Black Blood (Series of Blood Book 4) by Emma Hamm (scary books to read .TXT) 📕

The glowing well of magic she felt in the depths of her belly grew all the more deep. She felt it stretch miles and miles all around the world. It tied her to every living creature, human, animal, and magical being alike.

This was the greatest gift of all. Lydia had been alone for so long and hadn’t realized that it was by choice. There were millions of people just waiting for her to reach out and speak with them, to nudge a gift in their direction, to whisper loving words into their ears.

“You are far away from me, my love.” Pitch murmured. His fingers tangled in the milky locks of her hair.

“I’m sorry, my mind was wandering.”

“And where did it go?”

“I was remembering how much you have gifted me. I am no longer alone, physically and mentally.”

“You aren’t pining away for Sil? Hoping at some point a Goddess would appear in your mind to help you answer the world’s questions?”

“Not if you aren’t.”

There would always be the lingering ghost of his first love between them. But the more time passed, the more Lydia forgave that small knowledge. Sil was not a wall to break for their love to blossom. Sil was the gap which bridged their worlds and weaved their stories together.

She traced a finger down the bridge of Pitch’s nose, her touch feather light. “Are you going to show me everything you brought?”

“It would be my pleasure.”

He rolled her gently to the side, setting her on top of the checkered blanket she realized was made of silk. She rolled her eyes. Leave it to Pitch to bring the most expensive fabric he could find for something as simple as laying on the grass.

“Strawberries,” he gestured to a bowl brimming with large red berries. “Inspired by the champagne color of your cheeks when you blush.”

“I don’t have any skin tone at all.”

“Only when I whisper in your ear.”

She felt her cheeks burn and pressed her palms against them. Pitch chuckled. He leaned forward and brushed her fingers aside, lingering upon the soft swells. “Yes, love. Just like that.”

“Stop embarrassing me. What else?”

“White grapes, so you might feed me as a God should be fed.”

“You are not a God,” Lydia said. She leaned forward to pluck one off of the bunch, popping it in her mouth. “You’ve told me that many times before.”

“If I am not a God, then what am I?”

“A creator? A scientist. An artist. You’ve told me so many times I couldn’t even count the things you want me to call you. But you’ve always been very specific that you and your siblings were not Gods.”

“And you are?”

“Not a Goddess, although you call me that regularly.”

“Good.” He nodded his approval and handed her a glass of swirling gold liquid. “Now drink.”

“What in the world is this?” she asked. But she didn’t hesitate to taste it. It sat upon her tongue like liquid gold, bubbling and fizzing as it slid down her throat. Flashes of memories which were not hers danced behind her eyes.

Golden rays of the sun played upon the gilded edges of marigolds while cotton candy clouds floated above her head. Roses unfurled, their edges so dark red it appeared they were bleeding. Water glimmered like thousands of diamonds as the ocean held her weightless above the abyss.

“Happiness?” she asked.

“Nothing so boring as that.”

He laid down beside her, guiding her head toward the ground. She rested in his arms and stared up at the canopy of the darkening sky above them. Dusk was falling, but all she saw was gold leaves and heard the steady thrum of drums.

She could feel his hands stroking her arms. He lingered upon her soft skin as though she were a gift given to him, and perhaps she was. She would give herself to him. If he asked.

“What did you give me?”

The petals of his lips played upon her throat. He made her feel as though she were shimmering, shining, glowing with love and the unexpected swirls of light inside of her.

“Bliss,” he murmured. “I gave you Bliss.”

“And are you partaking?”

“No, I want to watch you.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s going to take you on a journey and I want to see every second of it in your eyes.”

She tried to meet his gaze but memories kept overwhelming her. She was here, with him, lying upon a blanket in the center of a dark field. But she was somewhere else at the same time.

Lydia tilted her head, glancing over his shoulder. Crisp white linens snapped in a breeze she could not feel. Their clean scent cleansed her nose and reminded her of home. White petals danced upon the wind.

The taste of cherries burst on her tongue. It made her salivate and lick her lips.

“What do you taste?” his voice surfaced through her vision.

“Cherries.”

“Describe it for me.”

“They taste red,” she whispered. “Red like the first time I blushed when I saw a boy I liked. Like the unfurling of a rose or the stain of jelly on the kitchen counter.”

“What do you see?”

She blinked her eyes, and the vision changed before it. The field of marigolds disappeared and left in their wake giant dandelion puffs. The breeze billowed past and send a riot of spinning seeds into the air.

“Dandelions, larger than trees.”

“What do they feel like?”

This was a vision, she wanted to snap at him, she couldn’t touch them. But her hands lifted of their own accord and she realized, she could touch them.

“Soft,” she whispered. “Like a newborn rabbit, or perhaps like crushed velvet.”

Surely she was dreaming. Lydia was floating in this world of light and happiness. Bliss wasn’t something she had ever truly experienced.

The thought almost made her laugh. Before this moment, she would have sworn she knew what it felt like to be blissfully happy. There were so many moments in her life when she should have been. So many kind people who had offered her compassion in the hospital, brought her jello that tasted like