Page 13 of To Free a Soul (Duskwalker Beginnings #2)

Giving him a weak smile, she nodded as she returned to her journal. She drew the side of her nail over a sentence.

He can be so confusing sometimes. Not because of the complexity of what he was, but what he said to end it. Because of me and Nathair? She peeked around at all her things again, floating in his ether, before darting her gaze to him still working and then back down.

He’s never shown whether he’s lonely or not, or if he can even really feel it. Lindiwe had. She’d proven to him time and time again, whether through words or actions, that there had been a sickly hole developing where her heart was.

But what do I know of loneliness in comparison to being locked away in a prison for nearly a millennium and a half? That was the time frame he’d estimated in Earth years when he first explained it to her. I guess we’re lonely together.

There was a void between them that not even pleasure and touch could breach. It made it more bearable, though, and she could admit that their relationship wasn’t, for the most part, strained. There was no love, only lust. Passion in their needs, but no comfort of the spirit.

But I do have some value to him other than just being his servant. This place and his words were proof of that, and it made her chest ache for him in more ways than one.

Was it enough for her to open her heart to him?

Never. She needed more than this. To feel cherished, treasured, and loved.

She felt appreciated in the way one would value a friend, and she couldn’t fall in love with a friend who was entirely out of reach.

Someone far away, not physically, but emotionally.

Someone who couldn’t support any growth, when they didn’t even know how to sow the seed properly.

This didn’t mean she couldn’t see his efforts, and it was those efforts that heartened her.

Even the fact that he was changing her cloak, despite it still being fit for purpose, was heartening. He could have told her to remain a raven, as an owl was similar in form, but he didn’t.

Once she was finished reading the first book, she moved on to the next, occasionally peeking up at him through her lashes.

It wasn’t long before the feathers were plucked from it, and the holes and claw marks in the plain dark-grey cloth began to shut, as if he was stitching it back together with his magic.

Then he brought the body of the white-feathered owl closer, and plucked and threaded the plumes through the material one by one.

He barely moved from his cross-legged position as he worked. His form constantly shifted, appearing like chalky ink moving across invisible paper.

Sometimes large sections of his bare chest and lightly muscular abdomen would be revealed by the blobs as they moved up and over his torso, neck, and the side of his jaw before breaking apart.

Other times the inky spots were more spread out, revealing his lean thigh, or calf, or even a foot, while his elbow and face became visible in parts.

Her mind was able to map these movements and paint a perfect picture of what Weldir looked like entirely.

A shadowy demi-god who had pointed ears and long, twisting horns that ran from his hairline and through his two-inch-long hair.

His face was chiselled to near perfection, with a broad jaw, high cheeks, pleasant brows, and a nose with a small bump in its straight descent down his face.

His lips were full, but they were pushed out due to his large canine fangs hidden away behind them.

His long body gave the impression he was lithe, and his build was athletically strong, rather than bulky.

That strength was a lie, of course, as he probably could have crushed anything in those godly hands of his.

Hands that were big, could touch roughly as well as gently, and were tipped with claws.

His eyes had once unnerved her. The glossy pools of ethereal darkness had felt all-consuming, and she’d worried that if she stared into them for too long, she’d fall into the void and be eaten.

But as the years went on, and they grew closer in the disjointed and sparse time they spent with each other, she found them to be hypnotising.

It didn’t help that his lashes, often sprinkled with dust from his mist, made them lovelier to look upon.

Weldir was... attractive. She’d known that from the first time she pieced together his features in her mind in full. Actually, she often found him to be devilishly handsome, to her demise, and very few human or Anzúli men could compare to the wonder that was Weldir.

Just the simple knowledge that she’d touched him, and had been touched in return, had her insides warming in memory.

How those pretty lips and sharp fangs had played across her skin, and how she’d delved her hands into the wispy strands of his hair or curled them around a hard horn.

Or how his clawed fingertips had dug into her soft thighs.

If he hadn’t healed her after every sexual experience together, she no doubt would have been bruised or sporting little cuts.

