Page 12 of The Librarian of Souls
“Augustine,” he grins, menacing and taunting. “You haven’t shared yet.”
“That is because I have nothing new to share. My week has been the same as it has been for over seven years.” Under no circumstances will I admit to mating a human in a dream. I feel no shame in my bondmate, but our rules dictate that humans are strictly a source of power, a controlled one that is used sparingly to sustain our way of life.
Rules that I helped draft and create, rules that I agreed to when our city was born.
“Really, Ravenscroft?” Nora leans over into my personal space. This will be the last time I allow her to sit next to me. “You look different, smell different.”
Ramón’s tongue flicks between his lips and everyone else in the room shifts in their seats. If there could be a glint in his cold reptilian eyes, I am sure there would be. Orthia does not move an inch from her perch on the chair, her eyes closed and obviously no longer amongst us, but lost with her Love in whatever realm it resides. Arlo twitches, his throat moving as his fingers curl into the worn denim of his trousers.
Tension in the room rises, as do the emotions. Dull auras shifting and rising until my sands are crawling under my flesh. The unfinished bond makes them more beastly, makes my own animalistic desires hard to control. Perhaps a half truth would be best. Admitting my bond with my darling, but letting her origins remain my secret. Something to calm the raging desire to claim her publicly so everyone knows she belongs to me.
I stare the demon down until the sands emerge from my skin. My pores seep the black grains until my claws are fisted around my notebook and pen. A swirl of the sand snaps out at Nora before recoiling back into my neck. The room shifts again, their fear bringing out more of my sands. I suck on the sharp teeth in my mouth, cracking my unhinged jaw. The skin around my cheeks stretches unnaturally tight. My eyes will look even more unnatural as the black sand takes over my scleras. I cannot recall a time when I exposed myself in such a way in front of the whole group.
My true form threatens to break free, to be the monster that stories say that I am. The darkness, the nightmare, the boogeyman that will hide under your bed and snatch you away. I have not been that monster since the time of the Romans and during the middle ages when the world had turned upside down for silly Christendom, since the need for my true form had waned. It is only an antique now, much like myself.
Its shock value is all that it is good for now.
Deg’Doriel is unmoved by my threat. My old friend has been to hell and back after all. He certainly will not budge from my little show.
“I have,” I pause to let the tension and emotions around the room rise, my sands vibrating with glee, “begun the mating process with someone. She is still alive, but unaware of it.”
“Knew it looked like you got laid.” Ramón claps me on the back, though his scaly palm does not make it through the sand.
Orthia surges to her feet suddenly, a dangerous sneer on her face, but the milky white glaze coats her eyes. The lights flicker beforetheyspeak, “what do you mean unaware?”
Her Love’s voice reverberates deep in my being and makes my ears ring. Our usual group of lessers scatter at the otherworldly voice, the terror they leave in their wake is delicious. My sand pulses, attempting to absorb it, to feed me, but it will not quench my ever-expanding thirst. Arlo is frozen on the spot while the others lean in waiting to see what I will do, what I will say to explain away this unheard-of slip in my regulated existence.
“The first stage of bonding is a sex ritual in your chosen’s dreams, isn’t it?” Deg’Doriel asks, even as he knows the answer. We have known each other long enough, have been through enough, that I trust Deg’Doriel with my secrets. He knows how volatile this state makes me. The demon wants to toy with me because he is bored. A bored demon can only cause suffering, and it would seem that Orthia and I are his targets tonight.
Control slips through my clawed fingers. Those around me have tasted blood in the water, and I will not be shown as weak. If the priest wants a confession, then a confession he shall have.
“Unaware because she can only control so much until the bond is in place. It is easy for me to bend the subconscious mind as I please. It is a grey area.” I concede to the witch, but her eyes are still lost in that other realm, and I cannot be certain she understands my meaning. So I continue on with my sordid confession, a swell of possessive hunger rising in me. “She has tasted my ichor and I have consumed her in my realm. We must only seal it in the mortal one for her to be locked to me forever.”
Silence settles over the group. Orthia is the first to react, storming out of the room and taking all her rage and saltwater smell with her. It is probably best that she leaves, hides away from our meetings until I am through with this unfortunate ailment. The allegiance between us and them is shaky at the best of times. I’m not sure who would win in a battle, the sea witch and her Love or the rest of us. Fate has never worked in our favour, but for Orthia especially. Her wrath has fuelled her for centuries. There is no telling what would happen if she were to truly unleash her potential.
The odds of winning against an unknown beast and its vessel are slim, but I cannot think about that now, not when the thoughts of ample flesh and honey-sweetened desires are just out of my reach.
I should have hunted her down.
I should not have let her leave the library, but I was too high and sated for the first time in decades to think straight. The vision of her glorious backside walking away from me is forever burned in my retinas. The scent of her is a ghost that haunts me. Her honey, sweet lust still tastes fresh on my tongue. I burn for her to be mine, to own and keep that delicate soul to be my plaything for the rest of eternity.
My fingers flex with contradictory urges. I want to leave and hunt down the human, to complete the mating bond. In equal measures, I want to peel the skin off Deg’Doriel’s smug face for forcing my hand.
“Wait, wait, wait, you gave some rando a wet dream?”
Ramón’s crass question breaks the silence and my control. The sands snap. They strike without my command. Spikes form and pierce Ramón’s chest with precision, easily slicing through his shirt and the toughened scales of his body. He grunts, shaking and fighting to force them out, but it only makes them burrow deeper. They seek out his fears, his worst nightmares that sink deep into his bones and soul. They want to feed.
“Augustine,” Deg’Doriel’s hellish voice rumbles and shakes the ceiling tiles.
A grimace winds its way across my full mouth, skin stretched and sharp teeth exposed. I take a deep breath, and suck the sands back to me with the inhale. I blink slowly, clearing my eyes. Ramón looks ready to strike the fearless buffoon, but Nora wraps a hand around his bicep. She has always had a weak spot for stupid animals.
“Speak of her again like that, and I will kill you.”
My words drip with an icy venom, potent and deadly. It is a threat that I will enact should I even hear anyone has spoken of my human. Before any of them can utter a word to me, I leave. I need her. I need my mate. I do not care what she wants. I will make her mine tonight.
The spring rain must be an omen of misfortune. Even as I attempt to convince myself otherwise, if I did not have to make the walk from the church to the library, I would not venture out in this weather. The tunnels would have been easier, but the thought of missing my darling is too great. The air is brisk, the rain pelting down in sheets. My sands thrum under my skin with need. Need, desire, thirst, and feelings that I have been holding in check with the barest hint that something is out of place are rushing through me. Drops of water spatter against my glasses and soak through my wool suit jacket.
A realisation that I left my bag in the parish centre only darkens my mood the closer I get to the library. She will not be there, she has not returned. Whatever brought that delicious being to my domain for so many late nights has not arisen in her again. Yet I know, I know, she is feeling this. Her body will ache with a need that only I can satisfy. Just as quickly as the thought of her with another rises, I squash it. She will not want for another. Even if she seeks it out, her body will revolt against their touch. She is mine now.
