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Books had become her refuge, especially books with men—humans, shapeshifters, or aliens—who fell in love hard and claimed their women, body and soul. Those were her favorite.
“He believed libido was desire or impulse unchecked by any kind of authority. To quote him, it is ‘appetite in its natural state.’”
“Your eyes have such hunger. Your soul is starved, and your flesh is famished. Tell me, Miss Clemm, do you want relief?”
“This is lust,” she whispered, trying to validate it, excuse it. “No, Corvina.” The side of his lips twitched. “I’ve known lust. This is something worse. This is a barbaric need to possess, to eliminate, to own. This is madness.”
“If this is madness,” she whispered almost against his lips, “drown me in it.”
“If this is madness,” he told her, echoing her words against her lips, “I’ve already descended too far.”
She wanted, she wanted, to the marrow of her bones, oh how she wanted him, without truly knowing him, not knowing who he was or where he came from.
She didn’t know how smart it was, being alone with him, but then she never claimed to be smart. She was more driven by emotion than logic, more attuned with her senses than her brain, more adept at understanding instincts than rationale.
“You said we wouldn’t do this again,” she reminded him just as quietly, leaning her chin on the armrest. “That was long before I had a taste of you. Long before I woke up alone in my bed after the best sleep I’ve had in years.”
“I’m done denying this. You’ve haunted me long enough. And I don’t care if you’re haunted by forces beyond your understanding or if it’s all in your head. You’re mine now. For as long as this madness ensues.”
“I’m in your head, in your blood, in your very veins. I’ve claimed you before anything else ever could. Your body, your heart, your mind, your fucking soul, it’s all mine. Your hunger is mine to feed, your madness is mine to tame. Do you feel that?”
“Witch,” he murmured to her reflection, the affection evident in his gaze and his tone. “Devil,” she breathed, hoping he found the same in her gaze and voice.
It struck her in that moment how the two words that had been spat at them like curses had twisted to become their own terms of endearment, in a way that was heartwarming now.
“You’re my mountain, my Vad. I don’t know how, and I don’t understand why, but somehow, I’m building my castle on you.”
“Build your castle, Corvina,” he told her quietly as they both watched the view outside. “I’m not moving anywhere. Build your castle as fucking high as you want.”
“You’re taking all of my firsts, Mr. Deverell,” she whispered quietly as a confession. His arm tightened. “I will take all your lasts, too, Miss Clemm. Mark my words.”
“Just know that if you kill me, I will personally haunt you. Good luck getting your dick wet after that.”
“This will last until the day the roses on my grave stop sharing roots with the roses on yours,” he declared. “I will have you even in death, little witch. I am your beast. I am your madness. And you, you’re my afterlife.”
“You want to play with the devil tonight?”
the girl with the soul of the moon—blemished, darkened, ephemeral—finally finding a man with the soul of the night to shine with.
