Wicked Games

The corridor that Ophelia had discovered, within the library's walls, turned out to be little more than a hollow, stone room. It was one of the very few places in the manor that Blackwell had never seen first-hand, and he couldn't help but regard it with suspicion, oddly unsettled by the energy buzzing in the air around him since the moment he'd been summoned.

He knew it wasn't her energy - he had become all too aware of exactly the brand of adrenaline that flooded through him whenever they were in such close

proximity - but it was something similar. Familiar. And in Phantasma, familiar rarely meant good.

Ophelia wrinkled her nose in distaste as she looked around, and he felt a smirk curl up on one corner of his mouth as he strode toward the far wall. He lifted the candelabra in his hand, scanning his eyes over the illuminated bricks as he searched for any cracks or seams that might suggest there was another passageway they could access. Instead, he found something equally as curious - and intentional.

"There has to be something more," Ophelia huffed behind him. "Why would there be a secret passage to nothing?"

"Here," he beckoned, glancing at her over his shoulder.

She hurried to his side, and he held the candles closer to the wall to show her the three tally marks that had been gouged into one of the stones.

"Hmm," she hummed as she narrowed her eyes at the marks.

He watched patiently as she ran her fingertips over each of the carvings. She repeated the action three times, and he once again filed that observation away in the back of his mind. It seemed to be some sort of compulsion, at times conscious and others not.

"I wonder if... " she began to say as she placed her palm on the brick and pushed it forward. The rock sucked in with a loud, scraping sound and Blackwell watched in amusement as excitement flitted across her face. They waited for something more to happen, but nothing ever did. A second later and the stone fixed itself back into place once more.

When the space between Ophelia's brows creased with disappointment, he found himself resisting the urge to smooth it out with the pad of his thumb.

Touching her is a terrible fucking idea, he reminded himself. Every time he touched her it was like she branded him. Her energy lingering on his skin long after they parted ways, unlike anyone he ever met before. And if he had his suspicions about why, he certainly would rather chalk it up to the fact that she was a Necromancer. Her magic was specifically designed to have a connection with Ghosts. That's all it was.

"Three lines," she gasped suddenly, cutting through his thoughts. She spun to him and ordered, "Start searching for others with the same sort of markings on them!"

He followed her lead, splitting off to different parts of the room to begin looking over every inch of the walls in the too-dim light. He noticed another brick with the same kind of markings almost instantly.

"Five lines," he announced.

"Two," she called back. "Which means we're missing numbers one and four at least."

He continued looking.

"Four," he said, spotting another.

They spent another few minutes checking every single brick thoroughly, three times over, but no luck. He could feel Ophelia's energy begin to wane as they continued, and was just about to suggest letting him take her back to her room, when she nearly tripped on something. Something that moved. He crouched down as she moved the skirts of her dress out of the way and, sure enough, the tile beneath her feet had a single line carved right in the center.

"Now we press the rest in order," she concluded.

"Does it feel like it can go down further?" he wondered as the tile continued to bob as she shifted on her feet.

Rolling herself up onto the balls of her feet, she tested out his theory and, as he suspected, it was clear she didn't have enough weight behind the motion to push it down fully. He straightened himself up and stepped behind her, gritting his teeth against the sensation that erupted through him as her body stood flush against his. She swayed unevenly on her feet as the tile lowered almost half a foot into the ground, and without thinking, he moved a hand to her waist to hold her steady.

Is this what it feels like to be alive? he wondered as another zap of her energy went through him.

"Quick!" she ordered as they both climbed out of the hole in the ground, and he snapped his attention back to their task, grateful for the distraction.

He waited for her to find the second stone again before counting out, "Three... four..."

Then they moved in front of the last brick. He gestured for her to complete the sequence, and she gave a dazzling smile.

"Five," she proclaimed as she pressed the brick in.

The effect was immediate. The floor beneath their feet began to rumble and Ophelia fell back into his chest. He wrapped his arm firmly around her waist as they watched the room around them, waving away the bits of rock falling from the ceiling before any of it could hit her head. When they glanced upward, they found a bunch of small holes smattered across the surface of the ceiling.

"Is that it?" she asked quietly, twisting her face to look at him in question.

His eyes snagged on something over her head. A passage had opened at the bottom of the wall. "Look."

