Page 23 of Love and Death (Tempting the Fates #4)

EROS

T here, I feel it.

I feel her .

The girl is here, although she does not know it yet. Her presence, though faint, is unmistakable , intoxicating—entirely agonizing , as I wait patiently for her to awake.

Darkness stretches in an endless void around me. It weighs on me, eating into my soul , reminding me that she should not have been brought here , but …

Gods, I could not help it!

The moment that I became aware of her touch . The second that I knew it was her. That she was real, not a dream or a trick of the mind, I could not resist.

I did not want to resist her .

She had to be brought here.

My thoughts rest for a moment before bearing down on me again …

This could kill her .

There is no other way; she has to know the truth before it is too late.

This finally silences the war waging within me, and I settle back to wait.

I must not wake her before she is ready.

Quieting all that is within me, I listen, allowing the sound of her small breaths to sate me as I wait for her presence to become clearer. Tangible.

There is a hitch in her breath as the connection between us settles into place, and I pour out my soul for her.

The void melts away, giving way to color and light to reveal a courtyard garden overflowing in the fullest of bloom.

Silver vines wrap around perfect, marbled archways as they rise around us like gleaming sentinels.

Silk curtains spill from their heights, moved by a gentle breeze that has no source other than my own.

A breeze that carries with it the scent of my desire, rich and utterly divine …

and yet marked by the desperate pain of longing.

And in the midst of all this, is still the most remarkable beauty of all, the mortal girl.

Out there, I could only imagine. I knew her by touch, by the taste of her light, by the colors of her soul brushed over mine.

In here, I can see her.

The portrait, the full image of her, is almost too much to bear, and yet, I would trade every moment of immortality for it.

She is beauty .

She lies sleeping upon grass softer than the finest downs, her dark hair pooling around her small frame, skin glowing and alive with light and energy.

I long to go to her, to pull her into my arms, but I do not. I hardly dare to breathe as I watch her lips tremble, her eyelids flutter, and she begins to awaken to me.

“Hazel.”

Her name is a blessing and a curse upon my lips.

A prayer that cannot be answered .

I am consumed by her.

Hazel .

My redemption , and my ruin.

Little mortal one .

My spark.

There is no time left for shadows.

Taking a deep breath, I focus, forcing soft, steady light into every last corner of the garden just before Hazel’s eyes open for me.

I swallow hard, caught off-guard by the very sight of them. By the color of them.

Blue.

A blue deeper than the ocean. Brighter than the stars.

If I could drown in them, I would. And yet, I had always imagined them to be silver. It troubles me that I had guessed incorrectly. I am not often … No, I am never mistaken in these things.

“Eros?” My name on her lips, to see them form the sound, I nearly lose my self-control. Her voice wavers, uncertainty clinging to her. “Where are we?”

I force an easy smile to my face, pushing aside my troubled thoughts.

“Welcome, my dear girl,” I say in answer, my voice dripping in honey, bowing low to offer her my hand, “to my home away from home. My mind.”

She hesitates, her gaze dropping to stare at my outstretched palm.

I can sense the wariness seeping from her, but I do not take offense. After what it took to get her here, it would be foolish of her not to be wary of me.

“Why am I here?”

Her question surprises me, although I suppose I should have expected it from the real her.

I start to answer her, but as I stare down into a face I never expected to see with my own eyes, I think better of it.

The truth can wait just a little longer.

“You are here because I wished you to be … or would you deny me that pleasure, even in my own dreams?” I pose, a small seed of guilt rooting within me as her eyes widen.

“Of course not.”

“Then, come, I would like to show you something.”

She nods once to herself and then, at long last, slips her hand into mine. The garden sings with life; warmth, burning brighter within me at her touch. But I must be careful, for here, her soul cannot give me strength as it did before, only drain me faster of my own.

Her mouth opens slightly as the change draws her attention, and I fight every urge within me to press my lips to the wonder of hers. Drawing her further into the garden, I move toward one of the archways and push aside the curtain to let us through.

A corridor lies beyond, still more gossamer draperies floating through it, and at the far end, a balcony, beyond which lies an expanse of color and light.

Leading her through the columned hallway, her hold on my hand tightens as she suddenly stops.

“What are these?”

