Need to Pretend

Mara

The warm spray of the shower falls down my back, chasing away the tension in my shoulder.

Again, the hair on the back of my neck stands and I frown, shoving aside the shower curtain to look through my open bathroom door to my dining table where I have placed the book.

Upside of having a small apartment, I guess.

I look at it for a minute, wondering if it can reach all the way over here with its spidy senses. I grab my glass of wine from the edge of the tub and take a sip before continuing to finish my shower.

I close my eyes, inhaling as I lean against the tiled wall. I am throbbing, needy. With my bottom lip between my teeth, I lower my hand between my legs.

I gasp, then moan, feeling the slickness between the lips of my pussy. I am drenched, swollen. I circle my clit, my body trembling and shuddering as I throw my head back and focus on the touch of my fingers.

All I can see in my head are those blood red eyes. They break into my mind like an intruder and I can’t stop them.

My body tightens, that rubber band in the pit of my stomach coiling so tight that I cover my mouth to muffle the scream as I come. I gasp for breath, the edges of my vision turning black from the ecstasy of such physically demanding orgasm.

My legs are jelly, my heart hammering in my chest.

I give myself a few minutes to recover and then I wrap myself in a worn towel, wrap my hair as well and pad barefoot into the kitchen. The house is quiet except for the familiar hum of the old fridge. I pour a generous second glass of wine, and drop into a chair at the dining table, ignoring the new and sharper hum of need between my legs.

I pull out my phone, snap a picture of the sigil on the cover and toss it into a reverse image search. Nothing. Not a single hit. No ancient languages, no obscure fantasy references, not even a Pinterest board.

Weird.

I set the phone down and tug the cover open, wincing a little at the creak of the spine. The pages smell faintly of smoke and, again, like earth, almost like wildflowers.

I take a peek at the sketch of Kaelith, and flip past it as if the page burns me. The text on the next page slowly shifts to English again and I take a sip of my wine to gain the mental courage to read.

“In the beginning, when the stars are still young and the moon sheds light over wild, unbroken lands, there comes a queen whose thirst is not only for blood, but for balance. She is the first vampire sovereign, born from shadow and crowned in flame. Her reign brings order to chaos, but it comes with a price, power so immense it frays the veil between realms.

She is not alone in her strength. Beside her stands a seer, a woman born with the gift of sight, whose voice can reach beyond time, whose touch can awaken the slumbering magic of the realm itself. The Oracle.

From the moment of her awakening, it becomes clear: the land thrives through her. Crops grow in barren soil. Storms calm at her word. Magic bends its knee. She is not just the queen’s guide, she is the anchor of their world.

But great power invites destruction. And so, the queen, foreseeing the peril that will come with the Oracle’s inevitable death and rebirth, gives a part of her immortal soul to four of her most loyal warriors. In doing so, she forges the Vowed, beings of immense strength, bound by sacred purpose.

They are more than protectors. They are seekers, guides, guardians of fate. From the moment of an Oracle’s death, they search for her next incarnation. Through decades of silence, through centuries of war. Until she is found.

For the Oracle is born again with each death, but she cannot take her place until she comes of age. And so, between her last breath and her new awakening, the world suffers: kingdoms fall, the land withers, magic grows wild and unpredictable.

These are the years of unrest. The time of the fading.

This book tells the story that follows the death of the last Oracle, Seris Valenrae. It is the tale of what comes after: of the quarter-century of silence that follows her end, and the madness it sows.

And of Kaelith of House Virex, First among the Vowed.

Commander of the Four.

The Eclipse.

The one who has searched for her through ash and snow, battle and blood, for twenty-six long years, never wavering. Never breaking.”

I slam the book shut, the sound loud in the stillness of my apartment. My hands tremble against the worn leather cover, my palms damp with sweat.

What the hell is that?

My body is buzzing, electric, restless. My breath comes in shallow bursts, each one tighter than the last. I press my fingers to my lips, like that will somehow stop the way my heart is pounding.

It feels real. Like the words aren’t just ink on a page. My thighs press together instinctively, and I curse under my breath. This is absurd. It is a book. Just a book.

I lean back in the chair, wiping the back of my hand across my forehead. My skin feels too warm, like I am running a fever. Every nerve in my body is lit, restless, aching.

“Get it together,” I whisper to myself.

No. Nope. Not doing this.

I push the book farther down the table, like distance might dull the way it stirs something low and hot in my belly. My head shakes before I can stop it.

“I need to sleep,” I murmur, my voice sounding distant, hoarse.

Yeah, I just need to sleep this off. Maybe I’ll wake up and it’ll be gone. All of it. Like some weird dream…

I don’t believe that. Not for a second, but I need to pretend.