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CHAPTER NINE

WILLIAM

I couldn’t bear to watch and not participate.

I knew it would be hard, but she has to do what she needs to and not think about me and my affliction.

She won’t know what hit her when I finally get my hands on her.

I will make her bleed and make her scream, she will come on my cock so hard, she will practically snap it in half.

I groan as the thoughts filter through my ghostly mind as I float towards Blackridge’s office. It’s been a while, but I’m guessing he can see me. I think he always could.

The fucking bastard.

Feeling a chill that has nothing to do with my spectral form, I pass through the heavy wooden door of Blackridge’s office.

The room is dimly lit, the air thick with the scent of old parchment and the faint metallic tang of blood.

Blackridge sits behind his massive desk, pen poised as he scrawls across a notebook.

Isolde’s data? He doesn’t look up as I enter, but I know he senses my presence.

“William Harrington,” he murmurs, still writing. “To what do I owe this visit?”

“I knew you could see me.”

“Not always. More so now.”

“You know why I’m here,” I growl, my form flickering with barely contained rage. “Isolde.”

He sets down his pen and leans back in his chair, steepling his fingers. “Ah, yes. The remarkable Miss Morvoren. Quite the specimen, isn’t she?”

“She’s not a specimen,” I snarl. “She’s—” I pause, the words catching in my throat. That is exactly what I would’ve called her before I died. A specimen. Something to study. To experiment on. But what is she to me now? Everything. My dark fate, my queen, my salvation. “—not yours to experiment on.”

Blackridge’s eyebrows lift slightly. “Not mine? She is a student at my academy. Everything that occurs within these walls is mine to oversee and control.”

“Not her,” I insist, my voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. “You can’t control her. You can’t contain her. And you sure as hell can’t use her like one of your case studies.”

“I think you’ll find that I can do whatever I like.”

We lock gazes. He’s not wrong. Also, I’m in no position to make threats I can’t back up. Yet. “She will find a way to bring me back. Permanently.”

“I know she will. I can’t wait.”

“You know I’ll be coming for you.”

“You can try, but you won’t get very far.”

“That is some arrogance, knowing what you know about me.”

“And you know absolutely nothing about me. I find myself at quite the advantage, no?”

Well, he has me there. “Why was I killed?”

“Haven’t you already figured that out yet?”

“There are theories,” I say with narrowed eyes.

“Which are?”

“Why should I tell you? I asked you a question.” Gods, this creature is infuriating.

“I have no idea. It was nothing to do with me,” he says after a small pause where he scrutinised me very thoroughly.

His answer is too quick, too dismissive. He’s hiding something but pushing him will get me nowhere. “I suppose I’ll have to take your word for that,” I reply.

Blackridge merely smiles, a cold and calculating expression that reveals nothing. “You don’t trust me, William,” he states, his tone almost amused. “I can’t say I blame you. Trust is a rare commodity here at SilverGate.”

“Especially when it comes to you,” I retort. “You’ve always had your own agenda, Blackridge. What’s your endgame with Isolde?”

He leans forward, his eyes gleaming with an intensity that sends a chill down my spectral spine.

“Power, William. The pursuit of knowledge and control. Isolde represents a convergence of ancient bloodlines and unprecedented potential. She is a key to unlocking secrets that have eluded scholars for centuries.”

“She’s not a tool for your ambition,” I growl, my form flickering with anger. “She’s more than that. She deserves better than this. She needs guidance and understanding.”

He stares at me as if I’ve grown another head. “Understanding? Coming from you?” He snorts. “My, how a century of isolation has changed you.”

The insult hits me hard. “Oh, I haven’t changed, as you will find out when I am whole again. But Isolde is different. She is a queen on this board. Not a pawn.”

“Oh, I quite agree. She is a queen. A very mighty one at that. What is it you really want, William?”

“I want you to remove the runes,” I demand, my voice echoing through the room like a phantom wind. “The ones you embedded in her spine. They’re causing her pain, and they’re an invasion of her privacy.”

Blackridge leans back in his chair, a smug smile playing on his lips. “They are a necessity, William. A means to monitor and understand her power.”

“Your academic interest in this can go straight to hell.”

His smile fades, replaced by a cold, calculating look.

