Page 25 of The Heartless One
And Jessamine’s goal was his now. It was the only purpose he had while he floundered, trying to remember what it was to be a god again, and what he was supposed to be doing here.
Shaking his head, he tried to ignore those thoughts. They tended to make him spiral, and he had a job to do.
A woman strutted up to him wearing a tiny hat with a large blueplume on top. Her hair was so tightly coiled in ringlets they didn’t look real, and that annoyed him. They looked like snakes next to her face. He barely even glanced at the matching blue gown that was sewn so tightly onto her body he wondered if she could get out without cutting it off.
“Well, you are certainly quite the vision.” She looked him up and down in a hungry way that made him want to tear off his skin. “I haven’t seen you in these parts before. Surely you aren’t here for a gown?”
He looked back at the shop, then looked at her. “No entry at this time.”
“Not even for little ol’ me?” She pursed her lips, clearly trying to persuade him that he was attracted enough to let her in.
“Not even for you.”
“I could make it worth your while.” Her hand brushed his chest, fingers dancing along the lines of his muscles.
Immediately, dark memories flashed in front of his eyes.
Countless witches had done the same thing to him. Witches who had cocked their hips to the side and devoured him with their gaze. He was useful to them. He would be sacrificed to the few so the many could survive, but they had used him and they had twisted his mind just like this woman was trying to do.
Anger flared in his chest. It took everything he had in him not to snap. He could not be cajoled by a pretty face simply because she thought he was a weak man. He was a god, and for the life of him, all he wanted was to be left alone.
But then a small hand pressed against his lower back, and he felt himself ease like a cool wind had blown across his overheated face.
Jessamine leaned around him, a sharp smile on her face. “I’m sorry. Did you not hear him?”
“I heard him.” The woman’s expression tightened. “And who are you? His keeper?”
“In a way.”
“You must be new to the Pleasure District, darling. We share allour good fortune here.” The woman licked her fucking lips just like the witches used to. “And this one is very good fortune indeed.”
Panic bloomed in his chest. He could feel his throat closing up and the guilt in his chest bubbling, because what if this woman was right? What if he really was only useful to satisfy the needs of others? This life was meant to be a new reckoning for him. A new coven, a new future, a new gravesinger who looked at him like he was more than just a tool.
But what if this was all a glimmer of nothing but fool’s hope?
“Oh, I know my good fortune, but I do not share. Unless, of course, it is sharing in blood. I partake in the old ways, stranger. If you want him, you can try and take him from me.” Along with Jessamine’s words came the tug of magic from her side and the flare of desire that spread from his lower back straight to his cock. He almost arched into her touch, and perhaps did a bit because the stranger’s eyes followed his movement before looking back at Jessamine.
“Interesting,” the woman said—but she made no other protest before hurrying away.
He could hardly breathe after the magic Jessamine had siphoned off. She’d been ready to attack another woman for him, just because they’d made him uncomfortable.
Elric wasn’t sure what to do. He was a god, after all. He should be able to protect himself, but knowing that she was so willing to do so for him at the merest hint of offense?
It made every hair on his body stand on end.
“You okay?” Jessamine asked, her eyes on his every move.
“Decidedly uncomfortable now, but yes. I am well.”
Perhaps she could see how heated his cheeks were, or that his ears were aflame. Because a slow smile spread across Jessamine’s lips, and she did her best not to roll those pretty eyes. “Deathless One, why don’t you go wander? We’re almost done here.”
“How are you stealing the clothes?”
“Elissa is rather impressive. She has a bag from her mother that appears to be bottomless. Where the clothes are going, I have no idea. Butwe’ve been stuffing them in one by one while poor Sybil is torn apart by the harpy who owns the place. She’s been forcing the shopkeeper to alter a dress while still on her form but keeps spelling the needles to prick her skin. There are at least fifteen blood spots, and they’ve gotten into four shouting matches already. Apparently, she’s the most difficult client the woman has ever met.” She huffed out a chuckle. “We’ll be set for a while, I imagine.”
“Good enough. What do you want me to do?”
“I want you to do what you want to do. You don’t have to stand in front of this door and be subjected to… that.” Her gaze was worried as it skated over his features, perhaps seeing how rattled he really was.
