Chapter 67: Don’t Call Me Husband

He Xunye carried Tan Xueci’s cloth doll with him.

Because it shared a life-link with Tan Xueci, it could even sense and mirror his emotions.

When Tan Xueci was happy, it would make cheerful little werwer noises.

When Tan Xueci cried, its little face would shift into a weeping expression.

And when Tan Xueci slept, the doll would curl up into a small, tight ball right against He Xunye’s chest.

He Xunye had been searching for Daoist Master Fan’s whereabouts with Yu He, tracking clues all the way to the outskirts of Yanxia Village.

But suddenly, without any warning, Tan Xueci’s cloth doll collapsed limply.

He Xunye’s face changed instantly.

Without a word, he turned and bolted back toward the He family residence.

Yu He called out after him, but he couldn’t even make him pause for a second.

Yu He muttered to himself, “…”

“What a stubborn dynamic.”

A vast, heavy night mist shrouded the entire ruined expanse of Yanxia Village.

Yu He looked up, staring in the direction He Xunye had vanished.

He stood quietly for a long moment, his eyes filled with a complex, melancholy exhaustion.

He had never imagined that He Xunye would get married.

Especially not after dying.

A ghost marriage was inherently a practice born of tragedy and sin; how could there ever be true mutual consent?

Yet, even the masters at Qilian Temple had chosen not to interfere.

His own master had tried to intervene once, but after failing, he hadn’t forced the matter further either.

In truth, if they really wanted to handle it, there was always a way.

With so many powerful Daoist masters and high monks, even if they couldn’t completely destroy He Xunye, they could have risked their lives to go down with him, sealing him away for a few decades or a century.

That would have at least allowed Tan Xueci to live out his natural lifespan in peace.

But the price was simply too high.

Furthermore, no one truly had the heart to strike He Xunye down.

Even Yu He himself felt the same.

Whenever he faced He Xunye, the sword in his hand grew so heavy that he could barely lift it.

He Wuling clutched the torn, bleeding stump of his shoulder.

Cold sweat poured down his pale, aging temples.

His lips were completely devoid of color, trembling violently from the massive blood loss and agonizing pain.

His knees buckled, and unable to support his weight any longer, he sank halfway to the ground.

Xu Yuzhu, dressed in her usual traditional black qipao, had completely lost her usual calm and solemn composure.

She knelt desperately beside He Wuling.

Under the thick, oppressive darkness of the night, tears glistened in her eyes.

He Wuling’s left arm had been ripped out completely by the roots; it could never be reattached.

And terrifyingly, this savage mutilation was already the result of the evil ghost exercising immense restraint.

He Xunye’s eyes had turned entirely pitch-black.

He looked profoundly sinister and terrifying, without a single shred of light reflecting in his pupils.

Thick, dark ghost energy swirled violently around his body, gradually igniting into raging, roaring black flames.

The fire emitted a bone-chilling, icy temperature, carrying the supreme, towering malice of a vengeful spirit as it completely enveloped the sky above the He family estate.

“Xunye…” Xu Yuzhu begged through her tears, “That child might still be alright… let your father finish speaking first…”

He Pinglan remained slumped on the ground nearby.

She was holding Tan Xueci’s unconscious form.

Her sharp, strikingly beautiful face was entirely drained of color as she reached down to touch Tan Xueci’s icy little cheek.

The evil ghost walked over to stand before her.

He reached out, taking Tan Xueci’s limp, soft body into his arms, lifting him in a steady bridal carry.

“It’s an inner demon…” He Wuling rasped, forcing the words out past the agony of his severed limb. His voice was low and heavy. “My inner demon broke free… it dragged him into the illusion world.”

An inner demon was formed from the deepest, unresolved emotional trauma accumulated over many years.

Within the illusion realm spawned by his inner demon lay the things he feared most in his entire life.

He Xunye said absolutely nothing.

He lowered his head, pressing his own icy lips gently against Tan Xueci’s pale cheek.

Leaving everyone else completely behind him, he carried Tan Xueci back into the bedroom.

Tan Xueci stared blankly at the version of He Xunye standing before the mountain gate of Qilian Temple.

The youth’s white monastic robes fluttered softly in the night wind.

His pitch-black, elegant eyes were cold and intensely piercing, appearing even more silent and still than the dark night surrounding them.

Tan Xueci ran along with the crowd, taking refuge behind He Xunye.

