But then—a rival to what? A lich was unable to love. We were driven only by the need to possess. To taste and consume. Even if she was my mate, I’d be an idiot to confuse this with real emotions.
But the drive to taste was real, and it was hard not to stare at her. Under her coat, she’d been wearing black clothes that hugged her delicate curves, and her silver hair draped over her shoulders. Her full lips were pursed a little while she waited for me to speak. But I was used to the silence.
For just a moment, my gaze trailed over her figure, lingering at the curves of her hips. I could almost remember what it was like to have a woman. I would lay her out over the table, slide my hand up her shirt…
Liches were seductive. It was how we got to the blood and souls we desired. For most liches, it came naturally. But I’d been in prison, alone so long that I’d forgotten how to charm someone. Hard to keep sharp on that front with only rats around.
Now, this close to her, the memory of lust gleamed in my mind like a jewel. Even before I’d become a lich, I’d been skilled at seduction. Long ago, if she’d come to my home uninjured, I might have had her on my kitchen table within twenty minutes.
I’d told her that I felt nothing, that I desired nothing. But it seemed that was a lie, because it was rising in me now, a hunger to consume her. I wanted to pull her little body close to mine, to feel our souls mingling. I wanted to hear her gasp as I drank from her.
Already, I knew how I would feel consuming her soul—the pure ecstasy trembling through my body, like light and life warming me from the inside. She was exquisite, and drinking from her would be the greatest pleasure I’d ever experienced. I wanted to press my lips against her neck and rip into her skin. I wanted to taste her, to feel the heat of her body and to soak in her memories.
I could almost feel it now, a thrumming in my chest like a fait heartbeat. Just being near her was making me feel almost alive again.
The lich side of me wanted to possess her completely. To steal her soul and make her mine. And if I weren’t careful, I’d give in to my desires and ruin her completely. And while I was at it, I’d destroy my own soul, too.
But just a taste of her…
With her good hand, she drummed her fingertips on the table. “Marroc? Hello? Why the interest in me?”
Her voice snapped me out of my reverie like a slap to my face. So much talking with this one.
All liches were cursed in different ways. We were all powerful sorcerers who had trapped our souls within objects. Doing so had given me eternal life, but dark magic always came with a cost—a curse. And mine was twofold. I couldn’t speak, and I couldn’t use magic without feeling like I was on fire. Strange that she wasn’t more afraid of me, this cursed monster before her.
I wrote on the paper, I will explain later.
She shook her head. “No. Tell me now.”
Let me suture your finger first.
“After you tell me what’s going on.”
With all due respect, you’re bleeding all over my home.
She paused, looking at the bloody stump of her finger. Then, without a word, she walked to the stove.
I realized too late what she planned to do. Even as I grabbed for her, there was a hiss as she pressed her nub of finger against the glowing burner. The scent of scorched skin filled the room.
“There,” she said. “I’m not bleeding anymore. You seem nice for an undead creature. But please understand that I can take care of myself, and I do what I need to do to survive. And more than that, I do what I have to do to protect my own people. I’ve lived without human medicine. I’ve survived without fancy homes and beautiful six-foot-five knights in shining armor. I don’t need your kindness. Just tell me what’s going on.”
My brain had snagged on the word beautiful, and I felt my lips curl into a smile. So, I still radiated beauty. It was startling to find that I really cared what she thought.