Chapter 3
She was awake.
Sirus had walked the forest for hours before a sudden urge drew him back. Barith found him and delivered the news only moments after he’d returned. The depth of relief that had overcome him was unexpected.
Each minute since had been weighted. His blood pulsed with an immediate need to go to her. To see her. It’s why he’d returned to the forest in the dead of night. To keep himself away from her until the feeling subsided. It hadn’t.
She wished to see him. He still could not quite believe it.
Barith had reluctantly divulged her desire before none too lightly warning Sirus against upsetting her. The dragon’s protective instinct toward Gwendolyn had riled something far too close to possessiveness within Sirus. Knowing Barith’s warning was warranted struck him like a cold blade between the ribs.
He’d returned to the forest in a dark mood, stewing between the draw to go to her and knowing he must give her space. It had been maddening. Sirus could hardly make sense of his reactions. He assumed it must be her magicks that caused this pull. Magicks that now filled his own veins. Pain was the only way he knew how to describe it. He felt pain at forcing himself to keep away from her. Pain he could manage. Pain he knew. It would subside. It must.
Dawn threatened as he prowled the halls of Volkov, light streaks of dark blue hinting above the distant mountains. He would wait for Gwendolyn to summon him, whenever that would be. He only hoped she would be able to stand the sight of him long enough to give him a chance to express his apologies for what he’d done to her. Sirus knew it could be days or weeks. There was also the chance she would change her mind completely. He deserved her derision and mistrust. Every time he thought it, he growled in frustration. He could keep away for now, but the draw to see her only seemed to be growing stronger. He’d caught himself standing in front of her door twice already.
He was on his second lap of the east wing. Her room was on the second floor. Sirus wasn’t quite sure what would happen if he stopped moving. This anxiousness was foreign to him. So foreign he struggled to collect himself and focus his thoughts. She was in his home. Under his roof. Only 637 paces from his own room.
He ran his hand over his newly trimmed beard. It was pleasant to have it short once again. He tensed when he recollected washing all the blood out of it. Gwendolyn’s blood. The tight grip of guilt that held his insides squeezed like a vise. Sirus flexed his hands at his sides, focusing on the strain of his muscles. He drew in the cold of the shadows, willing the familiar chill to help him find his focus. She was in his blood, but he’d felt her even before that night of the mirrors.
Yes, she was beautiful. Yes, he found her desirable beyond sense. He knew he was infatuated, and Sirus was not a creature to become infatuated. It’d taken time for him to deduce what it was that truly intrigued him about her. He’d found her trust in him to be a product of naivete, but it had tempted him. She’d tempted him by being herself with him. Sirus was used to people being guarded, withholding, and veiled. No one was ever truly vulnerable near him, given what he was. She’d not only been vulnerable, she’d been passionate and caring. The way she’d peered into his face as he lay dying would be forever burned in his memory.
You’ll be okay, I promise. He shuddered. He’d known he wouldn’t be, but that promise struck his frozen heart like a hot knife. Somehow, she’d kept that promise.
Sirus steadied himself, his pulse slowly relenting as the shadows washed over him. He’d known from the moment he’d become conscious after that night of the mirrors that he was her servant.
A sound caught his attention, and his eyes flew open. It took him only a moment to recognize where he was. He’d not even realized he’d ascended the steps to the second floor. His body went rigid when he heard a slight movement in the hall around the corner. His breath caught. Each of her soft, creeping steps sent his senses ablaze; his recently calmed heart pounded with a hard thud at each footfall. She was out of bed.
He knew she should still be resting, but he couldn’t bring himself to think or feel anything other than anticipation. She was moving toward him. The scent of lilies and soap crept ahead of her. She would not wish to see him yet. He could easily dip into a room and out of her path unnoticed. The bastard that he was, he didn’t move a muscle.
