26

Y ou think I don’t know you? I’m fucking haunted by you. Do you think I want to be here? That I want to wake up every morning and have to spend time with you in this castle? In these fucking classes? It’s childish and beneath us both.

That spiel from Dane replays in my mind like a broken record. The words were spoken so harshly it was as if he was offended that we were both here, like it was all my fault.

I’m fucking haunted by you.

Haunted.

I’m starting to think I’m haunted by him too. Because even though he isn’t here, I can feel him nearby, smell the mind-bending scent of him, the spice and musk filling my senses.

He visits twice a day. Once in the morning, then again in the evening. While he’s here, he makes my entire body quake as he siphons what he can of the curse. It hurts, but we’ve grown more comfortable with it. He tells me to take a few breaths before he starts. One of the times it was so bad that we both passed out on top of my window seat, and I woke up with his head in my lap.

Usually, after the torture, he sits around for an hour until his powers regenerate enough for him to travel while either being a dick to me, teasing me about my mortality, or commenting on how fast my heart is racing without him even touching me. He’ll do something to piss me off, I’ll threaten him with objects around me, then he vanishes until the next day.

No matter how many times I ask, he won’t tell me about the person he killed or why he did it. The academy hasn’t mentioned anything else regarding the matter, as if nothing happened at all. Valin is still teaching. The twins still want to kill him. I haven’t left my room. And Dane is still trapped between here and the dungeons.

Shivering, I lie on my back, staring at the ceiling as the shadows dance around, as if there’s a silent chant that has them excited that Dane should be here soon.

The little girl skips while holding a large hand, a dog runs after a ball, and an old man cleans his glasses with a cloth before reading a book.

It’s not clear what exactly each silhouette is doing. It’s a guessing game if they’re even humans or creatures; if they’re bad or good. But I just know they’re protecting me.

There are more here than usual. Some sit in the corner of my room, watching me like guarding statues, and some follow my bare feet like dogs sniffing on the ground as I walk into the bathroom.

They usually disperse when I use the bathroom, thankfully.

I try to sit up, and dizziness has me falling back down again in a huff. My knotted hair sprawls over my face, sticking to my skin.

To my dismay, I’m sick. It started last night, after Dane left. My skin burns, my tongue is drier than a desert, and I think I’ve sweated away half my body weight.

I also don’t answer the door whenever someone comes knocking, even if it’s the twins sliding trays of food under my door—via magic presumably—with a note.

Yesterday it was Poppy. Eat up, my little dandelion.

Today is evidently Mel. If you don’t eat, you’ll die.

I sent Mel a message only hours ago, informing her that I wasn’t dead or kidnapped again, and that I was perfectly fine and needed as much sleep as possible. I was simply feeling under the weather.

Because humans get sick, projectile vomit while drunk, come down with viruses, and suffer from illnesses that vary from giving us the sniffles to making our organs fail before the light leaves our very mortal eyes.

Unlike these undying creatures who don’t even know what goddamn asthma or diabetes are. I once tried to explain to Poppy the applications of injecting insulin into one’s body and why, and even described an inhaler and how it opens our airways. She just stared at me as though I’d grown two extra heads. Which isn’t exactly uncommon around here.

When I bathed this morning, I waited for Dane to abruptly crack the atmosphere in two, to appear and shove my head underwater. I wanted him to. I crave the feel of his hands on me, even if it’s in an act of violence.

So, so badly I wanted him to slide his rough hand between my legs and pleasure me into the abyss while the water splashed across the floor. I wanted my lip between his teeth, wanted him sucking on my throat while he edged me.

When he didn’t appear, I tried to do it myself. Sans the throat sucking because I’m not built that way. I gave up, hoping he’d appear and finish me off. He still hasn’t come for his morning siphoning session, and I may or may not be wearing the most revealing sleep clothes I own here in the academy.

From being seconds from having sex to him only touching me when he grabs my wrist, I’m close to exploding. I know everything we’ve done previously has been for the assignments we need to complete, but we’ve already overstepped on other tasks, so why not now?

I truly hate him, but I would gladly let him dominate me from every angle. Does that make me sick? Maybe. But that doesn’t explain why I feel like I’m physically on the brink of death when I’m not around him.

