Chapter 36: In Your Skin

I’ve decided I’m delighted Lydia knows my True Name. I quite enjoy the way she moans it, the syllables heavy on her tongue. I pause for a moment, peering up from my place between her thighs. Her face and throat are flushed, her hair tousled. I haven’t even taken off her shirt yet. I started at her waistband, and then I got…well.

Distracted.

“Okay then,” she says, her voice quivering as she tries to lift herself up on her elbows. I grab her hips and pull her back down again, grinning at the wide-eyed look she gives me.

“Just okay, is it?”

More color rises in her cheeks, and I admire the way it makes her eyes look brighter. She huffs a laugh. “Oh no. Definitely better than okay.”

“I’d be more than happy to try again, if you prefer.” I lower my face to her stomach, lifting her shirt enough to trail suckling kisses from beneath her navel downwards. “I certainly don’t mind…”

Her hands reach down and her fingers smooth through my hair. “Come up here, William,” she murmurs. I peer at her for a moment, then slide up the length of her body, pressing my weight into her. She sinks deeper into the pillows, caressing my face as she presses a tender kiss against my lips.

“Thank you,” she breathes. “I needed that.”

I lift my brows at her. “Are you under the impression I’m finished with you already?”

Lydia laughs, the sound hoarse. “God, I really hope not.” Her brows knit for a moment, and she shifts slightly. I can tell she’s still adjusting to having my mind so closely pressed to hers. I should offer to draw back, perhaps…but no. Knowing her like this is too tantalizing. I will if she asks me outright, of course, but I’ll not be the one to bring it up to her. I’ll pull away again when I’m finished plucking every last furrow out of that brow. When I’ve made her so insensate she won’t even have the capacity for worrying.

“Have you, uh,” she says, swallowing thickly. “Have you ever done this before?”

I know what she means. I’m keenly aware of every little thought in her head, but I can’t help teasing her.

“My dear, I’ve existed for centuries. The amount of fucking I’ve done qualifies me for honorary whoremanship.”

She bursts out laughing at that, shaking her head. “You know what I meant.”

I lean down, pressing my lips against her ear. I revel in the way it makes her shiver as I run my teeth along the shell of it, tracing the delicate skin. “Hmmm?” I rumble, snaking one of my hands up to lace with her fingers.

“The mind thing.” She swallows. “It seems pretty intimate, you know? I mean. Have you ever…”

“I’ve used it once or twice, I suppose. With those I’ve been bound to.” I trail my teeth along her jaw next, sifting through her thoughts as I do. I’ve left the pathway open for her to do the same, but it’s clear she doesn’t really know how. Not exactly. Her attempts are fumbling and awkward, and she treats my thoughts with such care it’s as if she thinks they’ll shatter under the slightest touch.

It’s terribly endearing, and just a bit frustrating.

“Some of them have been your lovers?” she asks. I don’t get a sense of jealousy from the question, just curiosity.

“No.” I use my other hand to tangle in her hair, tugging at it just enough to get her to tip her chin back. I receive a zing of excitement from her in return, and the sensation makes my mouth water. I run my tongue along her throat, letting my fangs extend just enough to leave a hint of sharpness against her flesh. “I’ve had some who were tolerable. But with most, I used whatever I could to gain an advantage.” Lifting my head again, I smirk at the gooseflesh that’s risen on Lydia’s skin. “Tell me why you’re asking.”

I already know the answer, but I want to hear her say it. To wheedle that last little thread of uncertainty out of her so I can sever it.

She shivers as I move my teeth over her clavicle, biting hard enough to leave a mark without breaking skin. “I, uh.” She draws in a sharp breath. “I guess I’m kind of concerned that I’ll say something or think something that comes out like an order, and I just…”

I shift a hand beneath her and flip her onto her stomach. Not hard, but certainly fast enough to startle her. I monitor her reaction carefully—she’s not frightened of me, that much I know. She trusts me with such an implicitness that part of me would rather take her into my arms and hold her.

Not right now, of course. I want her so badly it hurts. I shall simply do so after.

Lowering myself against her back, I rest my cheek against hers. I can hear her heart hammering with excitement. “Lydia.”

She draws in another ragged breath. “Yeah?”