The moment she came into view, his chest swelled and his skin suddenly grew tight around every inch of him, as if he no longer fit in his own body. Gwendolyn’s head was turned to look over her shoulder, her gaze locked on an elaborately crafted tapestry that hung along the wall—a group of faeries on a forest hunt. The length of her fair neck was strained to get a better look, stretching that line of freckles that haunted him. She looked beautiful in a simple forest-green sweater and dark pants. Her chestnut hair lay freshly brushed around her shoulders like wavy strands of silk.
It became apparent a moment too late that she wasn’t going to sense him in time. Guilt struck him before her eyes slid forward, recognizing his looming form right as she planted into his chest, sending a wash of her scent wafting over him. His blood surged. Gwendolyn squeaked, stumbling back over her feet with a start. He instinctively reached out to grab her and keep her from falling over. Sirus knew he should never touch her again, that he didn’t deserve to touch her after what he’d done, but he couldn’t let her simply tumble to the floor.
“Holy hell!” she snarled, clutching her hand to her chest in fright, her bright green eyes filled with fire.
“Apologies,” Sirus offered weakly. “I didn’t mean to startle you.” He hadn’t, though he knew he’d not done much to prevent it either, monster that he was.
“Seriously?” she bit out shrilly in her unfiltered shock. “You should wear a freaking bell!”
The thought amused him. In part because he’d spent far more than her lifetime developing the skill of remaining undetected. He thought it best not to say as much, instead giving her a moment to gather herself. His stomach tightened with unease when her pale face grew that much whiter as she took him in. Her shallow breaths soon evened, her gaze raking over him slowly. Each inch of his body burned with awareness under her assessment.
“You look—” The words were breathless, her expression stunned. His insides twisted with satisfaction and disgust. Sirus knew he looked hale. He felt stronger than he had in years. All because of her. What she’d given him.
Gwendolyn was a vision, but there was no denying she was paler and clearly weaker than before. Guilt clawed like a rabid animal. He remembered the look in her eyes as he’d torn into her flesh—the pain. The sound that had snapped him out of his desperate hunger and back into reality. The moment he realized what he’d done.
Sirus had already considered what he would say to her when he finally saw her, but as he stood there, face-to-face with her, all words seemed to abandon him. When her wide green eyes traced down his arm to the place he still held her, he let go in an instant, as if his fingers had been singed by fire. He put distance between them.
He didn’t deserve to touch her. He didn’t deserve to linger in her presence. He deserved none of it.
He wanted all of it. He wanted her.
The jolt of raw truth nearly sparked a curse to slip from his lips. He could not want her, because there was no point. Sirus knew, without a doubt, there was no chance he would ever have her. There was no chance Gwendolyn would ever want him.
She’d wanted to see him, and there he’d been. Hovering like a dark, looming shadow. He was nothing less than beautiful.
To Gwen’s utter shock, Sirus looked even better than before. Stronger. Sharper. He wore a tight, long-sleeved black shirt with a V-neckline low enough she could see the tattoos that blended with the dark hair that swirled across his muscled, olive-toned chest. His black beard was freshly trimmed, cut shorter to outline his chiseled jaw. His hair perfectly swept and curled at his ears. When she followed the line of his arm, she realized he was still holding on to her. Her skin burned beneath his touch. In an instant, he removed his hold and stepped back, giving her space. A tinge of heat brushed her cheeks as she continued to stare, not yet able to look away. Not yet able to believe he was standing in front of her.
A beat of silence lorded over them. Neither one of them seemed to know quite what to say, what to do.
“You seem—” he started at the same time she said, “You really do?—”
The muscles in his neck shifted as he nodded for her to continue.
Gwen fidgeted and finally dropped her eyes, her nerves getting the better of her. “I was just going to say, you really do heal fast,” she managed to mutter, the words fumbling out awkwardly.
He let out a little breath. “I do, yes,” he admitted, shifting on his heel, the only display that he might be uncomfortable. More silence.
Gwen bit at her lip, her eyes drifting up his stomach, to the place where she remembered that gaping wound to be. There was no wound now. No hint that he’d been injured at all. She swallowed, a touch of cold sweat spreading over her. It really was miraculous what magick could do.
