Phantasma (Wicked Games, #1)

by Kaylie Smith

“A heart and a key would set me free,” it said. “But you should hope we do not meet again, angel.”

“You’ll have to see for yourself.” He grinned with malice. “Lastly, and perhaps most important of all—fall in love within Phantasma at your own risk.”

“I’m sure it was just Phantasma playing a trick on me,” she reasoned. “No, the Whispering Gate is summoned, and no normal mortal should be able to call it.” “Who said I was normal?” she challenged.

“So, what sort of being are you, then?” She lifted her chin. “I’m a Necromancer.”

“You can call me Blackwell. It’s nice to officially make your acquaintance…?” A long pause. Then, “Ophelia Grimm.” “Ophelia,” he repeated, tasting every syllable. Her name on his tongue sounded like a wicked prayer. “You are exactly the person I’ve been waiting for.”

“Whether you meant to or not, you did them,” he implored. “I don’t believe in coincidences. You claim you weren’t supposed to be out that night. But you were. And you found me. If you’re truly a Necromancer, you will be able to see things others can’t. Which means you can search this place like no one has been able to for me before.”

“Soft hearts don’t survive here.” “What kinds of hearts do?” He leaned down until their eyes were level. “Hearts with teeth.” He reached out and gently gripped her chin in his hand, rubbing the pad of his thumb across her full, bottom lip.

“I care. We have a bargain. I’m supposed to protect you from harm while you’re here,” he told her, his tone a little too casual. “So again. Who did that to you?”

She cleared her throat. “Is it okay if I⁠—” “You can do anything you want, angel,” he inserted, voice gruff. “I’d let you drag me to the depths of Hell right now if that would please you.”

“You’re such a good fucking girl,” he growled as she shifted forward again, moving one of his hands between their bodies to rub his thumb over her clit. “Come for me again, angel.”

“This is gorgeous,” she said as she gaped down at the elaborate garment, brushing her hands over the butter-soft fabric of the skirts. “Where is it from?” “My fantasies.” He winked.

Every pendulum in the room began to speed up, and Blackwell looked at her in shock for a moment before a proud grin spread over his face. “Look who’s finding her teeth.”

“The Prince of the Devils himself,” Sinclair finished, nodding in confirmation. “Salemaestrus fell irrevocably in love—and chose his lover over his father. As punishment, his father had his lover killed, and Salemaestrus is now forced to run the Devil’s Manor for eternity as a lesson. Or until his father gets bored and ends his sentence early. Whichever comes first.”

“If there were ever a divine entity I’d worship,” he murmured, “it’d be you.” “My body, your altar,” she offered. He whispered her name—no, he didn’t whisper it, he invoked it.

The thought of wasting another second when I will lose you forever in only three days has ruined me. You are the closest thing I will ever get to experiencing heaven, and I’m not ready to let it go.”

“Your injuries made it hard to hear you at first—our link from the blood bargain has been weakening,” he admitted. “But I felt you calling. I’ve never had that sort of connection with any other contestant before. I told you before that nothing would ever stop me from getting to you if you needed me, and that will remain true forevermore. I would tear the universe apart at its seams if I must.”

want. “Please.” “Please, what?” she asked, reaching down to plunge her hands into his hair, tugging gently with impatience.

“But she’s the one at risk here, Blackwell! She’s the one that will be dead out there if—wait.” Something was needling at the back of her mind. Something he had told her before—about her father losing his second attempt at Phantasma three days before it had come to New Orleans. Which was the same day her mother…

“Do you truly believe we can always find our ways back to each other? You’ve said before nothing would ever stop you from getting to me if I needed you. That you would tear the universe apart at its seams to keep that vow. Do you still mean that?” He reached up to grasp her face in his hands. “With every ounce of my soul.

He would be every bit of good she so desperately wanted to see in him as long as she was safe. But now… now he’d tear the world to shreds.

“Angel,” he whispered, his fingertips brushing over her face in soothing strokes as he worked to keep the terror out of his voice. He didn’t need to make her panic. “I’m here, Angel. You’re going to be alright. I’m going to fix it.”

“I love you, Salem,” she whispered. When his father’s command wouldn’t allow him to respond, the King laughed and ordered, “Speak, Blackwell.” “I love you,” Salem choked out. “I’m sorry you ever met me. I’ll never forgive myself.” “Please…” she swallowed with effort, “… please, don’t forget me.” “Never.” “You promise?” she pleaded. “I swear, Angel,” he avowed.

“Here.” She took his hand and set the locket in his palm before curling his fingers over it. “My heart, it’s yours.”

“If I agree to be your new tether,” she began, her vision beginning to blur, “what would that entail?” “Forever. With me.” “And?” He smirked. “Is that not enticing enough for you?”