“There isn’t anything in that pretty little head of yours that I would be opposed to doing. You’re a delight, dear, but not exactly a deviant.”

She shifts beneath me, her words low and husky in a way that makes me want to flip her over and devour her again. “I think you vastly underestimate me. Why don’t we get your pants off and then you can make a better judgment on that?”

I press her down harder into the mattress, planting a kiss against the back of her neck. “Lydia.”

She goes still again, and I let my breath ghost over her skin before I speak again. “I’d like to make it abundantly clear that I very, very much want to fuck you.” I brush some of the hair back from her face so she can see me out of her peripheral. “It’s been a difficult trek, certainly. I think we could both use some release. But I want you. Desperately. And the prospect of making you scream for more only enhances that want.”

She shivers again, and this time, pressed up against her spine, I feel it intimately. Gods, I cannot wait to get the rest of her clothes off of her.

“Do you want me?” I ask.

I already know the answer to that too, of course, but I want to hear it roll off her tongue.

“Shit, yeah,” she whispers.

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I pull back enough to grab her shirt. Tearing it off of her is like ripping through tissue paper. She jolts in surprise at the sound, muttering ‘Jesus’ under her breath.

“Far from it, I’m afraid,” I say.

She snorts, amused.

“But don’t worry.” I press my hips up against hers, ensuring she can feel the firmness there. “I still plan to make you see God.”

Then I rise to my knees, pulling her back sharply against my chest as I bury my hand between her thighs.

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With the amount of times I’ve used the lord’s name in vain over the past hour, I think I’ve sealed my ticket to hell.

I tried to keep up with him at first. This isn’t my first rodeo, and I like to give what I get. I managed to convince him to lay back for what only felt like a couple of minutes, to let me take him in my mouth. When I looked up, he was watching me with such intensity it made my insides turn to water.

He didn’t lay still long after that.

“William,” I gasp, clawing at his back. The way he pushes into me is long and slow, his strokes unhurried. This is the first time he’s actually really fucked me, and the sensation after all his touching and careful building almost makes me want to sob. “God!” The word comes out like a supplication, my breath jerking in my chest.

I can feel the way my words shimmer through him. More than that, though, I get a sense of what hearing his name does to him. There’s some flicker of emotion there, a complicated one that I can’t quite sort through. Not right now, not with him softly pumping in and out of me, not with him fisting my hair and brushing the pad of his thumb over my breast.

I can tell it’s a positive thing, though. That he likes it. That it makes him feel good. And that’s plenty enough reason for me.

“William,” I say again. I make the word tender. I pour all of my feeling into it. I don’t know what exactly is growing between us yet. I’m not ready to call it love. But it’s warm and it’s good, and as I look up at him, rising to meet his hips, I say it again. “William.”

The look in his eyes softens, the carnal glint giving way to something else. His pace slows further, becoming languid and sensual.

I lift my hand and brush my knuckles along his cheek. He leans into the touch, his eyes lidding.

“I’m going to take care of you now, William,” I say. The words just come out of me, almost unbidden, but even as I speak them I know they’re true. “I’m not going to let them hurt you again. You’re safe with me. You’re…”

His grip on my hair loosens. Cupping the back of my head, he brings his face down and crashes his lips against mine. The kiss has a different sort of hunger, and a flicker of pain moves through me as I realize how starved he is for genuine affection. I want to reassure him. I want to wrap him in all the warmth I can give. I want to pull him into my body, again and again, to show him his worth with more than words.

‘I won’t leave you like this,’ I breathe over the bond. ‘I’ll free you, William Doherty. I swear it. I swear.’

He doesn’t speak. He doesn’t need to. He reaches up and laces his fingers through mine, softly pressing my hands down against the pillows. He looks me in the eye as he thrusts into me over and over, and I know we’ve moved beyond just sex to something else. I want to say it. I want to tell him, no matter how stupid it would sound. I love you. But more than that, you are worthy of love.

I don’t. I can’t work those words onto my tongue. I don’t want to end this, don’t want such proclamations to make him flinch and turn away. So I just continue to look up at him, into his green eyes, running my fingers through his coils of red hair.

‘I won’t leave you, William Doherty.’

‘I won’t leave you.’

