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demutomancy—a
altering blood
His appearance was the result of having performed the Emberforge ritual on himself, the same ritual he intended for her son. A rite that only young children were believed to tolerate without any permanent disfigurement, seeing as they hadn’t yet gone through their Ascendency.
because once the black flame entered the body, it destroyed all natural blood magic.
He reached for Zevander, running his finger over the marking on his chest, a curious black swirl that’d seemed to anger Cadavros. On closer examination, there seemed to be words written in ancient Primyrian embedded in the swirl in a way that reminded Lady Rydainn of a wax seal across his heart. Branimir’s lips twisted to a snarl as he whispered the words that stabbed her conscience. “Il captris nith reviris.” What is taken will never return.
I was no more than a few days old when I’d been found abandoned before that cursed arch in a wicker basket, a single black rose upon my chest. No one knew who’d left me there, but every villager speculated that, whoever they were, they must have hoped the woods would eat me, as well.
Emotions I was forced to keep hidden for fear of looking possessed by evil, as girls were often perceived when they felt too much.
I blamed the god who demanded blood. The revered god who ripped families apart and banished the innocent.
I’d learned at too early an age that the sound of a girl’s scream drew nothing more than apathy.
How tragic that a woman’s worth equated to the depth of a man’s pockets.
“I also know that the delicate black rose doesn’t grow well in these parts. Our winters are far too cold for its fragile roots.”
he hesitated to stroke his hand down over the ten rods that pierced the underside of his cock,
Fucking beautiful.
Zevander neared the archway, his body wound tight with rage and an infuriating need to fuck something.
“We send up a quick prayer before shitting ourselves.” “Doesn’t sound like a stable backup plan.” “I never claimed to be much of a strategist.”
“They were messengers of the dead, believed to have been the beloved pets of the Death Goddess.
Uncle Riftyn cleared his throat, and the second the rope slipped free, I hammered a kick to his chin that sent him flying back into the dirt.
and Zevander’s flame reached out, as if drawn to her somehow.
ew dont be interested, maevyths at home waiting
“Beg all you like.” He let out a sardonic chuckle. “I’d quite like to see you on your knees.”
“Good. Her scent has become absolutely repulsive.” Acids shot up into his throat, and Zevander realized the Nilmirth still hadn’t entirely left his system.
that boy lying
“I find it interesting that any time a girl is unusual, or dare I say, unique, she’s deemed evil, or cursed.”
“I did not mean to put my hand to your throat,” he said, the calm in his voice catching me off guard.
“I don’t house prisoners, Lunamiszka.”
my little moon witch … AWWWW
“Perhaps you should walk alongside me, unless you insist on staring at my ass the whole way.”
“Perhaps you shouldn’t walk like you’ve got two snapping turtles attached to your ass.”
“My point is, I will never fall to my knees for you, or any man, in case that was your expectation.” “Never said it was.” He gave a quick glance over his shoulder. “I simply said I’d like to see it.”
Something scratched my thighs, and I opened my eyes to find the humanoid creature resting his head in my lap, his thin, pale body curled into himself.
Instead, he merely lay across my legs, and I felt a bead of moisture slip over my shin. Tears. His tears. Weeping, as I sang to him. My pulse slowed. My breaths calmed. He no longer looked terrifying to me. In that moment, he reminded me of a child. A sad and desperate child who longed for contact.
She was beautiful. No, beautiful was too weak a word. She was intoxicating. Exquisitely divine.
“Goodnight.” “Goodnight, Lunamiszka.” “Do I still annoy you?” she asked. “Endlessly.”
Having committed the glyph to memory, I returned to my original spot across from him, and it was from there that I happened to glance downward, catching sight of the massive bulge in his leathers. Dear god.
The moment her lips curved to a smile, I knew she knew. “My, my, Maevyth. You are a naughty girl,” she said with an edge of amusement.
When the humor died out, he lowered his gaze. “I think the world would be far duller, though.” I was the one who turned away from him that time, hiding my smile. “It seems you can be charming, after all, Lord Rydainn.”
He lurched toward me, clamped his hand around my nape, and crushed his lips to mine.
“I have to admit, I’m feeling … very warm. And a little dizzy.” “I have to admit something, too.” “What?” Lips flat, she cleared her throat. “You may want to lock your doors tonight. The liquor is a bit of an aphrodisiac.” “What?” My voice was far less amused that time. “What does …. Why lock the door?” “Because you are probably going to need to fuck something, and there are too many men in this castle who would happily oblige. You’ll probably have your fingers down your undergarments most of the night.”
“One cup will give you a fairly good jolt. Two is a bit much.” “I had three.” Eyes wide, she scratched the back of her neck. “I gave you three? Balls of Castero, I must’ve lost count.”
“You’re not supposed to stand upright, silly. You’re supposed to jump! Whoo! Whoo!”
“Then, you forgive me?” He wound my body into his, my back to his chest, his arms tight around me. “So long as you do not speak to another soul while you’re here, yes.”
And those words she’d whispered earlier … asking him to take her and essentially ravish her, though the Primyrian word didn’t translate quite the same.
“One more time.” Fingers pressed into his socket, he pinned the man’s eyelid open, watching his pupils dilate with fear. “Look at her one more time, and from this night forward, the only thing you’ll be staring at is the endless, black void of remorse.”
The others slowed their approach as he stepped through the portal. After his mate.
“I can’t fucking breathe. I ache for you, Maevyth. Believe me when I say this.”
Having a mortal for a mate would mean suffering the agony of watching her die too soon.
He skimmed his lips over my jaw to my neck and guided my murdering hand downward, inside of his trousers.
“You are mine, moon witch. For all eternity and whatever lies beyond it. No soul has ever been more intricately woven into mine than yours.”