It was only when he turned around that he realized the night sky tonight was exceptionally dense and pitch-black.

Countless malevolent spectral figures shrieked as they swirled through the darkness, swooping down with violent intent.

They were far more ferocious than any ghosts Tan Xueci had ever encountered before.

Qilian Temple was adjacent to a scenic tourist area, featuring a replicated ancient street.

Many residents lived and worked here, which explained why every household had lanterns hanging outside and why the people wore traditional clothing.

For a moment earlier, Tan Xueci had almost believed he had been transported back to ancient times.

But looking at it now, this was clearly the realm of the illusion, back when He Xunye was only seventeen or eighteen years old.

Just a moment ago, the crowd had been running for their lives toward He Xunye.

Yet, once they reached him, no one dared to get close.

Instead, they crowded and huddled together at a significant distance, actively avoiding any physical contact with the youth, as if terrified of touching him.

Only Tan Xueci stood remarkably close, practically pressed against He Xunye’s back.

He kept his eyes fixed on He Xunye, unable to look away.

The seventeen-to-eighteen-year-old He Xunye was breathtakingly young and handsome, though his face was a mask of absolute frost.

His eyes were as dark as a deep, fathomless pool, and his complexion possessed the same sickly, stark paleness that he carried after death. He looked fragile, yet deeply dangerous.

Sensing someone watching him, the youth turned his head slightly and cast a brief glance at Tan Xueci.

Those deep, dark eyes looked as though nothing in this world could ever move or interest him.

With absolute indifference, he turned his gaze away.

Tan Xueci thought to himself, ‘…’

‘What is that supposed to mean?’

‘Does this dead ghost want a divorce?’

‘In reality, he holds me every single day, telling me how beautiful I am and how sweet I smell. But now, he won’t even look at me?’

Not far behind them, a pair of parents huddled tightly together, holding their child.

The little boy looked to be about three or four years old. He was absolutely terrified, wailing and crying his little heart out.

“Don’t be scared, baby,” the little boy’s mother murmured anxiously. She patted his back gently, trying to soothe him, terrified that his loud cries would draw the attention of the malicious spirits. She pointed toward He Xunye, trying to comfort the child. “The Eldest Young Master is here. We’ll be able to go home very soon. Don’t be scared.”

She referred to He Xunye as the Eldest Young Master.

Given this specific timeframe, He Xunye’s two older brothers must have already passed away.

Feeling ignored by his husband, Tan Xueci let his face fall into a disappointed pout.

He turned away to look at the others.

Clutching the hem of his clothes, his eyes grew slightly flush with a timid, nervous warmth.

He stepped closer to the middle-aged woman holding the child and asked in a soft, tentative voice, “Excuse me, what is this place…?”

The middle-aged woman hadn’t initially wanted to speak, consumed as she was by panic and fear.

However, seeing that Tan Xueci looked quite young and entirely lost, she took pity on him.

“You don’t know?” she spoke up, her voice trembling. “The capital has been plagued by a severe ghost infestation these past few years. It’s like some ancient seal completely shattered. The abbot of Qilian Temple, several powerful Daoists from Qingya Temple, along with the He family and the Xu family—all the great feng shui clans are desperately working to reinforce the seals. Thank goodness the Eldest Young Master is here tonight, otherwise, we’d all be eaten alive by those monsters. You should find a place to hide quickly.”

Tan Xueci grew even more bewildered.

Everyone here seemed completely accustomed to the supernatural, acting as though the existence of ghosts was common knowledge.

They even spoke of the various prominent feng shui clans as if they were household names.

But in the capital he knew, apart from himself, practically no one ever encountered ghosts.

Furthermore, he had never heard any rumors about the capital being haunted when he was a child.

Then again, during his childhood, he had spent almost all his time confined to a hospital bed.

Even if the city had been crawling with ghosts, he likely would have remained entirely oblivious to it.

Suddenly, He Xunye lowered his gaze.

The brilliant, destructive crimson flames erupted from his hand.

The bright red tongues of fire flared with absolute fury, leaping into the night sky like a serpent born of pure flame, appearing as though they could burn right through the heavens.

The entire dark canopy above Qilian Temple was instantly dyed a surging, brilliant red, resembling the explosive blooming of countless blood-red lotuses.

The heat was immense and undeniable.

The temperature of the flames warped the very air, causing the scenery to shimmer and distort.