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Lydia sleeps beside me. It is a dreamless sleep, perfectly restorative. She will need it in the coming days, so I let her rest. I watch her face, her hand curled against my chest, her head cushioned by my shoulder.

I feel as though I could lay here forever. Breathe her in. Feel her breathing in turn. I do allow myself the luxury of reveling in it for a time, enough hours ticking by that I hear no more footsteps in the hall beyond the door. Evening, then, or getting late enough on that most of the people within the Crossroads are retiring.

Eventually, I disentangle myself from her. I do it with reluctance, but there are things I must see to, and they aren’t for her eyes.

I cover her before I leave. No one will trouble her in this room—the Overseer wouldn’t be foolish enough to try anything with the threat of the Order hanging over his head—but she looks so vulnerable on that large bed.

I stoke the fire, add some wood, and then dress myself before stepping out into the hall.

She will leave, you know.

Dorothy’s voice is no surprise. She’s so interwoven with me now I’ve no doubt she realizes what I’m doing. I don’t respond to her as I drift over rug after intricate rug, making my way towards the library.

You think she’s going to give up everything to stay with you? You are nothing but a bitter, broken thing.

Few people pass me as I make my trek. None of them take notice of me. I’m heartened by it, though the real test will come on the morrow, when these halls are bustling. I’d begun fearing I had some sort of notoriety within the organization—which usually isn’t a good thing in the Archive. Usually.

When I arrive at the library, I take a moment to admire it, standing on the threshold of the large, arched doorway.

You’ve never been bookish, Doherty. You won’t find the answers you seek, not in time.

Shelves run along the walls and through the middle of the room, boasting thick leather spines, most of which glint with gilded names. Flickering blue light bathes the place in a luminescence both magical and eerie, no doubt an expenditure of Aetheric energies. Wasteful, but even I must admit it looks beautiful.

I step further into the room, winding my way through the stacks, not bothering to take a closer look at any of them.

What I’m after won’t be here. It will be in the back rooms, rune-warded and protected from all eyes but a select few. I need to know how strong those wards are. Need a better idea about what sort of energies have been woven into them. Once I have that, I can begin researching what I need. The difficult part, of course, will be doing this unnoticed—books owned by the Archive are all carefully protected, and the sort I seek are moreso than most. Perhaps even more than the grimoires themselves.

She will realize what you are, Dorothy hisses, and she will…

She loves me.

The words are like a slap across Dorothy’s face. I think it’s the truth of them that stings her most, as if saying it saps her power. I didn’t force it out of Lydia—didn’t try to make her speak it into the air. She will do it when she’s ready. I am patient. I will wait.

Until then, I will carve out the rot inside of me. I will carve Dorothy Cain from my flesh, and I will come to Lydia whole. Complete.

One of the doors to a restricted room comes into view, and as I stand in front of it, I see the telling shimmer of runework before an intricate network of symbols and characters shimmer to life. It’s complex, of course—I had expected no less—but I am an incubus. We are good at getting information. We are good at opening doors.

I move to the next door. Then the third. I feel the humming of power from them, but more than that, I feel what lies behind them. Even if I don’t find what I seek here, I will continue searching. This is only the beginning. The first step in ridding myself of a parasite which has troubled me for far too long.

You are nothing! She snarls. You are…

I have lived for centuries before you, and I will live for centuries after. The words come naturally to me, the truth of them driving the chill of her from my bones. You are nothing to me, Dorothy Cain.

I hold my hand up towards the third door, feeling heat wash over my fingertips, watching as it reddens and begins to singe my skin. It does not recognize me as one of the chosen few who can enter, clearly. I let it burn for a while, watching to see how far it will continue, gritting my teeth against making any sound.

When my fingertips have blackened and the smell of burning becomes obvious, I step back, putting a respectable distance between myself and the wards. There will be someone who knows more. A Record Keeper—there’s one for every Crossroads. I simply need to track them down and slip through their defenses. They’ll tell me what I need to know to get inside.

You’ve already lost, she says at last, though the surety has bled from her words. You lost before you were even summoned back to this plane.

I smile to myself, turning away from those doors as I move back through the stacks of books again. There are other places I can look. Other threads to tug. I intend to grasp at quite a few of them before the dawn comes.

We shall see, I tell her, and then I leave her alone in the darkness once more.