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The golden wristwatch had returned sometime after Ambrosius had laid down.
He could feel it enter the Antiquarium, materializing and finding its usual spot on a shelf. The same tag it originally came with looped around the band with the familiar lot numbers on it. Pristine as the day it had left the shop.
“Had fun, did you?” Ambrosius asked.
It didn’t respond, but he could feel the spirit inside. A youthful thing that had once been alive around the creation of the object it inhabited. It was full and satisfied, which meant his little owner had perished not too long ago. One more satisfied customer, hundreds more to please. And Ambrosius wasfuckingsick of it. Or perhaps his tolerance for the swell of jealous, hungry spirits within the Antiquarium was beginning to evaporate.
Ambrosius had been doing the same song and dance far longer than anyone should. Day in and day out, customer after customer, soul after unsuspecting soul. Humans would ferry his haunted objects out of his Antiquarium, and like clockwork, they would return days or weeks later. It didn’t matter if Ambrosius was in the shop or not. Didn’t matter if he was in Canada or Japan. The bonded objects would seek him out again, eternally stuck in the Antiquarium with him.
But for every satisfied spirit, there were a hundred more that werescreamingfor relief. He could hear the low moans and ghostly wails that humans could not. Angry, restless, and pained.
Ungrateful, all of them,Ambrosius thought as he gritted his teeth.
Pain had made itself known at the start of the workday. The dull ache radiating from around his hip had become sharp and constant. Fraying at every nerve and putting him in a sour mood. The day was only halfway over, and Ambrosius had found himself collapsing into a loveseat, arm stretched across his closed eyes.
As a demon, he rather liked pain. It grounded him, made him feel focused,aliveeven. A demon might even say it was their bread and butter—or rather, blood and guts, depending on preference. However, pain usually had an end in sight. The pain Ambrosius suffered was not temporary, but constant. An old wound that was perpetually festering. A bite that never relented, no matter which way Ambrosius turned or positioned his body.
Ambrosius’ hand tightened into a fist as he felt the ink on his skin twist around it. Frustration boiled beneath his skin. For all his power and talent for molding his humanform, some things were unchangeable. There was no mending, no stitching that would fix that particular problem. He had accepted it, but that didn’t make managing the pain any easier.
And for what? A warlock that continues to disobey me.
Once again, the source of his ire was tied up withher.Not just her, but her exasperating humanemotions.While Ambrosius could admit she had many qualities that suited the work he had planned, he wasn’t sure it was worth the headache.
Humans and their free will were always soannoying. They could never make decisions quickly enough, always twiddling their thumbs and hesitating. Before they knew it, their entire lifetime had gone by, and they hadn’t done a damn thing. Ambrosius had seen it enough in businesses and governments. And while he hadn’t haunted a corporation or political figure in a long time, Ambrosius knew not much had changed.
Gwen was proof enough of that. Her useless efforts to break their deal was time wasted. Time that could have been used to read the scroll, to unlock the potential that was inside of her.
Inside her.
Ambrosius groaned.
Spontaneous as he was, Ambrosius had not intended to escalate their little tête-à-tête. He could easily blame his taxed state of being. Coaxing a human to invite him in cost energy, manifesting outside of the Antiquarium had cost alotof energy. Managing his power to craft his mortal form had been an expense, providing her his eye, cleaning up after her—
Ambrosius growled.
But when she had the nerve to cheekily respond to his grievances, something had snapped inside him. Ambrosius had simply had enough of her rebellious nature, and acted accordingly. Which for him usually meant horrible acts of violence and terror, but instead he had gone with …that.
Most demons weren’t strangers to carnality. There was an entire legion of demons who fed on sex, but Ambrosius was not one of them. To respond to her like that meant he had done it because he had wanted to. Ambrosius enjoyed depravity, but even he could admit that crossing that line with Gwen had made things even more complicated.
Messy.
None of it had mattered in the moment. Not when he had her unraveling before him, soft and yearning, and mad. Ambrosius could tell in the subtle ways her body had reacted to him. There had been desire—so much of it, radiating off her that it had been impossible not to feel drunk with it. The swell of pride was still nestled against his ego when he thought of it. But in those desperate moments, she had also shown her displeasure for him. Ambrosius could still feel her hands, pulling his hair mercilessly as she fought against her orgasm.
That moment—that singular moment caught between pleasure and hatred—had captivated him. Gwen had wanted him, but she clearly hated that she did. A very human reaction, but one Ambrosius didn’t particularly mind. In fact, based on the stirring interest, his cock rather liked it.
Shit.
Though it would cost him more precious energy, Ambrosius dissipated from the love seat. He reformed in the small accommodations the Antiquarium had givenhim. There was no door, making it impossible for any customers to find it. The room was no bigger than Gwen’s bathroom, with only enough room to fit a single bed at one end and a cello at the other. It was surrounded by hanging bookshelves, all of which held what little personal items Ambrosius had been able to collect over time. Ambrosius rarely got to spend time in it, given he was at the call of whatever whims the Antiquarium had.
But there was no way he was going to indulge in carnal fantasy with witnesses. Those pathetic spirits were some of the worst voyeurs, and Ambrosius wasn’t about to give them a free show.
Some things are meant to be secret,Ambrosius thought as he leaned back into the bed.
Gwen was … an unfortunate ailment that he would need to work himself through. Or so Ambrosius believed as he thought about her. It hadn’t helped that she had already piqued his more demonic interests. The chase in her apartment had brought out something instinctual, something old that Ambrosius thought had been lost. The urge to torment had teased him just as she had.
He wouldn’t be allowed much time to linger here, but it would be a small reprieve from the pain. Ambrosius trailed his hand over his abdomen, allowing the dam he had built to burst through.
She had been tense, on edge, never knowing when he would show up behind her. Breath tinged with fear as her eyes searched for him. Her instinct had been to run, and his had been to chase, todevour. There was a selfish need to consume all of her. Every morsel, every drop of blood was meant to be savored on his tongue. To crack the shell of her mortal body and slurp down her soul like an egg yolk.