Page 62 of The Flesh Remembers
He stood in a pool of golden light, a god among mortals. His body radiated an unholy beauty, veins of molten silver threading beneath his skin, pulsing like liquid fire. His every move was a symphony of power and sensuality, a predator’s grace mingling with divine allure. His eyes burned with an intensity that held Eleanor captive, twin flames igniting her from the inside out, stripping away her defences.
Around him, the cultists crawled, desperate and reverent. Some pressed fervent kisses to his thighs, their praising hands stroking the contours of his legs. Others groaned as their fingers traced the glowing lines of his chest and arms, shuddering at the heat radiating from him. Gasps turned to cries as his touch scorched them with unbearable pleasure, leaving them trembling on the floor, their bodies quaking with the aftermath of ecstasy.
Eleanor felt her strength drain, her skin tingling with the electric heat of his nearness. When he reached her, his hand rose, his fingers brushing her jawline with deliberate slowness. The touch was searing, sending sparks racing down her spine, her breath caught between a gasp and a moan.
“Eleanor,” he murmured, his voice a resonant purr that coiled around her like a silken chain. “Do you see me now? Do you see what you’ve made of me?”
Her lips parted, but no words came. The sheer force of his presence rendered her mute, her body betraying her resolve as her thighs trembled, anticipation and horror in equal measures filling her body. Every nerve screamed for more, her mind drowning in his magnetic pull.
“You’re… magnificent,” she finally whispered, her voice barely audible. But even as the words left her lips, doubt clawed at the edges of her mind. This was not the James she had loved, the tender, vulnerable man who had once been hers. This James was something else entirely, a creature of power, hunger, and dominance.
James’s hand slipped lower, tracing the hollow of her throat before gliding to the curve of her collarbone. His touch lingered, his fingers pressing just enough to make her heart race. The air between them crackled as he leaned in, his lips brushing the shell of her ear.
“You feel it, don’t you?” he whispered, his breath hot and deliberate. “The power. The pleasure we could share. The ecstasy I could bring you.”
His lips found hers, demanding and consuming. He tasted of fire and something forbidden, the pressure of his mouth a perfect blend of dominance and seduction. Her hands found his chest, fingers splaying against the molten heat of his skin, and she pressed closer, her body arching into his as his touch roamed lower.
He broke the kiss only to trail his lips along her jaw, down to her neck, each press of his mouth igniting sparks along her nerves. When his hand finally found the curve of her waist, he pulled her flush against him, his voice a low growl againsther skin. “Eleanor, I could devour you, body and soul. Would you let me?”
Her answer was a soft moan, her resolve crumbling as her fingers tangled in his hair, her body surrendering to his touch.
Before she could fall entirely into him, the sound of slow, deliberate applause shattered the moment. She tore herself from James, her breath coming in ragged gasps, her lips swollen and tingling. Turning, she saw Lord Blackwood emerge from the shadows, his dark eyes gleaming with satisfaction.
“Magnificent,” Blackwood said, his voice a smooth drawl that sent a chill down Eleanor’s spine. “You’ve exceeded my every expectation, James. A god among mortals. A true masterpiece.”
James’s gaze shifted to Blackwood, his expression unreadable. “This was your design,” he said, his voice low and dangerous. “And now, it’s mine.”
Blackwood’s smile faltered but quickly recovered, his arms spreading wide. “Of course. All of this is yours, my lord. The coil, the altar, the devoted… they exist to serve you.”
Around them, the cultists stirred, their bodies trembling as they began to rise. Some crawled toward James, their hands outstretched as though reaching for salvation. Others turned to each other, their movements slow, their bodies entwining in renewed waves of sensual abandon. The apparatus overhead sparked, its hum growing louder as the energy in the room swelled to an unbearable crescendo.
“Do you feel it?” Blackwood whispered, stepping closer to Eleanor, his breath brushing her cheek. “The power that lingers here? The potential? We stand on the brink ofsomething extraordinary, my dear. Something that will rewrite the rules of existence.”
Eleanor’s gaze snapped back to James, who stood motionless, his glowing eyes locked on her. Around him, the cultists pressed closer, their hands sliding over his skin, their lips leaving trails of reverence along his chest and arms. Some knelt at his feet, their bodies arching in silent ecstasy as though the very air around him was enough to undo them.
Her heart ached at the sight. This was not the man she had loved. This was something else entirely, something divine and monstrous, overwhelming and irresistible. And yet she couldn’t look away, couldn’t stop the heat that burned within her, the pull that beckoned her toward him.
James reached for her again, his fingers closing around her wrist with an unrelenting grip. Heat pulsed from his touch, raw and scorching, setting off a chain reaction deep in her veins. She gasped, the tremor in her body betraying her resolve.
“You brought me back,” he murmured, his voice like a current of electricity running beneath her skin. “You gave me this. And now, you’re mine.”
His lips found hers in a kiss that was both devastation and salvation. He devoured Eleanor, claiming her with fierce possession, yet somewhere in that ruthless hunger was an aching tenderness that threatened to undo her entirely. She sank into him, her breath stolen, her thoughts unravelling, her doubts drowned beneath the tidal wave of desire.
Then the agony.
The pendant at her throat burned with sudden, searing intensity, a fire sinking into her chest like molten metal branding her very soul. It wasn’t just pain, it was revelation,transformation, something clawing its way into the deepest part of her.
And the worst part?
She was no longer sure she wanted to stop it.
Excerpt from the diary of Dr. Eleanor Ashcroft
I read my last entry and feel as if I am staring into the abyss of someone else’s madness. My words are foreign, twisted, written by hands that are no longer mine. I am changing. I know it. I feel it. The corruption slithers through my veins just as it did through James, pulling me toward the precipice where he now stands. What awaits us beyond that fall if I reach for him and take his hand?
Oblivion? Or something worse?
Blackwood. His name alone coats my tongue with revulsion. He thinks he can wield James, bend the monstrous power that resurrected him into something he can control. He speaks of domination, conquest, and shaping the world into his image. But he does not see. He does not understand.
