“By the blood of my body and the promise of my heart, I offer these to you so that you may continue to endure.”
Throwing her head back once more, Delilah raised both her arms, fingers spread wide as she offered herself up to the spirits that bound the city’s heart to its graveyard soul, sovereigns of silence, eternal in their kingdom.
“Deep roots. Strong branches.”
As soon as she’d finished, all of the other elemental disturbances stopped as well. The wind died, dropping all the leaves and debris into soggy piles. The rain cut off like a faucet, leaving the street—and us—soaking wet. The spent match crumbled, leaving only a thin column of smoke that drifted into the still morning sky before disappearing. And the ground finally stilled, the new crack in the sidewalk the only evidence that anything had happened.
Still on the ground, Delilah paused, breath held, her eyes trained on the gate, waiting for her judgment.
Then, slowly, so slowly that I didn’t even notice at first, the acorn began to move. End over end, it rolled forward, tumbling faster and faster as it approached the gates. Delilah rose up on her knees, leaning forward to follow its progress. I, too, leaned forward, only to find my way still blocked by the invisible will of the cemetery’s sentinel spirits.
The acorn continued its journey in a straight line until it finally struck the center of the iron gate with a gentleping.
Silence. Nothing but the soft drip, drip of the water falling from the tree branches behind us could be heard. It seemed as though the entire city held its breath, waiting for acceptance.
For approval.
Or perhaps for absolution.
Either way, we were about to find out.
The acorn sat motionless against the gate, a tiny offering dwarfed by the towering iron bars. Seconds stretched into what felt like hours. Through the bond, I could feel Delilah's anxiety rising, her confidence beginning to crack as doubt crept in. Had she done something wrong? Had the spirits found her offering insufficient?
Behind me, I heard Vine shift restlessly, unaccustomed to being quiet. Mex had gone completely still, her usual bravado replaced by tense anticipation. The very air seemed to thicken, pressing down on us like a living thing as the cemetery's ancient guardians deliberated.
Just when I thought they might reject us entirely, a low, mournful sound echoed from within the graveyard—not quite wind, not quite voice, but something in between. The iron gate shuddered once, as if testing its own hinges.
Then, slowly, so slowly that I didn't even notice at first, the gates began to swing open with a groan of protest, revealing the shadowed path beyond.
Chapter forty-seven
Archer
I could feel the moment the barrier fell; like a popped champagne bottle, the pressure that had kept me away released, leaving me panting in relief.
Mex felt it too, darting across street, her boots splashing heavily in the puddles Delilah’s rain had left behind.
“Well done,cher,” she praised, her voice like warm honey as she eyed the opened gates. “You’re more than I anticipated. Archer’s gonna have to keep a close eye on you, baby, because I see big things coming your way.”
Delilah, for her part, said nothing, offering a tired smile as she climbed unsteadily to her feet. Reaching down, I wrapped an arm around her waist, holding her close whenshe leaned on me, that small act of trust sparking deep within me.
Lifting her hand, I inspected the cut she had made. It was small, but deep, the blood still freely flowing, and without thinking, I leaned down, my tongue darting out to lick over the wound. Delilah moaned, the sound going straight to my cock, and I swallowed, my body lighting up with the taste of her. I could feel the change coming over me, unbidden, my response to her blood and desire so fierce, I couldn’t contain it. Without warning, my body changed, my tongue forking as I dove back in for another taste, another chance to consume a small part of my mate. To take her within me and make her a part of me in a way I had never known I could desire.
Growling, I licked again, feeling the moment my magic rose from within me and sealed the cut. Then I pressed a final kiss to her palm, taking in the small, pale scar that was left behind.
Another mark to remind the world who she belonged to.
To remind her she was mine.
“Thank you,” Delilah whispered, her face pale, but her eyes heated. “I had no idea magic was so taxing. I feel like I could sleep for a week.”
“Let’s just find this fucking relic, and then you can sleep for a month if you like,” I promised, already picturing her asleep in my bed, her face flushed from exertion and her pussy dripping with my come.
“Oh,” Delilah gasped, her eyes wide as she looked at me.
Fuck. She must have felt my lust through the bond again if the rush of color to her cheeks was any indication.
“Something I can help you with, witch?” I asked, my lips ghosting over the shell of her ear. Between us, the bond hummed with anticipation and desire.
