Page 89 of Nocturn

“You have lived for a very long time,” I muttered. So much experience in his ancient, muscled form. An incredibly skilled form.

Horror slowed my pace.

“Did you have children? Or more accurately, how many children do you have? I cannot fathom someone who has lived as long as you must have had more than a few—” He then stood before me, a few steps below so his face hovered near mine.

“My seed will only take root in my bondmate.” He grinned, showing all his teeth.

The suggestive twinkle in his gaze should not have caused my stomach to tremble the way it did.

“How many women have you loved?” I blurted out of pure desperation. Watching them die time and time again . . . It put a new layer to the festering thought about his loneliness.

He drew back as if I had spouted Larien.

“Love,” he scoffed. “Love is a weakness.”

“You are wrong,” I challenged.

Humanity was more than weakness. There was something beautiful in the way we loved. In the lengths one could go in the name of it.

“Now if you asked me how many women I have fucked.” He pressed his finger under my jaw, and his thumb rubbed against the side of my cheek. Golden light from the gas lamp fell across half his face. “Too many to count.”

His sweet breath caressed my nose, intoxicating and drugging. I curled my fingernails into my palm.

“I suppose it is a good thing your seed cannot take root,” I breathed, voice warbling.

One side of his mouth kicked up. He straightened as he chuckled and continued up the steps.

“Come, little mortal, enough with your jealousies.”

I scoffed, but in my reeling over his accusation, he was already close to the top.

Uncouth rake, that was not jealousy. Storming up the steps stole whatever I was about to say because I was too busy huffing from the climb.

He stood before a wide entrance, snarling at an officer.

I stepped forward and slammed into an invisible barrier. Yelping, I clasped my nose. My sounds of pain turned him around. His nostrils flared and eyes widened.

“You have a barrier up?” Cassiel’s voice held a threat.

The man, golden-skinned and slender, swallowed visibly. By the gold embroidering his velvet uniform, he was highly ranked.

“I am just following orders, Your Highness.”

“Exactly. Whose orders give you the ability to deny me access to the Archives?!” he bellowed.

“N-no⁠—”

“Then do as I order and drop the barrier—Now.”

The color leeched out of his skin.

Nothing visibly changed, but my ears popped. I winced and experimentally put my hand forward. This time, I was able to move to Cassiel’s side.

“Why did you not get walloped?” I mumbled, rubbing the bridge of my nose.

“Magicks do not work on me.” Cassiel opened the door, and a waft of old parchment and mustiness greeted me. My soft slippers padding over the ivory tile echoed.

I passed the stiff Sergeant. In all honesty, he was blessed by the Saints if he continued living after denying Cassiel something.