Hellfire

Chapter Thirty-One

Every dream was the same. Morrigan never bothered us again, snapped up tight as Lucius remained resilient against her poison. No blood, no rotting walls, no bats. I'd just drop off to sleep and find myself in that pristine ballroom again, the ghosts of dancers surrounding me. Little One would be diving between the dresses, laughing and playing, quick to reassure me that Lucius wasn't going to hurt me with bright eyes full of belief. While I knew that, the trust was still cracked beneath the knowledge of what he'd done to me.

I'd feel Lucius everywhere, even if he let me adjust to the dreamscape first before he presented himself. Frost coated the floors, his predatory gaze fixed on me, and his strength pulsed against my skin, the powerful, lazy beat of his heart. I'd close my eyes, each time easier than the last, and I'd hold out my hand. They'd be swallowed gradually by his, engulfing mine tenderly. Testing. When I was relaxed enough and no longer tense with terror, those longs fingers began to slip over my skin, drinking me in with a sensual touch, dancing up my arms, sweeping over my shoulders before they settled on my face. There, Lucius always took his time. He'd explore my throat with gentle care, brush my lower lip with the pad of his thumb, slide his fingers into the depths of my hair. It was a touch that was becoming less terrifying. A touch that was beginning to fluster my breath and leaving white fire in its wake, quickening my pulse when his grip slipped about the nape of my neck rather than terrifying me.

And then we'd dance. My heart didn't fly with fear the longer we floated over the marble floor. I didn't feel like I was being grasped by something that intended to kill me. It was hard to see that in him when I saw his soul, his thoughts, him. I'd melt into his arms, no longer rigid with either terror or awkwardness, and I'd let him guide me blindly over the marble floor. I'd focus on his lazy heartbeat, the way his frame rippled with every step, his large hands swallowing me, trailing along my waist with increasing possession, and all I could feel was excitement; this burning, feminine thrill at the feel of Lucius so close, his undeniable masculinity roaring with everything I felt; his hands, his powerful chest, his shoulders.

I never registered when we stopped. I'd slip out of the feel of his body surrounding me, seeing the gold of his soul and the grim beast clinging to it, and I'd find him close. His nose brushed mine, his lips dancing close, his ivory teeth swollen, and his eyes glittering with heat beneath the ice.

I'd open my eyes then. I'd look at him, finding him increasingly sensual than the last I saw him; wintry eyes that drowned me, a velvet mouth hot to kiss, a male, ageless face. I'd explore him then. I slid my palms over his chest, his shoulders and arms, seeking out the knotted male strength, before I'd bury my fingers deep into his frosted hair. This always made his chest rumble, a deep, sensual purr thundering through him as he gave me control to see and touch, but he'd nudge me close; slip a hand over my lower back to pull me against him, his mind flashing against mine how he wanted more. Needed more. His teeth aching.

Normally, that would set off the fear. The sensuality of our moment would snap, breaking beneath a wave of horror and nightmarish memories. Not this time, not after the eleventh dance. Instead, I continued to see him. I arced myself against him, drinking in his icy masculinity, my fingers drifting over his throat, drinking in the line of his hard jaw, his chin, his mouth. Different memories surfaced. Memories of pleasure, of his mouth devouring me with the lust of a man, not raw, demonic hunger. White fire began to lick my skin. Aching.

Lucius tugged me closer, tangling his fingers in my hair to tilt my head back, growling huskily as our frantic breaths mingled, irritation flashing over his eyes.

'You're making following through on my end of the deal difficult, Susan.' Lucius uttered with low amusement.

And then I woke, this time not locked by dread, but flustered warmth and a sense of bereft. I could feel him still, surrounding me, and I didn't feel scared.