Page 167 of Anathema
“Veni’adj meh, Lunamiszka.” Come for me, my little moon witch.
Thighs shaking, she convulsed, breath held as her body climbed. Higher. Higher.
A distant growl echoed in his ear, and he glanced around to see shadows slipping in and out of the walls. The curtains across the room shivered, as if a gust of wind had ruffled them, though the windows remained locked. A rattling sound drew his attention to the candelabra overhead that trembled, the flames flickering, casting shadows across the underside of the canopy. At a cracking sound, he turned to where the mirror on the wall fractured, splitting down the middle–one half showing her lying on the bed, the other showing him at her side, his hands shoved down his trousers. He stared at the obscure reflection of her, only making out the pale silhouette of her hand furiously driving in and out of her. The tension in her muscles mirrored his own, winding like a band stretched too tight.
Zevander marveled at her unfurling darkness, like peeling back the petals of a black rose.
She let out a tearful sob of release at the same time the walls of her cunt pulsed around her fingers. Another spasm, and her walls clamped harder–a second orgasm.
Jaw tight, he let out a moan, his fist banded around his rigid cock, pinching the metal along the pierced underside. He bent forward, his stomach flexed with a cramping ache that tightened his balls. “Fuck!” Warm jets of cum sprang forth, coating the top of his hand. Pulse after pulse had him clenching his teeth with how fucking good it felt.
Without so much as a single stroke of his flesh. It’d been years since he’d felt that level of release.
She arched upward on an outcry that sent another surge of his release across her thighs.
The black smoke drifted upward, rising up from her hand, and slipped back beneath his skin on a pleasurable jolt that had him groaning.
Her hand fell to her side.
Her eyes rolled back to white again, then shuttered closed.
She turned limp.
His muscles lurched, and he lowered his head to her face. On feeling the faint panting breaths against his cheek, he let out a sigh of relief and stroked his clean hand down her face, brushing away the damp hair that clung to her skin. A slight vibration hummed across his fingertips and shot straight to his groin as a satisfying throb. He stared at her lips, wanting so badly to kiss them.
She was a vision of perfection.
How greedily he desired her. His little moon witch.
Tomorrow, she would travel with Dolion to Calyxar with the stones, where she would be safe and protected. Far from the mages who hunted her.
Away from harm.
And most importantly, away from him.
CHAPTER FIFTY
MAEVYTH
An ache pulsed in my temple, and I winced, digging my fingers into the pain. With a yawn and a cat-like stretch, my bones popped, and I rolled onto my back. Pain bit into my thighs, and I lifted my head to find my undergarments stretched between them, as if I’d pulled them down at some point in the night.
A dampness beneath me had me patting the bed, and I gasped. Had I pissed myself in the night? I yanked up the undergarments and sniffed my hand, not catching the faintest whiff of piss, but instead, a sweet, heady scent. One I knew intimately from the nights I’d touched myself.
My mind wound back to the night before. The last thing I remembered was jumping on the bed with Aleysia, followed by an intense feeling of exhaustion. Had I fainted, or fallen asleep? Surely, I wouldn’t have touched myself while completely unconscious … but I couldn’t recall a single moment.
A thought crossed my mind, something Rykaia had said about locking my door, so as not to rouse any of the men in the house. I focused on any pain between my thighs that might’ve indicated that I’d been violated in any way, but there was nothing. No ache. No pain. Nothing but an overwhelming sense of relaxation, as if I’d slept for two days straight.
I sat up from the bed, noting the mirror across from me that’d cracked as though something had been thrown at it. Candles lay toppled on the table beside my bed, the dried wax spilling over the edge while not quite touching the floor. Feathers lay strewn about the room … and I did vaguely recall swinging pillows at Rykaia.
God, what had we done?
I pushed out of bed and straightened the candles upright. Gathering the feathers on the floor felt like chasing after a gust of wind, as they blew around my hands with every movement I made, but I managed to wrangle most of the mess into a pile that I gathered into a wicker basket beside the settee. Pausing in front of the mirror, I ran my finger down the ominous crack and wondered how it’d gotten there.
In the bathing room, I made my way to the elaborate chamber pot, the narrow walls closing me in as I shut the door behind me. For all the ancient details that Eidolon held, I was impressed by the modern plumbing. In place of the chain I’d typically have to pull to flush back home, this one had an ornate brass lever that hardly made a sound when depressed.
Once finished relieving myself, I undressed and bathed, then donned my training gear. And after a quick breakfast of milky oats, I made my way to the training room, only to find Zevander wasn’t there.
Again.