“You have no say in the matter, William. You are a ghost, a remnant of a past life. You have no influence, no power here, and if I recall, you resisted my attempts to learn more about you. This is your fault, you know. If you had capitulated to my request, I wouldn’t have laid a finger on Miss Morvoren. ”

“Damn you!” I roar, and we both know he’s hit a nerve. Blood cascades from the ceiling as my anger takes over, and I feel myself become more solid.

Blackridge doesn’t even flinch as the crimson rain pours down, staining his desk and papers. Instead, he watches me with a fascinated gleam in his eyes. “Magic from a ghost. Your emotional response is directly linked to her, isn’t it.” It’s not a question. He already knows.

I slam my hands down on his desk, now solid enough to make the impact rattle his neatly arranged pens. “This isn’t some academic exercise, Blackridge. You’re playing with her life. With my second chance.”

His gaze flicks up to meet mine, unimpressed by my outburst. “And what makes you think you deserve a second chance, William?”

“Whatever I did, whatever sins I committed, they are mine to bear. Not Isolde’s. She shouldn’t be punished for my actions.”

“Too late,” Blackridge states with finality. “This was your choice, William.”

With the wave of his hand, he makes me dissipate and end up back in Isolde’s bedroom. I let out a frustrated roar, which brings Isolde flying off the bed, naked and dripping, straight to me.

“William, what is it?”

“Nothing,” I grit out, moving back from her. The urge to reach out and touch her is killing me all over again.

She studies me with those gorgeous blue eyes, now flecked with silver, reading the fury and frustration written across my face. “It’s not nothing. You’re practically vibrating with rage.”

“I’m fine. Forget it.” I turn from her and vanish into the walls where she can’t follow, can’t see me. The knowledge that I did this to her, however indirectly, is gnawing at me.

I hear her annoyed growl and the vibrations of her feet as she marches across the room. Then I hear the shower running.

Closing my eyes briefly, I know exactly what she’s doing.

Without a second thought, I float through the wall and straight into the shower with her.

She is standing there, dripping wet, a goddess among women.

Dark possession floods my system, and I go to her, cupping her face but not touching her.

She looks up at me, those doe eyes all innocent, even though I’ve seen what a gorgeous, filthy girl she is.

Being this close to her, so soon after she has fed from the other two guys, affects me in ways that let me touch her.

I grip her throat and push her back against the tiles as I get drenched, my form becoming more corporeal.

“Will you take me this way?” I ask roughly, pretending not to care if she rejects me.

She doesn’t even hesitate. “Yes.”

“It will be…” I search for the right word.

“I don’t care. I want you, William. I need you.”

I drop to my knees and bury my face between her legs. The wisp of my tongue makes her gasp. “What do you feel?” I croak.

“It’s like ice. More.”

I devour her like a man starved, my tongue flickering against her clit with ethereal coldness that makes her shiver and moan. The sensation is maddening. I can taste her, feel her heat against me, but it’s filtered through the veil of death. Not quite real, not quite enough.

But it’s something. It’s her.

“William,” she gasps, her hands trying to grip my hair but passing through the semi-solid strands. “Please, I need more of you.”

The desperation in her voice mirrors mine. I press my mouth harder against her pussy, my tongue working her with desperate hunger, trying to make her feel what she does with CJ and Cassiel. The water cascades down around us, steam rising where it meets my cold form.

Droplets of blood drip down, hitting her skin and sizzling slightly, which makes her cry out, but she doesn’t stop. She doesn’t ask me to stop.

“You taste like power,” I murmur against her flesh. “Like magic and blood.”

Her back arches against the tiles as I continue my assault, my semi-solid fingers trying to grip her thighs but only managing fleeting touches. It’s torture. Beautiful, exquisite torture.

“I can feel you,” she pants. “You’re getting stronger.”

The more I touch her, the more I feed from the excess power seeping from her skin, the more solid I become. It’s temporary, I know, but in this moment, I’ll take whatever connection I can get.

I rise, my form now solid enough to press against her properly. My hands cup her face, thumbs brushing over her cheekbones as I study her face. “You’re so beautiful,” I whisper, my voice carrying the weight of a century’s longing. “So perfect.”

Her eyes flutter closed as I lean in, capturing her lips with mine. The kiss is desperate, ravenous, filled with all the want I’ve carried through decades of spectral existence. She tastes like sin and salvation, like everything I’ve been denied.

