“I’d suck and lick your cock and swallow your seed until there are blisters on it. And even then, I would continue.”
He bursts out in laughter.
“Now that’s a sexy imagination, I didn’t know it could be exciting.”
We both chuckle, his dark eyes warning me that I shouldn’t tempt or taunt him like that. I meet his stare, a dare in itself. Then, I turn around and pull up my tights, feeling Emrys’s burning eyes on my ass. I pull them up slowly, teasing him, swaying my hips, and giving him a show. I almost make it, and I giggle as he launches himself at me, ready for round two, his shadows disappearing between my legs.
Emrys shows me around the castle; its estate is so large that we will never be able to see it all in one day, especially since we are constantly craving each other. Besides the weeping statues, another thing that left an impression is the cemetery he shows me, one he started right next to the garden. A star of knotted twigs or small rocks marks each grave. When I ask about it, he points to the gargoyle statues situated at the top of the spires.
“At dusk, they come to life, and soar the skies, hunt, and turn whoever catches their eye into prey. At dawn, they return to the fortress and turn back into stone,” he says.
Emrys explains that the graves contain the remains of the bodies the gargoyles would make victims of. Each night, they go out to maul whoever crosses their path. For some inexplicable reason, they dump the remains in this spot every morning, new corpses or parts.
After a pause, he tells me how he fed himself in his beginning years when he had no clue who he was or how to satisfy this burning hunger inside him. He started to eat and drink from the freshly dumped bodies, the flesh and blood beckoning him. A form of survival. First, he ate accompanied by a tremendous amount of shame and guilt; later, with acceptance. It was a way to keep his urges at bay, suppress his impulses, andrefrain from turning this part of the continent into his hunting grounds.
A practice most Umbra’s execute, turning large parts of land into their own personal feeding playgrounds. No one is safe from an Umbra, as they’ll feed on whoever crosses their path—vampires, witches, werewolves, every creature is fair game. It explains the terror the word Umbra instills in most dark creatures, as an encounter with one often leads to certain death, as they become the prey. It’s one of the reasons why his presence here in the Northern territories is more that of tales and fables than actual knowledge. A ghost story to tell children or to instill fear in those who don’t listen; the Umbra might come and take you to his fortress. Yet he never shows himself, hidden among them in the dark shadows, without their awareness. Only now, after centuries, did he make his existence known for my safekeeping: no longer a ghost story but an embodiment of horror.
I never miss the looks on the faces of those who pass us. Even if I can’t smell it, I can see the alarm and fear. They are confused when he pays them no mind, as Umbra’s are known for eating whatever crosses their path, and mostly going out to hunt. Relief etching their faces at surviving an encounter with an Umbra, a creature feared by darkness. They are lucky that his center of attention is me and me alone. Emrys has no business with the darklings, nor does he feed off them anymore since he has me.
To give the victims some peace and respect, Emrys started to bury them, after feeding off them himself, or what was left of them, creating a cemetery in the process. He says that they don’t bring that many pieces anymore, as creatures have become aware of these ancient beasts soaring the skies and murdering with no need for provocation. Entering their line of sight isenough to get a target, but being chased is a death mark. Once they start pursuing you, escape is impossible.
With them bringing less food in, Emrys had to occasionally take down a traveler, Blood Witch, or vampire and devour them, draining them of their blood. His victims, too, he would lay to rest here. It was the one place we did not desecrate with our passion, respecting all who were laid to rest there. Eventually, we return to the castle, my tights torn and ripped to pieces.
We lay in front of the fireplace in one of the living rooms; the fur hides soft beneath us. The crackling of the wood is soothing as it burns in the large stone hearth. The comforting aroma of wood smoke is earthy and slightly sweet. I cuddle against Emrys as the air fills with occasional hissing sounds, as moisture in the wood evaporates beside the steady, low roar of the fire. Emrys plays with my long, dark hair as I stare at the glowing ember.
“Do you want to talk about it, Tempest? Any of it?” he asks carefully.
The sex is a distraction he gladly gives me; understanding it silences my mind—a mind he shares with me after our bonding. My thirst for knowledge is another path to keep me from the screaming hysteria that lingers inside me. But eventually, thesilence is a soundless scream, one that keeps reentering my mind the moment I allow my thoughts to wander.
“It’s getting worse, Emrys… All of it. I… I do my best to suppress it, but… It’s hard.”
I sigh deeply, and tears well up in my eyes.
“The longer I am away from either of them, the more my mind becomes a prison, one of derangement. Fynn… I just want to stab him to death; the desire to prolong his death is fading. Instead, a craving to finish him is anchored in me, to end it. And then there’s Elijah; he disgusts me, yet I feel this faint pull despite the distance, a constant in my mind, the curse trying to lure me to him.”
I hoist myself up and look at Emrys, his beautiful features.
“What if I explain it all to Elijah, Emrys? Tell him his feelings are not real? Maybe it could work if he’s willing to listen to me?”
A pain crashes into my head, and I collapse onto Emrys’s hard chest. Worried, he examines me, holding his hand against my forehead.
“My love, are you alright? What can I do for you? I hate that I cannot protect you from this.”
“I’m fine. It’s the damn curse,” I groan. “It doesn’t like it when I try to defy it or speak badly about Elijah. It punishes me with these charged streaks of pain. It’s pretty intense.”
He drapes his arms around me as I breathe through the pain, holding me tightly and peppering me with soft kisses, our souls humming.
“I’ll never understand why it let us bond, Emrys; the minute I even think of getting rid of Elijah, it goes into this frenzy, causing me this soaring pain, but I am immensely grateful it allowed me to have you and the love you give me. This is what I want and crave. You and this consuming love we share; it’s what I freely chose.You.”
“I’ve been mulling that over as well. Perhaps it was the purity of the Aurum that supported our bonding, Tempest; maybe the tugging you felt during that experience came from the curse, rather than supporting us—it tried to stop our bonding process. After all, Aurum is pure, white magic in its origin. It seems true love is thankfully stronger than that damned curse,” he muses.
I give his words thought. That does make more sense. Aurum is made of white magic despite its impurity due to its binding with darkness. It wants the curse destroyed; our bonding sabotages it, fights it. Perhaps our souls' connection could even break it. I need it to be able to break it; our love is stronger than this thing that tries to claw its way inside me. I lean into his loving touch.
“I need to talk to him, Emrys; try this. I refuse to suffer for my unchosen fate, and neither should he. It’s not fair to either of us,” I say.
“Please be mindful of yourself, Tempest. I don’t want you to cause yourself harm by doing this. I understand you want to try, and you will, but your well-being is my main concern. The boy… Elijah… could be unpredictable due to the curse. He might not listen to you or might feel provoked. His desperation could result in even more desperate actions.”
I nod. Emrys presses his lips against mine, and I eagerly invite him in. Elijah is a problem I’ll think about tomorrow; tonight, it’s just the two of us, me and my monster, our love, one that was destiny, a choice, one that defied a laid-down fate.
