The Myths of Ophelia (The Curse of Ophelia #4)

Chapter 18

Chapter Eighteen

Tolek

“What in Xenique’s name happened to you?” Erista blurted as the door to the back room of the inn flew open, a sharp wind shuffling the scrolls and papers spread across the wide, polished square table.

Ophelia stormed in, and?—

“Are you bleeding ?” I blurted out.

“It’s healing,” she exhaled, falling into a chair at the head of the table. I crouched before her, forgetting the Endasi I’d been working to translate, focused instead on where crimson smeared across her skin.

Lancaster stomped in after her, striding past glass shelves crammed with books to the other side of the room and grabbing an apple from the basket on the sideboard. His feet scuffed over the wooden floors. Blood coated one side of his face, nasty gashes slicing his cheek. Mora and Jezebel followed, the former shooting a concerned look at her brother.

“And where in the Spirit Realm did you two go?” I threw at the fae.

“To save your Revered.” With a growl—and no distinguishable response beyond that—Lancaster pulled out the chair at the opposite end of the table so he sat directly across from Ophelia and began slicing the fruit roughly.

“ Save us ?” Ophelia snapped at him, wincing as she leaned around me.

“Dammit,” I muttered. “Erista, can you go find Rina?”

The Soulguider cast a worried look at Jezebel. Baby Alabath held her arm delicately, the skin nastily bruised and her face pale, but she nodded at her partner, and Erista swept from the room.

As Ophelia and Lancaster continued to bicker, I gently shifted aside the strap of her leathers and swung her hair over her clean shoulder. The gouge was deep. What in the fucking realm did that?

“Why did you kill it?” Ophelia yelled again at Lancaster.

I gaped at her. “What did he kill?”

“That thing isn’t supposed to be alive!” Lancaster shot back, ignoring my question. “Don’t you understand?”

“No, I don’t understand any fucking thing that’s going on here!” Ophelia’s voice cracked, shattering the control I tried to hold onto.

“Quiet!” I roared. Ophelia gave me an impressed look, brows raised. “Now someone tell me what the fuck happened out there?”

Erista returned with Santorina, Cypherion and Lyria in tow. Rina handed me a stack of towels and a bowl of water, then scurried around the table with Erista to care for Jezebel. My sister dropped into a chair, sipping her drink and watching everyone curiously as if waiting for the fighting to resume, but CK stood behind Ophelia’s chair with his arms crossed.

“It was a bird,” Ophelia began, and as I delicately wiped away the blood staining her skin, she told us what happened.

When she was done, I reiterated, “A bird did this?” A bird? The claw mark ripped across her shoulder—Rina might need to stitch it. How had a bird done this?

“Yes,” Ophelia answered, bitterness staining her voice. My attention snapped up to those magenta eyes burning with vulnerability. I brushed a piece of hair behind her ear, silently telling her to give me a thought.

“Not a bird ,” Lancaster interjected. “A phoenix.”

A beat of silence passed as Rina continued wrapping Jez’s wrist and Mora disinfected her brother’s wounds so he could stitch them with his own healing magic. But Ophelia and Lancaster only glared at each other.

“Not possible,” Cypherion claimed.

“No, Cyph,” Ophelia said, her voice somewhere between tired and frustrated. “He’s right. We’ve all seen renditions of them from storybooks and legends.” She bit her lip, and I swore the fire of the bird’s feathers flamed in her eyes. “It was a phoenix.”

This time, the stunned silence was laden with fear.

“What in the everlasting Angel fuck?” I finally blurted.

Lyria echoed, “My question exactly.”

“ That is why I had to kill it,” Lancaster ground out, slicing another chunk off his apple and eating it off the blade.

“ Why? ” Ophelia’s voice was laced with venom, heaving with the pressure of yet another question.

Lancaster simply answered, “Because phoenixes are not meant to be alive.”

“Are you going to kill Sapphire next, then? The khrysaor?” Ophelia growled, lurching forward and ripping open her wound again. Fucking Spirits, this woman.

“You lay a hand on them,” Jezebel said, voice as cold as death, “and our Queen of Bounties won’t be the only one hunting faeries.” She hissed as Santorina set her arm in a sling, but the vicious look didn’t leave her eyes. Rina wisely allowed the Bounty reference to slide this time.

