Gothikana

by RuNyx

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, were her favorite.

“I can sense you’re sad too,” Jade told her. “But you’re good. And if the thing with Alissa taught me anything, it was to talk about shit if it was hurting us. I just want you to know I’m here for you. Anything you want to talk about. No judgment.”

Corvina admired her confidence. She hoped one day she’d be able to talk to a boy without feeling like her whole chest was caving in.

Beautiful in the way pain was beautiful, because it tugged at the chest and made something visceral come alive in the stomach and caused blood to simmer in the veins. Enchanting in the way she imagined dark magic was, because it twisted the air around it and warped the mind and overpowered the senses. Haunting in the way only very few living things could be, because it sent a shiver down the spine and cloaked itself in the darkness and fed on the energy around them.

He existed somewhere between the black and white when he played; and in that moment she wanted to exist in that subspace with him, see what he saw, hear what he heard, feel what he felt.

She felt his eyes on her from the top of the staircase and she hesitated, giving in to the temptation to look at his face just once, lest she never see him again.

The fabric of her gown twisted in her fist as her pulse skittered, watching him watching her.

Corvina swallowed, wanting to tell him that she hadn’t meant to disturb him, to tell him that he was possibly the most darkly beautiful man she had ever seen, that he played like he had been cursed to play for his life. She wanted to tell him all of those things but she said none.

It was exhausting being alone.

The ghost of a melody drifted to her mind. The same melody he’d been playing that night, that haunting melody of anguish that had somehow wormed its way into her being. She closed her eyes, hearing it in her memory, the notes flowing like blood through her veins, his posture, his closed eyes, his pained stance etched in her mind.

Damn. Damn. He was unsettling. Very unsettling in a way that made her want to squirm in her seat, especially when he looked at her like that and talked with such intelligence. Corvina could admit she’d never encountered that. And she wasn’t the only one who felt that. She could see a few flustered girls around the class, and she knew they were feeling whatever was rolling off him.

She realized it was possibly the first time in her life she was feeling lust induced by an actual man and not a fictional character. This was what it felt like—writhing, hot, velvety. This was lust. And she wanted to roll in it.

He wanted to hear her voice. She knew it in her bones. And for some reason, her stomach felt heavy at the thought of directly addressing him, at the thought of giving him her name. Names had power, as her mother told her.

“Girl,” Erica said, crossing them to the corridor outside, “from where I was sitting, it was lit up so bright aliens could see it probably. Mr. Deverell looked like he’d eat you alive. No, it looked like he’d feast on you if given the chance.”

“Are you scared?” Mr. Deverell asked, not moving from his spot at all. “Should I be?” she asked, raising her eyebrows slightly even as a part of her wanted to break the eye contact and blush furiously at the singular masculine attention from a very masculine male.

He smelled like burning wood and heady brandy, the kind her mama had made her sip on cold winters. He smelled of dangerous adventures and coming home, of heartache and nostalgia.

A movement at the door brought her eyes to find Mr. Deverell leaning against the threshold, dressed in black, hands in his pockets, watching her with those eyes. Appetite in its natural state. Oh yeah, she could see what Jung was talking about.

It had been a week since she’d encountered him in the woods that morning, a week since he had addressed her directly. She had bumped into him in the corridor one day, and he had simply looked into her eyes and given her a greeting, “Little Crow,” in that deep voice of his that had left her hot. And over the week, he’d watched her. He’d been around her classes, going up the stairs when she’d been going down, passing through the hallways when she stopped to admire a sculpture, just been all around her more. She’d felt his eyes on her, she’d felt them a lot. She’d felt them in the dining room when she ate with her new friends, on the grounds when she walked all alone, in the class when she took notes and kept to herself. And she’d liked it, though she shouldn’t.

He might not have been speaking to her verbally but his eyes said a lot. His eyes had been giving her words that only fanned the flames in her blood. His eyes had been whispering dirty things that made her skin flush just imagining them. His eyes were what she imagined on herself when she touched herself in the shower, just his eyes, watching her as he did. She’d never felt it for a man who hadn’t existed between the pages of a book. Raw, animalistic attraction, that’s what it was.

She wondered how those fingers would feel sifting through her hair, stroking the side of her face, sliding over the skin of her neck down to her breasts, playing her like the piano she’d seen him on that first night. Her nipples pebbled. “That’s not a look you give your teacher, little crow.”

“How am I looking at you?” she tilted her head curiously. His eyes seared her. “Like you’re inviting me to play.” She wasn’t the only one. Her breath hitched. “You look at me like that too, Mr. Deverell.”