Tan Xueci found the air growing thick and scorching to breathe.

Sweat quickly dampened the fabric of his shirt against his back.

The surrounding crowd scrambled backward in a panic, moving even further away from He Xunye, gazing at the youth with deep, unmasked terror.

A clear, unbridgeable chasm divided the townspeople from He Xunye.

It was as though they had lumped He Xunye together with the very monsters he was fighting.

Tan Xueci knit his brows, a subtle, uncomfortable ache blooming in his chest.

These people treated He Xunye like a savior, yet for some reason, they feared him like a monster.

He Xunye’s entire form seemed to merge with the raging fire, and within moments, the overwhelming swarm of malicious spirits was entirely incinerated into nothingness.

The crowd behind him finally breathed a collective sigh of relief.

The woman holding the child stepped forward tentatively, asking in a cautious, trembling whisper, “Eldest Young Master… they won’t come back again tonight, will they?”

He Xunye turned around.

The youth lifted his cold, elegant eyelids.

A gentle, serene smile seemed to grace his pale, handsome face.

His fingers gently told the Buddhist beads draped over his hand as he reached out, softly patting the head of the child in the woman’s arms.

“Oh, they’ll come,” He Xunye said, his bright red lips curving upward. His pitch-black, dense eyes stared fixedly at the child, his smile as soft and deceptive as a gentle spring breeze. Like a death god marking a soul on a ledger, he whispered softly to the boy, “And they’ll eat you first.”

The little boy let out a terrified, earth-shattering wail.

“…” The middle-aged woman went pale, hurriedly clutching her child close as she scrambled to catch up with her husband to flee the scene, casting fearful glances back at He Xunye as she ran.

As she rushed past Tan Xueci, he distinctly heard her gritting her teeth, muttering under her breath about how He Xunye was an absolute psychopath.

Tan Xueci honestly thought her assessment was quite accurate.

He had originally assumed that He Xunye had only become unhinged after dying.

Now it appeared the man had simply been born a bit unhinged.

Even so, Tan Xueci stooped down, scooped up a small stone from the ground, and hurled it straight at the back of the woman’s husband’s head.

“Ow! Fck!” The man clutched the back of his head, spinning around with an angry roar. “Who the fck threw that?!”

Tan Xueci kept his face entirely blank and innocent, casually dusting the dirt off his palms.

‘You insulted my husband, so I hit your husband. Perfectly fair.’

After executing his petty revenge, he turned around, only to find that He Xunye—that heartless, ungrateful jerk—had already walked away.

He scrambled to catch up.

He Xunye walked with a slow, measured grace, perfectly embodying the detached, unhurried demeanor of a Buddhist practitioner.

Yet, his actual pace was remarkably swift.

Tan Xueci had to sustain a breathless trot just to keep up with his footsteps.

He panted softly as he ran.

In the past, He Xunye had always been the one clinging to him relentlessly.

Now that He Xunye wasn’t hovering over him, he felt entirely out of his depth.

Reaching out, Tan Xueci firmly grabbed hold of the wide, flowing sleeve of He Xunye’s monastic robe.

Remembering the master’s advice—when in doubt, call out to your husband—he decided to put it into practice.

He Xunye had noticed the strange youth who had appeared out of nowhere.

The boy looked slightly older than himself and had been following him like a shadow for a while now, but he hadn’t cared enough to acknowledge him.

However, just as he reached out to push open the door to his meditation room, he felt a distinct tug on his sleeve.

The youth behind him spoke in a low, sweet, and incredibly soft voice.

The boy’s warm breath practically brushed against the sensitive skin of his neck as he murmured, “Husband…”

He Xunye’s entire body went rigid.

His brows knit together instantly as he spun around to glare at Tan Xueci.

Tan Xueci possessed an exceptionally striking, cold, and breathtakingly beautiful face.

Appearing suddenly in the middle of a haunted temple in the dead of night, he looked exactly like a seductive spirit out to steal a man’s soul.

Especially since the boy was currently trying to drape his arms around He Xunye’s neck, clinging to him stickily while calling him husband.

“Amitabha,” He Xunye intoned softly, his pale, prominent knuckles tightening around his Buddhist beads.

He grabbed Tan Xueci by the wrists, heartlessly pushing him away before stepping firmly inside and closing the door.

