Shadow's Kiss (Monstrous Hearts: Fleur's Story)

Story Extra: Falling in Love (Dario POV)

A/N: Just a little story extra to  show when Dario began falling in love with Fleur.

I held back a laugh while watching her stack the pillows on the bed to separate it into two halves. Her side, my side. Her mother had named her "flower," and, truly, she was one—an alluring rose ready to stab with her thorns if anyone reached for her vibrant, velvet petals.

Could I keep the amusement out of my voice? No. Besides, maybe it was better to let her hear it. To tease her out of her silence. "If you're this uncomfortable, I can sleep on the floor."

The words drew her attention. She even looked over, which pleased me.

"Are you kidding? Look at it. You'd get scabies. Just don't touch me."

Through our bond, I knew she spoke the truth. Her emotions roiled in my blood, lust mixed with a resistance against giving into her desires. Concern was there, too, a genuine worry about my welfare. Maybe she hissed and spat at the idea of closeness, yet she also tried to stay fair and mindful.

I had expected to hate my new mistress as much as the curse that bound me as a servant. Yet I had also expected a witch who relished having control, not this feral, little human who spoke whatever she felt. It was impossible to believe. It was addictive to experience.

Within a few moments, Fleur slipped into her side of the bed, remaining fully clothed. She even turned her back to me. Now I did laugh, taking my time to undress while she listened and squeezed her legs tighter together. Her lust filled my very being, stirring my hunger. I was a starving man given a taste of the energy I'd feed on while we fucked. Sweet honey and the raw sting of peppercorns. The freshness of wildflowers. The burn of a bite mark left on the skin.

I joined her in bed, sensing how she paid attention to the way the mattress shifted with my weight. Her desire throbbed like a second pulse. When would she finally crack? Tonight? I couldn't tell.

When I said nothing else, she asked, "What's funny?"

"It's rare to be with a woman so reluctant to see me." An absolute truth, and a charming one. After years of existence as a tree, my rage at becoming a slave again had crystallized like amber. Hard, resolute. Yet this girl effortlessly melted all hatred I'd held with her resentment toward me. The more she pushed away, the more I wished to be near.

Her response to my words was pulling the covers over her head. Through the bond, I sensed thoughts flash through her mind like lightning through thunderclouds. Soon, they quieted with the rest of the night. I stayed awake, interested in these new surroundings. A motel in Oregon didn't feel much different from a house in California; hidden passions drifted from the strangers around us, as constant a cacophony as birdsong.

The night manager felt bored and aroused while scrolling through photos on his phone. I narrowed my focus on his lust long enough to find its root. Feet. Some things never changed, then. The couple two doors down had started to fuck. She worried about looking bloated from their large dinner earlier. He pretended she was her sister. A man above us masturbated in the shower.

Tedious yet reassuring. Strands of human desire weaving into the same patterns as always, even though the world had changed beyond recognition since I'd last walked through it. In the quiet of night, the curse chafed like an iron collar, reminding me of how many years I'd lost as a tree.

Beside me, Fleur abruptly twitched in her sleep. Then she rolled over, pulling the covers away from her face and knocking the pillows aside. Her expression was pinched yet unaware. Lost. Through the bond, I felt her mind spiral into a nightmare, seeping into my senses as well. My mouth tasted bitter with her terror. My next breath drew in the stench of blood she remembered from one night, a specific night of witches and their sacrifices.

If I let the dream continue, I would learn some of the things she refused to speak of. Her insistence on shying away from conversations was an entertaining game that also left me blind. Yet without thinking, I brushed her forehead instead, chasing away the memories. Soothing her into a peaceful sleep. Her face smoothed out again. Her breath lost the shallow rhythm of a hunted thing. In the faint moonlight, I glimpsed what she could be without all this pain. A sharpness appeared in my chest that felt nothing like hunger. Despite myself, I traced her cheek.

My powers were pitiful, but I managed to reach another scar that marked her time with the coven: the blood magic infused into her very being to add power to her death as a sacrifice. I couldn't do much, not with one attempt, yet eventually it could be hidden beneath layers of my own magic and no longer rouse the interest of witches, or worse, a warlock. Eventually, it wouldn't frighten prey animals. She would be able to have horses in her life again, a passion that had burned through her words and right into me. Even if I weren't her servant, I knew that I would have done this. I would free myself from this curse somehow; nothing was impossible. Yet she would always remain helpless against her past. I couldn't—I wouldn't—leave her with that agony.

It would take time to help her, and for now, time was all we shared.