Page 55 of Magic in My Bones

Ren's breath hitched, a flush spreading across his cheeks as his magic responded eagerly to my words.

“What do you feel?” I whispered, my own pulse quickening at the sight of him, so open and vulnerable.

Ren's voice was barely above a whisper as he confessed, “Desire. I feel... desire.” His eyes remained closed, but I could see the rapid flutter of his pulse at his throat, the way his fingers curled into the velvet beneath him.

“Very good,” I praised, letting my voice drop an octave. “Now, imagine that desire as a glowing ember within you. With each breath, you fan the flames, stoking the heat until it grows into an inferno.”

I watched Ren writhe on the velvet dais, his magic rising from his skin like heat waves, and had to forcibly remind myself that this was a ritual, not foreplay. Yet seeing him pliant, responsive, gasping at each brush of our magic made my body respond with a hunger that was entirely inappropriate for the task at hand.

“There's something you should understand,” I said, my voice rougher than intended. “This type of ritual... it draws on intimate energy. The connection between us, the desire...” I swallowed hard as Ren's eyes fluttered open to meet mine. “It's natural to feel aroused. The magic feeds on that energy.”

“Is that why you chose this method?” Ren asked softly, a knowing glint in his dark eyes.

“Yes,” I admitted, shifting slightly to ease the growing tightness in my trousers. “Our connection, the way our magic responds to each other… It creates the perfect conduit. But we must stay focused on the task.”

Even as I said it, my magic reached for his instinctively, drawing a moan from his lips that sent heat straight to my groin. Gods, the sounds he made... just like when I had him trembling beneath my hands the night before. I wanted nothing more thanto climb onto that dais and claim his mouth, to feel him arch against me as I—

No. Later. There would be time for that later.

“Feel how your magic wants to reach for mine,” I continued, forcing my voice to remain steady despite my growing arousal. Each surge of his power against mine was like a caress, reminding me of how perfectly he yielded to my touch, how beautifully he responded to my guidance. “Let it build slowly, that need for connection.” The contact made him gasp, his magic surging to meet mine with an eagerness that made my breath catch. “That's it, mo stóirín. Don't fight it. Let the pleasure of the connection guide you deeper.”

Our magic twined together, like recognizing like in the most intimate way possible. Each surge of power between us felt like touches in the dark, building a familiar tension that had nothing to do with the ritual and everything to do with how his body remembered my hands on him.

“Dorian,” he breathed, his voice heavy with need as our magic danced together. The sound of my name on his lips in that tone nearly broke my professional resolve.

“Focus on that feeling,” I instructed, my own voice rougher than intended. “Let it fill you completely. Open yourself to it. The spirits will be drawn to that pure energy, that perfect moment of surrender.”

Ren’s lips parted, his breath quickening, but it wasn’t discomfort. It was a quiet surrender to the strange magic at work. He was open, allowing the power to flow into him without resistance, his body relaxing into the pull of it.

“Good boy,” I purred, watching his magic respond instantly to my praise. Just as it had in more intimate moments, the endearment made him shiver, his power surging with need.

The temperature in the room seemed to rise with our shared desire, the air growing thick with more than just magical energy.Every soft gasp, every little movement of his body on that velvet dais tested my control. But this wasn't about my pleasure, not yet. This was about guiding him safely through the ritual, even if watching him submit so beautifully to my magical direction made me ache to show him other ways I could make him surrender.

When spirit energy began to gather around us, it felt almost jarring, cold and ancient compared to the heated intimacy of our magical exchange. The contrast served to remind me of our purpose here, helping me focus past the desperate want coursing through my veins.

“You're doing so beautifully for me, Ren. Now, let me guide you deeper.”

I let my magic press more firmly against his, asserting gentle control over the dance. Like when I had him trembling beneath my hands, his power yielded sweetly to mine, eager to be guided. The surrender in his magic was as intoxicating as the way he'd submitted to my touch the night before.

“That's it,” I murmured, my voice dropping to the tone that I knew made him melt. “Let me take control. Trust me to give you what you need.” Each pulse of my magic against his drew soft, desperate sounds from his throat.

His magic was practically begging now, reaching for mine with the same desperate energy he'd shown when pleading for my touch. I kept my power just out of reach, teaching him patience, making him work for the connection just as I'd made him wait for release.

Suddenly, Ren's back arched off the velvet dais, his mouth falling open in a silent gasp as the spirit energy surged into him. His body went rigid, then relaxed completely, his features smoothing into an eerily calm mask. When his eyes opened, they were no longer his warm dark brown, but a silvery void,endless and ancient. The air around us grew cold, heavy with the presence of something far older than either of us.

Only years of experience kept my voice steady as I asked, “Speak your purpose,” the words serving as a grounding anchor in the rising tide of energy.

The spirit spoke without warmth, its words void of emotion but clear. “He hungers.”

I stiffened. The air thickened with the weight of its utterance, and I felt the shift in the room. “He?” I asked, my heart skipping a beat as the spirit continued, its presence cold and detached.

“The one you seek. Alistair. His hunger is what has awoken us. Dragged us from the deep sleep.”

I glanced at Ren. He was still breathing fast, eyes closed, lost in the current of magic. He wasn’t in pain. There was no fear in his expression, just the quiet intensity of someone channeling something far beyond themselves.

“I don’t understand. Alister isn’t here. He was expelled years ago. How can his hunger have awoken you? And what does it have to do with the spirits we’ve been finding fused together? Is that Alister’s doing somehow?”

The spirit’s presence didn’t shift, its words as cold and clinical as before. “I know only that it disrupts. The veil tears where he feeds. The fabric weakens.”

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