“It does raise questions,” Mora chimed in, her voice thoughtful as if oblivious to the tension thickening the air. Or pointedly ignoring it.

“Such as?” I asked.

“First the pegasus and khrysaor return,” she said. “Now a phoenix. Why?”

Ophelia swallowed her anger. “You mentioned during the battle against Kakias that you’ve seen the khrysaor,” she said to Mora, and she seemed to be teetering on some kind of nervous edge. “Do you know where they came from?”

Mora considered. The only sounds piercing the air were Rina’s bustling about and the ice clinking in my sister’s glass. When the female finally offered a response, the words rolled off her tongue with the heaviness of legends and magic. “Does the fel strella mythos mean anything to you?”

Angellight shimmered along Ophelia’s palms, but she looked around the room, waiting for any of us to interject before saying, “It doesn’t.”

“That’s an old folktale,” Lancaster dismissed.

“Until recently,” his sister retorted, gesturing toward the door. “It’s a story—likely lost in the shorter warrior lifetimes—about brother constellations. Twins. An ancient being of the heavens was desperate for a babe, but her womb was barren, so she plucked the charted stars from the sky and breathed life into them. Pegasus was the first,” she said, and Ophelia’s spine straightened, glowing at the mention, “then his brother, Khrysaor.”

Jezebel perked up.

“There were as many of them as there are common horses now. The pegasus with manes all colors of the rainbow and wings white as snow. The khrysaor gleaming the darkest night and silver.

“The accounts differ of what happened to the creatures after that. Some say they ruled the skies with a vengeful wrath; some say they were monsters of both peace and protection. And some swear they fought in the oldest wars, at the very head of their armies, with ferocious female warriors at their backs.”

“The books I’ve found all speak of constellations,” Jez said, “but I didn’t know they meant so literally.”

“It aligns with what we saw in the Spirit Realm,” Ophelia said.

“During the battle, it was the arrival of the khrysaor that caused your pegasus to emerge.” Mora shot her brother a victorious glare. “Only a folktale?”

Lancaster’s scowl deepened.

“Can you think of why that may have happened?” I pushed, brushing my fingers over the back of Ophelia’s neck absently as she bounced in her seat.

Mora considered. “A shed of power is the only trigger I can imagine.”

“How would that occur?” Jezebel asked.

But Ophelia’s tone was streaked with horror. “Blood.”

She looked up at me, and those wide magenta eyes said, Their blood has been used as mine has . There was a kinship in that stare, a protectiveness that explained her outrage at Lancaster killing the phoenix.

She swallowed down the fear and explained, “When you crashed through the ceiling into the manor, Zanox was cut.”

“We all saw the blood,” I said, remembering the dark, sticking substance splattering the courtyard.

“There is something in his blood that caused the pegasus to emerge,” Lancaster said, indulging the theory.

“And maybe”—Ophelia was searching now—“it finalized the reversal of Kakias’s immortality ritual, too.”

“What do you mean?” Lyria asked, leaning forward in her seat.

Ophelia explained, “When we tried to undo Kakias’s immortality to make her mortal, we were missing an ingredient. She was weak, but still very much immortal, until Jez arrived.” Ophelia shivered as if remembering the late queen’s bloodcurdling shriek, but went on, “There’s something in the khrysaor blood that set off that entire spiraling chain of reactions.”

The room fell into a contemplative, myth-laden silence. Finally, Cypherion said, “There are too many occurrences for them to be coincidences.”

Ophelia met my eyes, silently working through everything we’d been handed and uncovered. The constellations-turned-myths, Kakias’s death, the fae queen’s soldiers now at this table…

Her eyes widened, and I knew we put the pieces together at the same time. Ophelia’s stare whipped to Lancaster, and she said, “It’s connected to the reason you first came here, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” Lancaster clipped. “I think there is something on your continent—some kind of rot within the magic—that is causing all of these unnatural phenomenons to occur.”

“Perhaps it’s your presence,” Santorina quipped, but even that flaming remark was tempered by weight of the threat.

