Helfyre (Agía Sahnta #1)

by Mariel Pomeroy

So bright and pure, so absolutely ready to be corrupted. It was sweet, the naivety in it all, that she didn’t consider him to be the monster behind the shadows.

Her body wanted to pull him close, while her mind wanted to lash her hand across his cheek.

“Don’t believe the truths told to you by the light. The brightness you’re used to casts the most vicious of shadows.”

Her reflection stared her down with doubt in her eyes, but then there was always doubt, always insecurity, always a nagging voice in the back of her mind that questioned every decision. It was exhausting.

“‘No’, and ‘stop’, don’t have a place between us,” he said, his voice an octave lower. “If you want me to stop what I’m doing, you’ll use the word honey. Do you understand?”

She bit her lip so hard she tasted blood, a string of curses welling up on her tongue as she felt the challenge of his words. “Let me bite that lip for you,” he said, his right hand twitching.

“those fingers of yours have been busy . . . no more of that.” Her lips parted. Did he just— “Not without permission, Ruhí.”

My mother used to tell me that the universe’s energy was around long before the physical rock we live on.

“I’ve had a lot of people on their knees for me, majte, this . . . is less fun.” She used the term of endearment that loosely meant “honey” in her language,

also very similar to "mate"

The ice he’d melted from her chest was pooling in between her legs and turning into something painful and throbbing.

“You can’t have me,” he said almost dryly, just above a whisper. Then, leaning into her ear, he growled, “But you are mine.”

He turned his attention to Aheia, and his voice dropped an octave.

But she supposed that those who were hand-fed safety would never need to learn to lick it from blades as she did.

“I want your shadows; there’s too much light in here,” she said quietly.

Her taut skin didn’t fit her bones, her thoughts rarely felt her own and her desires were contradicting themselves at every turn.