Necromancer Dreams of Mechs Chapter 70: Chapter 76

Read chapter 70 of Necromancer Dreams of Mechs by Magic on NovelPedia.

Chapter 70: A Matter of Protocol I didn’t dream. My memory stopped at the sight of Seraphine’s dress and the sensation of being lifted off the floor. There was nothing after that—just a void. But now, consciousness was returning, bringing with it the feeling of a mattress far softer than anything I had ever laid on. Then came the second sensation, the one that made my heart hammer against my ribs. Warmth. Heavy, breathing warmth. Someone was lying next to me, their arm draped casually over my chest. I slowly opened my eyes, staring up at an ornate ceiling fresco that depicted a horde of undead rushing toward a spire in the center of a city. For a second, my gamer brain tried to analyze the tactical layout of the painting, distracting me from the reality of the situation. That is, until I heard a soft groan from my side. I froze. I had done some pretty scary things in the last month. I had commanded armies of the dead, faced down a digital god, and spent hours strategizing with Seraphine. But as a head of messy brown hair rose from the pillow and a pair of emerald green eyes blinked sleepily at me, I felt like a cornered beast. “Allen? You back with me?” Ciara asked, her voice raspy with sleep. Before I could answer, she shifted. Rather than pulling her arm away, the wild woman climbed halfway onto me, straddling my chest like I was a piece of gym equipment. “Hey! Don’t you think this is a little… you know, close?” I stammered, half-pleading. She raised a skeptical eyebrow. “I just slept with you, Allen. Get over it.” She paused, a tease flickering in her eyes. “I mean, I enjoyed it... but we have more to worry about right now. You passed out. Nathan was saying some pretty wild stuff.” Her expression sobered, the playfulness vanishing. She looked away, tracing a pattern on the duvet. “I am so sorry about what my dad did, Allen.” I nodded, fighting through the sensory overload to put a hand over the one she had pressed against my bare chest. “It’s okay, Ciara. I don’t blame you,” I said, my voice quiet. “I’ve met your dad. He’s... a lot. I don’t know exactly what Nathan told you, but Alexander is in the game now. He’s an immortal World Boss locked in his castle. We wasted too much time reminiscing yesterday when we should have been gathering intel.” Thankfully, I realized I was still wearing my pants. But then Ciara collapsed forward, burying her face in the crook of my neck. “I am just glad that you don’t blame me. Or hate me,” she mumbled into my shoulder. I glitched. My brain simply stopped rendering new frames as I tried to figure out what to do with my free arm. The contact was overwhelming. After a solid five seconds of buffering, my broken brain finally decided this wasn't a cardiac event. I let my arm fall gently over her back. We just didn’t talk about the hand pinned between us. Nope. Like the moment with James, this was something I hadn’t known I needed. Two months of being alone with NPC skeletons and a talking cat hadn't seemed that bad at the time, but lying here, grounded by another human being, I realized how hollow that existence had been. “I am just glad you’re here,” I whispered. “I worked hard. I’m almost Level 300... I think I am the strongest, for now.” Ciara sprung up, her energy returning in a snap. “That’s right! And you don’t have to worry, I am not going anywhere… Even if you want to keep her around—” Knock, knock. Ciara’s voice cut off as she whipped her head toward the heavy double doors. Silas’s muffled, polite voice drifted through the wood. “My Lord? The Lady Seraphine wishes to know if you are both... proper? Or should she return at a later hour?” Ciara scrambled off me, her movement so fast she was a blur of motion. She flew across the room, snatching her barbarian outfit from the chair where it had been haphazardly tossed the night before. It was only then that I realized she was wearing a blood-red nightgown that did things to my teenage brain that definitely weren't tactical. "Proper?" Ciara