So I lie naked.
Splayed across the bed like something sacrificial. My skin prickles with phantom heat. The kind that comes after—after hands, after mouths, after the echo of a name on someone’s tongue.
But I’m alone. Again. And I’m starving.
My thighs press together, an ache blooming low in my belly. It’s worse than hunger. More insistent than thirst. It coils and twists inside me, sharp and seething and entirely unsatisfied.
I close my eyes. Try not to think of the two women Zepharion brought in. Their lips. Their moans. The way he looked at them like I wasn’t even there. Try not to think of him watching me watch.
But the fire between my legs pulses in time with my heartbeat now. I press a hand flat to my chest, right between my breasts, where the warmth still lives. The bond. His bond.
Cassiel.
He’s the closest. The easiest to feel. There’s something gentle in his tether. Not weak, but yielding. It doesn’t fight me the way the others do. It hums when I touch it. Glows.
But tonight, it’s even more distant. Muted. I press harder. Focus. Try to clear the static. But it’s like trying to listen through fog, a thousand voices screaming underwater.
The necklace around my throat tightens—not physically, but with a squeeze of magic, like it senses what I’m trying to do. Like it knows. My power stutters. The bond flickers, dim and strangled by silk and spell work.
Still, I whisper his name. “Cassiel…”
And gods, it answers—barely. Warmth flares beneath my palm, but not like before. It comes slower. Fainter. Like striking a match in the rain. I have to claw for it, tugging through molasses, my magic scraping against the choker’s chokehold. Every inch I gain drains me before it feeds me.
But finally, it lands.
His mind is distant, dulled by barriers and distractions. But his desire? That’s near the surface. Always. I find the edge of it. Like the edge of a dream. And I slip a finger beneath.
The reaction is immediate.
My breath catches as I feel his arousal spark to life, like striking flint against dry kindling. A distant moan—not mine—brushes my thoughts, muffled but unmistakable. My thighs fall open.
My other hand moves without instruction, sliding between them. I whimper at the first touch. Gods, I’m soaked. Already.
Desperation makes me greedy. I pull on the bond again—harder this time—until I feel the choker constrict. Cold metal burns against my throat, squeezing until black dots flicker at the edges of my vision. I force past it with a cry I can’t hold in. The thread jerks, and Cassiel bucks against it. His breath stutters through the link, fractured, like radio static cutting across miles.
And then?—
“Temptress…” His voice is rough silk, winding into my thoughts. Strained. “What are you doing?”
A smile curves my lips, but it’s a broken thing. Crooked. Frayed at the corners.
“I need you,” I whisper back. “I’m starving.”
“It’s not a good time,” he groans. I feel him shift. Feel resistance in the bond like a door trying to close.
But I slam it open again, reckless, desperate. “Please…” My fingers are already moving, slow and seeking. “I’m weak, Cass. I need it. I need… you.”
A pause. Tension.
Then a groan so guttural it drags through my body like thunder.
“Then take what you need.”
I do. I devour.
The bond opens wider, sputtering, sparking white-hot in my mind’s eye. I press my hand harder to my chest, anchoring myself to it—to him—even as the choker cuts deeper, squeezing every pulse of magic until it burns. I let the pain fuel me. I let the pleasure drown me. My fingers find rhythm, my body rising to meet the ache with every stroke.
Cassiel groans again, this time muffled, half-strangled, like he’s fighting to keep control. I feel him straining to stay silent,but the bond drags every flicker of his desire into me, jagged and raw.
