He was tall, taller even than me, with a broad chest and shoulders. His hand was still raised in the air, and I got a good peek at the muscles of his arm before he let it fall, coming to a rest at his side.
The man was close to my age, maybe a few years older, and there was a youthful innocence in his face that belied his age. A dark-brown scruff that matched the close-cropped hair on his head encompassed his jaw and upper neck. His lips were full, almost sensual, and his eyes.
Gods, his eyes.
His eyes were the most arresting shade of sea blue I’d ever seen. Caught somewhere between the ocean itself and the glass you so often find on its shores. They sparkled with intelligence, mirth, and curiosity. A bit of heat underlying it all.
My heartthumpedwildly in my chest, in tune with the pulsating of my magic.
All other sound faded away as I looked into the Vessel’s slowly widening eyes.
It’s him. He’s it.
I took three hurried steps across the room, my legs propelling me toward him without a thought from my brain. It appeared that the Vessel was also experiencing the same pull because we met in the middle of the room, stopping just short of touching. With every panted inhale and shallow exhale, my chest brushed his. He sucked in a breath at the contact and every one of my nerves fired simultaneously as he slowly brought one of his large palms up to my face and slowly—agonizingly slowly—ran a calloused thumb down my cheek and around my jaw until he rested it against the hollow of my throat.
I swallowed reflexively, and his eyes dilated as he watched his thumb bob with the movement.
“Who are you?” I whispered, my breath fanning across his collarbone.
I was vaguely aware of the door opening and the remaining Vessels filing out of the room, but it was merely a passing thought. My attention was completely dominated by the captivating male in front of me.
The one who made my blood sing and magic dance.
“Ilyas.” His name sounded like a prayer and my salvation. “My name is Ilyas.”
I clutched Ilyas’hand tightly as the acolyte led us through an adjoining door I hadn’t seen in my previous visits to this room. I snuck a glance at the handsome man next to me, and my pulse jumped when our eyes made contact. Ilyas squeezed my hand once, and I squeezed back—a modicum of comfort assuaging my mounting anxiety.
His palm was large and all-encompassing, clinging tightly to my own slightly smaller hand as we silently trailed the acolyte. My magic continually jumped beneath my skin, as if it recognized the soul standing next to us.
It wanted him.
Iwanted him.
Which was a strange feeling after denying myself for so long.
My avoidance only lasted so long, however, as once my training started, I was forced to find a way to replenish the Pleasure Magic hosted within my allotted crystals. At first, I tried to focus on emotions—happiness, contentment, love. But emotions were often fleeting, their magic not nearly as sustaining or lasting as siphoning the heady feeling of lust.
Entering a pleasure house for the first time after my forced Awakening was nothing short of traumatic. My palms sweat as soon as I entered the space, the cloying scents of perfume and scented candles mixed with the tangy aroma of sweat and the instantly identifiable taste of sex. My pulse jumped with each slap of flesh, my breathing shallowing into pants that matched those intertwined together.
I’d thrown up after leaving the first few times. Eventually, I was able to keep my stomach from emptying itself, but was woefully unable to stop the horrific scenes of my Awakening playing over and over in my mind. I learned to breathe shallowly through my mouth with my eyes closed while refilling my crystals.
Needless to say, I hadn’t felt arousal for another person since.
It was like something inside was irreparably broken, like a piece of me died in that dungeon.
But, somehow, it felt like the man next to me was helping me feel again.
The acolyte ushered us into the dimly lit space, revealing a sparse room containing a singular wooden chair and a large bed.
My brow furrowed as I tried to ascertain the need for this space. To my knowledge, Ilyas and I would simply elect to take a Bond and the acolyte would draw the required runes.
“Please remove your shoes and sit on the bed,” the acolyte instructed, and Ilyas dropped my hand to do as he asked.
I simply stood frozen in the doorway.
“And shut the door,” the acolyte added as he removed a leather-wrapped dagger from inside his robe.
Ilyas shot me a quizzical look before folding his large frame under the cream-colored blanket that rested on top of the bed.