She snapped her gaze forward once more and they both moved to peer inside the narrow tunnel. Even his eyes couldn't see what might lie ahead.

"Rock, paper, scissors on who goes first?" she joked.

He snorted. As if he was ever going to let her go first.

He started to unbutton the overcoat he'd ruined earlier with Cade's blood. The stains reminded him that he wished he'd had the time to make the man scream for at least a few more hours before Ophelia had called his name. That bastard had been lucky that Blackwell hadn't outright slaughtered him for laying a hand on her. He'd certainly wanted to. Had so much as risked letting Cade see his face as he flayed the flesh from his bones before healing him over and over again. Wanting the man to know exactly who to picture in his nightmares as punishment for hurting his an-

She's not yours, he reminded himself before he could finish that thought, refocusing his attention on rolling up his sleeves as Ophelia watched him a little too closely.

She didn't realize it, but that sort of attention was going to get them both in a whole lot of trouble. He forced his mouth into a smug smirk, the kind he knew got under her skin, and lifted a brow tauntingly as he pulled his cravat from his neck and discarded it to the side with his jackets.

"Much better," he claimed. "Now I'll be able to-"

A drop of something suddenly splashed down onto his forearm, cutting off the rest of his words as he watched his skin begin to blister and burn beneath the liquid. The sensation was excruciating, sinking nearly to his bones.

Acid.

"Ophelia," he enunciated as he shifted himself fully into his Phantom state. "Move. Now."

He needed to get her somewhere else, anywhere else, immediately. But the moment he checked his reservoir of power, he knew that he did not have enough energy to transport her away quickly enough.

Fuck.

And of course, instead of listening to him right away, she glanced up toward the ceiling instead. Precisely as the rain began to come down.

Blackwell solidified himself just long enough to push her toward the tunnel, and thankfully she didn't protest, simply crawling forward, narrowly making it into the passage just before she could get drenched by the deadly rain. He watched as the acid began to burn through the material of her clothes.

"Fuck," he said aloud now, as panic seized him and he flashed himself ahead of her. He was going to run a blade through his own goddamned heart if she got hurt when he was this close. He was such a fucking fool for letting his anger with Cade get the better of him. He'd wasted too much damn energy healing the asshole from his injuries just so he could start over again and prolong the torture. Now, he could barely move himself in and out of the corporeal and non-corporeal planes. 

Was it worth it? he asked himself now, as grabbed onto Ophelia's upper arms and pulled her headfirst toward the other end of the tunnel. He blinked away - with great effort - just long enough to slam the door from where they came shut with the heel of his boot. Fortunately, the tunnel opened up to another space akin to the one they'd just come from, though this one was much darker without the candles.

"Hold on, angel," he told her, his chest tightening at the sound of her labored breathing as she tried to calm herself.

He snapped his fingers, using the last bit of his energy to summon the candelabras they'd left behind, back into his hands. Setting them down to the side, he roamed his eyes over the back of her dress, noting the way the acid was still eating at the fabric.

"We have to get that dress off you before the acid touches your skin," he insisted.

He'd barely finished speaking when she let out a hiss of pain, and the sound made him spring into action with a vengeance. He knelt at her back, his fingers unlacing the strings of her corset with expert fervor, undoing the ribbons in record time until the bodice was just loose enough for him to be able to pull it over her head and toss it away. He moved on to her chemise next, nearly biting his tongue off at the sight of his hands ripping through the buttons that ran all the way down her spine, sending buttons sailing in every direction across the room. All that was left from her being entirely exposed was what looked to be matching, silk undergarments.

Before his thoughts could turn disastrous however, he spotted a small angry splotch of red near her shoulder from where the acid had clearly begun to bleed through her clothing. He grimaced.

"Thank you," she whispered as she turned to face him. "What's wrong?"

"I should have been able to teleport you away. But I wasted too much energy on revenge," he told her.

"On Cade, you mean?"

He glanced away as he nodded. Not wanting her to see the lack of remorse for what he'd done despite his regret at not being able to help her more efficiently in this situation. "I won't make such a mistake again, don't worry."

"You got me out of there," she assured him. "It could have been worse."

