17. Osiris

17

OSIRIS

O siris’ shoulders sagged as his eyes fell from hers. Still, he did not back away.

Give her a chance.

He called on Eddy’s words.

Eleanor had not run or brandished a weapon against him since their earlier confusion.

Here she is, offering me her trust. Coming close to me, tainting my senses with her vanilla scent and her cinnamon eyes, trusting that I will not hurt her. I must offer a token of my trust as well, shouldn’t I?

Osiris watched Eleanor as he lifted his hand, pinching the end of his glove with his fingers, pulling it off slowly.

Eleanor kept her eyes focused on his hand as his shadows began to lift, the long-darkened tendrils twirling in the open space between them. They continued to grow, reaching the ceiling before they descended on his human woman.

Osiris’ eyes danced between Eleanor and the shadows as they began to wrap around her waist and snake around her ankles. She took a slight step back, raising her arms as she peered down at them.

I knew it.

Guilt began to melt over his heart, hardening like metal as the shadows gripped her hips. His senses began to fill with only her . Her feel, her touch, her scent, just her.

It is disgusting. It is monstrous. It is—

“Interesting,” Eleanor whispered.

“What?” Osiris asked, taking a step closer, following the pull of his shadows, relief soothing his nerves.

Eleanor laughed softly. “How interesting,” she repeated, looking up at him. “They act as if they have a mind of their own.”

Osiris chuckled. “Well, they do most times. It can be challenging when our minds disagree.”

Eleanor reached down, running her hands across the shadows wrapped tightly around her hips. Electricity coursed through him anywhere she touched, beckoning his shadows to tighten, to pull her closer.

It took every fiber in his body to not fall victim to his own shadows.

Why am I acting like this?

“How long have you been able to do this?” she asked, dipping her fingers between two tendrils as another laced around her calf.

Osiris shrugged his shoulders. “I… don’t know. Ever since I lost my head, my memories seem faded, as if lost in an endless fog.”

Eleanor’s eyebrows knit together as her head shot up to look at him. “You had a head once?” she asked excitedly.

Osiris laughed again, his shoulders shaking as he nodded his head. “Yes, I did. Just like you do now.”

More pink crept onto her face as the corners of her mouth quirked up. “Of course you did, I am sorry, that was probably insensitive.”

“Not at all, Eleanor. If it makes you comfortable around me, please do not stop asking questions. Though, I might not always be able to answer them.”

More pink appeared, and his eyes fell as he watched it spread across her chest.

It was pink like a pink symphony plant. One he had tried to grow before, though it did not fare well outside. Still, the leaves of the pink symphony plant were delicate, yet commanded his attention, just like her.

The sound of a sharp intake of breath caused Osiris to lift his head to where, to his horror, one of his shadows was caressing her cheek where the pink was the most focused.

Knowing his shadows would not want to listen, Osiris reached forward and tried to shoo it away, only for Eleanor to step back giving him a cross look.

“They are only being friendly,” she teased, lifting her hand to his shadow, letting it curl around her finger. “They are probably just as curious of me as we are of each other.”

Osiris let his hand hover over the shadow for a moment before he finally dropped it.

They are not just being friendly. They wish to explore you, a lady. A lady who should be offered the most respect.

“Well,” he started, “I am curious about one thing.”

Eleanor hummed, not dropping her focus from playing with his shadows.

“What is that called?” he asked, pointing to her cheeks.

“What is what called?”

“The pink that paints your cheeks, what is it called? Why does it happen?”

Eleanor lifted her hand to her face and touched her cheeks as the pink darkened. “It is called a blush. It usually happens when someone is embarrassed, self conscious, or…” her voice trailed off as she looked down his form and then back up at his eyes.

“Or?” he asked, tilting his head slightly.

“Or, feeling good,” she whispered, looking up at him through her lashes.

“Feeling good?” he asked, not wanting to repeat their earlier misunderstanding.

Eleanor toyed with his shadows, averting her gaze from him.

Her vanilla scent grew stronger, sweeter, and dangerously intoxicating.

Daring another step closer, he leaned down slightly to hold her gaze. “What feels good, Eleanor ,” he questioned, rasping her name, testing his theory. He watched carefully as her blush reached her ears, the soft pink curving around them.

Eleanor swallowed, peeking at him from the corner of her eyes. The shadows around her waist tightened further as the ones coiled around her legs trailed up a few inches, caressing her thighs as if seeking out that addictive scent.

“Y-your voice,” she finally whispered, holding out her arm to reveal thousands of tiny bumps dancing across her skin.

With care, he took her arm in one hand, using the other to trace his fingers over the bumps. “What are these?”

“Goosebumps. When I am cold, or something sounds nice, I get them.”

“You like the sound of my voice?”

Eleanor nodded her head.

This is dangerous. I have never felt this before, this need, this urge, this desperation…

It was her scent, it was the symphony of pink that painted her delicate features. Everything about her roused emotions in him that seemed foreign yet instinctual, all at once.

Swallowing any lingering hesitation, he chanced another question. “What else feels good, Eleanor?”

Slowly, too slow for his care, she turned her head to face him. In that moment, he felt as though his heart had stopped beating all together. Her blush reached every visible spot on her body, all the while his shadows grew on her, surrounding her fully as her heated gaze focused only on him .

It was a look no one had ever gifted him. A look not only absent of fear, but a look brimming with desire.

“You do not have to answer me,” he reminded her, “but if you do, I will cherish your truth.”

Eleanor’s tongue darted out to wet her lips. “Your shadows feel…nice,” she finally admitted under her breath.

In that instant, any existing self-control he had began to fray.

Osiris could bring her true pleasure.

While she was here, only he could make her feel this way.

“Can,” she began, her feverish eyes holding his gaze, “can I ask something of you now?”

“Symphony,” he whispered as his shadows wrapped up the arm he held delicately in his hands, “for all that you wish for, while you stay under my watch, all you must do is ask.”

“Can I touch your head?”

Osiris nodded slightly. Lifting her hand with his to press her palm against the side of his head, he could not bring himself to worry whether she might run away with fear or disgust. He was too lost in her presence to focus on anything else.

Her hand quickly began to trace lines over his head, feeling around as her eyes roamed over him.

“Why a pumpkin?” she questioned.

“It was the first thing I was able to grow, the first thing I was truly proud of. And people have always been uncomfortable around me as I am, so I figured having something there to focus on would make people more comfortable.”

“Does it not cause discomfort?” Eleanor asked as her fingers trailed down the sides of his head, slowly tracing over his mouth.

He leaned into her touch as he shrugged his shoulders. “It is a small price to pay to feel less like a monster.”

Eleanor’s eyes fell, her bottom lip jutting out as her eyebrows furrowed, stilling her movements which offered Osiris some needed clarity.

Carefully, he took his hand in hers as he stood up fully, forcing his shadows back in. One by one they unwound themselves from her, disappearing back into his hand. Once the last one had vanished, he slipped his glove back on.

Eleanor watched with care, some of her blush having disappeared.

What a shame.

“Is there anything else you would like, Eleanor?”

If she asked for anymore explorations, he feared neither of them would be able to write it off as curiosity.

“Actually, there is one thing.”