Page 38 of Fear No Hell

Calliope

The dregs of a dream—the hazy memories of which seem like they belong to a nightmare, even though I know instinctively that it wasn’t—flit away too quickly for me to remember anything, leaving behind only a sense of empowerment. I open my eyes and frown. This isn’t my bedroom.

Confusion sets in, fear trickling slowly behind it as I try to figure out where I am.

Did somebody take me away from Sam? I’m seconds away from panic when the events of the morning filter through my consciousness.

Coming upstairs from a night torturing Arthur and eating dinner.

Sam touching my hair. The dream. Needing Sam more desperately than I’ve ever needed anyone before.

His head between my thighs. Him tonguing me like he was starving for me.

A gasp escapes me, and I reach towards the other side of the bed, frowning as I realize he’s not here.

The covers are flung back, the sheets already cold.

The fog of sleep clears slowly as I take in my surroundings, the room illuminated only by the light from the adjoining bathroom. He was definitely here when I fell asleep… so where is he now? I prop myself up and call softly, “Sam?”

From the bathroom, there’s a soft curse followed by a thud, and then Sam appears in the doorway, wearing only a pair of low-slung jeans and holding a t-shirt in one hand.

“Hey. Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you up.

” He strides towards me, pulling his shirt on as he kneels beside the bed. “I was trying to be quiet—”

“No, no, it’s okay. I’m pretty sure you aren’t what woke me up.

” I touch his face lightly, my fingers stroking down his cheek.

His eyelids slide shut as he nestles into my touch, his lips pressing against the inside of my palm before he opens his eyes to pin me with a tender look.

My chest hurts at the sweetness of the gesture, at how much I’ve always wanted something like this.

At how long it feels like I've waited for this man in particular. “What time is it?”

“Late enough I should have left for work about half an hour ago.” He kisses the inside of my hand again before shooting me a serious look. “Hey, something happened earlier—”

“Is that what we’re calling it?” I chuckle.

“No, I mean, yes, well—” In sync with his stammering, he flushes a deep red and breaks off what he’s saying, sinking his teeth deep into his lower lip.

Hard enough that a delicate spot—already dry from the last cold dregs of winter and brutalized by me this afternoon—splits, a single, fat drop of blood welling in between the tattered edges.

I pass my tongue over my suddenly aching fangs, desperate for the decadence of his taste.

Sam’s voice breaks through my daze, more self-assured now, less adorably self-deprecating.

How much did I miss while I was fantasizing about his blood?

A chill races through me as a flash memory of me tonguing his lips frantically for more of his blood strikes me.

“—felt a cold wind. When I looked over, I saw this.” He drags a finger between my breasts, the skin tingling at his light touch.

“I’m gonna need you to focus, sweetness.

I can’t think straight when you look at me like that.

” I preen happily that I’m not the only inexcusably distracted one here.

With a click of his tongue and a twitch of his mouth that looks like it wants to be a smile when it grows up, he taps against my skin. “Lila, look where I’m pointing.”

After years of associating the press of another person’s skin against mine with pain and dissociation, it’s hard for me to reconcile the touch-starved desperation I feel whenever Sam lays a finger on me.

I shake my head, trying to throw off the disorienting need that’s overwhelming me, then look down where his finger is still resting against my breastbone.

This time, the gasp I let out is one of horror as I take in the tattoos now covering my body, including the symbol of a moon with a cross extended beneath it underneath his fingertip.

My head jerks back up, and I gape at Sam, unable to speak the questions flooding my brain.

“I googled what a black moon with an inverted cross means, but the internet was… aggressively unhelpful. It could be anything from a hipster tattoo trend to an old Byzantine symbol the Christians co-opted ages ago to a glyph for a goddess named Lilith. None of it seemed particularly relevant.” He strokes his finger over the dark lines one more time and then pulls away.

“I’ve seen this before, but I don’t remember where.” I frown down at my chest, puzzling over the magical symbol and trying to connect it with a particular memory from my millennia of life. Nothing fits, though.

A sudden movement draws my attention. I look up in time to see Sam grimacing at his watch.

“You have to go to work,” I chide him gently.

“I know, I know. But… are you good if I do?” He gestures at the newly-formed tattoos, his lips pursed. “We don’t know what this is or why it’s happening. I don’t want to leave you alone if you’re upset.”

