Page 107 of Revenant

He chuckles, stray strands of black hair fall across his forehead as he shakes his head in a way that tells me I’ve got it all wrong. Pushing off the dresser, he crosses to my side of the bed in steady, unhurried steps until his deep brown eyes find mine, searching, like he wishes he could read my mind.

“No. I never loved Veil.” He pauses. “When I saw you, it was a blow I never braced for. At first, you were simply the face that did this to me—to us—and I was certain I’d never move past it. That I’d feel nothing for you but resentment, however unfair that was. And then I began to see you as you are. That, too, was something I wasn’t prepared for. I hated that you made me feel the way you do. Without even trying.”

The butterflies that were swarming feel like they’ve been let out of their cage, soaring away as Koen validates all of my feelings. My spine straightens at his words, feeling more confident as he continues to reassure me about everything I’ve been feeling. “And how exactly do I make you feel, Mr. Gallows?”

His lip quirks to the side at my use of his last name, and the sight of him sends an electrical current straight to my core. He pulls one of his hands out of his pocket, gripping my chin between his index finger and thumb. I gasp at the connection, my eyes involuntarily flicking to his lips. He notices—of course he does—and my thighs squeeze together as his tongue runs along the length of his bottom lip.

“Like things might actually be okay when you’re around. You give me something—I don’t know, a reason to pay attention. Most days I’m just going through the motions. You make me feel like there might be more to it.” I hang on every word. “When you walk into a room, I notice. I can’t help it. Whatever it is you’ve got, it pulls me in—every single time. And the truth is, love, there’s nowhere I’d rather be right now.”

A sigh of relief pushes past my lips, drawing his gaze toward them. My fingers itch to touch him, to run down the panes of his sculpted abdomen, or to run through his hair, anything. Instead, they wring the comforter, moving the fabric side to side, creating friction I can only imagine is annoying for his otherworldly hearing.

He moves faster than I can react, his grip on my chin tightening slightly to pull me closer as he leans down. His lips press against mine with an insatiable urgency.

Without thinking, my hands move to both sides of his neck, pulling him closer as his tongue swipes along the seam of my lips, silently asking for permission. I grant it to him happily, and the moment our tongues intertwine, he lets out a moan of sheer bliss. I smile against him, loving the sounds I coax from him. Our lips move together in a feverish high, his body pressing down onto me, deepening the kiss.

He pushes me onto my back, and there’s no mistaking the hard ridge of his cock as it presses against my aching center. His lips move from mine, descending onto my neck like he needs to feel my pulse beneath his fangs. I arch into the feeling, begging him to steal a taste, but all he does is scrape them down my flesh, eliciting a moan from my throat, before pulling away.

The room fills with the pants of our heavy breathing. “Why’d you stop?” God, I sound desperate, but I want this. I want him. My hands run down his chest, my fingernails leaving a distinct trail down toward his waistband.

He hisses, a smile playing on his lips. “Because you have a class to get to.”

I gape at him. “I can be a little late.”

“You’re making it very hard for me to be a gentleman.”

I shrug. “Then…don’t.” For a moment, I think he’s going to accept my offer, but he gives me a chaste kiss and pushes himself off the bed. I sit up on my elbows and watch him finally button his shirt. The ache between my thighs grows almost painful, and considering the outline of his dick pressing against his zipper, I can assume he feels the same.

“Why rush now, when we have all night to look forward to?” He throws me a wink before leaving me breathless.

I fall back onto the bed, trying to calm my heart rate while my mind reels with the possibilities. How on earth am I supposed to concentrate with a promise like that lingering in the back of my mind?

“Again, Alicent. This isn’t difficult,” Eldritch reprimands as I try to make this fucking garden grow. It’s not as easy as it sounds. There’s different species of flowers, all with different needs and wants, and he thinks I can just make them all sprout at the same time. It’s ridiculous. Granted, I’m still thinking about Koen from this morning, the anticipation of what’s to come is still very much distracting me.

But at this rate, Eldritch is never going to let me leave.

“I’m tired,” I whine, not loving the excuse, but using it anyway.

“I don’t care if you’re on your death bed, just do it. You’ve summoned far stronger magic. This is child’s play by comparison.” Rolling my eyes, I try again. It wouldn’t be an issue if I were doing one or two at a time, but he wants me to literally sprout a hundred of these things at once. My agitation grows stronger when I fail. Again. “When am I ever going to need to do this?”

“We’ve been over this. It’s not about needing to do this specific task, but being able to hone and control your magic to do exactly what you need it to do.” I’ve heard this spiel hundreds of times by now; he’s like a broken record.

“I need a break.” I decide, not waiting for his permission. Settling myself at a nearby table, I proceed to open the Calder grimoire. I skim the introduction, aware that we’ve already discussed all of that.

Deciphering some of the passages has taken a while, especially since I’m the only one who can read it and the dialect is unfamiliar to me. I suggested I just write what it says on another piece of paper so maybe we could move this along, but that was immediately vetoed. They didn’t want another copy of the contents circulating, nor did they want it accessible to just anyone, which is understandable. Unfortunately, I’m not bilingual, and since they’ve existed for centuries, it really would simplify everything.

Instead, I’ve been meticulously reviewing it, deciphering each page and trying to vocalize certain words. When I reach the next section, my brows pull together while the wheels in my head spin. It’s good that I’m recognizing the words now, after all we’ve covered; I suppose it’s becoming less difficult.

“Perhaps we can change our focus,” Eldritch comments, seating himself in the chair next to me. Yet his words hardly register, my attention absorbed by the paper as my jaw tightens with concern.

“This can’t be right.” I speak softly, more for my own sake than for him, yet he still picks it up.

“What? What is it?”

I hold off on responding, willing my eyes to speed up and my brain to confirm I’m understanding it. “Did you know this?”

“Can’t exactly know what this is if you don’t tell me,” he snaps.

Placing my finger on the ancient parchment, I follow it line by line as I translate aloud.