“Husband!” Tan Xueci panicked instantly, terrified of being abandoned in this strange, eerie place.

He pressed his face flat against the wooden door, calling out desperately, “Husband! I don’t have anywhere else to go!”

The youth’s dark eyes remained completely detached and cold.

A faint, mocking smile touched his lips as he looked through the slight opening, asking indifferently, “Does that have anything to do with me?”

Tan Xueci thought to himself, ‘…’

‘Fine. Okay. It has nothing to do with you, right?’

Tan Xueci felt his composure fracturing slightly.

Fortunately, the monks at Qilian Temple were exceptionally kind-hearted.

One of them noticed him wandering aimlessly and looking entirely lost, so he kindly prepared a spare meditation room, offering him shelter for the night.

Tan Xueci had absolutely nothing on him.

The large diamond ring He Xunye had given him was gone, and his phone was missing as well.

Resting his chin in his hands, he sat staring at the flickering candlelight in his room for a short while before finally losing his patience. He scooped up his blanket and marched right back to find He Xunye.

He Xunye hadn’t slept yet.

The deep night was profoundly silent, and the moonlight outside was clear and ethereal.

He had lit several candles and was quietly reading through a volume of Buddhist scriptures.

The faint, flickering glow of the candlelight cast sharp shadows across his face, accentuating the deep structure of his brow and the striking, elegant contour of his profile.

Because his features hadn’t fully matured into adulthood yet, and his lips carried a natural, vibrant crimson tint, he possessed a distinct, captivating youthful charm.

He looked entirely unlike a proper, devout monk.

Tan Xueci draped the blanket over his head like a little tent, scrambled onto the platform bed, and nestled himself right next to He Xunye like a soft, shifting little mound.

He deliberately pressed his weight right against He Xunye’s arm.

This time, He Xunye didn’t even grant him a glance, keeping his eyes firmly on the text.

Tan Xueci pressed closer, practically wedging himself into He Xunye’s side.

He leaned his weight against the youth’s shoulder.

He Xunye’s shoulders had already begun to take on the broad, sturdy frame of a young man, and his body heat was remarkably high.

Tan Xueci’s hand accidentally brushed against He Xunye’s fingers.

The skin-to-skin contact revealed a remarkably high body temperature—completely unlike the icy, deathly chill he carried as a ghost.

His husband felt solid and warm, bringing an immediate sense of safety to his chest.

Squeezing against He Xunye, Tan Xueci cautiously examined the meditation room.

Aside from the scriptures, the few candles, and a wooden fish temple block, there was very little furniture.

However, the entire room was covered from top to bottom in yellow talisman papers. It was impossible to tell what purpose they served.

The bright cinnabar ink on the talismans looked stark and blood-red, radiating a strange, eerie coldness.

Feeling a sudden prickle of fear, Tan Xueci instinctively reached out and clutched He Xunye’s arm tightly against his chest.

The youth’s hand immediately paused its movement across the Buddhist beads.

His dark, heavy eyes lifted, fixing a cold, piercing glare upon Tan Xueci.

Tan Xueci acted completely oblivious to the warning gaze.

He rested his cheek directly against He Xunye’s shoulder, looking down at the scriptures the youth was reading.

Biting down softly on his finger, he murmured in a vague, muffled voice, “Husband, I can’t understand any of this.”

‘Who exactly is your husband?’

He Xunye had no idea where this strange little lunatic had come from, or why he was suddenly clinging to him so relentlessly.

Furthermore, Tan Xueci was constantly shifting and rustling beside him.

The boy seemed to be trying to keep his movements quiet, but in reality, he was being incredibly distracting, crowding his head right next to He Xunye’s under the lamplight to stare at the same book, looking like a pair of huddled little mice.

Before Tan Xueci could figure out what exactly was going on, a soft, polite knock sounded at the door of the meditation room.

“Enter,” He Xunye replied, his voice entirely devoid of warmth.

A monk who appeared to be in his twenties stepped inside.

He bowed respectfully toward the youth and said, “Junior Brother Xunye, the old matriarch of the Xu family was recently possessed by a malicious spirit. Your father has successfully captured all the entities involved, and he specifically sent word to inform you.”

The youth’s long eyelashes lowered, the bridge of his nose catching the dim, cool light of the candles.

He closed the scripture book with a soft click and murmured quietly, “Get out.”

Tan Xueci, still huddled beside him with the blanket draped over his head, saw that the monk wasn’t moving.