I turn back to look, and see that she is staring at a series of paintings hung upon the wall. These were not the paintings I had meant for her to see, but it would appear my mind has chosen for me.

“Memories,” I say, my voice softer than I’d intended as I admire the portrait, “of you. The only being I truly care to remember. Like this one, for example.”

I reach out to touch one of the paintings, and together, we are pulled into it.

It is but a fragment of the first day we met. A second frozen in time.

Our first kiss.

I had stolen from her, and it had changed me. I let her feel what I felt, see what I saw, the memory a myriad of colors and emotions crashing together to form a painting of soul and heart and chaos.

I had not been able to see her, but I felt her in every fiber of my being. I had found a light in the darkness. I craved her, needed her to sate me.

I step back into the hallway, the feelings suddenly too much to bear in her presence .

“I did not know,” she gasps.

Of course not. I could not let her see what even I did not yet know.

“Come, we must continue,” I say, my strength waning for a split second and causing the light to dim slightly.

Reliving that memory took more energy than I thought. I must be careful.

Moving further down the hall, she stops abruptly in front of another painting. Her perfume rises, heat growing within her as she steps closer to it, and I with her, still holding her hand.

“I thought you said these were memories?”

“I did.”

“But this one …” she trails off.

I follow her gaze before she can drop her eyes to the floor, her hand pulling from my own as the taste of her burns hotter.

It is a painting of her, silk spilling like liquid silver across her form where she reclines upon my throne, thoroughly ravished as only I know how.

“Ah. This is a memory, but only in dreams,” I admit, my voice dropping to slip over her skin as I turn slowly back to her. “Would you care to see what a god might do?”

I ask the question but do not wait for her to speak. Instead, I take the thrum of her heart in answer as I reach out and touch the canvas.

This is my dream, my memory, but I would have her live it. I guide her in, slow, hands gentle about her waist, as I press her down upon my throne.

Silver silk spills over her form, barely covering what I would taste of her skin as it moves like liquid in the light. She opens her mouth to speak, and I lean in to hush her with a kiss.

“Let me worship you as only I can, just once.”

I drop to my knees before her, as a god desperate in his devotion. Slowly, I part the long silks of her skirt, baring skin I would destroy my reputation for, as I drag my fingers down her inner thighs.

Hazel squirms beneath my touch, her breath catching in her throat as I meet the silver—blue of her eyes.

“Eros,” she whispers, her voice breathless.

I smile softly at her as I press a kiss to the inside of her knee, tracing upwards slowly with the tip of my nose and tongue.

Her body arches as heat builds within her.

“Eros,” she says again, this time a plea.

“Let me show you,” I say in a low purr, reaching under and around her hips as I move her legs up over my shoulders. “Let me taste of you, and you will know that I am yours to command.”

I pull her further down my throne and graze her lightly with my tongue. Her fingers find my hair, twisting in it as she searches for her own hold, pulling tight enough to cause pain.

I smile, my own reverent hunger for her now ravenous, as I drag her to me, burying my mouth where I have so long wished to .

And gods, it is sweeter than I could imagine. She cries out, spurring me on to deepen my worship of her until …

“Eros. Eros, please!”

I pull us, staggering, from the painting, a surge of fear rising within me as I turn to Hazel, my eyes searching her face.

“Are you alright?” I ask, an unexpected tremble in my voice. “Did I let it go too far?”

“I-I should not see more. It is too intimate.”

I smile carefully, not wanting to frighten her.

“I do not mind.”

“No, please. I-I do not wish to know any more of what I have not myself done.”

I mull this over in my mind, my desire for her almost unbearable just imagining it. I know the full danger of what I am about to suggest. Knowing that I will not stop myself if she agrees, but still, I continue, “We could turn it from dream to memory, if you wish.”

I feel her own desire rise, and my throat grows dry with my thirst to quench myself with it. For a brief moment, I feel her actually consider it. She wants to know. Wants to experience that bond, but something still resists within her.

“I cannot.”

She will not, I want to correct.

At least, not like this.

Not with me.

“Very well, shall we?” I ask, offering her my hand again as I gesture further down the hall. Accepting my hand, I lead her out onto the balcony and over to the balustrade.

We stand in silence for a long moment, watching the colors splash across the sky in ever-changing brushstrokes.