Sylvia Day - Spellbound

“Naughty kitten,” he rumbled, nuzzling his cheek against hers. “You almost finished me with your mouth.”

“I love your cock, Max.”

“As much as you can take.” His head lifted and his gaze promised hours of joy ahead of her. “I’ll always give you as much as you can handle, kitten.”

“Give it to me now,” she purred. “Hard and deep.”

Fists clenched in the coverlet, Max obliged her, pounding her into the mattress with the heated length of his magnificent cock. He whispered lewd praise in her ear, describing how she felt around him, how he loved her hot pussy and greedy cries for more.

Victoria clawed at his back, her long legs wrapping around his pumping hips, her pussy tightening on every withdraw and quivering on every plunge. Gluttonously relishing the brutality of his passion.

There was a desperation in his taking, a primal urge to sink as deep into her as possible so that they could never be separated. They faced the greatest foe of their lives tonight and they might not survive it.

I love you . . . so beautiful . . . mine . . .

As his emotions filled her mind and heart, tears coursed down her temples to wet her hair. She embraced his sweat-slick back and spread her legs wider, sobbing with the mind-numbing pleasure of his possession, trembling violently from an orgasm more fierce than anything she’d ever experienced before.

His climax followed hers, his cum spurting in scorching skeins, his cock jerking inside her with every wrenching pulse. Their combined magic swelled, shaking every item in the loft. The windows creaked, whined, barely able to contain the power they created as one. On this night.

Victoria clung to Max, crying. She wouldn’t lose him. She couldn’t.

If the end approached, it would be her life for his.

She would ensure it.

Midnight, the witching hour

He was going to die.

The hot trickle of blood from Max’s nostril assured him of that fact. His veins felt scorched by acid, his chest burned with every gasping breath, his skull felt as if it were being squeezed in a vise. Every blow to his warding spell felt like a physical one and they were incessant, coming from two sides.

“Victoria!” Max yelled, his shields rippling sinuously in testament to their swiftly approaching collapse. She had to turn and flee, before his strength waned and left her vulnerable.

Run!

Just as his vision began to dim and he feared slipping into unconsciousness, a surge of power almost too potent to contain tore through him in a scalding rush.

Victoria. So visceral it felt as if her very soul had entered his body. Her augmentation whipped around and through him, strengthening and protecting him from harm.

As his target sank to his knees and victory was at hand, an invasive chill spread outward from the center of Max’s chest and gripped his heart. The icy fist tightened, then spread insidiously through his veins. The sudden dearth of Victoria in his mind was like a scream in silence, piercing and terrifying.

Turning his head, he looked for her and found her sprawled on the pavement, a smoldering hole in her beautiful chest.

“Victoria, NO!”

Her beloved voice with its soft, throaty purr whispered through his mind. I love you.

Max roared into the storm. His hands began to lower, his need to be with her a driving impulse that he couldn’t deny.

But she wouldn’t allow him to give up.

Her strength of will straightened his arms and increased the flow of gray magic he sent into the falling brother. His quivering arms shot forward and magic poured from the tips of his fingers in white-hot streams, arcing through the air like lightning, sinking deep into the collapsing body of the middle Triumvirate brother. The wards around him thickened, shielding him from the blows that pelted his frontal perimeter.

His body and magic were no longer his own. They were possessed by a force greater than himself. Something strange and new penetrated deep into his bones, embracing his grief and fury. Magnifying them and sending them outward in a shockwave of power so destructive it shattered his wards and sliced through the center of the Triumvirate brethren like a guillotine blade.

Their screams echoed through the alley, rising like banshees’ cries, ripping apart the sky in a thunderous boom. As one, the Triumvirate exploded in a blinding flash, rocking Max back on his heels and quaking the very ground beneath him. The buildings shook with such violence they threatened to topple, and animals across the city protested in a sudden cacophony. Dogs whined and howled. Cats screeched. Birds fled their warm nests in a riot of flapping wings and caws.

Then the alley fell silent. The only sounds that broke the stillness were the jingling of distant sleigh bells and Max’s own tortured sobbing.

