Absolutely horrific. It’s like a nightmare that won’t end. I can still… I can still feel them opening me up and pulling me apart and…

Well, it’s also the only reason I passed my Biomancy examination to become a Novice Practitioner. The pain is immense, and the tortures are cruel and unusual, but the instructions… the detail… the focused tutoring you won’t find anywhere else. No other book marries the practical and theoretical so well…

It’s also… kind of exciting when you get used to it.

8/10.

-Review of “Odes of Blood and Flesh”

28 (I)

Hunger

“Sister Uva,” Shiv said, leaning against the door frame. He’d been waiting there for a few seconds, considering different poses. Ultimately, he settled on nonchalant—after all, that was how he wanted to feel. However, I really, really hope she likes the food. I really, really do, Shiv thought to himself.

As Uva came into sight, his worry dissolved into something else entirely. She was dressed for an occasion far more sophisticated than a dinner date at an apartment. The dark silk dress she wore—deepest blue, almost black—was sculpted to her form. Shiv studied her battle-hardened physique beneath the fabric, and regarded her with his Biomancy as well. One quick glance was all he allowed himself, though; it was impolite to stare once she noticed.

But she seemed too busy admiring his form as well. There was amusement in her eyes as she regarded his ensemble: a hospital shirt with a shadowy cloak. “What is this?”

“I’m trying a new look,” he said, holding up his arms to give her a better view. “What do you think?”

She eyed him for a moment, her gaze lingering too long on the parts of his torso that weren’t covered by his shirt. “I think I can make improvements. Later.”

Shiv nodded. “I’d like that. I really, really like the dress.”

“The dress is… It’s mine,” she said with a bit of stiffness. “I made it.” She had also altered her hair—shorter than before, freshly cut. Shiv wondered if necessity had driven the change. She bled a great deal from her orifices earlier, and she still bore a faint bloodshot look in her eyes and a lingering heat in her skull.

“Thank you for coming,” he said, expression dimming slightly. “If you’re feeling tired—”

Uva walked past him and gently pushed him aside, tracing the tip of her finger down his exposed sternum.

“I came for dinner,” she said, resolve firm. “I’m going to get dinner.”

Shiv couldn’t help but laugh. “Fine. Let’s get you seated.” He had everything prepared: chair, plate, utensils, food, all neatly arranged. Adam eyed them from his couch and then retreated, offering a semblance of privacy. Shiv couldn’t blame him—where else was the Young Lord to go? Outside, perhaps, but the thought made Shiv cringe; he didn’t want to imagine what trouble Adam might get into among the Abyssals and spiderfolk especially.

He is getting better, though, Shiv considered.

The Deathless adopted the air of a professional, introducing Uva to the appetizer and main dish—and hiding dessert for later. He spoke little, simply observing her, and then brushed a stray lock of hair from her face. She, too, kept her mind to herself—oddly restrained despite their earlier mental conversations.

I wonder what she’s thinking, he mused. Despite how much he appreciated her company, he realized he didn’t truly know her well, nor was he good at reading her. Of all the Umbrals—and even compared to some Weaveresses—Uva remained a mystery.

Shiv supposed the same went for him. He hid plenty of things as well. Until recently.

When introductions were over, she carefully lifted the utensils and began to eat. He watched her features, searching for any hint of approval. But she remained an inscrutable wall, betraying nothing. Shiv’s anxiety returned, climbing steadily. Well, I don’t know if this is the best meal she’s ever had… There’s still dessert, though. She can still have her mind blown by that. Shiv comforted himself, recalling the first time he cooked for Georges. That was the first time he discovered how fast the older chef could curse. I wonder what Georges would do right now.

After she finished the asparagus, she moved on to the lobster—and finally revealed something: a look of curiosity. She asked how he made it, about the ingredients and the golden crust. He explained the heat he used, the exact steps of his recipe, even how he judged the necessary heat with his Biomancy.

“Oh, that’s a rare use for magic,” she said, smiling slightly. Shiv felt a bit of his worry dissipate.

Well, that’s something. Still not sure if it’s the best dinner ever—but…

She began pulling the lobster apart and savoring each bit. By the time she was done, she said only one thing—not praise, not criticism. “I’m still hungry.” There was a huskiness to her voice that made him swallow. Swallow like a dehydrated man trying to get water from his own spit.

As Shiv unveiled the fondue, Adam reappeared as if summoned through a dimensional rift. The Young Lord took a seat next to Uva, uncaring of the moment and ignoring the death glare Shiv shot him. He clasped his hands together and looked at Shiv with wide, innocent, sky-blue eyes.