My heart thuds hard in my chest: this is what home feels like.

All the thousands of years I’ve lived before Arthur, even when I had family surrounding me on Mount Helikon, and my husband and son before that, I never once felt then the way I do now.

Safe. Protected. Cherished. Loved. “I’m fine,” I respond, smiling up at this man who makes me feel more whole than I ever have before. “Go to work.”

“Okay.” He darts another glance at his watch and sighs. “There are overnight oats in the fridge if you need anything before you go to the basement. Please promise me you’ll eat before I get home?”

“That’s… kind of rich coming from you, you know that, right?” I arch an eyebrow. “Given that your idea of a healthy dinner before I started cooking was cereal.”

He wrinkles his nose at me with a grumble. “Do as I say, not as I do?”

“Umhmm, sure.”

“Just ignore the hypocrisy. Don’t ask too many questions,” he choruses in a singsong, joking voice before it lowers back to his normal register. “Seriously, please eat.”

“I’ll try to remember.” I draw him towards me, pouting when he stops me before I can taste his mouth again.

“Lila.” His gaze turns stern with no sign of the doting submissive who licked me until I screamed. “Torture takes energy, sweetness. Promise me you’ll eat something.”

“I promise. Even though immortals are pretty resilient.”

“I know, but it still can’t hurt for you to eat.” His hand tangles in my hair, sliding up through the silky strands to curl around the back of my head. “I gotta go… can I kiss you again before I do?”

And I melt for this man who has already kissed me with my consent, who still remembers the way I broke down after our first kiss, and doesn’t want to assume that I’m still okay. “Yes. Please yes.”

The words aren’t fully out before his lips are on mine, the kiss starting off slow before growing intense as we sink into it, his tongue slipping through my open lips and stroking along mine.

A small whimper ripples out of his mouth into mine, meeting the hungry noises I’m feeding back to him in the middle.

I love the way he kisses me. How he touches me like I’m something precious and worth taking care of.

No matter what happens, there’s no way I’ll ever be able to let this man go.

This time, I don’t hear a separate dark voice murmuring possessive thoughts into my brain.

Now, the dark voice sounds exactly like me.

Something about that is important. With my sweet Sam still kissing me, though, it’s hard to unpack why.

So I let it go and revel in the feeling of being touched by someone I want.

When Sam pulls back, we’re both breathless, and I’m plastered against his chest, one hand fisted in his shirt.

“Shit, I gotta get out of here,” he whispers, his lips brushing against mine as he speaks. “Before I go from late to absentee.”

“It’s okay,” I murmur. “I’ll be here when you get home. I’m not going anywhere.”

His gaze goes soft before dipping down to my mouth, heat threading back into the expression. “Can I—”

“You don’t have to ask whether you can kiss me. Not anymore,” I cut him off, already knowing exactly what he’s going to say. “I want you to kiss me whenever you want.”

“I just don’t ever want to be like him. Expecting something from you that you aren’t willing to give.” He rests his forehead against mine. “Making you feel like you’re something I own.”

I huff out something that’s almost a laugh.

“Sam, you are nothing like Arthur. You couldn’t be even if you tried.

You’re sweet and caring and loving. Honestly, you’re the best person I’ve ever known.

” I stroke my thumb down his cheek. “So please. Kiss me as much as you want because I think I might die if you don’t. ”

“I’ll never make you regret trusting me like this, Lila.”

“I know you won’t, my darling.” His lips crash against mine again.

This time, I’m laughing into his mouth, feeling brighter and more free than I have in years.

Although I have so much more pain to mete out to Arthur before I can try to set everything he did behind me, this moment right here makes me believe that, once he’s dead and gone, I’ll be able to find something resembling normalcy.

Reluctantly, I push Sam away, enjoying his pitiful groan. “As much as I want you to stay, you need to go to work.”

In a move so quick I’m not sure it’s voluntary, his lower lip juts out into a too-cute pout before he glances down at his watch. Annoyance replaces the childish expression. “Shit, I’m so late.”

“It’s okay. Go.” I press against his chest, and he rises to a stand. Before he steps away, he pauses and swoops down, bussing his mouth over mine one last time.

“I’ll be home soon,” he promises as he walks to the bedroom door. “Make sure you eat before you start in on Arthur for the night.”

“I will. I promise.”