Lancaster only offered a flat look in response. “I wish it were as easily exterminated as that.” His gaze swiveling to Ophelia, he added, “You don’t have a grasp on your magic.”

“Not entirely,” Ophelia ground out.

Lancaster sat back in his seat, twirling his knife around his hand. “What do you know of it?”

Ophelia and Jezebel exchanged a look, then Ophelia summoned a delicate strand of Angellight. Based on the pure gold sheen, it was connected to the shard of Damien’s power around her neck. She sent it dancing around the fae, reflecting on the glass shelves lined with Starsearcher incense, candles, and books. Mora grinned, mystified, but Lancaster’s hands inched toward his weapons.

“Not a wise choice,” I threatened.

“Relax, Lancaster,” Ophelia said, attention carefully honed on her power. “You wanted me to use it.”

“You relax when an enemy’s magic is close enough to strangle you.”

“I thought we were allies.” But Ophelia withdrew the power, having it settle across her shoulder—her wound—like a gold bandage. She relaxed, and in only a minute, she pulled the sheet away to reveal a fresh pink scar. “That’s about all we know.”

She didn’t mention Jezebel’s silver light or spirit speaking, but Lancaster narrowed his eyes on Baby Alabath, likely trying to draw a conclusion from her connection to the khrysaor.

All he said was “It’s not much.”

“I’m trying,” Ophelia snapped.

“Try harder,” the fae said. “You never know what things you’ll unravel if you learn. What could be undone.” There was a new edge to his voice. Less the commanding, ancient soldier and more distressed. Ophelia noted it, too; it sank into her frame as she chewed her lip, working through what she was going to say next.

“Damien, our Angel, has visited me a few times,” Ophelia admitted, giving the fae a small peace offering as allies. An offering after they came to their rescue tonight, despite her disagreement with how Lancaster ended the situation. “Twice, he’s delivered prophecies. During the later visits, though, he seemed…blocked.”

“Blocked?” Mora asked.

“Like there was something he wanted to say, but he couldn’t.”

Mora exchanged a glance with her brother.

Ophelia cocked her head. “What?”

“That sounds like fae magic. A useful kind, but a rare one. To place restraints on another…it’s complicated.”

I asked, “A fae lock around the Mystique Angel?”

Interesting. Concerning.

“What in Damien’s name happened to all of you?” Malakai gaped from the doorway. I hadn’t even heard him and Mila enter.

As Cypherion helped Malakai with the bags from the market—including a large sack of apples for the khrysaor—we updated them on the night’s events, right up to what the fae had claimed about Damien.

“We read about locks,” Mila said. “In your queen’s library.”

Lancaster stood. “What were you doing?—”

But Mora smacked his arm. “What about locks?”

“We were looking for ways to break them,” Malakai explained with a nod at Ophelia and me. “Found things about goddess magic repelling ancient magic. About bargains being hereditary.”

That sparked a memory?—

It’s almost as tightly drawn as the hereditary bargains of the fae and the gods.

I spun toward Erista. “You said something about that.”

The Soulguider only offered a blank stare. “What?”

“In the outposts. While…” I glanced between Ophelia and Jezebel, unsure if they wanted Lancaster and Mora to know they’d been flying that night. “When we were talking about the pegasus and khrysaor.”

“Tolek, I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Erista said, head tilting.

“I…” The thought trailed off, my attention swinging to Mora. On the beach, when Erista and I were speaking of legends and the khrysaor and pegasus, something had seemed off about her. A slightly different tone to her voice and darker eyes, her tattoos not a vibrant as usual.

Mora blinked expectantly.

“It was you ?” I gasped.

“What was her?” Ophelia asked, slowly pushing up from her seat.

But Mora grinned. “I was wondering how long it would take you.”

“When you and Jezebel went flying before the isle,” I explained, “I thought I was talking to Erista, but apparently…”

Erista accused, “You impersonated me?”

Quick as a whip, Mora glamoured herself into Erista once again, flawless but for the off-shade eyes and dimmed gold tattoos. Every warrior in the room stiffened. “Your clothes are lovely,” Mora said, holding up the edge of a Soulguider-style chiffon skirt. Then, she shifted back.

“That’s disturbing,” Jezebel commented, leaning defensively toward her partner.