“I want to be inside you,” I growl against her mouth, my form solidifying further with each passing second. “I want to claim you properly.”

“Then do it,” she breathes, her hands finally finding purchase on my shoulders, gripping the fabric of my century-old suit. “Take me, William. Make me yours.”

I lift her against the shower wall, her legs wrapping around my waist as I fumble to get my cock free. The sensation of her heat against my cold flesh is overwhelming, a shock of life that threatens to shatter my already fractured existence.

“Tell me you want this,” I demand, needing her consent more than my next breath. “Tell me you want to fuck me like this.”

“I want this. I want you. All of you, forever.”

“Gods, Issy,” I groan and slide into her slowly, savouring every inch, every gasp that escapes her lips. She’s tight, hot, perfect around me. The contrast between my ethereal coldness and her living warmth creates a sensation unlike anything I have experienced in life.

“Fuck,” she cries out, her nails digging into my shoulders. “Fuck, William. This is… this is everything.”

Her words, her conviction is devastating. I squeeze my eyes shut as I savour her pussy, like it’s the last thing I will ever feel.

Just in case it is.

Each thrust is a battle between existence and oblivion.

The water pounds down on us, mixing with the blood that still drips from the ceiling, creating rivulets of scarlet that spiral down the drain.

Each movement sends shockwaves through me, threatening to tear me apart even as it anchors me more firmly to this plane.

“Don’t fade,” Isolde whispers against my ear, her voice desperate. “Stay with me.”

I can’t stop. Won’t stop. Not when she feels this perfect around my cock, not when her cries of pleasure echo off the shower tiles like a symphony of salvation.

“William,” she gasps, her pussy clenching around me as her climax builds. “I can feel you slipping away. Bite me. Take what you need to stay inside me.”

My fangs extend, and I growl, slamming into her harder, deeper, chasing the connection that makes me whole. She tilts her head, and I clamp down on her neck. Her blood rushes into my mouth. The taste of her is sheer power. It makes me lightheaded at the same time that it makes me more complete.

Her orgasm crashes over her with cataclysmic force, her scream echoing through the bathroom as her power surges outward.

For one brilliant moment, I absorb it all, becoming fully corporeal, fully alive.

The sensation is overwhelming. Her heat, her scent, the way she fits against me like she was made for me.

I growl against her neck, the vibrations shuddering through her as she clenches around me again. “Fuck,” I mumble and pull back, gripping her throat tighter as I slam my lips to hers. “Fuck, Isolde. You’re utter perfection.”

My release builds with volcanic intensity, every stroke bringing me closer to an edge I haven’t experienced in over a century. Her blood courses through me, temporarily bridging the gap between death and life, making every sensation razor-sharp and overwhelmingly real.

“Mine,” I snarl against her lips, my hips driving forward with desperate hunger. “You’re mine, Isolde. My queen, my salvation, my everything.”

“Come for me,” she whispers. “I want to feel you lose control.”

Her words shatter the last of my restraint.

I slam into her one final time, my cock jerking wildly as I empty myself inside her with a roar that cracks the shower tiles and drenches us with blood, hot and sticky.

The orgasm tears through me like lightning, every nerve ending screaming with pleasure so intense it borders on agony.

For a perfect moment, we’re suspended in ecstasy. Her power flows into me, my essence anchored by her touch, her blood. I’m alive, truly alive, feeling everything with the intensity of a man who’s been denied sensation for a hundred years.

Then reality crashes back with cruel clarity.

My form flickers, the borrowed vitality already fading. I become translucent again, the connection wavering as her power settles back into its normal patterns.

“No,” Isolde gasps, her hands trying to hold onto me as I fade. “Stay. Please.”

“I can’t,” I whisper, pressing my forehead against hers while I still can. “But this... what we just shared... it’s proof that we can find a way. A permanent way.”

She nods, tears mixing with the blood and the water from the shower. “I will find a way, William. I will find a way to bring you to me.”

“I know you will,” I say, and then I have to get away from her. Letting her go, I phase back into the wall and hear her whimper, her cry for me, but I can’t. I can’t face her. Not now. Not with my cum dripping out of her pussy, and there isn’t a damn thing I can do to stay with her.