Her hips buck, grinding down against Voren’s mouth while my shadows flick and caress, imitating the rhythm of his tongue. It’s a sensory overload she can’t fight, no matter how much that stubborn pride of hers wants to kick us both in the teeth. She is drowning in sensation. It will burn through the divine energy that Voren infused her with when he saved her life. It was a necessary act, if a little irresponsible.
“This is for your own safety,” I murmur and clap my hands, loud enough to mimic thunder. The three of us land on the faded covers of the bed in Voren’s chosen room.
“What do you mean?” she asks, her voice shaking.
“If you don’t burn off that excess energy, it will burn you,” Voren says.
“You’re just telling me this now?”
“You kind of distracted me by throwing yourself at me,” he points out.
She accepts that as the truth. “So, what now? We fuck until I’m cured?”
“No,” I say. “You won’t survive that. Your mortal body is harbouring a power far beyond your means. We would have to fuck for days for this to burn out of you before you died.”
“And?” Voren asks with a sly smile.
“She would die from the fucking,” I point out, ignoring her moan of protest.
“So, what then?” she says. “I’m dead either way. You should’ve just let me burn up from the supernatural infection.At least I wouldn’t know what was going on!” She pushes herself up onto her elbows, glaring between the two of us. “So, explain to me, in small words, how I’m not completely fucked.”
“We need to siphon the energy directly. Not burn it off through physical exertion but draw it out.”
“Draw it out how?”
“It will hurt,” I murmur and place my hand flat on her chest. Trying to ignore the fact that she smells like sex and sin, I close my eyes and concentrate.
“How come Voren couldn’t do this? Or did he just want a fuck?”
“You threw yourself at me, remember?” he says. “I kind of lost all sense of thought after that.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment,” she grouses.
“Oh, do?—”
“Shut the fuck up,” I snap and bear down, trying to latch onto whatever godly power is swirling around her bloodstream and causing her to be not herself.
The energy Voren dumped into her is chaotic, a freezing slurry of the grave that doesn’t belong in a living vessel. It fights me. It clings to her ribs like barnacles on a hull, refusing to let go of the vitality she burns so brightly. I push my shadows deeper, past the skin, past the muscle, hunting the intrusion. Nyssa arches her back, a guttural sound tearing from her throat that is half-scream, half-sob.
“Easy,” Voren warns, hovering close. “Don’t snap her in half.”
This isn’t just extraction; it’s a battle of wills. The energy wants to stay; it likes the fire of her spirit. I have to convince it that I am the darker, hungrier void.
My shadows hook into the icy current. I pull. Nyssathrashes, her hands scrabbling at my wrist, nails digging in. I don’t relent.
“Look at me,” I command, forcing her gaze to mine. Her amber eyes are wide, dilated with pain and lingering lust. “Breathe, slayer. Give it to me.”
She gasps, her chest heaving against my palm. “It burns.”
“That means it’s working.” I give a sharp tug, and a visible tendril of silver-blue mist leaks from her chest into my hand, dissipating into the darkness of my skin. She collapses back against the mattress, limp and pale, but the frantic, vibrating hum beneath her skin finally goes silent.
Until it doesn’t.
With a screech that could rival a banshee, she flies upwards, through the top of the bed canopy, ripping it to shreds before hitting the ceiling and causing a shower of dust and debris to fall down.
“Uhm,” Voren mutters as we stare up at her. She is clawing at the old ceiling, vibrating with an energy that is neither human nor slayer. Nor is it divine.
“Fuck,” I grunt as she drops suddenly, slamming back into the bed, sending up clouds of dust and the gods only know what else.
