A Heart of Ice and Shadow (Shadows Eternal #2)

Chapter 4

Sirus was surprised by how much he enjoyed showing Gwendolyn the clan’s many treasures. As he stood watching her gape at the Renaissance masterpieces strewn over the upstairs parlor, he recognized quite astutely that he desired her approval of his home. He wanted her to see Volkov as he saw it: a calm refuge filled with beautiful things. Now filled with one more beautiful thing.

Despite himself, his gaze would linger on her each time her attention was drawn in by the art and artifacts around them. Levian had done well in aiding Gwendolyn’s healing. There was no sign at all on her silken skin of the cut at her neck, nor the gash over her forehead. But Sirus knew she was weaker despite her refusal to acknowledge it. Her skin was paler, and there were dark smudges under her eyes. He felt more the bastard for encouraging her venture out, but he wanted to spend time in her company if she’d allow it.

Gwendolyn’s chestnut hair was brushed over the front of her left shoulder, and she fiddled with the ends as she took in one of the paintings. Sirus watched her fingers work over the satiny strands. He was jealous of those locks. She twirled a single finger around one unruly strand, and his breath caught in his chest as he imagined that finger twirling in his own hair. He let out an internal snarl of frustration that ended up being less internal than he intended. Gwendolyn peered back at him with curiosity but Sirus managed to cover up the grumble by feigning to clear his throat. He needed to get a handle on himself. He was hundreds of years old, not some fresh-faced boy.

They came to the last painting in the row, and he found his focus. This was the painting he’d been waiting for her to see.

“They’re faeries?” she asked.

“They’re the three Stars of Magick,” he replied, coming closer so that he could feel the slight heat of her body against his arm. He would not touch her again, but he was far from a saint. “The Stars of Umbra, Aether, and Terra.”

The three ethereal women dangled playfully from the roots of a wide tree that dipped below a dark, shimmering span of water. Umbra, cloaked and fair, draped in shadow. Aether appeared angelic, with glowing skin, dressed in a flowing white gown. Terra was depicted with vines and moss and fungi growing all over her like clothes. All the women looked powerful and at peace as they dipped their fingers or toes in the waters below.

Gwendolyn stepped closer to take a better look, and her brows furrowed together.

“The tree is Moldorn,” he continued. “The center of all things. The ocean below is the Celestial Sea. The three Stars were said to be used by the elder fae who first came to this world. Each was plucked from the Sea and gifted to the fae by the gods themselves.”

The legend was so ancient and the Stars so long-lost or hidden that some of the Folk believed them to be nothing more than story. Another fae tale to justify their superior power over the world. The Star of Umbra was even said to be used by the D?kk to create vampires. Sirus still couldn’t fathom the idea that Gwendolyn might be touched by a Star, but as her gaze spanned the painting with unfettered curiosity, he began to wonder if it could be possible. Her magick was beyond anything he knew. It felt beyond anything he’d experienced before. Sirus had tasted the blood of nearly every magickal creature over his long life. Even the blood of high fae didn’t stir him like Gwendolyn’s had. Her essence seemed to hum under his skin, pulsing through every last one of his cells.

She glanced over her shoulder and caught him brazenly staring. Her eyes immediately darted back to the women. “It’s lovely,” she commented, trying her best to hide the pretty bloom of pink from her cheeks and the quake in her voice.

“Yes,” he agreed, his voice cool. Lovely, indeed.

The color over her cheekbones grew darker when he didn’t look away. She shifted past him hastily, continuing down the hall, wrapping her arms tightly around herself. Sirus’s skin tensed from head to toe. He was so aware of her. The soft catches of her breath when he lingered closer to her. The slight rise of her pulse. Sirus knew he was being an ass, but he relished her reactions like a starving hound would a meaty bone.

Gwendolyn had seen him at his truest. Had experienced firsthand the pain of his unyielding hunger. He’d brought her pain. She had every reason to look at him as if he were a monster, had every reason to hate and fear him, yet she didn’t. She didn’t see him as a bloodthirsty killer. She peeked over her shoulder at him, those emerald eyes finding his. Gwendolyn looked at him as if he were merely a man.

A chill seeped into him. He was no man. He was a monster. Sirus had no doubt of that. But her reactions to him were fogging his better sense. Gods help him, he knew he didn’t deserve it, but he wanted more of her. Above all, he wanted her forgiveness.

