Page 92 of Nocturn

Trying to breathe through the agony slicing through my mind was a feat. I had scanned most everything in the Scripture, and there was no talk of magicks other than in referencing how bluebloods were the true magick wielders.

“There is nothing about magicks in the Scripture. Especially nothing stating a word about Warlords’ abilities. It droned on about bluebloods though.” His hand tensed under my face, and I lifted it before he crushed my jaw.

During one of my breaks, I had walked down the shelves, hoping for a nudge or itch to walk toward something as it had for the Lore of Old. But nothing.

He no longer wore his battle leathers; instead, he wore a fitted black linen shirt that hung open at the top.

“You cleaned up,” I noted huskily.

He hummed. “There were left over Hollow innards dried on me.”

I wrinkled my nose.

His focus had not wavered. It was almost as if he searched for something.

The bloom in me pulsed as it grew, filling my torso with a weightlessness that wracked my senses. A soft emotion, close to what I felt when thinking of my deceased family and Miriam, yet vastly different. With an intensity that elated and scared me.

He leaned even closer.

“I need a taste,” he whispered against my lips.

I swayed forward, thinking he meant my lips, but the corner of his mouth kicked up and my seat jerked back, shoving me a few paces so there was space before me. He knelt on the floor and his hands cupped my ankles. So painfully slowly, he dragged his touch upward. The dress naturally split at the panels.

Inhaling sharply, I watched the steady glide of his palm up my leg. It was all I could do. Such a wicked man. Not removing his gaze from me, he parted my thighs. He reached under the skirt to encounter more skin . . . and a lack of bloomers. A hot flush stung my face.

“I could not find any,” I said.

“I want you like this at all times.” His words were a guttural sound that wracked me with desire. The spot between my legs dampened.

“Nocturn is coming,” I whispered. “I will no longer be . . . with you.”

It was not a lie. Leaving meant I would never see him again. I detested the pang that struck me rigid.

His face turned to stone. A blank stone.

He exhaled, nostrils flaring. “I suppose you are correct.”

My heart shattered. Into countless pieces.

I hated how severely he affected me. What? Had I wanted him to tell me he would not extinguish my existence?

Foolish. Pure foolishness.

Cassiel straightened to his full height. I stretched my neck to keep my gaze on him. Then why had he not turned away from me?

Why did his nostrils flare as if he battled with himself?

I cleared my throat, smoothing my palms down my thighs.

“Are there other scriptures? What of the Articles of Prophecy?”

“The Articles of Prophecy no longer exist.” He said it so flatly, with no room for doubt. Still, as a creature so ancient, he had learned the art of lies. He narrowed his eyes, studying my face. “They were destroyed by a fire.”

What if he was telling the truth?

“Is there a reason for your question?” Suspicion bled into his gaze.

I let out a steady breath to calm my pulse.