Page 89 of Corrupt Shadows

“What about his brothers?”

He drops to the ground, then crawls to the bed in the Human Realm.

“Gomey?”

He squeaks twice, scratching desperately at Lorcan’s side of the bed, at the wood frame.

“What is it?”

I turn slowly, then hurry to the bed. Gliding my fingers along the grooves, I finally feel a split, as if this part of the frame doesn’t belong.

When I push gently, it clicks out of place, then opens into a drawer. Gomez, you’re a fucking genius. On my knees, I pull the drawer all the way out, dust hitting the back of my nose. It looks exactly like the grimoire from the library, except this one is dated later.

October 1921. Evangeline Fallenmoore.

I pull open the pages and tear through them, but most are blank. There are a few drawings of summoning circles and sigils, but none that match the one now hanging above my clit. The parchment is fragile between my fingers, and I sigh. My shadows burn under my fingertips, alerting me to something I’m not aware of.

Words appear on the page, as if Evangeline is writing while I’m holding it. Bold, looped calligraphy covers the page, and I remember what Lorcan said, about some things only appearing to a Fallenmoore witch.

A complex spell covers two parchment pages, the ink spreading through the fibers. A symbol appears with a sketch of a mirror… and the blood of a Fallenmoore witch.

Everything is here to create a portal mirror. But I have to practice my magic to perform the spell, and I’m already close to the edge of insanity. I can’t fall victim to the same curse as my family.

I tear the pages from the book and pocket them. I place the book back in the secret drawer and slide it back into the bed frame until it clicks, melding with the rest of the wood. Lorcan’s footsteps creak against the floorboards, and I stand just in time. I peer at the mirror, noticing Gomez has gone or hidden himself.

Lorcan stands in the doorway, his eyes traveling from me to the bed, then back again. “Dining room, now.”

THIRTY-NINE

Lorcan

She needs to be stronger than this to face the threats looming from every angle. I don’t want to see her foolish tears when she lets her magic slip and it kills someone she cares for. She would never forgive herself if she hurt Fluffy Fucker or her human rainbow friend. I finger the demonic dagger sheathed and strapped to my waist. I can’t be too careful after his visit in Evie’s dreams.

I will always harbor a deep, festering anger. The infection lives in my blood. But now I don’t instinctually want to release it toward Evie. My thoughts darken as I rub my chest. The foreign burning emotion is back. Anxiety slithers unwelcome into my mind.

We sit at what Evie deemed the obnoxious dining room table. The mahogany surface gleams beneath her elbows as she sits at the far end opposite me, staring at her favorite mug, which is steaming with coffee. Her addiction to coffee is almost as intense as my obsession with her.

Pale early morning light streams through the gap between the thick purple, black, and gray drapes onto the stone floor beneath the window. Shadows from the straight, crisscrossing lead between the panes stretch toward Evie’s bare feet beneath the table. Her shoulders tense, and her lips purse as she falls deeper in thought. My witch has been too quiet lately, and I can’t help but assume she’s up to something.

I place my elbows on the table and clasp my hands together. My eyes narrow on my witch as I trace my lips with my index finger. An iron candelabra sits in the center of the long table between us, wax drippings frozen on the white tapered candles. She raises a mug to her lips, then shoots daggers at me over the rim. Her eyes close, and she moans as her throat moves, swallowing her first hit of caffeine.

I groan internally as thoughts of fucking Evie’s forbidden hole cloud my vision. Glass shatters as I sweep the place settings onto the floor with my shadows. My lips crash against hers as I grab her hips possessively, then thrust my tongue into her mouth. I run my palms to her ass cheeks and dig my fingers in as I lift her onto the table before me. My shadows flip her over and position her in the center of the table, then I crawl up after her. My head falls back as I pull the side of her skimpy sleep shorts to the side and run the head of my cock along her crack. Pre-cum smears all over her creamy skin.

Evie slams her mug on the table, jolting me out of my fantasy. I blow out a breath, the raven strands on my forehead lifting for a moment. I will imprint myself in every one of her orifices before I leave her, but all in due time.

What Evie doesn’t realize is grand tables like these serve a purpose. In societies with hierarchies and positions of power, tables such as this silently alert people where their place is. By placing her at the opposite end, I have shown her without words that she is my counterpart. Little incidents like this are happening more often as our bond solidifies. It’s almost time, but it’s difficult to keep my hands and mouth, not to mention my shadows, to myself, especially when she makes those mouthwatering sounds.

I exhale the air in my lungs through my nose, my gaze scorching as she looks up, her brow raised in question. I need a reason to force her to face her magic head on. Evie responds best when her emotions run high and wrath burns through her veins, so I will give her something to be pissed about.

I slam my fist on the table, ignoring the biscuits and jam on my gray plate, inlaid with silver roses on the scalloped edge. My witch startles, sloshing coffee over the rim of her mug.

“You,” I say, aiming my index finger at her, “are so fucking weak.”

“Excuse me?” Swirls of inky darkness cascade through her hazel irises as she carefully sets down her mug and wipes her fingers on the royal-purple cloth napkin. Her eyes dart toward mine. “How dare you?”

I cut her off. “You already embraced your magic, and now you’re suppressing it again out of fear. You can’t hurt me or anyone here. How are the withdrawals? The circles under your eyes and the pinched expression often on your face are just two of the dead giveaways highlighting your struggle.” I cup the back of my neck. “Continue using your magic like you were before. It will help get rid of the withdrawals for good. Stop acting like a fucking sacrifice for your magic and do something about it.”

Evie stands, her chair grating against the stone, then clattering onto its side. Her eyes blacken completely.

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