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The Devil had a wicked mouth and a voice as smooth as bourbon.
Never feel bad for bleeding, Ophelia. Her mother’s voice came back to her now. Bleeding means you’re alive.
She buried her face into the crook of his throat. “You came.” “You called,” he answered.
“I need you to know if I had heard you, there would have been nothing that could’ve stopped me from getting to you.
But it’s you I am drawn to, Ophelia. You claim that I told you to stay away from here the very first time we met. Then you were erased from my memories and yet…” he shook his head with slight disbelief, “… yet we still found our way back to each other. Because even with my memory gone, you marked me somehow.”
Death brings so much clarity.
“God fucking damn it, I don’t know.” His eyes fluttered closed as he searched for the words. “I know this is a dangerous path. I know I should have enough self-control to just stay the fuck away, but you are the only thing that’s ever made me feel even a semblance of hope in this eternity of Hell. The dream I’ve been looking for—the one to wake me up. 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.”
“I need you to know that you are the only person who has ever made me feel like I am capable of anything,” she lamented. “The only person who has ever made me feel truly seen.” She swallowed. “Sinclair’s touch meant absolutely nothing. That’s why I let it happen.”
“In a different life, in a fair one, I would’ve kept you until my eternal soul withered away to dust,” he vowed to her.
“Firstly, let me reintroduce myself.” He dipped his head in a formal bow. “My name is Salemaestrus Erasmus Blackwell, Prince of the Devils. But you, angel, may call me Salem.”