“You should be in bed,” Sirus told her. Gwen blinked, refocusing herself. When his words processed, she scowled, her eyes darting up to meet his. His expression was shuttered, as usual.
Gwen had risen well before dawn feeling worlds better. She didn’t want to entirely admit it was thanks to drinking two whole cups of Levian’s disgusting healing potion, since the thick concoction had tasted like old socks mixed with celery juice, but it was hard to argue with the results. Her body was still achy, but it’d been extremely satisfying to crawl out of bed without any help or fussing. After another long soak in the tub and a fresh change of clothes, Gwen had felt like a completely new woman. She’d then become immediately restless.
The vast forest around the castle had gone from gray and ominous to enchanting under the clear sky of the early morning. She knew Barith and Levian would both scold her for being out of bed, but a little fresh air sounded wonderful, and neither had specifically told her not to leave her room. Giant castle or not, she’d assumed it couldn’t be that hard to find the front door, or at least a door that led outside. Levian had told her some things about the castle during the several hours she’d spent helping Gwen with her bath, doting on her, force-feeding her that gross potion, and checking all her injuries. Even the ones that were already healed. Gwen had thanked her as she’d thanked Barith, and Levian had basically told her the same thing the dragon had: that she was their friend, and they cared about her whether she liked it or not. After they’d both been near to tears, Levian had attempted to lighten the conversation by telling her all about Volkov. Sirus’s home. Apparently, it was giant, and ancient, and full of more artifacts than a fae treasure trove, whatever that meant.
Volkov was nothing like she’d imagined it, that was for sure. Gwen’s room alone was impressive, with rich, polished wood, dark mauve fabric furnishings, and a large, claw-foot, antique soaking tub. It’d taken only a few steps into the hall before she’d breathed a shocked curse of awe. So much for cobwebs and damp tunnels. There was a homeyness to the place, a warmth. An energy that was mysterious yet oddly inviting. At least it had been, until she’d run face first into Sirus’s skulking, very firm, shadowy form.
“I was fine,” Gwen retorted sharply, “until you scared the crap out of me.” She crossed her arms over her chest, and her face tightened with pain as she once again forgot about the still-healing, jagged wound on her forearm. The wound he’d made digging into her skin with his teeth. Her stomach flopped, a skitter of nerves following.
Sirus’s sharp gaze fell to her arm, to the place beneath her sweater where the white linen bandage was wrapped firmly. His expression darkened, the muscles in his jaw more obviously tense now that his beard was trimmed short. She liked it shorter.
“I didn’t mean to frighten you,” he offered again, attempting to sound softer.
Gwen believed him and felt a small pang of guilt for snapping. She looked at him sideways, her anxiety sending a swarm of angry wasps buzzing in her chest. “What are you even doing here?” she asked, forcing her eyes away from the bit of exposed skin at his chest that she seemed unable to avoid. She knew he had muscles, but that shirt teased at every groove, every ab, the V that ran down to his—Stop it!
“I often walk the halls in the morning.”
“Oh,” she croaked, clearing her throat softly. Right. This was his house. His castle. She supposed he could walk wherever he wanted. Though she couldn’t help the small tinge of disappointment. She’d thought he might say he was coming to see her.
“Don’t let me stop you,” she grumbled, shifting out of his path.
“Were you in need of something?” he inquired with the stiffness of any good host.
“I was going to step out,” she confessed, not finding any reason not to tell him. “For a little air.” This tension was unbearable. Gwen’s anxiety was growing with each passing second in his presence. So much that she was starting to breathe shallower. She’d wanted to see him; she’d even thought a long while about what she would say to him when she did, but it all seemed to evaporate now that he was here. It was startling to see him so healthy and groomed…after all that blood. Cold sweat spread further over her skin, and she fidgeted uncomfortably, her stomach weighted like she’d swallowed a cannonball.