"You don't get it," he reasoned, meeting her piercing blue gaze intently. "Every time I allow you to get hurt, the bond unravels a little. Eventually it will make it harder to hear when you summon me. That could have been catastrophic."

"Oh. Why didn't you tell me that little detail before?"

"I should have," he agreed. "Especially considering your ability to find trouble."

She rolled her eyes, and he almost smiled at her irritation. Almost.

"No more mistakes then," she said.

"No. Which means I should take you back to your room before we trigger any more fatal traps-"

"What? No," she reasoned. "I did not risk getting rained on by acid to quit now! We have to see where this led us."

It was his turn to roll his eyes. If there was one thing about her he knew without a doubt, it was her desire to be as contrary to his directions as possible. And he'd be lying if he said he didn't enjoy it when she showed him just how sharp her tongue could be. His existence had been so dull without any ounce of resistance all these years. No feeling. No friction.

With her, however, that's all there seemed to be. Feelings he shouldn't be having. Friction every time they spoke. He could drown himself in it.

He forced himself back into the present, leaning over to grab one of the candelabras to point it at the rest of the room and see where, exactly, they had ended up now. It was another small room, this one paneled in hideous oak plank, with a bookcase on the far wall just as there had been in the space they'd come from.

"I'd venture a guess that leads us back to the library," he pointed out.

"Damn it," she raged. "All of that for nothing? Just one big path to nowhere? I fucking hate this place!"

He felt his mouth turn up at the corners. "Welcome to the club."

"All of that pain and effort and it's just an ugly, bare room? No. I am going to pry every single one of these boards up if I have to."

She had begun talking with her hands again, something she often did when she got particularly flustered. A trait that seemed to be shared amongst most of the contestants he'd come across in this region of the continent. The more passionate her movements became, however, the more it became clear how thin and flimsy her undergarments were.

"Angel?" Blackwell murmured.

But she didn't miss a beat. "I swear I will burn this forsaken place to the ground!"

As her chest heaved with the effort of her words, her breasts nearly spilled over the top of her camisole and it took every ounce of control he had in his being

to say, "Ophelia."

"What?"

"As much as I'm enjoying this rant," he drawled, "perhaps it would come off more threatening if you weren't practically nude."

He saw exactly when the realization hit her that she'd been sitting there, almost naked, this whole time.

She rushed to wrap her arms around her chest as she let out a mewl of surprise.

"Turn around!" she demanded.

He swallowed his laugh. "I think it's a bit too late for modesty, don't you?"

"Says the one who isn't almost naked!" she retorted.

This time he couldn't help the grin that took over his face. "I could change that if you'd like."

Would make my own deal with the Devil to do so, in fact.

"You are such a thorn in my side." She shot him a scathing look. "Honestly, I'm surprised you got my corset off so easily in the first place."

He shifted closer, until their mouths were only inches apart. Until the spark of her energy felt like it might drive him utterly mad with the way it made his head spin. "There's no article of clothing I don't know how to take off efficiently."

And it was true. Though, with her, it was not so much because of any sort of skill he'd picked up over his very long existence, and more so the rapturous desire burning in his veins. He watched as her eyes glanced down to his lips now, and he couldn't seem to help the next words out of his mouth.

"You know, I'm still waiting to know exactly what happened with that imposter during the trial earlier, angel," he told her. "I've been wrought with curiosity to know exactly what experiences I need to replace in your mind."

He watched as color bloomed across her cheeks, but even with that tell-tale sign of the effect of his words, she still managed to tilt her nose up at him in defiance.

Hell, I hope she never stops being this difficult, he mused, but aloud he taunted, "If you don't want to tell me, I'll just make up my own version of events in my head. I'm sure it would be more creative anyway."

"Okay," she said. "Go ahead."

Surprise shot through him. Surely she did not mean that ...

But who the fuck was he to question such a miracle when he received one?

"Well?" she pressed further. "Let's hear it. How would things have gone if it had really been you and not an illusion?"

"Are you sure you want me to tell you?" He moved even closer now. "Or would you like me to show you instead?"

She was still for a long beat, and he held his breath. Letting her work through the decision. Because the second she gave him permission, he was going to confirm to her just how much she wanted him. Just how much he wanted her. And there would be no going back after that knowledge was out in the open.

"Show me," she finally pleaded.