But Ophelia studied the fae. “ Sometimes our people are locked to our tempestuous habits, though we’d rather not be, ” she muttered. “That’s what you said outside.” She braced her palms on the table, not even wincing over her injured shoulder. “You’re under a bargain of some kind—forbidden from telling us something. And you glamoured yourself to point us in the right direction without explicitly saying it, didn’t you?”

Mora’s slight nod was the only confirmation we needed.

“You brilliant warrior, Alabath!” I burst.

Ophelia grinned, invigorated at a piece of the puzzle falling into place. “What else did you and Erista talk about that night?”

“The gods,” I said. “Spirits, it was right in front of me. The khrysaor and pegasus are tied to the gods, that’s likely a part of the fel strella mythos .”

“But the lock didn’t keep Mora from speaking of the myth,” Rina reminded us.

“Then it’s the gods they’re locked from sharing. Probably something specific,” Ophelia suggested, still not looking away from the fae.

Neither said a word. Which was confirmation enough.

“We ask questions to pry holes in the wording of the bargain and discover what they can tell us—or what they can’t that might hold an answer,” I said.

Ophelia’s eyes were alight as she nodded and recounted, “So the pegasus and khrysaor were brother constellations.”

“It might be connected,” Mila interrupted. When we all looked at her, she added, “I think Malakai and I figured something out.”

“Something about the pegasus?” I asked.

“Something about the emblems.” Mila answered, and Ophelia straightened beside me, eyes wide as the general continued, “Where was Damien’s emblem?”

“In Angelborn.” Ophelia’s eyes flashed to the ceiling, as if she could see the spear in our room above. “A shard in the hilt.”

“A weapon,” Mila said, nodding with a gleam in her eye.

Malakai snagged her train of thought as if they’d been discussing it already. “And Damien’s constellation is?—”

“The sword, yes!” Mila said, decisively. “Ptholenix’s is the firebird, like Firebird’s Field. It’s related to the location of his emblem.”

“And Thorn’s is the crown,” Ophelia continued, but her face quickly fell. “The sword and Angelborn aren’t quite the same, though. And Bant’s constellation is the ax, not anything like a ring.”

“Engrossians often claim a second one, though,” Malakai said. Snagging a blank sheet of parchment from the table, he sketched it out. “A few clans have claimed multiple over the millennia since the Angels. It’s caused many fights throughout history.”

“Did you know that before I told you?” Mila asked.

Malakai flashed her a sheepish glance. “Yeah.”

She rolled her eyes but waved a hand for him to continue.

“The common symbol of the Engrossian clan is the ax because of its simplicity when they scar themselves.” Many of the second major clan’s warriors chose to immortalize their commitment to their cause with that symbol. “But do you know what their original constellation was?”

Malakai straightened, shoving his rough recreation of the star map toward us.

“The hydra,” Ophelia breathed.

“Seven-headed monster,” I said, realization clicking into place.

“How does that connect?” Lancaster asked, voice piqued with interest.

“Barrett’s ancestors have had the Engrossian sigil ring in their possession for centuries,” Ophelia explained. “So long that the story of how they won it has shifted over time, but it is said that one powerful Engrossian won the ring from a monster in their swamps. One with seven heads.”

I added, “And are you aware that another clan fought for the hydra as their constellation back in the Age of Angels?” Moving around Ophelia, I scanned the glass shelves lining one wall until I found an encyclopedia and flipped through the index.

“Which?” Mora asked, enthralled with our lore.

“The Seawatchers,” I said, finding the page I needed and flipping the mythos book around. “And a contrasting account of the hydra is a water serpent.”

There on the page, an illustrated depiction of a many-headed serpent burst from a still navy sea, maw roaring wide and teeth glinting as long as my arm.

“The alpheous,” Ophelia said. “They guarded the platforms. And Gaveny’s known constellation is the conch. Which can produce pearls like his emblem, though they’re rare.”

“Do you see my theory?” Mila asked.

“The constellations are clever disguises,” Ophelia said. “Some point to the emblem itself, such as Thorn’s crown, some are an adjacent item like Damien’s sword, and some are?—”

“They’re clues to what we might face or where we should look,” I said. And when Ophelia smiled at me from across the table, there was so much hope shining in her eyes.