Emulating his husband’s tone, he chimed in, “Get out.”

“…” The youth turned his head slowly, fixing his gaze on Tan Xueci.

After a few seconds of absolute silence, he spoke cold and clear, “I was telling you to get out.”

Tan Xueci thought to himself, ‘…’

‘Why is he so mean?’

Tan Xueci pressed his lips together, feeling a genuine wave of grievance wash over him.

His eyes grew flush and wet, his dark lashes dampening with unshed tears as he stared at He Xunye without a word.

His hair had become completely rumpled from the blanket, making him look incredibly pitiful and disheveled.

He Xunye didn’t know him at all.

Yet, as Tan Xueci lowered his head, a single, perfectly round tear slipped from his eye, splashing directly onto the back of He Xunye’s hand.

The youth’s palm twitched, his fingers curling inward with a sudden, uncomfortable tension.

When he spoke again, his tone relaxed ever so slightly, though his voice remained firm and cold: “Go out.”

Tan Xueci wiped his tears away, turning to march out of the room in a quiet huff, fully resolving to get a divorce the moment they returned to reality.

However, the moment he stepped outside and turned his head, he witnessed a horrifying scene that would remain burned into his memory forever.

Countless anguished souls and fierce ghosts had merged into a massive, roiling cloud of black mist, slamming violently into He Xunye’s meditation room.

Blood splattered violently against the paper window panes, and the thick, iron stench of blood instantly saturated the air.

“…”

Tan Xueci’s lips trembled violently.

His mind went completely blank with panic, and his instinct screamed at him to rush back inside to save He Xunye.

Before he could take a step, the monk who had followed him out firmly grabbed his arm, saying, “Benefactor, please remain calm.”

‘Calm down my a!’

Tan Xueci was practically ready to start cursing.

The monk held onto him with an iron grip, refusing to let go.

Tan Xueci struggled with all his might but couldn’t break free. He turned his head, snapping furiously, “My husband is literally dying in there! How can I not be frantic?!”

“…” The monk was completely stunned by the outburst.

Once his brain finally processed what Tan Xueci had just said, he hurriedly raised his free hand in a panicked gesture, terrified of drawing divine wrath upon himself, stammering, “Amitabha… heavens protect us, what a sin, what a sin.”

If a Buddhist monk like Junior Brother Xunye suddenly had a husband, the world would truly be turning upside down.

Yet, Tan Xueci still fought to break away.

“Benefactor,” the monk insisted, physically blocking his path. “Junior Brother Xunye knows exactly what he is doing. There is no need for you to interfere.”

While Tan Xueci was locked in a fierce struggle with the monk, Yu He rushed into the courtyard, clutching his peach-wood sword.

Yu He also looked to be about seventeen or eighteen years old.

He stopped just outside the meditation room, his expression incredibly grim.

He waited for a tense minute until all noise inside the room had completely vanished before finally pushing the door open.

Tan Xueci tore himself away from the monk and rushed inside right behind him.

The moment he crossed the threshold, he saw that the youth had become completely drenched in blood.

His white monastic robes were entirely soaked through with crimson, and he lay motionless on the floor, his survival completely uncertain.

Yu He dropped to his knees beside him, calling his name repeatedly, but He Xunye offered absolutely no response.

Tan Xueci froze for a fraction of a second before scrambling forward to lift He Xunye into his arms.

His hands brushed through He Xunye’s dark hair, instantly staining his own fingers with thick, dark blood.

The youth’s face was completely obscured by the crimson fluid, rendering his striking features nearly unrecognizable.

Dark, stagnant blood trickled down from his eyelids, making him look unimaginably battered and vulnerable.

The youth’s long eyelashes fluttered weakly, his eyes straining open.

Through the blurry, blood-red haze of his vision, his gaze locked onto Tan Xueci’s panicked, tear-stained face.

Before he could utter a single word, his consciousness slipped away entirely, and he blacked out.

Yu He immediately called for a vehicle, and they rushed He Xunye to the hospital.

The medical staff appeared remarkably familiar with He Xunye’s condition; without a hint of surprise, they swiftly wheeled him straight into the operating room.

When He Xunye was finally brought out, the blood had been thoroughly cleaned from his face.

His thin lips were pressed into a tight, rigid line, and his brow remained knit in a deep, troubled frown even in his deep sleep.

