“Oh, no, my dear demigoddess,” Coates says, moving just in front of her and getting on his knees again. “A proper blessingmay only be completed by you laying your hand upon our heads.”
Just like that, all my amusement is gone.
“She’s not fucking touching you,” I say darkly, giving this caster his only warning.
“It’s fine,” Maven mutters, again going to adjust gloves that aren’t there before she clears her throat.
Decimus growls quietly, and I grit my teeth as she lays her hand on Coates’ head. Again, she makes her face unreadable—and again, I know my muse is hiding her discomfort. I can’t fucking stand her being anything but sated, content, and safely away from the unfamiliar touch of anyone outside our quintet.
Orlando Coates’ eyes widen and quickly fill with tears the instant Maven’s touches his head. She jerks her hand away, obviously creeped out by his show of emotion, but the cult leader bows to her again.
“Such peace. Thank you, Daughter of Syntyche. Thank you!” he sobs.
I suppose it comes as no surprise that a cult leader is full of shit,Crane huffs telepathically.
I tip my head, recalling what she did to me before she broke me out of Syntyche’s punishment.He’s telling the truth. Our girl can spread peace through her mere touch now. One of her new abilities, I believe—and it feels almost more incredible than every other touch she gives.
I did notice something like that,Frost frowns.
Maven looks at her own bare hand, studying it curiously.My mother said something about me bringing pain and peace. If I can create peace just by a touch, it must be the same with pain—maybe that’s how I got Baelfire to shift out of dragon form so easily. Kenzie, too.
That’s exactly what happened,Decimus agrees.My dragon’s a scared little bitch when it comes to pain.
Curious as a cat, Crane moves between Maven and Coates and tips his head down.“Tha mi a’faire pacem.”
I don’t speak a word of fae, but he’s clearly asking to experience Maven’s touch next. She says something back to him in fae. When she touches his cheek affectionately, tension flees Crane’s entire body. Emotion floods his face, and he exhales sharply before pulling her close, burying his face in her neck so no one will see him in such a vulnerable state.
I don’t bother teasing him about it, and neither do the others. The lot of us have rarely, if ever, experienced peace like the kind my stunning muse now wields with a mere brush of her hand.
The cultists are buzzing with excitement as they begin lining up, prepared to see what has their leader still openly weeping. I’m not keen on the idea of Maven touching any of them, but I also know her well enough to understand that if I protest, she’ll hand me my ass along with a reminder that she’s in full control of her autonomy.
Crane finally straightens, not meeting anyone’s eye as he rejoins the rest of our quintet. Before more of the blessings begin, Maven glances at Frost.
“If we’re going to have a celebration of sorts tomorrow, we should invite the other Reformist leaders. You mentioned something about them being here at Everbound, right?”
“Most of them are here, actually,” he says, rubbing his neck. “They started to rally to this safe haven while you were recovering from getting your heart back. The Decimuses are the last to join us. Brigid said they’d be here tomorrow morning for a war room meeting.”
“Really?” Decimus perks up.
Maven smiles. “Good. Then get that changeling somewhere it won’t escape. I already have an idea of how it will come in handy, but I may be here a while.”
***
It took until nearly nightfall for Maven to briefly touch the heads of each of those obsessive, reverent cult members. She missed dinner to get it over with, which made Decimus incredibly sulky. By the time it was all done, I was nearly suffocating with the overwhelming newlybound urge to have my muse in bed again, safe and sound and stuffed with cock until she wept with pleasure.
Which is precisely what happened.
Now, most of my quintet snoozes peacefully on the quintet-sized bed in our apartment—except for Crane, who’s meddling with some potion in the kitchen.
Maven sleeps deeply and peacefully beside me, as irresistible as ever as her restful body draws me like the most captivated moth to the most beautifully twisted flame. The memory of her whispered admission of love is enough to make my heart bang about my chest in giddy chaos.
In life or death or in between, you’re all mine.
She has no idea what words that pretty do to an already-rampant obsession like mine. I would blissfully fall under her spell for the rest of time, were it an option for us. Dreaming of and with her for eternity is a luxury I would do anything to experience.
Technically, I could sleep now, if I wanted to. When Maven made herself my muse, it granted me the ability to rest whenever she does. I can now open my psyche to hers and bask in her subconscious as she experiences my own. They say for incubi, it’s an unparalleled pleasure.
But I was trapped in a nightmarish, sleep-like hell for three months. Not to mention, no matter what kind of permanentfuture I crave at her side, I only have so many moments remaining in this plane of existence.