“Sister Uva,” Adam greeted congenially, “how are you this fine evening? Oh—I forgot to thank you for your noble and valiant efforts earlier.”

Uva rubbed her eyes, blinking with slight exhaustion. “Adept Adam,” she began with none of her usual rancor, “thank you for resolving matters. I heard you saved many of my sisters’ lives.” Then she smiled at him—actually smiled.

Both Shiv and Adam were stunned.

“I—it’s just my duty as Pathbearer,” Adam sputtered. And because he was uncomfortable, he forced the topic to change. “Shiv, the fondue, please.” Adam clapped.

“Aye, Young Lord,” Shiv muttered under his breath. “I will bring it right away.” He set before them the fondue and its assortment of fruits.

Both Uva and Adam took on mutual expressions of subtle delight. The Young Lord stopped himself from devouring everything and offered to let Uva go first.

She picked a cherry, dipped it in, and slowly, after carefully covering the fruit with chocolate, put it in her mouth. Shiv stared at her lips, perhaps a moment too long. He looked away when she caught him. But he continued focusing on her using his other senses. She smelled of… of that post-rain scent. Gods, she’s… fresh.

Awareness > 7

The author’s content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

In the meantime, Adam started demolishing banana after banana, utterly uncaring of the chemistry unfolding beside him.

After another half hour of mostly silent eating—mostly silent because Adam apparently had a Curse that seemed to cause him physical pain if he didn’t comment or talk every few minutes—Sister Uva finished the last of the fruit and said something that shook Shiv to his core: “I’m still hungry.”

After a beat, Adam agreed. “I’m still hungry too,” the Young Lord said. But Shiv wasn’t looking at him at all anymore. In fact, Adam might as well not have existed at all to Shiv in that moment.

The Deathless found himself staring at his own reflection in Uva’s dark-blue eyes. The way she looked at him made him feel like he was in desirable danger, made his legs shake—but it also woke something inside him. Still hungry, he thought. Hungry for what? He didn’t finish that thought before she rose from her seat.

Adam watched her, then glanced at Shiv, then down at his empty dessert plate. “It’s very good,” he said. “The dessert’s… very nice. I think I’m going to sit here for a while and think about… breakfast.”

Neither of them was listening. Uva strode past Adam and grabbed Shiv by the arm. “Come on,” she said, pulling him toward his bedroom. “I need to see your measurements.”

“Measurements?” he replied. “But you’re still hungry?”

“Yes. So hurry.” Uva spoke with such feverish intensity that Shiv practically ran into the bedroom. She didn’t say anything else until she’d pushed him into the room and closed the door behind them.

Outside, Adam coughed loudly enough for Shiv to hear. “I would go out, but I don’t know where the key is. Shiv… Shiv?”

He hurriedly placed Valor on a nearby cabinet—the dagger sputtered and tried to say something, but Shiv was too distracted to pay attention.

“So, measurements,” Uva said, waving at his hospital shirt. “We need to do something about this. I can’t have you constantly losing clothing and running around in tatters, and you can’t always be wearing your own bones as armor, either.”

“I can’t?” Shiv asked, confused as to why.

“I said I can’t have it.” Her voice dropped a register as she took a step closer. Shiv’s heart skipped a beat. “Get that thing off. I want a better look.”

Shiv obeyed, but in his haste the shirt split down the middle. “Oops,” he muttered as the two halves fell to the floor. “It’s really quite fragile.”

Uva stared at him, her expression growing tense. The hunger in her gaze was becoming increasingly evident. She extended a tendril of her mind magic into his consciousness like a snake lashing out from the bushes.

Shiv’s heart hammered in his chest like a war drum, and his Biomancy told him hers was racing just as fast. For a few moments, she simply traced a finger along his torso—shoulder to navel—until her palm rested on his chest. To his surprise, he could feel it: the sensations of her touch projected into his mind.

Slowly, he reciprocated, reaching out with his own nascent mind magic. She bound her thoughts to his, and they grew tight together, like a cord. The sensations intensified until he was fully aware of how she felt.

Shiv let out a gasp. “You… you are hungry,” he breathed. And he realized he had the same kind of hunger she did.

“I’m starved,” she admitted. A flutter, a flame in her stomach—he felt that fire ignite within himself.

He placed his hand over her hand and leaned down closer—well into her personal space. “Was dessert not to your liking?”

“It was sweet,” she said. “And dinner was filling… A true exploration of taste.” Her lips curved in a small smile.