As he followed her, preparing himself to say the thing he should have from the start, Sirus found himself stopping short before a doorway he was surprised to find open. Another den. One of many in Volkov. But this one always brought him pause—which was why the room normally remained shut and untouched. A smattering of worn chairs and couches sat spread around the space. A table in the corner held a chess set, the pieces spread out in the middle of a game.

Gwendolyn sauntered up next to him and looked into the large room, which was cast in rays of soft dawn light. “What happened to everyone?” she asked openly then took in a sharp breath. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to sound—I just?—”

“There’s no need to apologize,” Sirus told her. “Death is a natural part of the life cycle. Even for vampires.” It was the truth, but her apology mattered more to him than she could know. It was as if she, too, could sense the emptiness within the room, even if she didn’t fully understand it.

As their numbers had dwindled and the castle had emptied, this room had become their clan’s gathering place. The chessboard sat exactly as his mentor and previous clan leader, Kane, had left it. Annoyed and amused when he’d realized that Sirus was only six moves away from beating him, Kane had risen, leaving the board and the pieces as they were, to pour them both a drink while lamenting that he’d taught Sirus too well. It was the last time they spoke before Kane left Volkov. The last conversation they had before Kane found his end. A soft pressure on his arm startled him, and he tensed.

“Sirus,” Gwendolyn said with concern laced in her voice. His eyes darted to where her hand lay delicately over his arm. He’d not realized he’d drawn the shadows in until they dissipated all at once, casting Gwendolyn in sudden light. Her face was twisted with worry, not at all bothered by the fact that he’d shrouded them both in darkness with his sudden black mood. His skin sizzled under her touch, and he savored the tenderness while it lasted.

“We are fewer,” he told her, forcing his voice cool, “because no vampires have been reborn in over a hundred years. Few were sired in the several hundred before.”

Her expression became puzzled. “Why?” she asked him, her voice a touch hollow. Her hand still lingered mindlessly on his arm. He dared not move an inch and risk her pulling away.

“The magick that fuels our creation is gone. No more can be made.”

“None? Ever?”

“No,” he replied, his head tilting slightly as he took her in. Gwendolyn turned to look over the room, and his cool gaze softened on her crinkled brows and crescent-shaped scar. His fingers twitched to smooth the lines of worry over her face. To tell her he didn’t deserve her concern or care. That it was not such a terrible thing that it was this way.

She ran her fingers over the small ruby pendant that hung on the gold chain around her neck. “You miss them,” she observed, peering up into his face. “They were your family.”

Family. The word sent a shiver coursing down his spine. Vampires were dark abominations forged of death and magick, thought to be soulless, driven only by an insatiable hunger to devour and kill. To think them capable of having a family was beyond comprehendible to most. Even he’d never given it much thought. Could a group of reborn killers who were the stuff of dark and terrible nightmares be a family?

His jaw tightened, the muscles tensing under his beard. His eyes shifted over the room once more, to that place he’d sat with Kane, who had been as close to a father as he could’ve known. To the history books his brother Carlyle used to enjoy. To the table where Lenora would take her tea. To the crack in the mantel from when Jael and Deckland had gotten into a drunken brawl and Jael took out a chunk of the stone with his sword. There were countless memories. Each one blurred into the next like an endless volume of flipped pages. They had been a family in their own way.

“They’re at peace,” he told her, knowing it would be hard for her to understand. After living lifetimes, the idea of death became less daunting. There was a comfort in it, actually. A finality. Sirus did miss his clan, but he knew there was no way he could bring them back. He knew none of them would have wished to return to this mortal plane, even if he’d had the power to resurrect them again.

He turned to face Gwendolyn when she slid her hand from his arm. He immediately missed her soft touch. There was a raw sadness in her expression that pricked him.

Her fingers fiddled with the ruby pendant again. “My mother died when I was little,” she told him, the emotion in her voice enough to send a ripple through him. “In a car accident…I don’t even remember her, really.” She dropped her necklace, her eyes drifting into the void of memory, and ran her index finger over the little crescent moon scar at her brow. “But…” Her eyes grew glassy. “I still miss her.”

He knew she was orphaned, but he didn’t know the details of her circumstance. Sirus did not need keen instincts to recognize the pain that losing her mother had inflicted upon her. That night in Abigail’s garden, he’d sensed the turmoil lurking within her. The disappointment. It dawned on him now that she might have been hoping the witch could tell her more about her parents not because of her magicks, but because she’d simply never known them.

