Page 84 of Ashborne Phoenix

Yet, in the same breath, I felt him. Heard the depth of that vow, and the rush of love.

All the while, he drifted toward the end of the altar at my head, until he was out of sight above me. Then I felt his hand clasp my wrist. It shook, and moved in small tugs, until the pressure of those bonds released.

There was still a red rope tied around my wrist, but he could lift my hand, and he did. And he spoke to it, the words filling every corner of the otherwise silent space.

“…Light our eyes. Make my Pair always visible to me, and me to her. Should any harm her, let that harm fall upon me. Let the shield of my power be her ward, and any who challenge her die under its curse. Let my blood beat in the home of her heart. And hers fill my veins. Entwine our souls and let them never be separated.”

His mother hissed his name and stepped closer like she’d grab for him, but suddenly, a sharp, singing pain appeared in my palm. I cried out, and some of the people watching moaned.

I looked up, horrified, to find Voski had laid his blade against the heel of my palm—and his own, and now clasped my hand to his.

‘There’s nothing magical in this, Grace. It’s a show. A pageant.’

I gulped at the air, soothed somewhat, but my heart still hammering because of the shock, and the pain.

But his mother had frozen a few feet away, her eyes wide. Hungry.

‘I’m so sorry, Grace, but I need you to pretend you’re being aroused,’ Voski sent after a few moments of repeating the earlier words twice more, as if they were a chant, or a prayer.

I blinked several times and felt the blood drain from my face.

How did I fake arousal? Swallowing hard, I let my breath get harsher and tried to concentrate on making my breasts rise and fall with my quickening breath.

And then I looked up to find Voski leaning over me, his face tilted down, and his eyes locked on mine.

He opened his heart to the bond fully, then, letting me feel every torturous, self-recriminating pain and fear coursing through him. And the admiration. And the delight. So many things.

But very little hope.

‘Voski—’

‘Concentrate. Arousal. Stare into my eyes, and keep panting.’

I did as he said, blinking back tears, but biting my lip and letting my hips roll.

‘Don’t cry, beautiful. I’m here. I’ve got you. I have a plan. I’m sorry, Grace. So sorry you have to do this. But don’t be afraid…’

He continued his reassurance as the people around us began moving, swaying, shifting—I wasn’t sure whether they’d start dancing again. I couldn’t see them clearly because he leaned over me—he took my hand which he’d freed, muttered a few words, then licked my palm, before kissing it.

There was a split-second reminder of that time at the hut, the very first time I’d truly touched him, when he’d licked me in the same way, and the jolt that had given me to see him so… raw.

I felt that again—only a whisper of it, a memory—but his eyes flashed.

‘Yes. God, you’re incredible. Yes, Grace. Like that.’

Then he offered his own palm to me, and although it turned my stomach, I mimicked him, licking the cut, then opening my mouth over it, as if I kissed his mouth.

He let his head fall back and groaned like I’d stroked him.

Around us, the murmurs grew.

When he drew his hand away, I tasted copper, and felt wetness on my chin, and prayed it was only my own saliva.

Suddenly, the movement in the room became jerks, twitches. Hissed words, recoiling bodies. And I felt a spear of triumph in Voski as his eyes flipped aside to glance at those in the circle, and his smile grew smug.

“Yes. Yes. You’ll see…”

‘What’s—’