He couldn’t stop watching her mouth. He couldn’t stop hearing the pump, pump, pump of her heart.

“But you’re still hungry,” Shiv murmured, his voice low and husky. “Hungry for something sweeter than dessert. I think I have… just the thing…” He brushed against her scarred lips with his own, tasting the lingering sweetness they shared—before pulling back. Teasing her. Provoking her.

Her eyes flared in outrage. She practically hissed. “You…”

Shiv ran a hand along her cheek, traced her lips, and gently cradled the back of her head. As he leaned in, her self-control shattered like a rusted chain: she slammed into him and bit down on his bottom lip with a bestial snarl. He could still taste the fondue’s chocolate, but it paled before all the flavors he experienced afterward.

The fondue was sweet, but Uva… she was sublime.

***

Might of Mass > 70

Psychomancy > 5

Sometime later, after their breaths slowed enough for coherent speech and their minds could focus on something other than wild lust, Shiv found himself shaking his head at what remained of the bed. Now, he and Uva were against a cool wall—the only one that wasn’t somewhat cracked.

“By the Composer.” She sighed—it was something she said often. The grin on Shiv’s face in that instant made him seem like an intoxicated fool.

“We really destroyed that thing,” Shiv said, chuckling under his breath. The bed was practically embedded in the floor; the ground was cracked and almost excavated. Fissures ran along the walls. One of the cabinets was nothing but dust, and the light above had broken at some point. Yet all this destruction felt meaningless, irrelevant, and feeble before the peace nesting between them.

He held her close, pressing her body tighter against his. He enjoyed the sensation, she felt his enjoyment, and the mental bond they sustained looped that pleasure back around in an ouroboros of bliss. Shiv felt a flutter of fear—he might grow addicted to this feeling.

Uva released a soft breath against his neck and looked up. Shiv leaned down to kiss her again before leaning his skull against hers. “Again?” he asked.

She smiled and remained silent for a moment. “I think I’m content right here, just for now.”

“Finally not so hungry anymore?” he teased. She ran a hand across his chest, and Shiv bit back a groan.

“Only for now,” she said, her eyes glowing dark again.

Broken Moon, Shiv thought with a shudder. Bound tight in the web of want, he found himself counting their heartbeats. One thousand and thirty-three spent in afterglow and tranquility. Until her thoughts shifted.

A memory intruded: she was thinking of the last time her face was this close to his, their heads pressed together—trapped within the teleportation anchor. When she had witnessed the first of his deaths. It was gruesome, and from her end, he felt a scar lining her mind.

As he brushed against the scar, terror, horror, disbelief, and relief flowed out from her. Relief was the strongest emotion remaining, for he returned, like a miracle delivered by the Composer. He looked down into her eyes and tasted her once more, trying to soothe her worries. But the moment lingered—and when her eyes opened again, she let out a sigh, not of contentment or pleasure, but of lingering dread.

“I saw you die,” she said.

“Yeah,” he replied. “That is what happened.”

She stared, searching his features for pain. When none appeared, her frown deepened. “It does not bother you? Death?”

He considered her question. “Well, it doesn’t feel good. It’s more of a lesson to me. I gain skills from it. It makes me stronger to make up for whatever way I’m found lacking, it makes up for it. That’s why I grow so fast—how I went from little more than Pathless a week ago to who I am now.”

She pushed off him, and he felt a pang of disappointment. His disappointment drifted through their link, and she settled back-first against him with a gentle smile. He suddenly wasn’t so disappointed anymore.

He felt her reach through his mind, running her fingers through certain thoughts and memories, and he let her. Strange. He was still wary of mind mages—especially after Harkness—but after what they went through, he trusted Uva. It felt strange, trusting a mind mage.

Wait. I’m a damned mind mage too now.

“The scar faded,” she said.

“Hm?” he asked.

“The scar from the mind weaver. You had one before—you were afraid. Now it’s gone. In less than two days…”

Shiv blinked. “You could feel that?”

“Yes.” She mentally pulled him closer to her mind and allowed him to experience certain memories: watching him burn, his features twisting in anguish and agony, the light going out behind his eyes. He still felt an echo of her pain—like being torn apart from the inside. Nothing she wanted to experience again, nor see someone else endure.

Shiv winced. “Sorry about dying. Maybe if I were smarter, I’d have a better plan—”

“Shh,” Uva whispered as she turned, sliding up herself up along his torso. All semblance of coherent thought was lost to him.

Moments after, they started a conversation that mostly didn’t involve their mouths.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep