Page 68 of The Flesh Remembers
I want more of him. I want all of him.
I must get away from him.
“James,” Eleanor whispered, looking up into his blue eyes while her newly amber eyes filled with tears. James looked down at her, his hands caressing her cheeks, and then with a slight shudder, she saw the clear light of love fade from his eyes, and instead, there washim. The new god, James. Alive yet dead and filled with this new power. His smile was knowing, seductive, but also terrifying.
“Yes,” Eleanor said softly, “I think I will go and lie down. I am quite exhausted.” Eleanor pulled away from James as gently as she could and pulled her robe tighter about her bruised and welted flesh. She could feel James’s eyes upon her as she turned and walked quickly back to where part of the clinic was still intact. The main living quarters were still mostly habitable, and she found her room easily.
Eleanor had only meant to lie down. Truly, she had not planned for anything beyond that, but within two minutes of entering the room, she grabbed the small bag she had brought and began emptying her clothes and toiletries into the bag. She didn’t know what she was doing and knew she would stop if she paused to consider what she was doing or the danger. So she didn’t pause, she just moved with as much speed as possible while trying to remain as quiet as possible. There wasn’t any staff now to speak of, so the hallways were empty as she moved swiftly around the corners and down the stairs. She knew that if James found her trying to leave, he would be very displeased and possibly punish her. But she could no longer stay and watch what her love was turning into. It was destroying her. Eleanor attempted to remove the pendant from her neck to leave it behind. However, when she touched the disk, it burned white hot in her fingers. It would not let her go without it. Not wanting to take any more time, she left it where it was, feeling the metal cool down as she hurried down the corridor.
Eleanor went home. After she successfully left the clinic and made it down Allen Street, she hailed a carriage in front of a somewhat respectable-looking hotel and had the driver take her back to her townhouse on the other side of the city. Eleanor had sent the servants away on an extended vacation as she had no idea how long she would be occupied with bringing James back, so the house was cold and dark when she arrived. Eleanor paid the cab with the last bit of money she had left, opened the metal gate, and walked up the flagstone path to the front door. The front garden was overgrown but not too wild, for someone did come by every third week to do basic maintenance.
Once inside, after she had closed and locked the door, Eleanor collapsed in the front foyer and began to sob. Eleanor cried in such a way that she had not done since the death of James or even her father so many years ago. The thought of her dear father and how disappointed he would be with the choices she had made in life only made the pain inher chest even greater as she curled up on the dusty oriental rug and covered her head in her hands and let all the pain and grief spill out of her like a river once the dam had broken.
No matter how worried she was about James or even Blackwood or one of the other cultists showing up on her doorstep, Eleanor could not stop living, though she may have wanted to at times. She forced herself to return to some semblance of normality, though such a thing seemed quite impossible after all she had seen and experienced. Eleanor had almost convinced herself that the past two months had been some sort of fever dream and none had been real. Nearly, except the dreams would not let her.
Eleanor threw herself into the mundane, anything to drown out the lingering pulse of the dreams that would plague her nightly. She scrubbed floors, sorted through old books, and ran errands that should have made her feel human again. But the world twisted beneath her fingertips, warping under the weight of what had been done.
The walls whispered when she passed. Soft, murmuring voices brushing against her ears.
"Come back."
"We need you."
"James waits."
She gritted her teeth and pressed forward, ignoring the shadows that flickered where they shouldn't, the scent of iron curling in the air like an old lover’s breath. She refused to acknowledge the wet footprints behind her, dark and glistening against the wooden floor.
She stumbled when she caught sight of herself in the mirror.
Her reflection did not blink.
And James stood behind her.
She whirled, her heart hammering, but the room was empty. Her breath came in ragged gasps, and her hands clutched the furniture for support. Her reflection still did not move.
"Get out of my head," she whispered.
A chuckle, low and knowing, reverberated through the room. "Oh, Eleanor, you can’t be rid of me that easily."
She found him waiting in the crypt beneath the old church ruins, where the air was thick with damp stone and the lingering scent of burnt incense. He stood in the flickering candlelight, watching her with that same lazy, unreadable gaze that always made her stomach lurch with equal parts fear and longing.
"You’re unravelling," he said, voice smooth, mocking. "You feel it, don’t you? The pull of what we started."
Eleanor crossed her arms, masking the tremor in her fingers. "I feel nothing."
James tilted his head, amusement flickering in his glowing blue eyes. "Then why are you here?" He stepped closer, his presence suffocating, a tide she could never escape. "You can’t run from me, Eleanor. You never could. And now," he reached out, fingers brushing against her pulse point, making her shudder, "I need more."
A terrible truth unfolded between them. James was changing. The hunger in his gaze was no longer just desire, it was survival. He wasn’t just asking.
He was demanding.
And she would give it.
Because she had no choice.
Her back hit the cold stone as he caged her in, his breath hot against her neck. His weight pinned her, the sheer force of his presence unravelling her resistance.
"Say it," he murmured, lips grazing her ear. "Tell me what you need."