Before Sirus even recognized what he was doing, he gently cupped his hand at her elbow to turn her toward him. “I am sorry, Gwendolyn, for your mother. I am sorry Abigail could not tell you more.”

Her breath stuttered as the threatening tears seemed to evaporate, and her eyes locked on his. Those wide, deep pools of green seemed to swirl with a tempest of emotions before her brows scrunched. She suddenly cleared her throat, looking away, pulling her arm from his touch. The withdrawal was stark, and the rejection struck like a blade. “It’s fine,” she told him, crossing her arms over herself tightly before turning away from the room. From him.

Sirus cursed himself for overstepping. He shouldn’t have touched her. He opened his mouth to apologize, but she spoke before he could.

“So you’ve been living here? Alone?” she asked to his surprise, her back still to him, a sharp emotion laced in her words.

He took in a steadying breath and let it out before he replied, “Not alone. With Rath.”

“That scary—guy?” she stumbled, seemingly at a loss for how to describe him.

Sirus nodded, holding back his thin amusement at her struggle. Rath was a looming presence, with dark-purple-hued skin, crimson eyes, and wide-ridged horns that curled behind his high, pointed ears. “He is a gūl.”

“A what?” she asked, glancing back at him.

He explained a little bit about the Shadow Dark, the realm beyond their own from which Rath hailed. She listened intently, but her shifting expression told him she was more than a little overwhelmed by the details, even if he knew it wasn’t the first time she’d heard of the realms beyond the mortal plane. Levian had mentioned them several times already, though he knew seeing a creature from another realm made it far more real than merely talking about one. He felt it best not to mention that Rath’s kind were actually some of the least jarring creatures by appearance and temperament to come from the Shadow Dark.

“So it was just the two of you?” she clarified eventually. “And Niah?”

“And our brother, Deckland. Though he and Niah chose to leave several decades ago.”

Her nose crinkled at the mention of decades, and his breath caught in his lungs. He was growing too fond of that little expression. “Wasn’t that—lonely?” she asked.

He took a moment before answering. “It was at times,” he admitted. He wasn’t even sure he’d realized how lonely he’d been until he went back into the folds of the world. Until he’d found her.

She exhaled deeply through her nose and pushed the sleeve of her green sweater up beyond her elbows. Her slight forearm was wrapped in white linen. Sirus’s teeth ground. Having her in his home was doing things to him, but it didn’t change the reality of their circumstance. The reality of all that he’d taken.

“I am sorry, Gwendolyn,” he said at long last, willing himself steady, hoping he sounded as earnest as he felt. “For what happened. For what I did. Truly.”

She looked stricken by his apology, her eyes growing wide. Her face soon fell, as did her gaze. He knew it was impossible to expect her forgiveness so soon. To expect her forgiveness ever. It had eased him in ways he couldn’t express when he found out she wished to see him. When he discovered she wasn’t terrified of him as he’d expected. He’d wanted to show her his home. Had wanted to share this part of himself with her. Now he waited for her recoil. For her dismissal.

“So am I,” she breathed with a heaviness that caught him off guard, as if she were overwhelmed. “I’m glad you’re okay.”

Sirus was racked by the tenderness in her voice. The genuineness with which she said it cut at him like a thousand knives. The others were glad he’d not died, but it was Gwendolyn who’d sacrificed a part of herself to save him. It was her blood that pulsed in his veins. Her magick, her essence, that had called to him in the darkness. He didn’t know what she could feel the need to apologize for, but he didn’t question her. He was too unnerved to pry. After all she’d witnessed of him, after all he’d done to her, after all the pain he’d caused, she was glad he was alive.

The emotions that swirled within him were frustrating and unfamiliar. He knew he shouldn’t entertain any of them, but all Sirus could focus on in that moment was how much he wanted to be near her. There was still so much to tell her, but there was time, and he did not want to stress her more than he already had.

“There’s a place in the forest,” he started, his heart pounding far faster than normal. “I would like to show it to you. If you’re up for a walk?”

Gwendolyn looked up at him with a touch of surprise. He tried not to focus on the way her lips parted just so. A sly smirk suddenly spread over them, a mischievous twinkle in her shimmering eyes. His body tensed in response.

“It’s not a fountain, is it?” she prodded him in jest.

His pulse quickened at how quickly she’d shifted back to comfort and familiarity. Before he even knew what he was saying, Sirus replied with an uncharacteristic touch of devilry, “You’ll just have to see, won’t you?”

Her eyes widened at his retort, then narrowed suspiciously, that little crinkle forming over her nose, tempting him with a raw urge to smile for the second time that morning.

