Page 50 of The Prince of Hidden Shadows
Sleep eludes me. Not that I need it. I picked up the habit on my last trip to Earth carried it with me through the Underworld, and now, bound to Théo’s rhythms, I don’t see it changing anytime soon.
Yes, I am a god, yet my body is spent from our workout. The more time I’ve spent with him, the more human my reactions have become. No need to imitate anymore.
I reach for the bedside lamp and select the lowest setting. He wets his lips, and I find myself unable to look away. Wild sex in the dark is one thing, but I could watch this man for eternity. His flushed face. His lust-filled eyes. His tempting body.
“My pleasure, Théo.” I lean in to deposit a soft kiss on his swollen lips. I plead guilty. Kissing him senseless is one of my favorite pastimes. That’s why I care little for doggy style or other positions where I don’t see his face and, therefore, can’t steal kisses. “Right back at you, babe. And for the record, I agree with you about eleven.” His eyebrow spikes up. Did he think that I’d forget about our conversation aboutOcean’s Elevenand his adamant declaration of working solo? “You wereneveran eleven performance, much less a two. There’s no scale high enough to qualify your drive.”
“Flattery won’t get you anywhere,” he deadpans, though his amused gaze reveals that he remembers the conversation I’m referencing. Back then, he insisted that working alone was the best method for the theft. I’m glad we settled on joining forces instead—the results speak for themselves: he claimed retribution, and I reclaimed my painting. As for where to display it… that decision can wait.
Bolting out of bed naked, he saunters to the bathroom and comes back with a warm washcloth to clean us up. The hungerhe unleashed as he pounded into me minutes ago is nowhere to be found. A gentle expression flashes on his face as I writhe under his TLC, inch by inch.
Because of our closeness, I’ve learned that I can just be. Be free. Be myself. Be in love.
I might have denied it before, but there’s no escaping it—I’m in love with Théodore Cassel. We haven’t spoken the words, and I dread hearing him say them. As much as I want to, allowing ourselves to love would mean embracing a potential lifetime of happiness—but one fated to end in sorrow. Not because my feelings would wane, but because I’m immortal—and he isn’t.
My heart stumbles.
Mere minutes ago, we shared something beautiful—I gave myself fully, left weak and boneless in his arms, but melancholy creeps in as he trots back to the bathroom to rinse and hang the washcloth.
Above all, I fear that his occupation has stained his soul—dark enough to bar him from the Elysium, the only Underworld realm granting a chance at reincarnation. Deep enough that his soul could be lost forever—condemned either to Asphodel Meadows or Tartarus, erasing any hope of a future together. I’ve already endured this tragic—though temporary—loss, sinking into misery until I was dead inside. So dead…
Then, Father sent me back to Earth as the 80s dawned. There was something special about that era, and my mood lifted. Sunshine filled my heart, perhaps why I cling to it with such devotion.
Despite the mind-blowing sex, my mind is reeling, refusing to rest. I lie back, ribs taut beneath the pressure of truth I’ve been withholding.
When he’s back in bed, I whisper, “Théo.” My voice rough from exhaustion, but steady.
He hums, shifting onto his side to face me. Dark lashes low over his eyes, he’s drowsy but attentive. Always listening. Always watching. Always analyzing. My brave, bold, beautiful Théo…
“Listen, Théo,” I lower my voice down to a murmur. He shivers, the tension in his posture betraying his concern. “There’s something I meant to tell you earlier, but with everything that’s happened since we met, I never stepped back to…” I trail off. He purses his lips, expectant. I swallow the lump in my parched throat and push myself forward. “What I meant is,Hidden Shadows…” I draw a slow breath, forcing past my hesitation. My eyes flick to the covered painting on the desk to our right. My tone sharpens. “It wasn’t any ordinary piece—not even my masterpiece, as I said before.”
His shoulders slump, the tension draining from him. A lazy, satisfied smile spreads across his face, fingertips lingering over my skin. “I figured. You practically vibrated when you saw it again.”
I huff a soft laugh, but my chest aches. “Do you remember when I told you a young Flemish painter taught me his techniques, and that’s how I mastered the art?”
My French lover tips his head, his eyes shining with recognition and encouragement. “Yeah.”
Damn, why is this so fucking difficult?
The words are thick in my throat. The bedside lamp casts soft-edged shadows across his face, highlighting the rugged planes mellowed by exhaustion. I want to rethink my decision, to safeguard this secret, to distract him with another bout of earth-shattering orgasms—but I can’t. It wouldn’t be fair. Théo deserves the truth, no matter how much it aches to remember.
So, I steel myself.
“He was also my first.”
A heavy silence falls over us as my confession hangs in the air. His expression doesn’t morph into jealousy or suspicion but an emotion I can’t decipher. Yet, he doesn’t pull away—fingers tracing invisible patterns on my bare skin. Goosebumps form where he’s touched me, and even as the hunger coils within me, my body goes rigid, grasping the moment’s gravity.
“Your first?” he echoes, surprise and caution coloring his voice.
I tilt my head, hand skimming the sheets on autopilot. “My first male attraction. My first real love. My first—and only—human until you. Willem passed long before I felt compelled to express myself through art. That’s howHidden Shadowswas born. Willem is the figure in the painting.” The confession tumbles out, unrestrained and hot. My lungs expand, my hands tremble, my stomach knots—he hasn’t moved or spoken. I brace myself for how this will land. “I’m sure you’ve searched for the initials on the painting, though you never brought that up. It’s the proof you wanted, right? Well, the W beside my initial isn’t my last name—I don’t have one. It’s for Willem—our bond.”
Théo blinks, his eyes brightening. Instead of commenting, he scrutinizes me, as if searching for the missing piece.
I rub the back of my neck when, at long last, his fingers come to rest on my flushed skin. We’re a breath apart, his exhale mixing with mine.
What now?
Then, he chuckles, rough and abrupt, shattering the hush. The sound jolts through me.
