Page 31 of Bewitched By the Phantom
“How long are you going to stare at me?” he asks, his voice clear as if he hadn’t been sleeping at all.
“You stare at me all the time,” I point out.
His eyes peek open behind his mask. “That’s because art deserves to be devoured.”
I don’t think I’ll ever get used to his particular brand of compliment. It always feels flattering and yet vaguely unnerving.
“Well . . . you don’t look half bad yourself,” I mumble, my eyes trailing away from him to look around the small room. The shadows in the room feel strange, alive even. If I listen hard enough, I swear I can hear a soft melody coming through. Ultimately, I’ve convinced myself that it’s another band practicing off in the distance, but I’m not certain. The melody changes a lot, first a lively sound and then something haunting and slow. I had to tune it out to keep my sanity.
“I’m glad my visage pleases you,” he replies, both of his eyes focused on me now. His eyes are the prettiest blue color, like someone crushed sapphires and rubbed them in there. They’re unnaturally bright, and sometimes, they get even brighter. Hell, sometimes they darken. I’ve never seen someone with such expressive eyes. Maybe it’s the mask that makes them more heightened.
“I should probably go,” I muse. “Claudia will be worried.”
He chuckles. “I have no doubt the rumors will have already reached her ears. I’m certain she’ll show up soon banging on the door.”
“That does sound like something Claudia would do,” I nod, moving to slide off the bed. His hand snaps out and stops me. “What are you?—”
He presses a kiss to the back of my shoulder, his hands smoothing down my arms. “Don’t go,” he murmurs. “I haven’t finished composing you yet.”
I look at him over my shoulder, at his bright-eyed reverence as he runs his hands along my naked skin. Erik has this golden retriever in a cemetery vibe about him, bright but also a little dour. It’s a strange combination, but it’s not an unwelcome one. He’s all darkness and yet somehow, still so bright, like a full moon on a cloudless night.
“That’s a strange thing to say,” I tell him.
“Let me worship you some more,” he rasps, tracing his lips across my shoulder, his teeth scrapping against my tattoos. “Let me claim you more deeply.”
“It was just sex,” I counter. “Not a séance.”
His teeth nip me and I jump. “A Ouija board on your skin would be divine. We could call all the monsters forth.”
I snort. “I don’t mess with Ouija boards.”
“Wise,” he nods. “Your energy would be dangerous to mix with the realm of spirits.”
I twist in the bed and look at him more fully. “Are you going to remove your mask?”
He pauses, his eyes on me. “Why would I do that?”
I gesture between him and me. “Well, I slept the night in your bed. It would be nice to know exactly what you look like.”
Erik leans back, but he doesn’t look away from me. “My mask is a part of me.”
I purse my lips. “Good to know this was just a fling.”
“A fling?” he repeats. “No, angel. This is a reckoning. This is two souls crashing together after a century of searching.”
“I don’t even know what you look like, and by your admission, I won’t,” I point out. “Seems pretty unserious to me.”
He narrows his eyes. “Are you goading me, angel?”
I shrug. “I’m just saying the truth.”
He sits up in the bed, his wide shoulders forcing me back as he crawls over me, imposing with his annoyance. “How serious will it feel when I fuck you until you can’t form a coherentthought? How serious will it feel when I mark your skin with my melody?” He presses me back into the mattress. “How serious will it feel when I consume yours?”
“If I saw your face while you did it, it would feel pretty serious,” I murmur, looking up at him.
He watches me carefully, but doesn’t speak, so I slowly reach for his mask. My fingers touch the edge of it before his hand stops me.
“Perhaps . . . soon, but not yet, angel,” he murmurs. “I’m not ready for you to . . . I’m not ready.”