The forest was nothing less than magickal.

Every tree, rock, and blade of withering grass seemed to sing as Sirus led Gwen across the leaf-strewn lawn to the edge of the woods. She ran her fingers along the trunk of a tree that was still clutching onto its last remaining leaves. From her room, all she’d seen were scraggly branches devoid of life and coated in a cloudy gray mist. Now, it was bright and airy and buzzing with energy. The ground was blanketed with gold and red from the fallen leaves, the crisp breeze more of a comfort than something to brace against.

“Snow will fall soon,” Sirus told her when he caught her glancing up at the smattering of clouds.

Gwen imagined the forest was even more beautiful covered in fresh, powdery snow. She grazed the needles of a fluffy evergreen. “It’s beautiful,” she exhaled. The first words she’d spoken since they stepped outside.

He looked out amongst the trees, and her chest fluttered. His profile was captivating against the rising pink hues of the early morning light. “I spend much of my time in the forest.”

“I can’t blame you,” Gwen replied, willing her voice steady after it cracked at the start.

“Beyond the warding spells, the forest is ensconced in perpetual mist,” he told her before turning back to his path.

“The castle is protected by magick, right? Levian told me no one can get in from the outside.”

“If outsiders grow too close, they will become lost in the mist,” he confirmed. “Only a vampire of our clan can guide another through the barrier. Not even transport magicks will work within. Most magicks don’t act as they usually would either.” Now that he mentioned it, Gwen vaguely remembered Levian lamenting the dampening of magick inside Volkov. Last night, the mage had come to her room carrying a bag full of stuff she’d not been able to conjure.

Gwen followed as he continued deeper into the thick trees. She could only assume he looked even more beautiful amongst the trees in the moonlight. Sirus slowed until he walked in stride with her, his demeanor even more relaxed out here in the forest. As if he were entirely in his element. Gwen rubbed her fingers against her elbow, as the memory of his touch made her skin tingle.

She’d sensed his sadness over the loss of his family. It had torn at her heart, seeing him express a glimmer of something beyond the icy indifference he showed to the world. The way he’d expressed his sympathy toward the loss of her mother and Abigail’s inability to help her had startled her so thoroughly, she still wasn’t entirely sure what to make of it. She never talked about her mother with anyone. When she realized what she’d said, combined with his touch, the moment had simply overwhelmed her.

They walked in silence for a long while, and she tried to enjoy the moment. The ease with which he fell in stride beside her. The way his feet moved amongst the brush, as if he were more animal than person. She found herself nearly mesmerized by his steps.

“What is it?” he pressed her.

Gwen buried her face in her rustling hair, hoping that her cheeks were already pink from the crisp bite of fall that fogged her breath. Of course he’d caught her staring at his feet. “How do you do that?” she asked him, genuinely curious. “Move so quietly? Like you’re—” an animal. It sounded bad in her head, so she was reluctant to say it out loud.

He clasped his hands at his back, once more stretching his shirt over his muscled chest. He looked at her, not even bothering to watch his path forward. Even when he wasn’t paying attention, he moved with grace and skill.

“Years of practice,” he offered, his voice cool.

Gwen smiled softly over at him. She was beginning to tell the difference between his frosty tones. This one had been to placate, and possibly poke fun. “You know, you could actually give me an answer,” she pointed out.

“Didn’t I?” he replied.

She rolled her eyes. He clearly knew what she’d meant, but she explained anyway. “That first night in London, I asked you all sorts of questions, and you gave me the same nonanswers.” When she’d asked how old he was, he’d replied very. When she’d asked how he drank blood without fangs, he’d told her they managed. On and on. Though now she knew why he didn’t need fangs. A little skitter of cold sweat spread up her back at the memory.

“I take it that’s also a skill that comes with practice?” she posed, keeping her voice light. “Answering and not answering at the same time.”

“It is,” he admitted. “Though I was also taken aback by the questions.”

It was her turn to cock a brow then. “You were taken aback?” He hadn’t seemed uncomfortable at all. In fact, he’d seemed entirely aloof and cold.

“Very few people have the gumption to ask a vampire how old he is.”

She laughed, not sure if he was serious or if he just had the driest sense of humor in the world. Even if he’d not meant it to be funny, she laughed at the cold delivery. His eyes fell to her mouth for a moment, then shifted back to his path. She smirked. “You didn’t tell me that either,” she reminded him. “How old you are.”

