… and inhaled the intoxicating aroma of unity.
The warm embrace of friendship. Of everything I’d rejected as abhorrent, because I’d never known anything but pain.
It was right there.
And it reeked of longing.
“Mila.” Heavy, biting fingers landed on my nape. A warning as familiar as my name on his lips, laced with addiction and the promise of satiety that would never be realized.
But their magic touched me too. It sparkled in my every breath, clinging to my skin in a fine, sparkling mist that caught me in a sweet embrace.
Gooseflesh cascaded down my nape as war raged in my blood.
On my left, a juggernaut so jealous of my attention, he could never share it. Not even with me.
On my right, a sister I didn’t want, but desperately needed. A woman who had nothing, except what precious little had been left to her—and she shared it with selfless abandon.
But she hadfriends. Women who sang with one voice and shared the fumes of their gifts in a beautiful dirge of love and loss.
As if it were drawn to me, my bottomless hunger, layer upon layer of priestess magic dappled my skin. A warm spring rain that dredged up a shiver from the base of my spine and saw gooseflesh cascade down my nape. Touching everywhere I was exposed, every whorish inch gleaming with all that remained to my people.
Dangerous and tempting and beautiful, all at once.
Enough that Asher’s fingers grew tighter at the base of my skull, and with a quiet hiss, he surged through my blood. Militant. Efficient, he pulled at me until my lungs grew cold and tight once more. Snatching the priestess’ power for himself before I could do more than catch their scent.
A tiny sound of protest left my lips, and I watched as the nebulous cloud of priestess magic turned toward me. Pulled in by the gravity of the monsters hiding in my blood, it passed through me…
… and went directly tohim.
A plea left my lips, soundless, but desperate nevertheless. One he felt, because he was already inside.
He only pulled harder.
Horrified, I watched. Helpless as the priestesses stumbled. Their voices growing ragged and thin as they strained to accomplish some undefined goal, but their magic went to serve yet another Caledonian master.
Asher.
I turned to look, and found eyes painted black. Jaw clenched, sweat beading on his brow as he worked. And his skin—it looked too tight. Stretched around too much as he drank, and drankdeeply.
I knew then, what he was doing.
What he was.
Priestess and elite, both.
That he was both sides of the coin at once.
Question and answer.
Berserker and empath.
Complete.
Because of me.
Because I had given him everything I had, and let him feed me drugging, perfect lies designed to keep me sedated. Manageable. Numb to the hurt. My fire snuffed all the way out, just so I didn’t have to manage the suffering.
A breath caught at the back of my throat.