“This could change everything. Give us an advantage we need heading into those final two trials. And maybe…maybe even a reason for why this is all happening, if we look in the right place.” Ophelia whipped her head toward Mila. “You’re a genius. Thank you.”

“Happy to help, Revered.”

Cypherion said, “And the Starsearcher constellation?”

“Valyrie’s Heart,” Mila amended. “That’s the nickname at least. It’s a maiden and a huntsman.” As she spoke, I flipped through the encyclopedia again. “The Fated Lovers legend says the two fell in love but were forbidden from ever being near one another, and Valyrie herself facilitated a way for their love to resound through the eons by casting them into the sky and creating her own constellation before the Ascension. Though no one can confirm or deny if it’s actually true, it holds the name of her heart because she loved the two dearly and wanted their happiness enough to put some of her very self into the magic that bound them to the heavens. Each night, she would find them through her telescope to say a heartwarming hello from Ambrisk. It’s a tragic story of sacrifice, really, but it’s also beautiful.”

We all stared at Mila for a moment as she finished, her eyes shining. Malakai shrugged. “She knows her stars.”

“That she does,” I agreed.

“We need to figure out what symbol could have to do with Valyrie’s heart,” Ophelia said, more alive than I’d seen her in days. As if this new promise swallowed up some of the stagnation she’d been wrestling with. “Then, maybe we’ll be able to pair it with what Tolek and Mora are translating from the scrolls and decipher what’s waiting in Valyn.”

“Are we certain her trial will even be in Valyn?” Malakai asked, a bit warily.

“Titus seemed to know something,” Ophelia said. “It’s where we’ll start.”

And get Vale back, no one added aloud.

“What’s the Soulguider constellation?” Lancaster asked.

Jezebel, who had been conferring with Erista, raised a brow at him. “Do you ancient immortals truly not know?”

But Lancaster merely sighed. “First off, Mystique, we are not immortals. We can be killed, but are simply highly skilled at avoiding it?—”

Santorina scoffed.

Lancaster squinted at her. “Secondly, if we do not fall prey to foul play, it takes millennia for our natural causes of death to befall us, but they do. And third, the constellations are categorized differently in Vercuella. Not only do we see different ones based on location, but those that we all share have different meanings.”

“We understand that,” Ophelia said, rolling her eyes. “I think my sister assumed you’d gotten bored in those many non-immortal centuries and had researched them.”

Lancaster groaned, apparently ready to continue this debate with Ophelia, but Mila interrupted, “Xenique’s constellation has been right in front of us.”

Erista and Mila exchanged a knowing look.

“What now?” Lancaster grumbled.

Ducking under the table, Mila pulled out the books she and Malakai had found in the fae queen’s library.

The male narrowed his eyes. “Are those?—”

“Yes,” I interrupted, and Lancaster grumbled.

I still doubted Malakai and Mila had asked permission to borrow the tomes, but I didn’t truly care. That queen was entitled. She deserved to have something taken from her after how she toyed with us.

Finding the page, Mila plopped the book down on the table before Lancaster and Mora and asked, “How much do you know about sphinxes?”

“Sphinxes?” CK echoed.

“Legends say Xenique had quite a preference of them,” Erista said. “And they’re largely a symbol of Artale, marking historic sites like our capital monuments, Gates of Angeldust, the Artiste of Artale’s Corridor.” She waved a hand as if to say the list goes on and pursed her lips. “None have ever been seen alive, so I’m not sure where it points, but the Soulguider constellation is the sphinx.”

“Sounds like the exact thing that would be tangled up in a hidden piece of her power,” Ophelia declared. “We head to Valyn first and chase the Fated Lovers, but then, we search for lost sphinxes.”

And when Ophelia grinned, it was lit with as much fire as a phoenix’s wings.

“Ready for bed?” Ophelia asked, cutting through the swarm of theories my mind had become. It was only us left in the room now, the inn quiet. “Tomorrow’s ride will be long.”

My brain was too clouded with mashed up sentences somewhere between Endasi and the common tongue to make a joke of the wording she’d chosen. Phoenixes, hearts, and races. Soulguiders, gods, and Starsearchers. It all melded together.