The moment those words rolled off her tongue, his lips were on hers. Showing her precisely the sort of passion he'd known the two of them could create together since the moment they'd met. The energy that always called to him from her side of their bond, engulfed him now, the heat of it burning away all his good senses until there was only room for thoughts of her.

She leaned into his kiss further and he nearly combusted right then, deepening the kiss as her hands reached up to tangle in his hair. She was eager, despite the bit of tentativeness he could still feel on her end, and he was desperate to show her exactly the sort of pleasure she deserved, the sort that he'd give her every single time she gave him the honor of touching her like this.

He flicked his tongue against hers with expert control - the taste of her so sweet that he worried nothing would ever satisfy him again - and she gasped, pulling back ever so slightly to suck in a breath. He didn't miss a beat as he lowered his mouth to leave a trail of kisses along her lovely collarbone, letting one of his hands make its way to the back of her thigh, as the other came up as a buffer at the back of her head so he could press her back against the floor. He settled between her thighs as he hooked her leg securely around his waist, the length of his arousal growing impossibly hard as he adjusted his weight atop her.

"At any point, if you want to stop," he told her, barely recognizing his own voice, "we stop. Understand?"

"Yes," she agreed, pulling on his hair until he brought his mouth back to hers.

Fuck. She's going to be the death of me.

His moan intertwined with hers as they sank into their kisses even further than before and he couldn't help but press his length against her just enough to drive himself absolutely fucking mad. He traced his fingers up and down her sides as he continued to match the pace of her kisses, letting her explore his mouth however she wanted.

A guttural sound ripped from his throat as she gently bit into his bottom lip, and he could feel her response to his reaction instantly. A single glance down between their bodies and he saw that her own arousal had soaked through her underwear, a sight that nearly made his eyes roll into the back of his head. And if that wasn't enough to put him in danger of exploding, the way she began to press her chest into his, searching for friction, made him want to bury himself inside of her then and there. He summoned all of the restraint he had in his body as he brought a hand up between their chests and dragged his thumb over one of the tight nipples straining against her thin camisole.

When she moaned in pleasure he hummed proudly in response before pinching her delicate nipple between his fingers and tugging on it until she was a panting mess beneath him. The more he touched her skin, the more he could feel his energy replenish as well, as if all this contact with her skin was recharging him somehow.

A second later, she began to tug at his shirt earnestly, the unspoken message clear: she wanted it gone. Now.

He laughed and used some of his replenished energy to make the shirt disappear in an instant.

"That is incredibly convenient," she commented, a bit breathless.

He grinned at her. "As is this."

When he snapped this time, her top disappeared and a small shiver ran over her skin. But despite the convenience, he was glad he hadn't had enough energy to tap into to make her dress disappear a few minutes ago. It had been much too satisfying to rip it off with his bare hands.

He shifted into his Phantom state now, scraping at every last bit of power in his system and using it to drench her in his magic until she turned invisible as well. One small pull on the fabric of their beings and he had moved them to the other side of the room, repositioning them until she was exactly where he wanted her - on display. His back was pressed up against the wall as she straddled his lap, his knees bending up behind her to give her support to lean against.

She batted her eyes, a bit disoriented, as she asked, "What -? "

"Transporting can be disorienting," he explained as he guided her back, until she was arched against his knees and he had easy access to her breasts. "Give your head a moment to clear."

"You're really making that an easy task right now," she quipped as he moved to place a quick kiss beneath her sharp jaw, smiling against her skin as moved down and down and down until his lips were hovering just above the taught bud of her nipple.

Her chest heaved in anticipation, and he paused, admiring how absolutely stunning she was. He wasn't sure how he'd ever thought of anything else as beautiful before now. Was sure that the world would be much duller from here on out.

She made a sound of urgency.

"Exquisite," he told her, still in no hurry as he drank her in. If this was the only time he would ever be allowed to see her like this, he was going to commit every inch of her to memory. In the hope that if he had to live the rest of his miserable eternity in this damned place, at least there would be one heavenly memory left in his mind.

When he glanced up at her face, he saw she was roaming her gaze over him in equal admiration, and he couldn't help the smugness that flooded through him. He knew he was attractive - Hell, it was practically the only thing he knew about himself - but there was a stark difference between knowing such a thing and being shown such a thing by someone else. And it was written, undoubtedly, all over her face.

