“You’re insane, deliciously insane,” I tell him.
He grins at me, his canines showing.
“Keep testing me, darling, and I’ll show you all of my lustful madness,” he taunts.
He looks at me knowingly, his dark, brooding eyes the same color as mine after our soul bonding: anthracite, a color anything but ordinary. His shadows and my storm combined. Only when enraged do his eyes turn to the darkest black, endless voids with trapped fury to be unleashed. Ever since I took the initiative and straddled him, our intimate moments have been even more intense than before, the repairs of the fractures in our bond heightening our emotions. No more cap on the love we share with each other, a comprehension we began to understand after we started acting upon our darkest desires, demanding our willingness. My heart almost bursts at the seams with all the love it contains for this man, my monster.
Emrys's patience and unconditional love amended our bonding, erasing all the poisonous remnants of the curse. Without his commitment to me, I wouldn’t be here, walking around; instead, I’d be buried deep in the earth, returning to Mother Nature, my ghost wandering restlessly, still unsafe. Even our blood sharing is different, elevated to new heights, and the taste ismore divine than before with the lifting of the curse. Emrys says my blood tastes different, like the purest light, while his is flavored with the most beautiful darkness; together, we create a clash that tastes like the most glorious storm. We speak about our forever endlessly; now that we can finally make our dream a reality, the curseno longer an obstruction.
In the coming days, we focus on reacquainting ourselves with each other’s bodies, talking, and acting out our deepest anddarkest desires. It feels as if there is no tomorrow, with no more sorrow that occupies our minds; only the love we have for each other busies us. Emrys makes sure there are enough drinks and food for me, and he keeps himself strong and satiated by feeding off me—a codependence we created in our own little haven of happiness.
Unable to stay silent on the subject, the words spill from my lips.
“You never gave him the possibility for any parting words before you killed him. Or an opportunity to plead for his life.”
The words linger in the air the second they leave my mouth. It’s not an accusation in any form, but rather a thought that reaches the surface of my mind occasionally. That night is vividly branded into my brain; a night I relive from time to time. One question keeps coming back: a thought embedded in my mind. Emrys didn’t even give Elijah a moment to explain himself, apologize for his behavior, or argue or plead for his life. Emrys went straight for the kill, silencing him. I glance at Emrys with curiosity, genuinely interested in understanding his line of thought, because in all chaos there is calculation.
“I don’t believe in letting your enemies speak,” he says thoughtfully.
I tilt my head at that statement.
“Why not?” I ask.
“Because, Tempest, by allowing them to speak, you grant them the possibility to take back control, to turn the tables even if nothing is there. Either by worming their way into your mind with pleading words and beautiful promises or by unintentionally giving them time to escape your hold over them.”
He continues. “I believe that by allowing those you intend to kill to talk, you jeopardize yourself or the ones you love. Especially if you have had a previous personal relationship with them, you will want to believe them; unintentionally, you will search for the words you wish to hear. But they will only betray you again; their only interest is their own survival, and their motivation is selfish. If I had let Elijah speak, he would have begun apologizing, making excuses for his reprehensible behavior, and pleading for his life and your forgiveness. And with the curse present, you would have. It wouldn’t be your choice; it’d be impossible for you to decline him. You would have wanted to forgive him, creating a situation where he could have escaped, and all of it would have happened again… or worse… So, I made the choice instead, by never letting him speak in the first place.”
I grind my teeth in silent frustration, knowing Emrys is right. That damn curse would have forced me to forgive his actions, my will not my own. I would probably have sympathized with him, begging Emrys to let him live, who in turn would havebeenunable to resist my pleading, even if it went against his carnal instincts.
“Hence, I don’t believe in giving the ones I want dead a way to weasel themselves out of it. If my aim is set on you, I will killyou without hesitation. I made it crystal clear to Elijah that day I spoke to him. If he ever tries to touch you without your consent again, his death shall be by my hands. I don’t think that message is hard to understand. He made a conscious choice to ignore that warning, and instead of fighting his vile urges, he submitted to them, hurting you in the process. And that, Tempest, is an act that is unforgivable in itself.”
Emrys's dark eyes lock onto mine as he tilts my chin up. His rage over what happened that night coils around him, tangible as smoke. It’s a fever that will never cool. He isn’t done talking yet.
“No one touches you without your consent, not even me. I will eradicate anyone who dares to do so without hesitationor thinking twice, and I will never feel remorse, even if you won’t be able to forgive me immediately. You are what matters, Tempest, and I will do anything within my power to keep you safe and prevent a repeat of that night, even if it means killing and destroying the entire world. I need you to know that. Never will you experience that kind of distress again as long as I am by your side. When it comes to you, I will not rise from the ashes; I create them.”
I nod as pain and sadness reflect in his tumultuous eyes. I cup his face, meeting his sorrowful gaze. He despises himself for leaving my side, for not being there in time, and for not saving me sooner, even though none of it is his fault. If anyone is to blame, it’s me. I underestimated the whole ordeal. I was the one who put myself in that situation, the curse exploiting my naivety and immediately numbing the bond with Emrys by enforcing the fate of Elijah and me. If there’s anyone at fault, all of it comes back to me. Emrys’s self-hatred is a form of punishment for allowing me to slip from his sight. No matter what I say to him, it’s a wound he will carry with him, always, because of me and my stupidity.
“I know, and I love you for it, Emrys. Without you, I wouldn’t be standing here. Without your unconditional love, my soul would be dwelling in darkness.Yousaved me from eternal torment, and I needyouto know that. You have been my savior from the moment we met.”
He presses his forehead against mine.
“And you have been mine, Tempest. I would die without you, Harlot.”
Fynn
Chapter 2
Cunning Falsity
Fynn
Chapter 2
I stare at Caria in disbelief, the colorful dahlias around us swaying in the soft summery breeze. When Caria pried me out of Jodelle’s arms this morning to talk, telling me it was urgent, I low-key expected her to discuss the kiss we shared or our feelings for each other, but this? Cursed? My sister and I are cursed? Part of me wants to burst out laughing at the absurdityofa hex. Yet, here I am, suffering from indescribable pain as I long for another woman besides Jodelle, along with those obsessive, murderous thoughts about Harlot, my damned twin sister. Whenever that nag comes to mindlately, there have been numerous invasive contemplations and musings. All of them resulting in the same outcome, my hands covered in herdelicious, dark, red blood. Before, it was daily; now, the thought of Harlot seems to occupy my mind at least once an hour, and the desire to annihilate her isbecoming more vigorous. It makes it hard to focus on those who truly matter to me, like Caria and Jodelle. I turn to the death witch, and as her words sink in, I realizeI am destined for doom. Sorrow clouds her eyes.
“Do you think the hurt I experienced when you and I… I mean…” I pause, then lower my voice as if anyone can even hear us in the enchanted flower field, “when you and I… kissed…”
She gazes at me thoughtfully as she taps her nose. It’s a cute habit I’ve noticed when she’s deep in thought about something. I examine her face—those golden eyes, her small button nose, those full lips—as if she is a child of the old Sun Gods, sculpted to perfection. Her flaming red hair could symbolize solar flares. The sound of her voice is like a melody to me as she finally responds.