I shook my head to clear it as Ophelia stood from her seat across the table and walked toward me.

“We’re making progress,” she encouraged.

“Is it enough, though?” When it was her safety—her damn life—at stake, would it ever be?

Ophelia gripped my chin, turning my attention toward her. “Give me a thought,” she said, as I’d said to her before when she was afraid.

I blew out a heavy breath, leaning back in my chair. “I still see it, you know. All the time.”

She stiffened, but I kept up the gentle tracing of her waist, grounding myself with the feel of her skin against mine and studying the scars on her midriff. “Not every night, but sometimes, when I jolt awake, I still see me having to cut Kakias’s power from your arm. Sometimes the wound never stops bleeding. And…” My words faded into silence.

“Tolek,” Ophelia said softly. She cupped my cheek, pulling my gaze upward. “I am alive because of you. So many times now, you’ve saved me.”

“What if I can’t one time? That’s all it takes, and tonight, I wasn’t even there.” I waved a hand at the table behind her. “You need to survive this, Alabath. I need you to.”

I wasn’t above saying it, pouring my heart out to her and reminding her how desperately I needed her in this life or any other.

“I’m not going anywhere.” Leaning forward, she brushed her lips against mine softly. I knew while she was equally angry and scared of the unknown, she was being strong for me right now. But Angels, kissing her was one of the best fucking feelings in the world, so I didn’t care. “I know what you’ve been doing ever since we first went to the outposts.”

“What’s that?” I asked, tugging her a little closer.

“You’ve been holding everything together. Holding me together when I thought I’d implode, trapped on that little island waiting for Ritalia.”

I laughed. “It’s a bit bigger than a little island ,” I corrected her, but she only rolled her eyes.

“You kept me from going crazy, but you can let go, Tolek. It’s not only your responsibility to protect me. It’s our responsibility to protect each other.”

“I think you’re more inclined to risk your life than I am, Alabath.”

“Yes, well, being chosen by the Angels will do that to you.” She crossed her arms. “Regardless, we’re a team, Tolek.”

“Best damn team there is.”

She smirked, and mine matched it. Even this small conversation, the tiny reassurances, made everything a bit lighter. With that weight lifted, I admitted, “I keep thinking about being in the outposts. About how nice it was to have a reprieve.”

“Mm-hmm,” Ophelia hummed, and I knew without looking that her eyes were on my hand, slowly creeping up her thigh.

“But they were also some of the cruelest weeks the Angels could have given us.”

“What do you mean?” she breathed.

“Now I know what it’s like,” I said, and I leaned forward, placing a kiss to her stomach. “Now I know that semblance of a normal life with you. Being able to stay in bed for hours, to sit at a tavern or on the beach and indulge in every moment.”

Ophelia knotted a hand in my hair, and I dragged my fingers up the back of her legs slowly, slipping beneath her skirt. Gripping her thighs, I pulled her closer.

“I know what it’s like to have you whenever I want.” I dragged my lips across her stomach, pressing those words into her skin. “And even after all this time”—I traced the seam of her lace undergarments, and she arched her back—“all I can think about is being between your legs. About what you taste like, how you feel around my cock.”

I stood, hiked up Ophelia’s skirt, and backed her toward the table. “Every day, it feels like there are collars around our necks.” I teased over the lace between her legs, circling where she was so fucking needy, and her breath quickened. “They’re pulling us further away, taken by some curses we don’t understand. And if I’m going to go, it’ll be with the feel of you imprinted on my skin.”

Ducking, I kissed beneath her jaw, and her head instantly rolled back.

“We really should go to bed,” she gasped as I worked my lips down the column of her throat, still toying with the fabric that stood between us.

I brushed a knuckle over her clit, and her hips bucked.

“Right,” I muttered. “Bed.” The lure of her heat was driving me wild. “Are you sure?”

Ophelia’s eyes were clouded with lust. A beautiful sight. “We can’t here, Tolek,” she scolded, voice breathy.

I dragged my lips back up her neck and whispered in her ear, “You can’t say my name like that and expect me to not want to fuck you on this table.”