He slid his hands into the pockets of his jeans and eyed her. The focus of his attention made her fidget with the sleeve of her sweater. She forced herself to look into his face. The moment their eyes met, a jolt ran through her center. She’d wanted to see that cool, sharp gaze again. Had pleaded for it. Her mouth suddenly felt very dry. It was bizarre, seeing him look so—normal. His hands tucked into his jeans, his outfit modern and casual. It warmed something inside her. Barith and Levian had told her he was well, but seeing it with her own two eyes was different. Gwen felt overcome with sudden relief, and she let out a deep, stuttered breath. It was so consuming she nearly threw her arms around him, not really caring if it freaked him out or not.
“I assume you wouldn’t heed me if I told you to get back into bed?” he posed, as cool as winter frost, instantly squelching her impulse to embrace him.
Gwen leaned a half step back, hoping the distance would settle her. She cocked a brow as she glared up at him. It was answer enough.
For a moment, he merely stared back at her, clearly displeased with her stubborn resilience. When he started to speak, she readied herself for the argument she knew was coming. “Get a coat,” he relented, “and I’ll show you the way.”
Her mouth opened, ready for battle, but she stalled. Wait, what? Her heart lurched when she processed what he’d said. “It’s fine,” she muttered, a little off-kilter. “You can just tell me which?—”
“Get a coat,” he repeated. It hadn’t been a suggestion.
Gwen cut him a look. A part of her wanted to argue with him, if for no other reason than to do it. To make things feel normal. To relieve this pressure that seemed to be bearing down around them like the abyss of the deep, dark ocean. I’m glad you’re okay, she nearly said, the words teasing the tip of her tongue. She crinkled her nose, aggravated that she wasn’t able to get them out.
Something in his frigid gaze shifted. Softened. The silence lingered again. Awkward and heavy. Her throat tightened with emotion as she tried to speak but stifled her words. Gwen turned sharply back toward her room, her heart pounding, tears threatening, not wanting him to see the raw emotions that might pour out. He was alive. He was healthy. She’d kept her promise. “Whatever you say, Lord Vampire,” she managed, hoping he didn’t hear the crackle in her voice.
A few minutes and several splashes of cold water over her face later, she was following Sirus through the castle’s east wing, jacket in hand. The wardrobe in her room had been conveniently stocked with all manner of accessories, including a cute pair of leather boots, which she’d changed into. Sirus’s pace was uncharacteristically casual as they made their way. He shifted his head sideways to look at her, and Gwen’s eyes darted away with embarrassment at nearly being caught staring at him. Her flustered gaze fell on a large suit of metal armor next to them, the vacant knight holding a long mace with a pointed, clubbed end. “It’s sixteenth-century,” he commented.
Another suit of armor with shimmering silver and gold leafy filigree sat next to it. They were an odd couple. Odder was the fact that the more delicate and pristine armor had clearly been crafted for a woman’s form. A spray of golden flowers lay over the mounded breastplate. “Fifteenth-century fae silver,” Sirus added. “A gift from Princess Laria of the Spring Court.”
“A gift?” Faerie princesses just sent vampires gifts?
He nodded, clasping his hands behind his back, causing the black fabric of his shirt to stretch further over his chest and shoulders. Gwen had to force herself to look back at the armor so she wouldn’t be caught staring at the exposed skin of his neckline again. “Many of the artifacts within Volkov were gifts, or payments for contracts completed.”
She looked further down the hall to a find a dark statue of a serene woman draped in cloth, her arms stretched longingly over her head to the sky. It was beautiful.
“Bronze. Sixteenth-century, Italian. Niah took it as payment for one of her contracts. It’s one of her favorites, I think.”
Gwen opened her mouth and shut it. Several other pieces she couldn’t quite make out yet lay further down the hallway.
“There are many other fine works along this wing, if you’d like to see them?” he posed.
A little shiver spread over her skin. Was he offering to give her a tour? Her heart thumped again, and in her head she cursed at the involuntary response at the prospect of spending more time with him. He was just being a good host. “I would,” she replied, forcing her voice cool. “If you have time.”
