Chapter Five

Aamon

Thorne's expression turns serious as he settles himself behind my desk in the leather chair. Gently, he picks up every piece of paper to create room for his plate, so as not to disturb my things. Then he finally allows himself to relax enough to pick up his fork.

I open the grimoire to the page that details our pact. The dense text buzzes with energy, tickling my fingers. "Our pact gives you access to a fraction of my power," I explain, "but it also binds your soul to mine. Our fates are intertwined, and the consequences of this pact are…rather severe."

Thorne's body goes taut, and he looks at me with an intensity that causes my resolve to torment him to wane. It's only as I explain things that I truly understand the source of this turmoil. These feelings, intense as they are, are not just born from curiosity. They stem from something deeper, something far worse.

I gained parts of the mortal's soul once we forged our bond. How have I forgotten that rule of the pact between us? I school my features, showing no outward sign this is not what I desired.

"And what about the power I gain? What will it cost me?" Thorne asks, studying me with a bright curiosity shimmering beneath his rich hazel eyes.

As I swallow roughly, the weight of guilt settles within my gut, gnawing and chewing at my insides. The allure of the grimoire's power is undeniable, but the dangers are just as real. I must devise a way to force Thorne to break the pact and quickly, if he wishes to keep his soul intact. I take a moment to steady myself, feeling a storm of emotion churning within me. It's unsettling and foreign, and yet I relish it.

Crossing toward him, I maintain a regal air of superiority in my gait. "Every spell, every incantation requires a sacrifice?—"

"The mana you spoke of?" Thorne interrupts me with excitement, as though he remembered some expert knowledge.

Narrowing my eyes, I grasp his shoulder, anchoring myself in such a way that I press my full weight onto him as a reminder of who is truly in control—a fa?ade I happily create. "Yes, though mana is your very life force. The more you invoke your power, the more it consumes you until there is nothing left to take."

As I explain, I am aware of the emotions stirring within me, a burden that has only grown since the moment our souls met. It's a weight I have long since chosen to forget. The responsibility feels heavier than the spectral chains on my wrists.

Thorne's eyes close, absorbing my words. "What of my grandmother?" His voice is full of hope and desperation. "Will this bring her back?"

The question hangs in the air for a moment as I hesitate to respond. The pang of empathy I feel surprises me. Mortals are so fragile, and to seek a reunion with the dead when her body is already decaying goes against everything natural.

I choose my words carefully, "The path of necromancy is not easily traveled, boy."

Thorne's eyes fly open, and his expression hardens with resolve. "Teach me," he says firmly, his gaze steady. "Teach me how to raise her from the dead."

"Very well." I close the grimoire with a resounding thud. "If your life means so little to you, then I have no choice."

I turn to lead Thorne from my study, though he stops me suddenly, asking, "When you mentioned exchanging mana…" He pauses, and a twinge of lust pulls on our bond. "What was it you had in mind?"

Instinctively, my tongue darts from my mouth, licking the edges of my lips. The flavor of Thorne's desire bursts in my mouth with hints of herbs and brandy. A low resonant hum vibrates in my chest as I pivot on my feet to glance at him. Standing with his back against the desk, Thorne grips the edges like a lifeline. His cheeks are stained a ruddy shade while he worries at the hem of his tunic.

Confidently, I step toward him, watching as his hazel eyes peer up at me through thick black lashes. Once I'm in front of him, my finger tilts up his chin so he has no choice but to stare directly into my eyes. "Kiss me," I command, taking hold of his hips and roughly tugging him flush with my chest.

Thorne's mouth parts, and he gasps with widened eyes. There is an expectation that he will reconsider my demand, crackling in the air between us with electric energy. I observe the minute details of his face as he deliberates on the choice, though eventually his small hands reach forward to grip my waist.

"Only a kiss?" he asks, though the scent of his growing arousal suggests he yearns for so much more. It isn't a question; it's a desperate plea for me to take care of his burning need.

Thorne doesn't wait for my response before his lips crash roughly into mine. A husky moan quivers from his throat, and I drink it hungrily. His tongue wastes no time teasing at the seam of my mouth until I open to its advances. Once his tongue touches mine, the thread of sanity I had left snaps in two as I hoist him onto the tabletop. Papers flutter to the ground, and I shove others aside, making room for my body to nestle between his open legs.

I desire his body quaking beneath me. I want every inch of him splayed before me, begging and yearning to have me. An image flashes in my mind of the various positions his body will fold and how I might take him.

Our tongues dance wildly, flicking, tasting and sucking, but what truly does me in is the way his hands seize hold of my hips, digging into flesh. That won't do.

Tearing my mouth from his feels no less than a sin. "Hands above your head, Thorne," I demand.

Like a good little boy, Thorne releases his grip, only for his hands to fall crossed above his head. A knowing smirk toys around the corner of his mouth, and his eyes shimmer brightly with amusement. It is very clear to me that he is no stranger to the position.

"Yes, sir," he whispers with the most delectable resonance.

There is no hesitation as the words utter from my lips, "Good boy."

One hand grasps his wrists as the other braces me against the table. Mentally, I chide myself for the lack of sex toys in my study, though it's really of no consequence because I have plenty else I can use at my disposal. "Beg for my cock in your mouth."

His pupils dilate as the thread of lust between us sizzles. It's a heady mixture of his curiosity and my fascination. What I find most captivating is he has not an ounce of fear lurking in his body or mind.

"Aamon, I—" Thorne hesitates briefly as a flicker of something flits across his features, but in an instant, it disappears.

The inclination to play the demon he'll despise stirs in my gut, twisting the desire into something foul. What am I playing at by fucking him? It will only create more of a headache. "Do you want me to stop?" I loosen the hold on his wrists ever so slightly to allow him to free himself if he wishes.

Thorne's eyes burn into mine. He shakes his head with a deep inhalation to solidify his resolve. "I desire you," he stumbles over the words but continues, "I do not understand why, but I need you."

"Say it like I told you to, boy." I release his wrists entirely.

The desperation on his face grows. "I want your cock in my mouth," Thorne mewls, and his hips tilt, then grind against my stomach.

Thy will be done.