But—
To run his hands over the smooth skin of her hips, her stomach…
But—
To push his hands through her hair, press his lips to her neck…
But—
His inner voice was as persistent as an alarm. It made it impossible to focus on the goddess. And there was another disturbance too, something that kept distracting her from him. Mazen was considering investigating the darkening room, when the goddess looked at him and said, “He is mine to do with as I please,” and he again stopped thinking.
She reached out and trailed a finger down his cheek. A helpless shudder racked his body at her touch. “Oh, sweet human.” Her voice was honeyed as nectar. “Sweet, conniving human—how many of us have you killed?”
The goddess moved closer until their bodies were flush. Mazen’s heart lurched as he felt the warm press of her skin against his own. Somewhere in the depths of his mind, he screamed.
“You thought you could escape,” the goddess whispered in his ear. “But I know your blood. I would chase you to the ends of the world if that were what it took.”
He blinked. Black and red danced before his eyes. Behind the muted colors he saw a leering smile that faded in and out of the dark. His goddess was nothing but a phantom, her lips a bloody smile.
“I’m going to take my time with you, lest your suffering be over too quickly.” She pressed her lips to his. And breathed into him. Out of him? He was vaguely aware of his lungs collapsing, his body convulsing.
Mazen tried to push her away, but there was nothing to push. The woman was a silhouette of smoke. He tried to step back, but his feet wouldn’t move and his throat was on fire and oh gods, he was going to die—
Abruptly, he could breathe. He tried to speak, but nothing left his air-starved lungs. Awareness flared inside him like a flame, but it was short lived.
“I have never seen a human so willing to die.” The demon’s words wound around him like silk, and his mind dimmed as she stepped away.
Somewhere in the dark, he heard someone choking. He was trying to puzzle this out when he felt something travel up his body, moving so quickly he didn’t have the time to brush it off. He felt a prick of pain in his shoulder. A gruff voice in his ear. “Find the doors,” it said. Then both the voice and the pain disappeared.
Mazen blinked slowly as he tried to compose his surroundings. He ventured one shaky step forward, squinting into the dark. It was then that he saw a tiny flaming object traveling across the room. Only, that was impossible, wasn’t it? Fire engulfed everything in its path; it could never be so self-contained.
Mazen stumbled after it anyway. It was a brief chase, the light burning out when he crashed into a wall. He reached out—and felt cold metal beneath his hands. The doors. He pushed on them without a thought. With a sigh, the doors opened and light poured into the room, eating away at the darkness, which was… screaming?
A shudder climbed Mazen’s spine as he whirled to face the enchantress. He blinked in confusion at the sight of her bleeding into the tiles. He’d followed her through sunny streets, enamored of the way the light reflected in her beautiful eyes. But now she was no longer a woman but a shadow, and the sunlight ate away at her form until there was nothing left.
Where she had been standing, there was now a stranger in plain brown robes.
Mazen stared, wondering if they were an illusion.
The person looked at him beneath the shadow of their shawl. Then they collapsed.
Mazen inched forward, eyeing the shadows bleeding into the ground. He had just reached the stranger when they suddenly surged upright. The shawl on their head tumbled loose, revealing a nest of wild brown curls. It was a woman. A woman with remarkable brown eyes tinted the color of rust. He flinched back.
She scowled. “Well, salaam to you too,” she said in a raspy voice.
He swallowed. “My apologies.” His words came out soft, quavering. He cleared his throat to steady it. “I didn’t know if you were an illusion. If you were…” He gestured around them, but the shadows had already been replaced with patches of sunlight.
The stranger glanced around the room with narrowed eyes, as if looking for something. The demon, perhaps.
Mazen realized his hands were trembling and shoved them into his pockets. “We should leave,” he said. A wink of silver caught his eyes and he paused, noticing the blade in the woman’s hands. She tucked it into the bag lying beside her before he could get a good look at it.
“You removed yourself from the trance.” She rose and dusted off her clothing. The movement was slow, pronounced, as if it required great effort.