Since that moment we nearly joined as one, my body has never felt so alive, which is weird, since I feel like I’m dying.

If I had a thermometer, I know it’d be hitting a feverish temp.

Sweat coats my skin, and I slowly blink as the saltiness drips into my eyes. I wipe it away with the back of my hand and freeze, lifting the other to study both as I flex my fingers.

The staining on my hands is getting considerably worse. It usually takes an entire day to spread, but now it’s happening faster. Both of my hands are completely black, burning and spasming every so often, with tendrils curling around each wrist, spiraling in vines as they climb up and snake at my elbows.

When Dane left last night, he had to siphon more than usual, and he fell asleep on the chair beside my bed. I woke to the chair being empty and what I could have sworn felt like the linger of a kiss on my forehead.

I attempted to grab my phone from the top of the dresser this morning and it practically flew to my hand.

If it weren’t for all my memories of growing up, I’d swear I was a witch in disguise—or something a lot worse.

It’s the curse. It has to be. Because not only am I experiencing all of this, but I can also hear and feel Dane when he isn’t even near me. I know when he’s asleep in his cell, when he wakes, if a sense heightens, or when he feels strongly.

The curse building on my hands is to blame—it has to be. Humans simply cannot do what I’m doing with Dane.

But going by the book on the Shadow Realm that magically appeared in my room days ago, I should be dead. Dane siphoning it is slowing down whatever it’s doing, but even extracting an infinitesimal amount of a curse to this degree depletes a creature’s powers—which is why he struggled to properly fight against the guards or heal his wounds but was able to toss a blanket over my nakedness, so the guard didn’t see my exposed body.

Despite all these thoughts, all I can think about is… If he was as weak as that, how the hell was he going to have sex with me?

So, yeah, all tasks are still on the table. At least we finished task four. Next, we need to pleasure ourselves in front of one another without touching each other. Either at the same time or at separate times.

How do I even bring this up in conversation?

God, I feel terrible.

If you can hear me, I’m close to being a corpse here. I’m either unwell, or this curse is kicking my ass.

Then I say it again, out loud.

Nothing.

I feel like an idiot for talking to myself, but I look over to the shadows in the corner, the ones that belong to Dane. “I think I’m dying.”

The silhouettes of the statues don’t move an inch.

I sigh and throw the duvet over my head, burying into my pillow. Coughing, I nearly choke up my lungs for a good three minutes before it settles, and then I pee for the hundredth time today.

If I die on this island over the goddamn flu, I will scream.

Forever the dramatic little mortal, aren’t you?

I stop in the middle of the room as my heart rate instantly accelerates, my head spinning from the pressure of being out of bed. I need to sit down, but I’m frozen in place as I look around.

You can hear me? I ask.

Unfortunately .

I audibly tut. Where are you? I ask, slowly making my way to the bed, trying to ignore the pang of excitement and relief that I’m hearing from him.

Somewhere dark.

I roll my eyes. How descriptive. I thought you said we were too far apart to speak like this when you’re in the dungeons?

Then his voice is there again. It seems I’ve regenerated enough of my powers, no thanks to you, mortal. You seem weaker than usual.

Will there ever be a day you don’t insult me?

No, he replies instantly.

Idiot.

There is an inspection in one hour, then I can come, he says, and, annoyingly, I smile. Does that excite you?

My smile drops . No.

Liar . You are terrible at hiding your emotions. I can feel everything you feel, remember?

My lungs stop working when something wraps around my thigh, and I shove away the duvet to see the shadow of a hand gripping me. A trace of a snake circles my other thigh, and my breath hitches as they force my legs apart.

What are you doing?

Dane’s answer is instant. Passing time. Should I stop?

I gulp, the tether between us pulling taut as my body lifts from the bed, floating an inch in the air as my underwear is moved aside.

This isn’t a task, Dane.

Yet you haven’t told me to stop.

My hair cascades to the pillow as I levitate in mid-air while an invisible force parts my pussy, opening me, and my clit throbs. It drags a groan from Dane through the connection between us, feeling what I feel, the tingling and coiling warmth at the base of my spine.

Don’t stop , I practically moan.

