Chapter Twelve

Aamon

"Thorne, stop!" My scream is far too late as vines wrap around my body, securing my limbs tightly to my sides. Thorne's eyes and fingertips radiate an eerie chartreuse glow as magic pulses through his veins.

From his body language alone, he appears more formidable than I have ever witnessed before. Thorne's shoulders are set with confidence, his chin tipped upward as he sneers down his slender nose. His presence is commanding.

Mortals are so peculiar. Thorne must realize his binds can't contain me, and yet I allow him to take out his wrath on me as if I am not a superior being. The power he has amassed is quite unexpected—even Sinead didn't gain so much from our mana exchanges.

"I have had enough of your lies, Aamon!" Thorne slowly waltzes around the bed until he is just in front of me, glaring up at me with indignation. "Why did you bring me here at all if you had no intention of helping me?"

The question hangs in the air heavily, and I know that whatever answer I give will do me no favors. Burdened by the weight of my shame, I sigh, looking down at him earnestly. "I don't know, Thorne. I was fascinated by you. I knew your grandmother for over half a century. She and I had a bond."

Thorne rolls his eyes, and annoyance laces his voice. "A bond? Were you bedding my grandmother too?"

As his expression twists with disgust, a flush of red creeps up his neck, but he avoids meeting my gaze. A barking laugh escapes my lips at the absurdity of his accusation. Surely, he isn't jealous!

"I didn't fuck your grandmother, Thorne," I scoff. "She and I had a bond. We held a mutual understanding and desire for a greater life than what our lives permit for us to enjoy."

I have indulged his feeble attempts to hold me in this poor excuse for Shibari for long enough. With a flex of my muscles, I spread my shoulders and wings, feeling the vines snap apart with ease in an unsatisfying crack.

Thorne's eyes widen in shock, and he takes a single step backwards before I snatch him into my grasp. Anger flares in my vision, though one look at the terror in his eyes causes it to ebb into a simmer.

"Do not use your power against me again. Do you understand me?" I command, though I can't help but feel impressed by the strength he summoned from freshly cut flowers. A sudden realization comes to me—if I can teach Thorne to harness this power from our pact, he could remain safe.

Thorne chews his bottom lip as his own anger melts away. "I make no promises," he remarks petulantly, though somehow I find myself amused rather than enraged.

"Then let's agree to disagree."

After gently setting him back on his feet, I tip his chin upward with the tip of my claw, forcing his eyes to meet mine. A swirl of emotions flits behind his chestnut eyes, but his face continues to soften, as does his body. "Where did that power come from?"

My theory for Thorne's newfound strength is based on my previous experience with Sinead. It's likely his latent abilities were amplified when he swallowed my semen this morning. Sinead possessed superior magical skill but was far less potent than Thorne appears to be.

"I'm unsure where it may have come from, but—" I hesitate to say more, though I know it would do a disservice to Thorne. There is an obligation to our pact that requires him to gain power. It lurks under my skin, begging me to fulfill our bargain, and yet I want nothing more than to refuse. "Break our pact, Thorne. You cannot remain here any longer."

Thorne jerks his head from my grip, nicking his skin with my claw. "I am not leaving, Aamon. If you refuse to use necromancy to guide grandmother's soul back, then at least allow me to learn this power." Blood wells along his pale flesh, dribbling down his neck. He gazes at me with indignation, jutting out his chin.

Unfortunately, there is no way for the pact to be broken if both parties disagree. Sighing, I relent to his stubbornness. "Eventually, your mortal body will decay staying in this place. So we need to act quickly."

"Why would you bring me here if my body may decay?"

There's no possible way to describe how ignorant it was for me to bring him here, or just what rationale I had, because the fact of the matter is—even I have very little understanding of it. Placing my hands up to silence him, I sit upon the bed, feeling exhausted from the events of the day. "I have had enough questions for the day, Thorne. I want to rest, and tomorrow first thing in the morning, we'll get started."

I see the frustration marring his features. The way his eyebrows knit together as he crosses his arms over his chest tells me he feels indignant and wants to give me no rest at all. "Fine," he says curtly.

Thorne begins for the door but my hand reaches for his arm, tugging him back toward me. "Stay with me."

"Why?"

What could I possibly tell him? I feel unnerved by the possibility of Luce and Lilith returning. I am equally fearful of him running away again. Instead, I settle upon another sour lie. "I want to fuck you."

The blush rising on his cheeks as well as the heady scent of arousal in the air shockingly disappoints me, though it fades near instantaneously when he shakes his head defiantly. "My body is too sore for you tonight."

As he exits the room, my heart hammers in my throat. I feel uncomfortable in my own skin, as if something is crawling beneath it. I believe he hates me for all I have done, all the lies and subterfuge. Somehow it hurts worse than being struck.

It has been what I've desired all along from Thorne. I wished him to break our pact, to despise me and fear me as the tormentor from Hell. A devilish marquis whose only purpose is to create pain. Yet, I'm disgusted with myself.

"What am I even doing?" I whisper as I place my head in my hands, feeling defeated.