Chapter 34 The Anchor
Daphne
The Anchor
He was stretching on the bed like a big, lazy cat when I entered.
“You wanted to talk?” I asked and glanced away from this shameless and distracting display.
“Yes,” he purred. “What happened in the catacombs left my powers… fractured.”
I raised a brow. “Oh. You seem to be all right now.” And made the mistake of looking again.
He was leaning on an elbow in the bed, shirtless, eating grapes that had appeared from God-knows-where. Every movement was sinfully slow, every stretch deliberate.
“Mhm. This place heals my kind,” he said, gesturing to the room around us. “But a part of my power is still within you, little thief.”
I had guessed so. “So, what is the plan now? We can go back and try again, right?”
“Yes. That’s the plan. There’s our first problem, Miss Daphne. Going back.” He tossed a grape up in the air and caught it with his lips.
I crossed my arms at my chest, trying to look unbothered, though alarm bells were ringing in my mind. “What do you mean? Can you not get us back the same way you brought us here? Not straight into the claws of those monsters in the catacombs, but—”
He shook his head. “Returning requires… more skill than bringing us here. More magic.”
“So what do we do?”
He stopped chewing, and his face became serious. “There might be a way, but it requires your help.”
“Oh.” I didn’t like the sound of this, not one bit. “What should I do?”
“The real question is: what will you let me do to you?”
His voice dropped—low, dangerous. And damn the heat that rolled through me like a tide.
We were alone. No one would ever know.
The thought of what we could do to each other set something wild in my mind.
I swallowed, my throat suddenly dry. “What do you mean?”
“I need something to anchor me back to your world, little thief. Something to guide me through the threads.” He was on me in a blink, eyes blown wide—black as midnight. “Would you let me kiss you, Miss Daphne?”
Damned be my body. My bones turned into jelly, but that was not the worst. The worst was that hunger inside me, that cursed curiosity.
No way I’d show him how I felt. Instead, I lifted my chin, looked him straight in those black, devilish pupils, and said, “Funny. You didn’t strike me as a man who’d ask permission.
” His lip curled up, and he leaned in. The scent of night mint, pinewood and distant rain—like a storm about to break, wrapped around me, emptied my head.
His fingers trailed my jaw, and he chuckled. He leaned closer, his bare chest rising rapidly, his lips just inches away. “Is that a yes?”
How could I resist such a temptation? Slowly, never breaking eye contact, I lifted my hand and cupped his face.
Beneath my fingers, his skin was warm, his stubble rasping against my palm. His breath hitched. He leaned into the touch as if starved for it, closing his eyes.
And then—
His lips met mine.
It wasn’t gentle.
It was raw, hungry, claiming. His mouth crashed into mine with the force of all that tension we’d been dancing around for days.
My lips parted, and his tongue swept in too greedily for a kiss that served a purpose.
Breathless, I let him sling a hand around my waist and pull me impossibly close, anchoring me against the hardness of his body.
The heat of his bare chest scorched me through the fabric of my dress.
His other hand tangled in my hair, tilting my head so he could kiss me deeper.
My hands landed on his shoulders, sensing the fluid movement of muscle under his warm skin. The magic locked in his tattoos gently prickled my fingers. Around us, the tower responded: the fire in the hearth blazed, flower petals fell in slow spirals like confetti. And he still kissed me.
There was nothing but him—his mouth, his breath, his hands. The way his tongue stroked against mine, unrelenting and reverent all at once. The way I pressed closer, hungry to taste more.
Magic sparked like fireflies behind my eyes. The breath we shared was charged with something—hot and tasting of something sharp and metallic, like sunshine on iron.
I pressed against him, chasing that rising tide. His kiss grew fiercer, more reckless. My fingers tangled in his hair. His hips rolled against mine, and I gasped into his mouth.
Whatever spell this was, I didn’t want it to end.
I clung to him, dazed, half-drunk on magic and want.
I wanted to speak, to ask what this meant. But my body only knew how to hold on.
Then, the world cracked apart.