“You need to be less obvious when you drift off. We all do it but I can’t let that slide without a reprimand in my class. And I don’t want to bring attention to you.” Corvina bit the inside of her cheek. “Why?” “Because you’re bewitching,” he murmured, his eyes roving over her entire face. “And I don’t want others fantasizing about you during my class.” “Others?” she asked, her heart pounding. He fantasized about her?

“Steer clear of me, little crow,” he muttered, his eyes piercing, flaying her open. “You might be a luring siren but I’m no ordinary sailor. I’m a mad pirate and I’m trying to resist your call. If I land on your shores, I will plunder and take away everything worth having. Be very careful giving me those eyes.”

He paused for a moment, as though battling with himself, before he stepped to the side, taking her with him, pressing her back into the shelves, and shielding her smaller body from the view of anyone who happened to stroll by. The protectiveness in the move made something soften in her chest, not used to anyone doing something like this for her.

“We shouldn’t be doing this,” she whispered, hoping he didn’t stop, hoping his nose continued to feel its way up her neck.

She needed to stay away from him too, for so many reasons, none of which she could remember right in that moment. Her mind was muddled. All she knew was his scent, that scent of burning wood and heady brandy, and his voice—that deep, gravel voice that pebbled her nipples—and those searing silver eyes—those eyes that made her breath catch and lips tingle. She was nothing but pure sensation in that moment, from the roots of her wild, loose hair to the tips of her curled toes, and she was only pressed into him.

His face came closer, along with his whispered demand. “Stop me.” Her lips parted. “Fuck,” he cursed, his mouth inches away from hers, hovering. She inhaled, her chest pressing deeper into him just as he exhaled, exchanging the same breath of charged air between them, the static pulsing between her legs, throbbing, making her wet and swollen and needy.

“I told you not to give me those eyes.” Silver met violet in a dark corner of the library. “Your eyes have such hunger. Your soul is starved, and your flesh is famished. Tell me, Miss Clemm, do you want relief?”

“One taste. That’s it.” Yes, she wanted one taste. He was close, so close, and she was dying to let his taste penetrate her.

“Witch,” he muttered, there, right there, so close she could almost feel his lips. “Devil,” she murmured back, seeing his eyes flare with molten fire, feeling the heavy bulge of him pressed against her stomach, right where heat coiled deep.

Something between them—chemical, emotional, psychological, she didn’t know—came together like molten lava and hot ash, caused by an eruption unpredictable to them both.

“A storm. The only safe place is the eye. He is the storm. He will keep you safe.”

“Whatever this is, it cannot happen,” he told her quietly, clearly, his voice low but firm. “You’re my student and I’m your teacher, but worse, I’m dangerous. Girls I interact with dance with death much sooner than they should. If you value your life, don’t look at me like that. Not with those eyes.” He leaned closer, his warm breath and burning scent washing over her. “It makes me want things, little crow.”

“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.”

The molecules in her body recognized the molecules in his, the madness in her blood recognized the madness in his, the melancholy in her soul recognized the melancholy in his.

Regret. He regretted kissing her. Something warm, a different kind of warm, flushed through her body, an emotion she’d not felt enough to recognize it. She just knew she didn’t want to see the regret on his face. In fact, as he pulled back, she wanted to wipe the wanton way she had kissed him from his mind and never see him again.

She’d forgotten how the cells in her body realigned in his field when he focused on her, the electric shock going through each one of them making her entire body warm. God, she wanted him.

“How old are you?” “Twenty-eight. Why?” “The gray in your hair.” It was hot.

“This is the time we can succumb to your sorcery,” he stated softly, his pupils dilating, the braid in his fingers wreaking havoc on her sensitized nipple. “The one time I’ll allow myself to possess you.”

“Will you regret it after?” she asked him, remembering the aftermath of their kiss. Understanding dawned over his face in the dark. He leaned forward, pressing a soft kiss to her nose, right above her piercing. “I never regretted kissing you, little crow.” Corvina looked at his face, so close to hers, her body warm. “Then what did you regret?” “Having to end it.”

“So just one taste, then?” she asked, repeating his words from the library. He flicked her nipple with the tail of her braid in response. “One taste. A deeper taste.”

She’d never felt this, never been possessed, owned, claimed like this with just one touch.

“You chose the wrong guy for your first time, little crow,” he murmured to her, pushing in another finger, stretching her out as she breathed through her mouth.

“Magic eyes, magic pussy,” he murmured again, looking all over her face. “Little witch.”

It was everything, pleasure so pure, so untainted, so primal it was endless.

Slowly, he reversed out of the spot and began their ascent up to the castle where they would be strangers once more.

He hadn’t expected to be blindsided with this Neanderthal need to possess her.

She kind of hated him, really hated him, for the ease with which he slipped into his role after they got back to the castle.