Phantasma (Wicked Games, #1)

by Kaylie Smith

Unlike other mortals, Necromancers didn’t bother with traditions such as funerals or wakes. They said their goodbyes to the corporeal forms of their loved ones and then waited until the opportunity to reach them in the afterlife presented itself. Having any sort of grand ceremony felt too final when they had such a connection to the dead.

Ophelia couldn’t help but wonder if she was wildly unprepared to assimilate into normal society without their mother as her guide. Death she was familiar with. Living would be the real challenge.

“Imagine you believe, with every fiber of your being, that something is real, and suddenly you get an inkling that it is not. I have to live that nightmare every single day in my own mind! Do you have any idea how terrifying it is to have your reality so distorted that you can’t trust your own thoughts, your own sight?”

“Ophelia.” His tone was firm now. “You don’t need to fix yourself. You’re not broken. But it’s okay to get outside help if it gets too loud.”

“I forgot about this haunt,” he said, seething, more blood pitter-pattering over their skin. “If you let me up, I can take care of it.” The rain turned into a drizzle, the warm splashes of scarlet dying his hair pink, sliding down the bridge of her nose, running over more sensitive areas… Ophelia began moving against him again, and his brows shot up in utter shock. He quickly recovered and a devious smile slowly curled up at the corners of his mouth at her boldness. “Are you sure?” She shrugged and repeated his own words from earlier. “It’s only blood.” He hummed in approval and twisted his hands into her damp hair, angling her face down just enough for him to meet her in a rapturous kiss. It didn’t take long for them to return to their previous pace, their blood-slicked skin making their bodies slide together in a way that was utterly sinful.

This low key sounds kind of hot though.

“Sinclair’s touch meant absolutely nothing. That’s why I let it happen.” Her knees almost buckled at the look in his eyes. She wanted to beg the Devils, the Angels, the universe, to let her keep him for just a bit longer. “But your touch?” Her voice broke now. “Your touch means fucking everything. And that’s why we can’t cross that line again.” He grasped her face in his hands. “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.