Page 128 of Every Shade of Shadow

My gut reaction is instant. I won’t be treated like this—even by him. But I keep this protest to myself for the same reasons I told him nothing when I left the privacy of his chambers.

He pulls me back inside, our gazes locked together in the low light of his chambers. Confusion finds its way into my brain as he leans forward and places his lips against mine.

This is different. There is no demand in his eyes. No possessiveness. No anger. Sorrow, regret maybe, but this is a kiss that comes from a lover, not the tormentor I have come to know.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, his gaze darting down to my mouth before shooting back up to my eyes. “I shouldn’t have encouraged you to leave. It’s not what I want.”

“It isn’t?” I choke, my voice oddly childish. “What do you want then?” I ask, trying to drop my voice an octave, which only makes me sound confrontational.

A smile of bitterness forms on his face. “To spend time with you. Alone. Come,” he requests, maintaining a loose grip around my wrist as he directs me back into his chambers.

I’m still tense because this could be an act. There could be a fucking electric chair that’s materialized for all I know.

But there is a tenderness here I’ve never seen before, even if it was fleeting. It wouldn’t be unreasonable to think I somehow crave his vulnerability more than his cruelty.

We move left through his chambers and enter a lavish bathroom I don’t recall. Blue Turkish tiles line the walls, a porcelain vanity framed by an ornate mirror that extends across the entire wall. To the left is a large claw-foot bathtub, but it’s the shower to our right that he leads us towards. There’s no screen or glass—simply a showerhead extending from the roof.

It’s strange I’ve never been in here before, but Damien’s chambers seem to change daily, rooms swapped in and out and special nooks and crannies appearing and disappearing at will. If there’s a spell for this, to shift and change entire rooms, I need it.

There’s a whole shelf of candles next to the shower area. Damien reaches for the faucet and turns. Hot water gushes from the showerhead above, threads of steam begin to rise up in the air from the floor.

I stand there in amazement. Sure, dim illumination is mysterious and hot and all, but greater light is sinfully sexy. I can see every ridge of those abs, make out every intricate detail of his tattoos. Every defined muscle along his arms, his broad chest, and shoulders. His body, scarred as it is, is a work of art.

“What are you waiting for?” His question interrupts my daydreaming.

I smile in embarrassment and shrug off my coat, joining him under the stream of water.

After what I’ve just been through, it’s fucking bliss.

The Professor leans right to a separate shelf, returning with a purple vial in hand. He tips it, similarly violet liquid spilling onto his hand.

“Come.”

He spins me around, his big hands rubbing the liquid over my hips in circles, working over my thighs and up my back. I sigh, keeping my eyes shut as the scent of lavender and almond start to lace the air.

The liquid lathers as Damien works it over my entire body, his chest bumping into my upper back.

He speaks as he works. “Your skin is so smooth, my pet, so delicate,” he praises.

“Thank you.”

“I confess I might have gotten carried away tonight.” His palms glide up my back. “Every step of the process is crucial, but that doesn’t mean I enjoy them equally.”

“You sure seemed like you were enjoying yourself. Is it my suffering that turns you on?”

A low murmur. “Suffering is essential, my pet. In life. Here. There is no joy to be found without suffering as its foil. They are intertwined, as is pleasure and pain, and that, that nexus, is what is required for ascension, to reach the heights of magical possibility.”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

His hand stops for a moment. “Yes,” he confesses, “but you enjoyed it too, didn’t you, being powerless?”

I’m glad he can’t see the wickedness in my smile. “A little,” I admit.

He raises his arm up and gathers my hair together. Moving it out of his way, he kisses the back of my neck, lips lingering where my shoulder blades meet.

“So fine,” he groans, leaving a trail of kisses down the side of my neck. I tilt my head back, chills moving up and down my spine. He reaches for the vial again before focusing on the front of my body. His hands land on my belly and move in a clockwise motion, leaving circles of foam over my skin. “You must be quite tender.”

I’m not sure he’s ever acknowledged my pain in this way before. “I am,” I tell him. “But I’ll heal.”

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