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His towering phantom was standing by the large chest at the end of the bed, taking off his chest plate, his furs. The apparition flickered and then it returned, but this time, his muscular arms were raised as he gathered his sleek black hair and tied it up. His beautiful onyx eyes met mine, teasing me, lapping at me, silently asking if I was enjoying the view.
And then he turned, his phantom prowling towards me on silent, deadly feet, so careful as to not startle me to run. His shadows reached for me—hereached for me. A finger curled under my chin, that familiar feeling of his cool metal rings pressed against my skin.
Tilting my face upwards, he asked in that signature bourbon tone, “Have you forgotten me, Little Goddess?”
“I could never,” I said breathlessly, knitting my hands into his black tunic, amazed by how real he felt, at the tangible heat radiating from his broad, sturdy chest, washing over me in heavy, undiluted waves.
“I’m holding you to that,” he murmured as he leaned down and kissed my lips.
I closed my eyes and allowed myself to fall into him. I did not care if this wasn’t real. I would take this male in any form I could get him, even if it was just a phantom my mind had conjured up.
Von’s kiss was the striking of a match—lighting me on fire, burning me alive. His hand, the one that saidking, cupped the back of my thigh and he tugged it up, angling me so that my core was pinned against his thick, muscular leg. He pressed into me, anchoring me to the door. I groaned in response to the added friction, but the sound barely passed my lips because he swallowed that too.
This male would devour me, just as he had promised. And I would let him.
But first, I needed him here with me, physically. I pulled back, my head pressing against the door, Von’s steel frame locked against my front.
He growled in displeasure as I stole my lips from his—as if he had been stumbling in the barren, sandy desert for months and I was the lake he so desperately needed to drink from.
“How do I save you?” I asked, my pleading eyes darting between his.
“You cannot.” His fingers drifted from my chin to the collar, his eyes narrowing into slits, a black storm brewing inside.
I shook my head, refusing to believe that. “What if I make a new deal with Arkyn?”
The muscle in his jaw ticked so hard it was a wonder it didn’t burst through his tanned skin. “You will do no such thing.”
“If it means saving you, then I will do anything,” I argued back, the space between my brows crinkling.
“You say that now, Kitten, but . . .” His eyes shifted down, a fan of thick, black lashes feathering his cheeks for a second before they raised back up. Gingerly, tenderly, he cupped my cheek. “Once you start getting your memories back, you will feel differently about me. For a time.”
“I know that we were enemies in our past, but I don’t care,” I said, desperate to convince him. I tipped my face further into his warm touch, my hand falling over his. Creator above, it feltso good to be reunited with him. There was a missing part of me, which I had never known existed, at least not until I had met Von. Now, here in his presence, I was whole. Complete.
He lowered his forehead against mine, his voice—the tone, it was heartbreakingly gentle. “You don’t know what I did to you. Of the monster I was to you back then.”
“Then tell me now,” I pleaded softly. “Help me understand.”
“Our story spans decades, little darling. It would take more time than I have right now for me to tell you everything that happened between us.”
“Then tell me how I can save you,” I begged, “and then we can tackle our past together.”
He studied me for a moment, before he answered, “You cannot save me from this.”
“I don’t believe that.” Desperately, I clutched his tunic, his broad, warrior-derived chest bracing my forearms. “There must be something I can do.”
Von sighed as he lifted his forehead from mine. “There is an object that possesses the power to break the deal, but it has been lost for many years . . . It might not even exist anymore.”
“What is it?” I asked, my eyes flickering desperately between his.
That telling muscle flexed once more in his jaw. “It is called the Blade of Moram.”
“What does it look like?”
“The blade is made of obsidian. It can shift from dagger to sword, depending on what form its wielder wishes for it to be.” He captured a lock of my hair and ran it between his thumb and forefinger, until he reached the ends.
“Do you have any idea where it might be? When was it last seen?” I asked.
Von’s gaze darkened.