Her thighs clenched around my hand, and I smirked against her skin.

“I love having that damn effect on you,” I groaned.

“What?” She gripped my leathers.

“The way you show me you’re unraveling as much as I am. The way it makes me feel like I might drive you as wild as you’ve been driving me for years.”

“Tolek.” She breathed my name again, and I was dangerously close to the edge. Ophelia’s gaze was mischievous as she met my eyes. “What do you need?”

“I could think of a thousand different things I need right now, Alabath,” I whispered, nipping her ear and keeping up a teasing pattern between her legs until she was nearly panting. “All of them involving you in various positions on this table—to hell with the Angels and their curses.”

Slowly, I gripped both of her hands and removed them from my shoulders. I positioned them behind her, grasping the edge of the table on either side of her hips.

“Don’t move,” I instructed, my voice dark, and her magenta eyes flared with heat. “Not until I say you can.”

Ophelia bit her bottom lip but nodded eagerly.

With taunting, savoring movements, I skimmed my fingertips back up her thighs, relishing in each shiver she rewarded me with. When I reached the hem of her leather skirt, I was already straining behind my leathers, but I wouldn’t fuck her yet. Not with my cock at least.

I hooked my fingers in the band of her undergarments, stripping the lace and silk down her thighs. Nothing else stood between us now, no other layers under her skirt tonight.

“Dammit, Alabath,” I said. “This lace fucking wrecks me.”

Her voice was breathy as she answered, “I think you wreck it .”

I smirked. “A fair trade.” I tossed them aside, standing, and Ophelia looked confused, likely expecting me on my knees. But I didn’t want to do what she expected.

Instead, I kissed her deeply, and when her hands shot to my shoulders to find purchase, I grasped her wrists, squeezing tight. “I gave you instructions.”

She placed them back on the edge of the table as I tugged her skirt up, spreading her legs and exposing her to the back room where anyone could walk in. A thrill widened her eyes.

“Do you trust me?” I whispered.

“Yes,” she panted as I dragged one finger through her center. Fucking Angels, she already felt so good.

I swirled lightly around her clit, then dipped back toward her entrance, and she writhed against my hand, seeking relief.

“Careful you don’t move too much,” I whispered, dragging my teeth down her neck. “You wouldn’t want to make a mess of the table.”

“Fucking Angels, Tolek,” she breathed.

I pulled back, repeating that pattern with my fingers as I peppered kisses and bites down her neck and breasts. I scraped my teeth across her nipple, and she arched into me, one hand fisting in my hair.

Freezing, I ordered, “Not yet.”

She whined in protest—the sound making me painfully hard—but gripped the edge of the table again, using it as leverage against my hand.

I kissed and licked back up her neck until I was hovering right over her mouth.

No, I didn’t want to be on my knees right now.

I wanted to be right here, where I could watch her writhe. Where I could watch every thought until all she could focus on was the pleasure I was giving her. On the promise woven between us.

And as I slowly sank a second finger inside her and gave her the satisfaction she begged for, those promises stitched even tighter.

She moaned, her head dropping back.

“One day,” I swore as I pumped my fingers into her and memorized every breath and groan that slipped from her. “One day, we won’t have to worry about any of this. One day,” I added, picking up my pace, “we’ll have weeks where the only curses we know are the ones you swear to the Angels in our bed.”

Her hands clenched the table, desperate to let go as she began to flutter around my fingers. “One day,” she panted, “we won’t have to worry about the sacrifices.”

And that word on her lips broke all the resolve I’d held to. I pulled my fingers out of her, quickly undoing my belt and dropping my pants, until I was slamming into her.

She cried out, neither of us giving a damn who heard. One of her hands gripped tightly to my hair, pulling my lips to hers as I pounded into her again and again and drove us toward that frenzied peak.

Tongues and teeth clashed, the room echoed, and as I hit that spot I knew would send her to ruin—as she squeezed my cock so tight I was coming harder than ever before—I memorized every damn reaction playing out across her beautiful face.

“I love you, Tolek,” Ophelia breathed. “More than all the damn Angels.”

“Infinitely, Alabath.” I crushed her lips to mine. As we both caught our heaving breaths, I whispered again, “Infinitely.”