Page 63 of Bound By Lust (Sinful Seven #2)

let her sleep

Frank

The room is quiet now.

I glance over to Jessica, who’s fast asleep with my mini me lying sprawled across her face with an actual sleep bubble coming from his nose and a cloud manifesting from his head that plays a highlight reel of Jessica smiling. Damn, this thing really IS me…

I smile, glancing down when I see she’d somehow pulled the silk sheets off in her sleep as she always does and I sit up, wincing, pulling them back over her body, though not before I eye her still glowing skin.

Fuck, she’s beautiful I sit there for a beat, just listening to her soft breathing which calms my nerves, then I kiss her parted lips and run my hand over the light bite mark on her neck.

I can feel it now… she’s bound to me. Mine… body and soul…

I place my fingers on her pulse, feeling it even though I can hear it clearly.

However, like a mother checking for their precious baby’s breath, I check for my Little Baby’s life.

Its steady beat is a breath of fresh air after suffocating in hell for three weeks without her. She’s warm. She’s safe. She’s alive.

I brush a kiss across her forehead, then lay my head against hers, lingering there, not wanting to leave her side. But I have to… something isn’t right…

I slide from bed, dizzy, but I steady myself on the nightstand and wheeze for breath, feeling hot. In fact, I’m sweating so much that it’s as if someone has drenched me in a big ass bucket of water.

The fever had cooled from the three weeks in hell. My dad said that the amount of miasma I’d taken in would hold me over for a few months before I would have to return.

That was music to my ears because I never want to go back to that fucked up place again… why would I want to? People can worship me as much as they want, but I need to worship my woman. I can’t live without it.

But he must have lied because I can feel the miasma being drained from me faster than a car leaking oil.

I thought I would be able to feel somewhat better after being inside Jessica, but my fever hasn’t cooled in the slightest. In fact, it’s worse, and the small ache that that started beneath my ribs earlier now burns like a mother fucker.

I limp out of the bedroom barefoot, one hand gripping the rail as I descend the steps like a fucking feeble old man, but I barely make it halfway down before the pain spikes like a blade driving through my chest.

Fuck!

My knuckles go white and I grit my teeth, getting down to the last step when the pain becomes so unbearable my knees buckle, and everything spins, causing me to slam into the floor, gasping for breath.

I barely hear the sound of footsteps rushing toward me when I see them stop in front of my eyesight and grasp me.

“My Lord!” Randolf calls out. “My word! You’re burning with hellfire!

” The ever-faithful butler kneels beside me, black eyes widening in alarm as he takes in the state of me.

His gaze drops to my chest where my hand is pressed.

“I’ll call Milady!” He stands, but I quickly grab his wrist, iron-strong even in this state.

“Don’t,” I pant through clenched teeth and he frowns, confused.

“But Milord! Milady would be distraught if sh?—”

“I SAID NO,” I growl, glancing upstairs where she’s sleeping peacefully after she shed tears for me over my injury. “No… let her sleep. She’s been through enough.”

“But Lord Lust, I?—”

“In fact, don’t tell her at all.” I look to him and his lips snap shut.

His expression darkens with disapproval, brows pinched tight, jaw clenched as if fighting the urge to argue.

However, when I glare intently, commanding, in a warning for him not to fuck with me about shit when it comes to Jessica, he swallows and nods once.

“As you wish, Milord, but allow me to instead help you over to the bunker for now. It might be necessary if your pheromones leak out again.” He leans down, helping me up with careful precision.

I use his body weight to limp down to the bunker, shifting my demon eye and hand to open the door.

With my labored breathing, I plop down onto the bed and Randolf helps me take off my shirt, only to gasp, horrified.

I glance down myself and cringe. There it is.

Black, jagged, and pulsing like a slow, cruel heartbeat.

It stretches across my lower right ribcage like it’s trying to split me in half. Every time I pour power into it, it eats it as if it’s a mouth rather than a wound. And it’s hungry.

I press my head back against the wall, sweat dripping down my temples, soaking my hair, and Randolf looks up at me, but this time he stumbles back.

“What?” I pant and he runs over to the other side of the room and then come back with a hand-held mirror that’s heavier than a bitch.

It’s clearly not made from anything on earth.

I don’t think a regular human would even be able to lift even the handle an inch off the dresser, let alone hold it, but I hold it out, trying to see what could be ghastlier than this fucked up wound that seems to be eating me alive. And then I see it…

The roots of my white hair are black… what the fuck?