However, the hospital staff’s cleaning during emergency treatment was inevitably hasty.

Dried blood remained caked beneath He Xunye’s fingernails.

His hands, which were normally stark pale and elegantly formed, were completely stained and messy—a far cry from the immaculately dressed, almost fastidiously neat gentleman he would grow up to be.

Once they settled into the ward, Tan Xueci sat by the edge of the bed, carefully wiping He Xunye’s hands with a wet towel, tears streaming down his face with every rub.

“Hey, hold on a second,” Yu He muttered, scratching his head as he examined Tan Xueci with immense curiosity. “Who exactly are you?”

Tan Xueci’s eyes were bright red.

He sniffled softly, answering with absolute seriousness, “I am his wife.”

‘Holy cr*p.’

Yu He had never expected to stumble into such an earth-shattering piece of gossip.

No matter how grim or heavy his duties usually were, he was still ultimately just a seventeen-to-eighteen-year-old teenager—the exact age where curiosity and a love for drama ran highest.

Seeing that He Xunye wasn’t in mortal danger, any intention he had of leaving evaporated completely.

He slid right back into a chair, crossed his legs, and began happily munching on melon seeds, watching the fascinating dynamic between He Xunye and this suddenly manifested wife with absolute relish.

He Xunye didn’t appear to have any visible physical wounds on his body, leaving it an absolute mystery where all that blood had actually come from.

Tan Xueci continued to weep softly, leaning forward to wrap his arms around He Xunye’s neck, burying his face directly into the youth’s collarbone.

He Xunye didn’t remain unconscious for long; he woke up shortly after.

The moment he opened his eyes, he froze, finding himself staring directly into Tan Xueci’s red, watery gaze. He clearly hadn’t expected the strange boy to still be here.

“Husband,” Tan Xueci whimpered, his brows drawing together in deep distress. “Does it hurt terribly?”

‘What kind of horrible monster managed to beat my husband into this state?’

“…” He Xunye felt an immediate, throbbing headache coming on. His voice dropped into a frosty register as he ordered, “Don’t call me husband.”

To a seventeen-year-old youth, being relentlessly pursued and called “husband” by a strange male spirit was both profoundly bizarre and deeply inappropriate.

Tan Xueci completely blocked out the rejection.

He was consumed by worry, privately concluding that his husband had simply been beaten silly by the monsters.

He scrambled onto the hospital bed, wrapping himself around He Xunye while letting out a tragic, sobbing werwer cry.

Yet, he felt entirely helpless; in the past, He Xunye would always tell him that a kiss from his little Xue would make all the pain go away.

But now, He Xunye’s brain was clearly broken, and he refused to say it.

‘Whatever. If he won’t say it, I’ll just do it myself.’

Tan Xueci lowered his head, pressing his wet, trembling lips firmly against He Xunye’s mouth in a decisive kiss.

He then hugged the youth tightly again, asking in a soft, careful whisper, “Husband… do you feel a little bit better now?”

The youth’s face instantly went entirely blank.

He stared up at the ceiling in absolute, stunned disbelief, utterly unable to comprehend what Tan Xueci had just done to him.

Behind them, Yu He was slapping his thigh in pure, unadulterated excitement.

The only pity was that he didn’t dare to lean directly over the bed to get a closer look, knowing he would definitely get beaten to a pulp by He Xunye if he did. Otherwise, he would have loved to plant his face right next to theirs to spectate the show.

Just as he was straining his neck to get a better angle, a flurry of hurried footsteps echoed from the corridor outside, shattering the quiet sanctity of the hospital night.

A moment later, the ward door was violently flung open.

He Pinglan and her husband rushed into the room.

He Pinglan cried out in sheer panic, “Xunye—!”

Before she could finish her sentence, her eyes locked onto the scene before her. She blinked once, twice, and then let out a soft, fascinated murmur: “Wow.”

There lay her brother, pinned to the hospital bed by an exceptionally beautiful young man.

The youth was practically straddling He Xunye’s lap, holding the boy’s face between his hands while leaning down to deliver a series of fierce, smacking kisses.

Meanwhile, her brother’s dark, elegant eyes were filled with a chaotic mix of gloom and dark fury.

His lips were trembling slightly—and looked a bit flushed and bitten—as he stared dead-eyed at the youth above him, looking for all the world as though he had just been forcefully and utterly defiled.

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