He swept further down the hallway, his scent trailing behind him like an intoxicating cloud. “Come. There’s an original Da Vinci in the parlor,” he said, as if it were nothing special at all.
Sirus had failed to mention the plethora of other works by Renaissance masters that hung in the parlor. There were at least twenty of them spread out around the well-decorated room. She’d only known a few of the artists’ names, since fine art hadn’t ever been a big interest of hers. She wasn’t entirely sure why. They were all magnificent. Sirus took her around to each one, telling her the artist, the title of the work, and when it had been painted—and those only scratched the surface of what treasures Volkov held.
Gwen began to grow dizzy as they continued through the east wing, her eyes jumping back and forth, scanning every wall, hall, and room. He’d told her his castle was bigger than Abigail’s chateau, and if this was only the second floor of one half of it, it was clear he’d not been exaggerating. Volkov wasn’t simply a castle, it was a museum of history and art, both human and Folk. It was stunning. Room after room was full of polished dark wood, richly colored carpets, and well-worn leather furniture. Tapestries or art or some other museum-quality piece hung along every wall or was tucked into every corner. Sirus commented on each one, seemingly happy to play tour guide.
Gwen ran her fingers over the cool, polished wood of the elaborately carved banister that swept down the wide, curved staircase that led to the lower floor. A breathtaking, three-tiered, gold-and-crystal chandelier the size of a car hung from the high ceiling.
“What’s up there?” she asked when she caught a glimpse of another, smaller set of stairs. They led upward, tucked into a dark little corridor between two narrow stained-glass windows designed with creeping vines full of red flowers.
He’d been fairly quick to reply to her probing questions up to that point, so when he didn’t respond right away she turned to look at him. His expression was as vacant as ever when he finally said, “The tower leads to my rooms.”
A jolt ran up her spine while a sinking feeling settled in her stomach. Gwen couldn’t help the small intake of breath that followed. Levian had let it slip that it was Sirus’s private bedroom they’d landed in after hurtling through the mirror. It had been his magick mirror they’d traveled through. His own bed he’d nearly died in. His eyes darted to her mouth when she took in a breath, but he nearly immediately turned away and continued on down the steps. Gwen kept her eyes on his back as she followed him. He seemed so unbothered. So at ease. Not at all like a man who’d nearly died only a few days ago. Once more, she was struck with the cold realization of how different she was to the rest of them. To him. Sure, Sirus had nearly died in his own bed, but he’d probably changed the blood-soaked sheets and hadn’t thought twice about it after. Her stomach dropped remembering all that blood. His blood.
“Are you well?” he asked, looking up at her from the bottom of the steps, pulling her out of her head. Gwen hadn’t even realized she’d stopped following him. “We can go back if you’re?—”
“I’m fine,” she murmured, shuffling down the last steps, forcing herself steady even though she felt sick. “I’ve just never been in a castle before. It’s a lot to take in.” It was half true, at least. She was far from well, but it was the first time she’d ever been in an actual castle.
Sirus eyed her for a moment, seemingly unsure if he believed her. Actually, she was pretty sure he didn’t believe her at all. It was annoying that he could read her so well. When she reached the bottom of the steps, Gwen stalked right past him to the middle of the foyer, stopped beneath the giant chandelier, and looked back expectantly. She still wanted some fresh air.
He strolled up behind her and said, “It was built by a fae.”
Her brows knitted together. “The chandelier?” she asked, turning to look up at it. It was even more stunning from the ground level.
“The castle.”
“Oh,” she murmured. Her gaze shifted to peer around the expansive foyer. The ground floor and walls were made up of gray-white stone that looked ancient and worn.
“The faerie who built it gave it to the forbearers of our clan. A gift for saving his daughter. Fae were spread more commonly amongst the mortal world then. He left the castle to us as payment and took his daughter to Yuthrin.”
“That’s where the winter faeries live, right?” Levian had told her a little bit about the hidden cities of the faeries. Gwen was startled she’d remembered that little detail.