“Black hair? The fuck is going on?” I glance over to Randolf and he paces, alarmed, and I narrow my eyes. “What the fuck is going on with me? Do you know?” I pant, barely able to breathe.

“I… I’m not entirely sure, Milord… but… i… if I’m not mistaken…” he pauses and kneels in front of me, and swallowing. “It seems f-from the note the young man by the name of Doodoo sent… that one of the contents on the blade was a plant called, Banes Root. The other poisons were unidentifiable…”

“Banes Root? The fuck is that?” I snarl, wiping the sweat from my eyes, and he fiddles with his hands.

Randolf leaves my side again, this time going over to the old bookshelf, searching frantically before he lets out a sigh.

“Ah!” He grasps a thick and heavy ass book that looks older than time itself. His footsteps echo down over, sharp and deliberate, but I hear the hesitation in them as he holds the book and I peer at it.

The Accursed Flora

The leather cover is cracked, brittle, and brown long-since worn down by time with four broken stones in each corner, red, white, green and black.

The pages are uneven and thick, with edges that curl and flake like scorched parchment.

They give off the smell of damp stone, old fire, and something bitterly metallic. Like dried blood…

He clears his throat and opens the book, and it gives off an audibly loud groan.

Skkkrrrrrrrk... The dry scrape of parchment and leather shifts after he shuffles through the paper.

I can see the ink has faded to reddish-brown, iron-rich, and the script twists like it doesn’t want to be read. Words bleed into symbols, and symbols into runes that palpitate faintly when the light strikes them just right.

What the fuck is this book?

I close my eyes for a second, trying to grit through the pain and then… Randolf’s voice comes through, soft, measured, and shaking.

“Bane’s Root, also known as The Equalizer …” My eyes snap open, sneering at the name.

“Go on…” I grit my teeth and try to sit up straight, but pain lashes through me, black, hot, and sharp, like claws dragging under my skin.

“I-Its p-purpose is balance…” Randolf keeps reading, voice low, like he’s afraid the words themselves might kill me faster.

“I-its existence, divine punishment . And i-it’s s-said to bloom only where innocence has been lost in violence, and where power has gone unchecked. ” My lips twist into a bitter smile.

The fuck kinda shit is this? Some fantasy lore novel, or some shit? This can’t be real… but then again, I’m some fucking demon, so…

“Its essence targets apex beings, those of Alpha blood, or demon-born divinity. The greater the power, the deeper the wound. The stronger the will, the longer the suffering.” Randolf hesitates on the next line, but the wait is fucking killing me… literally.

“And? Fuck all of that! What’s the fucking cure? How do I get rid of this shit before Jessica finds out?!” I snap, and he lets out a whimper.

“I… I’m s-sorry, Milord, b-but… th-there’s n-no recorded cure.

” He flips through the pages and my heart hammers when he stops, and his voice cracks.

“Banes Root is unforgetting and unforgiving… the Equalizer rights the world that only a green jewel can overturn…” he finishes and closes the book slowly, like a man sealing a tomb.

My head tips back against the wall. Sweat drips down my neck, and the wound pulses again, deep and aching, as if teasing me. I can feel something inside me slipping, like it’s claiming space.

“Well fuck…” I force out a breath through clenched teeth.

“W-what should we do, Milord?” his voice trembles and I stare at the ceiling.

“For now, just get me the miasma inhaler…” I tell him because at this rate, I’m going to be depleted again and I’ll have to go back there. I can’t… three weeks in hell was unbearable, but this shit would probably take longer. I’d die… I’d go insane… I’d lose my fucking mind!

“G-good idea, Sir. It should ease the pressure while we seek a long-term solution.” Randolf turns away.

His voice is too quiet, but he lingers like he wants to say more.

“M-Milord… the young miss… I think she deserves to k—” I offer a blink that says, “try me,” and he bows.

“I’ll be back with the inhaler at once, Milord,” he voices and when he’s gone, I peel back my hand and look at the wound.

It’s worse. It’s spreading. Like a curse crawling outward from the inside.

My fingers hover over it, and I try again. If I can just close it… just with a small bit of power. Heat blooms at my fingertips, but the second it touches the wound, it disappears. Swallowed like it was never there…

Fuck!

I stare at it, leaning my head against the wall with cold realization… it’s not just devouring me. It’s basically counting down my death.

To be Continued… in Devoured By Lust