of his skin against mine seems to ease some of the worst of the need.
“Tell me,” he murmurs. “Tell me, little one. What happened? Who hurt you?”
There’s no judgment or suspicion in his deep voice–just a quiet command laced with worry that lets me know he cares.
I open my mouth to speak, but before I can force the words out, I catch his scent properly. Not just the forge-smell I noticed before, but something deeper beneath it—warm and spicy, edged with something wild and unmistakably male.
It hits me all at once and my breath stutters in my chest. The world seems to tilt and suddenly I can’t stay where I am—not apart from him, not even for another second. I launch myself into his arms, nearly knocking him backward in my haste.
“Whoa!” He lets out a low sound of surprise but catches me easily, his arms coming up around me to steady me.
I clutch at him, pressing close, burying my face against his chest as though I can hide there.
“Please…” The word comes out broken–barely more than a breath. I lift my head enough to look into his eyes. “Please, Theron–I need you.”
His expression shifts, something tightening in it, but he doesn’t pull away.
“What do you need, little one?” he asks quietly. “Tell me and I’ll try to give it to you.”
I swallow hard, my throat dry and tight. The words feel thick and heavy, like they don’t want to come out at all, but I force them.
“She came back,” I manage at last, my voice shaking. “The witch…Grizalyn. She came into the temple—into the library. She took the Forbidden Grimoire and she…” I hesitate, my fingers tightening in his shirt. “And she cursed me again.”
His arms tighten around me.
“Again?” he asks, his voice lower now and I see his eyes blaze.
I nod my head.
“But it’s worse this time,” I whisper. “So much worse.”
The memory of it makes me shudder. I can still feel the magic sinking into me, twisting through my body, settling deep where I can’t reach it like a twisted, poison vine I can’t pull out.
“Tell me about it,” Theron murmurs. “Tell me what she said.”
“She said the hunger would grow—that I wouldn’t be able to rest or find peace until…” My voice falters and I look away, heat flooding my face.
“Until what?” he prompts gently.
I shake my head, but the words come anyway, dragged out of me by the same desperate need that’s been building since she spoke the curse.
“She said I would crave…” I swallow hard. “Crave…”
Goddess, I can’t say it. It’s too shameful.
“Crave what, baby?” he asks, his voice softer now, coaxing.
The endearment makes my chest tighten and somehow I force the words out in a whisper.
“Male seed. She said I’d crave male seed.”
The moment I say it, I cover my face with my hands, mortified. The need surges again, sharp and immediate, like speaking it has made it real in a way it wasn’t before. My whole body throbs with it–the ache low in my belly turning into something deeper, more insistent.
It feels like a thirst–a terrible, burning thirst I can’t escape and can’t quench on my own.
But Theron doesn’t recoil–he doesn’t even look shocked.
“Crave it how, sweetheart?” he asks, his voice still steady. “How do you need it?”
I lower my hands slowly, my cheeks still burning.
“I…I don’t know,” I admit. “I only know that I don’t want to get pregnant. I don’t want my eyes to change.” My voice drops on the last words. “I don’t want to lose everything.”
He studies me for a moment, his gaze intent but not unkind.
“I don’t blame you,” he murmurs.
For a moment we just stay like that, close together, his arms around me, the warmth of him seeping into my skin. It should comfort me.
Instead, it makes the need worse.
Because now I can feel him…smell him…hear the steady beat of his heart under my ear. Everything in me is drawn toward him–pulled tight and aching with a need I can’t control.
I make a soft, helpless sound and press harder against him. Goddess, I need him so badly but I’m so embarrassed to admit it.
“What can I do to help?” he asks at last.
The question hangs between us–simple and yet impossible to answer.
I look up at him, my heart pounding, my breath coming too fast. I don’t want to say it. I don’t want to admit it out loud, even to him.
But I have to.
“I need your seed,” I whisper.
The words feel like a surrender but they’re true.
His eyes darken slightly, but he doesn’t pull away.
“But not in your pussy,” he says, his tone calm, matter of fact.
I shake my head quickly, my cheeks feeling hot.
“No. Not if I can help it.”
I don’t trust myself to say more. The need is too strong–too close to overwhelming everything else.
He studies me for a moment longer, something unreadable passing through his gaze. Then he nods once.
“Then let me try to help you another way,” he says.