Her legs had been wrapped around his narrow hips, or that arrogant and ignorant head of his. His hands had touched almost every inch of her, but were mainly locked on the places that felt the nicest, like her breasts, pussy, or gliding up her spine.

Only when her core clenched in want from the memories did Lindiwe realise that she’d been chewing on her bottom lip and blatantly ogling him.

Her face flared with heat as she sucked in a silent gasp of surprise and looked down once more. Oh god, please don’t tell me he noticed me staring at him. She cringed. I’m so glad he doesn’t have the power to read my thoughts.

Because right then they’d been wildly perverse and naughty.

Her mind radiated with a groan, but she resisted showing how uncomfortable she’d made herself. Especially since shifting her position to close her legs and fold them to the side proved just how wet she’d made herself.

It’s not my fault . She pouted as she flipped a page despite not reading a word of it.

I usually don’t stay here for very long.

.. and when I do, it’s usually to make another child.

To fuck, and from her side, orgasm over and over until she was breaking apart to make up for the years she’d go without.

She actually didn’t like that he healed her. It meant the injuries and aches from well-deserved and passionate sex were lost when she actually wanted to hold onto those things. All she was left with was the ghost of the memory in her mind.

She was horny... a lot.

Now that she was receiving pleasure, she craved it.

Enough so that she squirmed because the idea of another child only deepened her ache. Not because she wanted another one, but because of what happened beforehand.

Stop it. She wanted to smack herself with her journal but refused to let Weldir know of her internal struggle.

The longer she sat here in his presence, the more she was tempted to crawl – float – over to him and see if they could be intimate without there ever being a result.

Once more, she didn’t want to let him know just how needy her body could be. He was already too privy to that when they were in the moment, by how her inhibitions let go and she’d claw at him for more and more until she was disintegrating into a thrumming, satisfied puddle.

She didn’t know if he’d be into the idea, and the inclination she had that he’d reject it also left her silent.

It meant her aching clit and throbbing, damp pussy bothered her every second she stayed there, and she found it difficult to keep her eyes from ogling him.

Which, considering he was her husband, she should be allowed to do.

She should be allowed to go over to him aroused and know she’d be accepted, or naughtily crook her finger at him to come closer.

But her rapidly beating heart, panicked yet full of desire, refused to let her try.

She merely pretended nothing was amiss as she moved onto a new journal.

“Is something wrong?” Weldir asked, not looking up from his task. “Your heart has accelerated.”

Lindiwe wanted to crawl inside herself and expire. Her neck heated at being caught out, and her trembling fingers curled into the soft-bound book. “I just have a lot on my mind.”

Lots of naughty, perverted thoughts.

Ugh, I’ve lived a hundred and seventy-one years and I’m acting like a callow girl. Lindiwe should be beyond such things. She should be mature and in control at all times, but it was like she couldn’t shake that part of her.

Then again, maybe that’s what it was like to be human, and it had nothing to do with one’s lived age.

I’ve seen people in their seventies act less mature than those in their twenties. Sometimes life made people grow and harden much too fast and at an alarming and saddening rate.

She often felt like she was fumbling through life, even now. It had hardened her, but her situation was also so wildly abnormal that it was frequently puzzling.

“Is there anything I can do to put you at ease, then?” he asked, lowering the cloak now entirely covered in white feathers while looking up. “I’m enjoying having you within my realm.”

There was something he could do, and it would require either his hand, tongue, or cock... or maybe all three.

“You’re enjoying me here? We aren’t really talking though,” she mumbled to get away from her thoughts, her cheeks warming under the compliment.

“Does that matter?” He tilted his head. “It is nice to hear someone’s heartbeat and breaths in a place where I do not have my own to fill it. It is... nice knowing my realm isn’t empty of your life.”

When she didn’t say anything, just wriggled uncomfortably because his damn voice was petting her and making her wetter, his visible brow pinched inwards.

“Should I be filling the silence?” He lifted the cloak to look down at it, spreading it out with both his hands – although one was invisible to her. “It’s difficult to cast magic like this and speak at the same time.”