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“Of course you’re not!” The angel answers his own question.
“The Hellspring giveth,” Nur mutters.
“What?” Arsene’s brilliant green eyes are fiery.
“I am a vergis, as you know them. I have all the necessary parts.” He’s known it since he stepped out of the Hellspring in his new form. In the most secret part of his mind he’s longed for a mate to complete him—but things like that don’t happen to creatures like him, of course.
“That can’t be. Prove it!” the angel demands.
“What, here?” Nur smirks. “I suppose I wouldn’t turn you down if you asked me to sit on your cock.” It’s probably big, judging by the bulge in his pants. Unreasonably so, to fuel all that arrogance and fury.
“Not like that—! Never mind,” the angel splutters.
Nur rolls his eyes. He’s stupidly disappointed. “Obviously.”
“There can’t be a bond. It’s unthinkable.” The veins in the angel’s neck swell with frustration. Nur is no longer starving, but even so the sight of them makes his mouth water.
One more sip is never enough.
“Then leave.” Nur shrugs.
Arsene scoffs. “You’ll follow me.”
“I promise I won’t. I have no desire to be tied up and verbally abused again.” Nur scowls. But even as he says it, he knows it’s a lie. “I’ll find other prey.”
“I’m not yourprey.”
Arsene picks up his pack and begins stuffing the remains of the camp into it. He yanks the sword free of the fallen chimera and wipes it clean before disassembling it. Nur doesn’t stop him, but foreboding stirs in his gut, promising future pain. He knows the angel feels it because Arsene’s movements become jerky and quick.
“If you follow me, I won’t hesitate to kill you this time. Beg and plead all you want.”
“I begged you to do it. You were the one who couldn’t finish the job.”
Arsene shoulders his pack, flicking a sweaty strand of shimmering white-gold hair out of his eyes. “Well, good riddance.”
Nur bares his teeth.
The angel leaves. He’s barely out of sight when the bond pulls tight. It’s sharp as a strangling wire and all tangled up with Nur’s insides. It wraps around his chest, his throat, steals the breath from his lungs. It digs ugly hooks into his mind, ripping open the seams of thoughts he’s meant to keep sewn up tight.
How can he bond when his soul is corrupted beyond repair?
And to someone who sees him as little more than an animal?
No one will ever see you as more than that, snarls a voice within him.Nur is nothing. Only Nicephore was worthy of love, and he’s gone.
Fuck off,Nur tells the voice bitterly, wrapping his arms around his knees.
He waits.
His discomfortquickly turns to an ache, then to a sharp digging pain. A different agony than the torture of his hunger—bearable, in comparison. On the other side of the bond the angel suffers.
And suffers.
And keeps going.
Nur grits his teeth and waits.
When the angel finally returns to the camp, Nur generously doesn’t rub it in his face.