He rewarded her with a flick of his tongue, right over her nipple. Her hips bucked forward as a whimper fell from her mouth. He didn't waste any more time as sucked the pink bud between his teeth and lathed the tip of his tongue over it until she let out another one of those breathy sounds. She began to grind herself against his lap, and he knew exactly what she was searching for, but he didn't give it to her quite yet. Instead, he switched his ministrations to her other breast, nipping and sucking until she was writhing with want atop him.

He lifted his mouth from her chest and reached out to tangle his hands in her soft curls, pulling on them gently as he directed her mouth back to his. When she continued to swivel her hips, searching for pleasure, wordlessly begging for it, he decided it was time to put her out of her misery. He'd more than made his point, anyway.

He angled his hips up just enough that she was finally able to find the pressure she needed, grinding her core against him and climbing closer and closer to her satisfaction. He could feel the slickness of her arousal even through his trousers now, and he worked to wring every bit of pleasure out of her that he possibly could. The pad of his thumb brushed against her pulse, feeling how erratic her heartbeat had become as his other hand pulled affectionately at her hair before reaching between them and rubbing gently circles into her slick clit. When she was on the very edge of her pleasure, she began to thrust herself down into him even harder and he made sure to match her movements, letting her set their pace as she got closer and closer.

"Good girl," he encouraged as he scraped his teeth across the sensitive spot behind her ear.

She seemed to flourish at his praise, and it took everything in him not to groan with satisfaction like a fucking animal.

"Let go," he ordered.

And that's all it took. He watched, awestruck, as she rode out her pleasure, pressing herself closer to him as she clamored over the edge and flushed with her climax.

He grinned as she slowly blinked her eyes open, the pale blue of them nearly swallowed up entirely by her pupils.

"I imagine that's right about where you would have lost the trial if it had really been me," he bragged. "And that was barely a taste."

Because the next time I will be tasting. Next time I'm going to make you see the damned stars.

"I think I might hate you," she told him, breathless, and Hell how he wished he believed that were true. But, unfortunately for them both, he feared that wouldn't be the issue between them at all. "That was... does it always feel like that?"

Shock went through him. "Have you never-"

"I've had a lover," she inserted. "But he never made me do that."'

"Then he was useless and a waste of your time," he implored.

A fucking fool, he thought. And yet the pride that shot through him that he was the first, the only, who had made her feel such a way was enough to make him briefly forget that eventually that would no longer be the case.

He wrapped his arms around her and stood, placing them both back on their feet, lingering next to her in case she was still too shaky to stand. She gave an exasperated roll of her eyes as she shifted away.

Then she paused, looking back to him with worry. "Wait, did you-? "

"No. That wasn't for me," he reassured firmly as he bent down to grab his discarded shirt and threw it to her. "Here. Let's get you back to your room. I'm sure you need to rest." He gave her a teasing wink and waited for her annoyance as she began fastening the shirt over herself. She did not disappoint.

"There will be no living with you after this," she griped, and he was about to give a retort when she said the most unconvincing words she'd ever said in his presence. "That... That can't happen again."

He nearly laughed. "Are you trying to convince me or yourself of that, angel?"

But she didn't waver. "I'm serious. Our relationship is complicated enough, what with the blood bargain and all."

If you only knen, angel.

But he wasn't going to argue. Much. He simply reached out, tapping his index finger beneath her chin and tilting her face up to his. "Whatever you say, but don't be surprised when you find yourself having to resist begging me for more."

If there was one thing his track record showed, it was that no one had ever been satisfied with only one encounter with him. A fact he'd never really cared about, had even loathed at times, until now.

"I will never beg you for anything," she swore.

He gave her a smirk. "Famous last words."

She turned away, collecting her ruined garments from the floor despite the fact that they probably needed to be burned, but Blackwell suspected that she was only trying to busy herself as she processed what had just transpired. A metallic clatter echoed through the room as she accidentally knocked over one of the candelabras, but as she lunged to pick it up, she stopped dead in her tracks.

And he saw the words at the same moment she did. Carved into the soft wood flooring like a foreboding omen he'd been denying since the moment she'd spoken the name during their first encounter.

And Gabriel Forever.