“It is,” he confirmed. Sirus led her across the foyer toward the wide, arched entrance of another long hall. “Much of the castle has been altered to suit our needs. It has been updated over the years, but some original details remain.” He tilted his head toward the wall ahead of them. “These stones are original.”
Gwen ran her fingers over the cold, hard surface of the dove-gray stones. It was silly, but she could almost feel their ancientness against her skin. “They vibrate,” she commented with curiosity. When she turned and found Sirus’s cool gaze focused directly on her face, a soft warmth spread over her cheeks.
“You feel their magick?”
She looked back to the wall, pulling her hand away, rubbing her tingling fingers together. “I guess,” she replied, a touch embarrassed for some reason. “They feel old, like hibernating bears.” Where that analogy came from she wasn’t entirely sure, but it felt right.
Sirus came up next to her, his nearness wrapping her in the stark scent of sandalwood, spice, and soap. She nearly leaned in to get a better sniff. When she caught herself, she swallowed and leaned back, a swarm of butterflies raging through her chest. He reached out and ran two long fingers along the wall next to the place she’d touched. Her eyes lingered on those fingers.
“The stones were cut from an ancient mountain in Yuthrin,” he explained. “They are said to be enchanted.”
“Enchanted?” she repeated breathlessly, remembering those fingers wrapped around her hand as he pressed it to his chest.
He nodded then sauntered further down the hall. Gwen let out a slightly stuttered breath, watching his hands as he clasped them at his back. She took in his posture. How he walked, the way he carried himself. Sirus always seemed alert, each step and movement almost strategic. He meandered casually, like he didn’t have a care in the world.
When she didn’t follow, he stopped and looked back at her over his shoulder. “You’re uneasy,” he commented with a tinge of concern. It wasn’t a question.
Gwen swallowed, unable to keep the little skitter from shooting up her spine, knowing he could tell how she felt. I’m fine, she nearly parroted again, but she stopped herself. Instead of deflecting, she said exactly what she was thinking: “It’s just—you seem so different.”
He turned to face her but kept the distance between them. Weirdly, Gwen thought she saw a touch of confusion in his eyes, which is why she added, “You seem so relaxed. So—” at home, she realized.
It hit her then. This was the place he lived, the place he’d spent most of his time far before he’d ever met her. He was relaxed because he was comfortable here. He didn’t have to be on guard or ready for a fight. Her heart swelled, a tiny tinge of a smile creeping at the corner of her mouth as she remembered how he’d defended it when she’d implied it was creepy during their walk in Abigail’s garden. And he’d been right too. Volkov was nothing like the dark, creepy ruins she’d imagined a clan of vampires would call home. There was a warmth to the place she’d not expected.
He shifted on his heel, looking down the hall behind him and then back at her. “Volkov is protected by old magick,” he told her. “It’s long been a sanctuary to my clan. To me.”
Gwen’s little smile fell away, and she slowly came up to stand in front of him, her chest fluttering. “It’s beautiful,” she told him, hoping he could sense how much she meant it. “I see why you like being here so much.”
His expression was steeled, but there was a touch of something in his eyes. “It’s not what you were expecting?”
She smirked sheepishly. “No. I get now why you got so annoyed when I called it spooky.”
Sirus’s gaze held on her face for a moment before he turned to continue down the hall. “We do get bats on occasion,” he confessed without even a hint of humor.
Gwen couldn’t help but smile as she followed behind him. Per usual, she couldn’t tell if he was being serious or funny. “How fitting,” she retorted with amusement, deciding she found it funny whether he’d intended it or not. “Then maybe it is a little spooky,” she teased.
He merely glanced back at her with one thick black brow cocked. She let out a little laugh in response. A tiny flicker sparked beyond the glacial wall in his eyes before he turned back to his path, putting his back to her. If Gwen hadn’t known any better, she would have thought he’d been tempted to smile back. The very idea made her heart flutter. Realizing how much she wanted to see him smile made her silently curse to herself.