Page 25 of The Flesh Remembers
James’s eyes began to glow faintly in the dim light. His lips parted, and a raspy groan escaped him as his body arched against hers.
“Eleanor,” he whispered, his voice still his, though thick with need and rough with disuse and decay.
Her heart raced as he turned to her, his gaze locking onto hers. There was lust in his eyes, a lust that went beyond love, beyond desire. It was primal, all-consuming, sending her an icy ripple of fear and anticipation.
“Give yourself to him,” Blackwood urged, his voice filled with dark delight.
Eleanor leaned down, pressing her lips to James’s in a desperate, grotesque kiss. His mouth was cold and tasted of decay, but she didn’t pull away. Instead, she deepened the kiss, her hands tangling in his hair as the machine roared.
James’s hands found her waist, gripping her with bruising force. His touch was rough, almost violent, as he pulled her closer. She cried out, the sound muffled against his lips, but the pain only heightened her desire.
The galvanic rods flared, and Eleanor felt the machine pulling at her, drawing out every ounce of her energy. Her body trembled as the pleasure built, her back arching as James’s grip tightened.
“More,” he whispered, his voice guttural. “I need more, please, El.”
She gave herself to him completely, her body moving in sync with his as the machine amplified their connection. The room blurred into a haze of light and sound, the boundaries between them dissolving until she couldn’t tell where she ended and he began.
As their connection deepened, James’s body began to change. His features twisted into something almost unrecognizable. His eyes burned with an unnatural light, and his smile widened into a perverse grin.
“You’ve made me strong,” he whispered, his voice grotesquely wrong. “But it’s not enough.”
His grip on her waist tightened, his nails digging into her flesh until she cried out. He rolled her onto her back, pinning her to the dais as his lips trailed down her neck.
“James,” she gasped, her voice filled with fear. “Please”
He silenced her with a kiss, his teeth biting into the tender flesh of her lower lip and drawing blood. The metallic tang filled her mouth, and she shuddered as his tongue swept across the wound.
The machine surged again, and Eleanor felt her strength draining, her vision blurring as James’s presence consumed her. His hands roamed her body, exploring her with a feral intensity that left her gasping for breath.
Suddenly, Eleanor felt a new presence close to her. Blackwood had moved closer, his shadow falling over them.
“You’ve done well, Dr. Ashcroft,” he said, his voice low and amused. “But the ritual is not yet complete.”
Eleanor’s heart clenched painfully as Blackwood reached for her, his fingers brushing against her arm. “What are you doing?” she demanded, her voice panicked.
“Ensuring the bond is unbreakable,” he replied smoothly. “It requires all of us.”
Before she could protest, Blackwood’s hands joined James’s, their combined touch overwhelming her senses. She cried out, her body writhing as the energy in the room intensified, the machine pulling her deeper into its web.
The line between pleasure and pain blurred until it disappeared entirely, and Eleanor realized too late that she had become more than a vessel; she was the sacrifice.
Excerpt from the Diary of Dr. Eleanor Ashcroft
James lives. Against all reason, against nature itself, he is here. Breathing, speaking, moving. But the triumph I thought I’d feel eludes me.
The cost of his resurrection is a weight I can’t ignore. The blood, the lies, the horrors I embraced to bring him back, what have they turned me into? I told myself it was love, but now itfeels like obsession, a hunger that no longer feels entirely my own.
James is here, but he is not whole. At times, he is as I remember, but then his silence stretches, his eyes darken, and I see something else, a shadow of what he was, or perhaps something worse.
In resurrecting James, I’ve lost something in myself. The enormity of what I’ve done won’t let me forget. He is alive, but what have I unleashed, and what have I become?
Haze of Ecstacy and Torment
Throughout the night, the storm outside raged, rattling the clinic’s walls with a relentless fury that seemed to seep into its foundations. Rain pounded against the windows like a heartbeat, desperate and unyielding, as though the world itself protested the ritual about to unfold within.
The lab was no longer a space for science; it had transformed into something primal, almost alive. The walls now hidden behind thick crimson drapes, their folds shimmering like fresh blood in the flickering candlelight. Chains hung from the ceiling, glinting as they swayed slightly in the air, while the dais at the centre stood as a grotesque altar.
The carvings adorning its surface were no longer just symbols; they were faces and bodies, intertwined inexpressions of rapture and agony, their features shifting with the flicker of the flames. Above all, the galvanic apparatus loomed, its rods crackling faintly with anticipation.