My pussy pulses as cold air hits it, and my eyes flutter shut. Nipples tightening, I feel a pressure between my legs as if it belongs to me—something different, something outward, not inward. I want to touch, to stroke, to feel my touch trace the tip.

The bridge between us grows stronger, our synapses interlinking for a deep connection. I picture nails dragging down his powerful back, and he forces the image of me on my knees for him, my mouth open, tongue out and waiting.

God, I need this man deep inside me.

Do not whimper to your god, little mortal. I’ll burn down the remaining realms before I hear you call out to someone else.

My eyes close, and when I try to touch myself, to find a release, vines wrap around my wrists.

Not yet.

His cock is hard. He’s gripping it in a fist and gritting his teeth while I suck in a deep breath as my arousal drips onto my bed beneath my floating body.

He’s thick. It’s growing long and hard and stiff. It’s leaking, and the veins bulge with the ghost of a stroke from base to tip.

Focusing on his actions, as if I’m sitting right in front of him, I reach for him, shoving against his chest and controlling his own hand, tighter, faster, twisting his wrist with each up-and-down motion.

His voice is breathy in my head. Would you look at that? You can feel me too.

A lick of a low groan presses to my cheek as his shadow of a touch to my thighs slides up, and I can still sense him around me. We’re connected, and each time he strokes himself, I feel each ridge and twitch.

We are the epicenter of arousal as we become one entity. Each time he breathes in, I feel his lungs filling with air. I feel the valves in his heart pumping blood through his body and hear the swallow in his throat as his Adam’s apple shifts.

My nerves spark along with his, suspended in the air as the snake of his power licks against my inner thigh. The vines slowly slide away from my wrists, a silent order.

My hand slips between my legs almost on instinct, my arousal coating my palm as I grind against it. With strength I never knew existed, I rip my underwear completely off, tossing the soaked fabric aside.

It’s like he’s here beside me, and I can see him fucking his hand while I press against my own, sinking my middle finger into the first knuckle, teasing myself as I spread my wetness to my clit.

Dane’s own heart is racing, his hips moving, his free hand slamming against the bars of his cell. He drops his head as I push two fingers inside me, curling them against my sweet spot.

An image of him sliding down my body and burying his head between my legs spreads wildfire all over, and I moan through the psychological bridge between us.

Practice for task five, I say, my voice breathless, even in my mind.

He doesn’t respond, but he doesn’t have to. His grip on his cock tightens, the head sensitive as he curls his wrist at the tip, swiping his precum with his thumb and spreading it over himself.

I can feel how soaked you are , he tells me. You’re so warm around your fingers. Are you going to come for me?

Only if you come for me, I counter.

I always fucking do, he growls, and everything shatters into smithereens with how deep his voice is in my head.

As a multitude of orgasms smack into me like tidal waves crashing, my inner walls crush my fingers with each spasm. Dane tenses on a groan as my release reaches his side of the connection, stilling his movements until the tenderness of his balls eases off.

My body collapses onto the bed, and I’m completely spent.

Dane’s forehead is against the cold wall as his heart races, sweat coating the back of his neck like mine.

We stay in silence and lingering euphoria for minutes, possibly hours. When the intensity calms, I can sense him wiping the string of cum from his pants while I pull my fingers away, panting on the mattress.

The urge to be inside you is just getting worse , he says, his voice strained. But we can’t take any shortcuts. No more recklessness. Understand?

I frown at his change in tone, unable to do anything but catch my breath. Shortcuts?

I meant it when I said I’d kill you if I fucked you. You are a human, and I am not. Your body needs to be trained to be able to handle me.

My toes curl from the lingering pleasure vibrating in my bones, sweat coating my skin. Trained?

There’s a crack in the air, and I yelp as Dane materializes on top of me, pinning me down by the wrists as he starts painfully siphoning the curse from my soul.

My fingers tingle as the tendrils transfer to his own skin, his eyes the brightest silver despite the pain he’s currently feeling. Black clouds puff around the silver, and I can’t avert my gaze.

“Yes, trained,” he rasps as he uses his knee to part my legs, settling between them. I’m bare. He’s fully clothed but unzipped. But despite the material, I can feel he’s still hard. He presses against me, drawing a breathy moan from my lungs. “What do you think the tasks are for, little mortal?”