Page 24 of Lured By the Dus
I could not deny the sparks of arousal, nor the way lust flared between us. Was it so wrong to be hungry and wet for my husband?
Just like that, he broke the kiss. Pressing a hand against my belly, he leaned into me, his lips grazing my ear. “I smell your arousal. You want me deep inside you. This turns you on and now you know, little wife, I’m quite fond of you. But until you admit you accept the consequences of your actions, nothing else will happen between us.”
“Then you punish yourself too.” I gasped, chest heaving as I sucked in air.
In response, he bit down on my lower lip, so hard he drew blood. His tongue skimmed my mouth, and I sighed, leaning against him for support.
An apology rose on the tip of my tongue. Anything to keep the delightful sensations that buzzed through me, curated by his touch.
Stepping away, he broke all contact and strode down the hall. I watched until he was out of sight, then sagged against the wall, pressing one hand to my lips as though I could hold his kiss of fire inside.
18Tanith
Back in the room, Oren sat in front of the fire, drinking and ignoring the ruined bed. He studied me as I approached, then waved a hand, motioning for me to join him. “Tanith, we need to talk.”
My initial reaction was to taunt him, but the softening expression on his face made the unkind words melt away. I sat down heavily, my knees still weak from his feverish kisses. Threads of confusion went through me at his mannerisms. How could he be so cold and cruel, and yet so hot and handsome? He wielded magic relentlessly, determined to punish the city until he got what he wanted, and try as I might, I could not completely blame him for it.
“Speak. I’m listening,” I said, with none of my former haughtiness lacing my words.
“Not here.” Oren stood, eyeing the destroyed bed. “I’ve asked the butler, Rone, to prepare a sitting room for us. He and his staff of gargoyles will clean up the castle, especially in here. I’m sure you’re tired of being stuck in these rooms.”
I breathed out slowly. Why was Oren being kind to me? “It is tiresome,” I admitted. “I’m used to more freedoms.”
His lips curved up in a wry smile. “Ironic, that you would use the word freedom. Come, stubborn wife of mine, I believe we need to start being honest with each other.”
Standing in front of me, he held out his hand. I hesitated before taking it, my breath hitching at the contact. He tucked my hand under his arm and escorted me from the room, like a lady going to a ball.
I snuck glances at him as he took me back downstairs, and the truth weighed heavy on my conscience. He was so handsome it hurt, like some dark angel I’d found in a tomb and brought back to life. I’d seen his dark side and the fury he unleashed with his flute, yet with me, his reactions were unusual. I’d tried to escape, and he’d shown me his dead wife and threatened me with … kisses. Was he truly fond of me? I was supposed to be a tool to do his bidding. A thief, a spy, nothing more. But what if I wanted to be more?
The idea popped into my mind, and the ridiculousness of it almost made me laugh. It had barely been a week, and already, I entertained notions and ideas I’d never have considered in Solynn. Although I had to admit, I’d always been curious. My first kiss had been during a ball. A young lord had engaged me in a dance, then led me outside to the gardens, even though the rules of society forbade us—the unmarried—to be alone together. We’d exchanged kisses in the dark, laughing and giggling before returning. I’d enjoyed it, and curious, I went further and further until my suitor, George.
We were going to get married. He made me laugh, teased me mercilessly, and was always getting into mischief with his friends. Sometimes I thought he preferred them over me, but mother had said that sometimes love comes softly—or not at all.
When my parents died, George grew awkward and distant. He promised to write while I grieved in Dowler, but I had never heard from him. Our relationship had been light, fun, and so when something serious happened, neither of us knew how to handle it. At least not together. I had nothing but kind feelings and thoughts towards sweet George. He’d been slightly pudgy, fumbling and awkward, but always zealous about making love. He was the only man I’d been with, but compared to Oren, he seemed like a boy.
Oren, my husband, hadn’t once asked me to strip off my clothes for him. My entire body flushed with the fact that I wanted him to peel off my clothes, claim me with his tongue, his lips, his fingers—his cock. What was he waiting for? I knew he was attracted to me, for the way he kissed me was no lie. In fact, my lips were still swollen from his love bites earlier.
We came to a stop under a carved doorway, and I gasped as little gargoyles—only three or four feet tall—scurried about. There were perhaps half a dozen of them, some more animal, others more human. Each one had a pair of wings—some tiny, as if just for looks, and others large and swooping as if, despite being stone, they’d fly away. They looked up when we approached, their tiny orbs all different colors—ebony, topaz, gold, maroon, turquoise. One by one, they bowed and left, except for the last one. He looked like a goblin, at least from drawings I’d seen in storybooks.
“Thank you, Rone,” Oren said. “Have the suite cleaned and dinner sent up at a quarter past six. That will be all.”
Rone padded away while I gawked after him. “They don’t speak. What if they have something to say?”
Oren smirked. “They are re-animated stone, but their thoughts transfer to me. They belong to the castle, and when I’m gone, they’ll return to stone again.”
“What if they want the chance to live?” I asked, my thoughts going back to the thralls in the vault. They didn’t have a choice in what happened to them, and neither did the gargoyles. Was that fair?
“I’m not a Creator. I use magic, but I cannot breathe life into stone and make it live forever. To create life, one must have a soul. Once there was a knight who aspired to become a Creator, but when he put soul into his creations, they turned into monsters. Which makes one consider, what is the essence of a soul, and why can’t it be taken from one vessel and moved to another, empty vessel? What makes the created turn into monsters, when the creator can be pure? Or are we all drawn towards darkness, lured by the dusk, the grayness between good and evil? If so, perhaps we’re all simply looking for a way to exist without consequences, to do what we want to do without regard for the ripples it will cause in this life and the life to come.”
“You’re saying that a soul makes one truly alive, and that the gargoyles only live here because of the enchantment of magic?”
“Yes, but I did not bring you here to talk about my musings. Although given the contents of the book your aunt gave you, perhaps you might be interested.”
His voice took on an edge I did not care for, and I stiffened, dragging my gaze from the angles of his flawless face back to the room.
It was a lounge, perhaps the same one he’d taken me to the night I’d awakened him. With the furniture uncovered and the dust and cobwebs gone, I couldn’t be sure. Letting go of his arm, I flounced further in, taking in the chairs and sofas, low-lying tables arranged in a way to attract the heat from the fire. The heavy curtains were pulled back and a chandelier twinkled above me, its diamonds catching and reflecting the sunlight into rainbow-like prisms that decorated each wall.
I noted the food and wine set out on a table, and only when Oren closed the doors with a thump did I face him again. “I am rather interested in your thoughts,” I quipped. “Not necessarily philosophy, but life, creation, and magic are all curiosities that the professors in Solynn do not have the expertise to lecture about.”
