Chapter 47: The Pulse I Shouldn’t Have
{ZEPHYROS}
My cock jerked violently in my fist, and thick, hot streams spilled over my hand, my abdomen, my ghost-lit skin glowing faintly with the mingling of pleasure and arcane energy.
My hips bucked again—and again—each spasm wringing another pulse from me until I was gasping for breath, trembling violently, consumed by the force of it.
I came undone completely.
Light flickered.
The air around me coiled.
Arcane mist curled upward as my climax echoed through my half-spectral form, binding me to the sensation with brutal clarity.
I did not breathe until the final shudder left me, my hand falling limp across my spent cock, my abdomen marked with glowing streaks that slowly dimmed as my energy settled.
I lay there—chest rising and falling in slow, unsteady breaths—the last tremors of release drifting through my limbs like fading lightning.
Silence followed.
Heavy. Humiliating. Breathless.
I stared at my hand, still faintly luminous around the release that clung to my skin. Shame flickered through me, but stronger still was the undeniable truth:
I had not felt this alive in years.
No... centuries, perhaps.
And all because of a girl with hair like winter snow and eyes that outshone the moon.
I leaned my head back against the stone, exhaling slowly, letting the cold seep into me once more.
"Iris Snow..." I murmured into the darkness. "You have awakened something I had thought long dead. I should despise you for it."
My eyes closed.
Instead, a ghost of a smile tugged at my lips.
"But I do not."
Not even close.
I lay there for a long moment, breath heaving in my chest, the last tremors of pleasure crawling down my spine like fading sparks.
The cold stone beneath me felt almost soft in the aftermath, as though the world itself had shifted into some blurred, weightless haze.
My hand—still slick with the remnants of release—rested loosely against my thigh. My cock, half-soft now, glistened faintly with the luminous sheen of my arcane essence. Moonlit streaks stained my abdomen, slowly dimming as my energy began to settle.
And in the echoing quiet, I heard it—the harsh, unsteady rhythm of my own breathing.
I had forgotten it could sound like that.
Human.
Shaken.
Needy.
A bitter laugh slipped past my lips—half breath, half scorn.
"Pathetic," I whispered to no one, my voice hoarse. "Utterly, wretchedly pathetic."
For years—centuries, perhaps—I had been untouched by mortal urges. Detached from the weight of carnal longing, unbound by the weaknesses of blood and flesh.
I moved like a ghost through halls of stone and dust, feeling nothing, wanting nothing, beholden to nothing.
And now look at me.
Spent.
Breathless.
Shaking like a starving creature that had finally tasted food again.
All because of her.
I dragged a hand over my face, smearing faint traces of luminescence across my cheek, and cursed under my breath.
Iris Snow.
Her name alone stirred something sharp and molten inside me, a heat that had no right to exist in a being like me.
I should not crave anything. I should not hunger or ache or tremble. I should not be able to feel the weight of her image pressing into me as though she stood at my bedside.
But I did.
Gods help me—I did.
Her trembling breaths, her tear-stained lashes, her soft voice breaking on the edges of fear and innocence... I could not erase the sight of her from my mind. It clung to me like a brand.
Every time I shut my eyes, she was there, looking up at me with that fragile, moonlit expression.
I exhaled sharply and glanced down at myself again.
Even now—even after the intensity of the release—a faint twitch pulsed at the base of my cock, as if the mere thought of her stirred life into me once more.
I forced my legs to move, sitting up slowly. The cool air brushed over the sensitive skin of my abdomen, sending a shiver rolling through my still-raw nerves.
I lifted my hand, summoned the faintest spark of arcane energy, and willed my essence to wipe away the traces on my stomach. The glowing streaks dissolved into soft wisps of smoke, melting back into the ether.
My clothes reformed over my body at a thought, immaculate once more, as though nothing had transpired.
Except something had transpired.
Something I could not ignore.
I leaned back against the pillar, closing my eyes for a moment.
When her tears fell... something inside me moved.
Shifted.
Stirred awake like an old beast roused from centuries of slumber.
I had always assumed my heart had long ceased to beat. I had not felt it in so long that I believed it had turned to dust.
Yet when I looked at her—when she whispered "please"—the damn thing had thundered so loudly in my chest I thought the entire chamber could hear it.
A shiver crawled up my spine—not from cold, but from the unfamiliar weight of the truth settling inside me.
"Iris..." I breathed her name again.
This time, there was no lust in my voice. Only something softer—desire.
Familiar.
I pressed my hand over my sternum, right where my heart should have been.
It beat once.
A slow, resonant thud against my palm.
My breath caught.
No.
NO, that was impossible.
My heart was a relic, an echo—something that flickered only when I bound myself to powerful magic. It had no reason to stir now. No reason to—
Another faint beat.
Then another.
My fingers curled, digging into the fabric of my shirt.
"No..." I whispered. "Do not do this to me."
But my chest answered with another, stronger thud.
My heart—the useless, long-dead piece of me—
was waking.
Because of her?
The realization made heat rise up my neck, but this time it was not the heat of arousal. It was something closer to panic. To fascination. To fear.
I pushed myself to my feet, though the effort made my legs tremble faintly. The thick air clung to me like water, steadying me as I drew a deep breath.
I closed my eyes.
Another heartbeat pulsed in my chest.
Slow.
Quiet.
Undeniable.
I let out a long, unsteady breath and pressed my palm over it again.
It was the strangest sensation.
Like waking in the middle of a dream you thought you’d left centuries behind.
I swallowed hard.
It was the first time I had ever beheld her, yet it felt as though I had known her across lifetimes long forgotten.
I was supposed to be dead... and yet my heart—long silent, long cold—throbbed once more within my spectral chest.
A heartbeat.
A living pulse.
How was such a thing possible?
Confusion twisted through me like a knife. My thoughts, which contained nothing but boredom, scattered into chaos.
I questioned my very nature—my existence. I had always been an oddity among the wraiths that haunted these halls, but this... this was blasphemous.
A heartbeat.
Does this mean . . .
Was I still alive?
Impossible.
Utterly impossible.
If life lingered in me, where then was my body? Buried beneath stone? Lost to time? Or wandering the world without a soul?
No. I could not entertain these thoughts—not now.
If the others sensed a living pulse within me... if they discovered that my heart dared beat again... it would spell ruin. Not only for myself, but for Iris as well.
She, of all beings, must never be tied to my oddity.
At once, I forced the traitorous rhythm to cease.
And to my grim relief, it obeyed.
How absurd—how grotesque—that I could command even my own heart into silence.
What a strange, accursed vessel I inhabit... neither living nor dead, yet capable of both.
A wretched thing.
A monster that remembers life only when she draws near.
"Iris Snow . . ."
She felt like an omen and a salvation all at once—both doom and deliverance woven into a single fragile form.
And despite the chaos she stirred within me, despite my own bewilderment, a treacherous thrill coiled through my chest.
I was... glad she had come.
Almost eager for whatever curse or blessing she would bring.