He dropped to the snow on his knees, the emptiness inside him a gaping, yawning hole he knew he couldn’t survive. He needed Victoria. Couldn’t live without her.

Centuries he’d spent alone, focused on his primary mission—enforcing the will of the Council by death. Victoria had brought light into his life, warmth with the heat of her passion, and love into the emptiness of his heart.

“Damn you,” he said hoarsely, crawling toward her as debris rattled down and mingled with the snowflakes. “You can’t leave me here alone.”

Max caught her up and pulled her into his lap. Chanting one spell after another. Trying everything he knew, black and white magic, anything at all to heal her and bring her back to him.

But she didn’t move, her chest did not rise and fall with breath, her eyelids didn’t flutter over the brilliant emerald irises he adored.

“Kitten . . . ,” he sobbed. “You can’t leave me here alone . . . you can’t leave me . . . ”

Rocking her, Max pressed shaking lips to her forehead and felt his sanity slipping from him like sands through an hourglass.

“Heal her!” His command cracked through the night, reaching out to the Council who heard and saw everything. “Heal her or I will hunt you down,” he hissed. “Every last one of you. I’ll kill you all. I swear it.”

We told you this would happen, They crowed. Her loss is the penalty for your arrogance.

Max’s jaw tightened. His gaze narrowed on Victoria, who looked beautiful and oddly peaceful. Her skin pale and luminous like a pearl, her thick lashes spiked from tears and melting snow. She glowed. Softly, faintly. With an inner radiance.

Stilling, Max took in that hint of illumination. And what it signified.

The magic within her still lived. Darius’s magic.

You can’t have her, Max growled, fury overtaking his crushing grief. She’s mine.

There were consequences for penetrating the Transcendual Realm. Dire penalties.

He didn’t care.

He would be stained, marked. Some would hunt him as a rogue. Peace would be ephemeral with a price on his head.

Max didn’t hesitate. It would all be worth it. If he had Victoria.

Slicing across his wrist with a sliver of magic, he held his arm above the wounds in Victoria’s chest. The crimson of his blood blended with the snow and dripped onto her charred flesh. The mixture sizzled atop her skin and smoke rose.

Max closed his eyes and began to incant.

Victoria woke with a gasp and found herself lying in a field of yellow flowers. The air was redolent of lilies and sun-warmed grass, and butterflies flitted through the air in rarely seen numbers.

Pushing up to a seated position, she perused her surroundings with greater care, attempting to reconcile the beauty of the summer day with the snow-covered alley she’d occupied just a moment before. She looked down, noting the simple linen shift she wore, cleanly cut and unadorned. Her hand lifted to her unmarred chest and she frowned.

Where was Max? And where was she?

A masculine hand penetrated her vision.

Her gaze lifted and came to rest on a beloved face she thought she would never see again.

“Darius.”

“Hello, Vicky.” His beautiful mouth curved in a loving smile. The sunlight lit his golden hair with a luminousness that stole her breath and tightened her chest. Her favorite dimple dotted his cheek and brought back a flood of treasured memories.

“Where are we?”

She accepted the hand he held out to her, allowing him to pull her to her feet.

“Together,” he said simply. “Although I’ve always been with you.”

Darius linked his fingers with hers. “Walk with me?”

“Am I dead?”

His head tilted to the side, as if listening to something she couldn’t hear. His handsome features took on a thoughtful cast and his lips pursed. Then he set off, pulling her along with him, forgetting to answer her. Or choosing not to.

As they strolled, recognition of their location came to her—the south of France. One of the many places they’d visited and enjoyed as a couple.

“Have you been here the whole time?” she asked.

“No. I switch it up every now and then.”

“ ‘Switch it up’?”

He glanced aside at her with a familiar twinkle in his eye. “I’m keeping up with vernacular.”

As flowers crushed beneath their feet, sweetly alluring fragrances filled the air. It was paradise, in a fashion, but echoes of pain and longing turned down the corners of her mouth.

Max. Her fear for him was paramount in her mind.