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The name everyone knew him as. Sam, the artist. It was never Samarius or Cain or King Arius or even Death.
She was a siren in the moonlight. An enchantress of desirous evils. To fall under her spell would mean to kneel before her. The corner of his lips twitched at the thought. He would kneel… He knew he would. But she’d have to beg him first.
King Samarius Cain. The name rippled over kingdoms as a forbidden whisper. He was rumored to be Death, a reaper in human form that took mercy on those who begged for their ends.
“To be worshipped like the goddess of Death that you are,” he whispered against her skin.
“Or maybe…” He leaned closer to her ear. “Maybe I’d like to know what name to pray to from beneath you.”
“You can pray to whomever you want,” she said. “But when you beg, you’ll be begging for Ana.”
“Love, when you live in Shadowmyer, all your favorite nightmares come true.”
The way he stared at her neck made her feel like he meant to own it, perhaps snap it in half. And for a moment, she considered begging him to step on it.
“A bad man would push you against this wall and fuck your dirty little mouth until you couldn’t feel your throat.”
“Tell me you’ve been thinking about me as much as I’ve thought about you,” he whispered.
She was licentious poison. Heavy gravity at the edge of a cliff that beckoned a vulnerable body. The weight of water overhead. An enticing darkness for the soul to be reborn in.
“You’re going to lie back, wicked girl, and you’re going to accept whatever pleasures I have for you… from tonight and until your very last breath…”
“Wicked girl…” He licked the column of her throat, her hands tightening in her hair. “Do you know how beautifully your heart stops when you come for me?”
Begging for the stop of heart that only Death could give her.
“What?” she asked. Sam stood, rounding over her shoulder. “I was just thinking how I can’t wait to have you sit on my face,” he said with a grab of her ass. She shifted her ass into that grab, loving how he clasped her flesh. “Last breaths,” she teased. “I fucking hope so.”
Sam couldn’t stop his quiet huff of amusement. Of all the things he’d been called, coward wasn’t one of them. Possessive asshole…
“I see as much beauty in the darkness as I see horrors in light.”
“Imagine being so intimidated by a woman’s power that you chose to extinguish it,” Millie added.
Even a white rose has a black shadow,
SAM HAD NEVER counted days or hours before. But he counted them when he was without her. He counted minutes. He counted stars. And when he was with her, he counted every breath. He counted every smile.
“When’s the last time you saw the sun?” “When you laughed earlier,” was her breathless response.
“I don’t need to see the sun as long as you’re standing in front of me.”
“Are you sure you’re not a witch?” he whispered. She felt her lips curling upward as she leaned in to kiss his cheek, jaw, and neck. “That’s the second time you’ve asked. Why would you think I am?” she asked. His hand curled around her face, tipping her chin to look at him. “Because I am spelled beneath your touch, your presence.” He paused to swallow, his eyes narrowing like he were confused. “You have bewitched me, wicked girl.” His hand trailed down her skin, causing goosebumps to rise on her flesh, and she leaned into the touch. “My mind. My body. My demented soul… It’s yours.”
“I’m yours,” came her breathless whisper. “Whether the sun rises or dies, or if night encompasses us all into eternal darkness, I will be yours. Every minute. Every hour. Every moment until my dying breath, and should Death offer me a reprieve after, a choice to continue living in an eternal cycle of love and pain, I will be yours an eternity more.” She paused, her thumb brushing the bottom lid of his eye where a tear had collected, and she gave him a small smile. “For as long as you’ll keep me.” Sam inhaled a ragged breath, his hand curling into her hair. “I would keep you until the sun
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“Let go for me, baby,” he whispered. “I can feel you on that edge. Give me the rest of you. Wake the dead with my name.”
She felt his breath tickling her flesh as he said, “Forgive me for what I will be,” in a mutter against her skin. The words confused her, to the point she pulled back to find his gaze. “What will you be?” she asked. “Yours,” he breathed. “Forever yours.”
He would devote himself to her chaos.
“Forgive me for all that I am… For all that I have done… and for all that I will be,” he continued.
