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This looked like witchery, which didn’t align with what I knew about Blood Magic. My magic was just for healing.
My heart pounded in my chest as I looked at the page. It seemed like a futile hope to think that these old words and arcane symbols might be able to heal the scars on my body when nothing else had worked. And yet, I couldn't help but feel a small, desperate spark of optimism.
"¿En serio crees que esto podría funcionar?" I asked, biting my lip.
"Confía en mí, Carmen," Antonio insisted, his voice calm yet unwavering. "I know what it's like to carry scars you wish you could erase."
As Antonio stood before me, vulnerable and strong all at once, I couldn't deny the truth in his words.
"Confío en ti," I whispered, my resolve solidifying. Trust was growing between us. I could do this.
Together, we stood before the open book, the ancient pages filled with swirling symbols and cryptic phrases. I felt the weight of centuries pressing down on me, as if the wisdom of countless generations was contained within those fragile leaves of parchment.
"Concéntrate," he whispered into my ear, his breath hot against my skin. "Feel the energy within you, waiting to be unleashed."
Closing my eyes, I focused on the power that had always been there, simmering beneath the surface of my flesh. It was like a restless river, churning and roiling, eager to break free from its confines. And with Antonio's guidance, I channeled that force, directing it toward the dark scars that marred my skin.
"Open your mouth," he urged, and I obeyed.
I heard a small sound of discomfort from Antonio seconds before his finger slipped between my lips, and an impossibly sweet explosion filled my mouth, followed by a wave of warmth that infused every cell of my body with a golden glow. I jumped back and spat toward Antonio.
“What the hell was that?”
“My blood.” He stuck his chin out. “The ritual called for it.”
Blood? I should’ve been more repulsed.
Instead, I craved more of him. The closeness, the sweetness. He was intoxicating.
I wiped my mouth. “That’s not an excuse. I’m serious Antonio, if you want me to partner with you, communicate.” My scars tingled, as if they were being gently caressed by unseen fingers, and with each passing moment, they began to change.
He exhaled. “The scars have been there too long. You can’t heal wounds that have been fixed in place, especially with all the trauma to your body in the last week and a half. My blood will simply help you along.”
Glaring at him, I bit out, “You told me that Élites couldn’t heal each other.”
He paused. “I’m sure I told you there were exceptions.”
I wanted to keep fighting, but my scars writhed across my skin and I looked down just in time to see the harsh, jagged lines organize themselves into vaguely floral tattoos across my body. I pulled at the loose collar of my nightgown. Roses lined the space above my breasts and the stretch of skin just below the collarbone. The fabric spilled down my shoulders as I exposed more skin. I ran my fingers along the bright petals on the space between the top of my breast and my collarbone, marveling at the intricate detail—every marking was alive with color and texture.
The sensation of power continued as I felt the energy radiating from these beautiful works of art. The scars seemed to move in time with each breath I took, like something alive, pulsing beneath my skin.
Turning back to Antonio, I saw his face filled with wonder and lust as he gazed upon the transformation. His brown eyes glimmered in the soft light of the room, and when he smiled, a gentle wave of desire passed through me. He stepped closer until our noses were almost touching and, without saying a word, he placed his lips on mine. The kiss was hot and sweet, but more importantly, it was full of tenderness—revealing all that he wanted to say without having to utter a single word.
For a fleeting moment, the world dissolved into nothingness. It was as if we had been transported to a realm where truth and lies were indistinguishable, a place where love and fear danced together in a hauntingly beautiful waltz.
My eyes remained open, wide with surprise. We were suspended in time. If I wasn’t watching the ecstasy on his face, I wouldn’t have believed it. The raw emotion emanating from him washed over me, coaxing my heart to break free of its chains and embrace the connection that had been there all along. And then, drawn in by the force of the moment, I reciprocated the kiss, our souls dancing together in a symphony of passion and longing. Antonio Armando Castillas Morales was kissing me, and it was good.
I let my eyes close and sank into the sensations skittering across my skin.
The kiss was like a key unlocking a door I hadn't realized was closed. As his tongue tangled with mine, we drank in each other's essence, I felt the weight of our shared experiences.
And in that suspended instant, I realized the complexity of our relationship; we were bound by a shared history of pain and loss, our souls entwined in a web of secrets and deception. We formed an intricate tapestry that bound our hearts together.
As we stood on the precipice of a dark and uncertain future, I wasn’t afraid. There was something astonishingly powerful in the connection that pulsed between us.
His lips were like velvet against mine, and I felt an overwhelming desire for him growing within me. I closed my eyes tightly, savoring the moment as his hands moved over my body, tracing each petal of the tattoos with loving care.
It was the intimacy of the touches that made me push back first. I could feel my heart pounding in my chest—it was like I had just come alive for the first time. I was electric.
