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    Summary

    “Look at me.”

    Melinoë does. Her face is half obscured; she goes to brush her hair away, but Hecate grabs her wrist and brings it down below the surface. Presses it to her sensitive inner thigh, and leaves it there. That same hand drags her nails—sharp, sharp nails—up her waist, her ribcage, and eventually rests at her collarbone. Firm, deep, grounding pressure.

    She’s breathtaking. She yearns to say it. Instead, her gaze darts to her lips. The same shade as her own.

    Quietly, she asks, “What is the nature of a relationship between two immortals?”

    “You are not immortal, Melinoë. And I am far, far older than you.”

    After a rough night, Melinoë joins her Headmistress for a drink at the springs.

    Language:
    English
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    Chapters:
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