“I suppose I didn’t,” he replied. And that was that.

Gwen rolled her eyes again, her cheeks slightly aching from her smile. He really could be an ass when he wanted to be, and she found she was starting to like that fact more than hate it.

As they made their way further into the forest, her skin began to tingle with awareness. The leaves rustled at her feet and in the trees, and she couldn’t help but feel they were speaking to one another. “What is that?” she asked, not knowing how to explain. “The—trees?”

“You can hear them?”

Hear wasn’t quite right. She shrugged. “Can you?”

“In a sense,” he admitted. “It’s more of an understanding.”

Weirdly, Gwen knew what he meant. It had been the same with the whispers of magick in that horrible place with the mirrors. She’d not understood their language, but she’d understood their intention. She felt something similar here in the forest, only it was vastly more comforting. Much like the old stones of Volkov, only here the magick was awake.

“What do you hear?” he asked, taking her in.

Gwen stopped and tried to focus, to make sense of it all. “I don’t know what they’re saying, but—” The forest seemed to almost be welcoming her. Encouraging her onward. “I think it wants us to keep going.”

She couldn’t quite make out the look in his eyes, but something did flash in them before he turned back to his path. A flutter of butterflies spread through her chest, and Gwen struggled to will them away.

“There are places throughout the world where the magick is naturally more potent,” he explained. “This is one such place. It is why the faerie chose this location to build his home.”

Gwen could feel it. Like the magick twisted and slipped along the breeze. Seeped into her skin, her hair, her lungs. She’d felt strange since she woke. Like her body was aware of something it couldn’t quite define. It was this place she recognized—the magick.

An amusing thought popped into her head, and Gwen couldn’t help her soft laugh. Sirus glanced over at her expectantly. “It’s just, after all that talk from you and Niah about how dark and deadly vampires were”—Gwen couldn’t help her sharp smirk—“I never thought this is where you would live. In an enchanted forest. It’s pretty Snow White.”

“Our clan was fortunate,” he replied after a moment, “to be given such a place. Though I can confirm there are no dwarves in residence.”

Gwen’s heart swelled, and she chuckled, surprised he got her reference at all. “I’m surprised the faeries let you keep it if it’s so rare,” she quipped.

It was faint. If she hadn’t been watching him closely she would have missed it, but the tiniest fraction of a smile teased at the corner of Sirus’s lips. Gwen nearly stopped dead in her tracks.

“They didn’t,” he said darkly, not elaborating.

He led her around a bend of wide fir trees while she tried to decide whether or not she’d seen what she thought she’d seen. A smile from Sirus seemed impossible.

She stopped short when they came past the trees. A pond the size of a backyard pool lay nestled against a group of large boulders and rocks just ahead of them, soft tendrils of steam lifting from its surface into the breeze.

“It’s not quite a fountain,” he said.

Gwen blinked back her surprise. “A hot spring?” she chimed, coming to stand closer. The heat wafting through the air sent her chilled skin skittering with the stark difference of temperature.

Sirus sauntered to the edge of the water and crouched down next to a collection of rocks. He pulled up the sleeve of his shirt, revealing more elaborate swirls of tattoos, and dipped his hand beneath the surface. “The waters are healing.”

Gwen mirrored him on the other side, sliding her fingers beneath the surface. It was lusciously warm and made the tips of her fingers feel soothed and tingly. She dipped her hand further. Over the red line on her palm. The tingle of magick tickled over the remnant of the wound.

“It will help you heal,” he added. “You may soak if you wish.”

Suddenly, her mouth went dry and her eyes wide. Gwen yanked her hand from the water and rubbed it on her pants. “Maybe some other time,” she stammered awkwardly.

“Any time you like,” he offered, eyeing her strangely after her sharp reaction. “The forest will show you the way if you ask it.”

It hit her that he probably hadn’t meant she could soak now. A wave of embarrassment flooded her cheeks. “Th-thanks,” she managed. Her eyes lingered on his arm and the swirls of black symbols left exposed. “Do all of you have those?” she asked. She couldn’t remember seeing any tattoos on Niah.

Sirus stood from his crouch and looked down at his arm. “No. They are gifts from Rath, given to every new leader of our clan. They are ancient magick from the Shadow Dark. They offer protections against lethal magicks.”

Gwen shifted to sit on the edge of a rock, brushing her fingers over the warm waters. “So Niah doesn’t have any?”

“The process is—extensive. To endure it is a rite of passage to prove you are worthy of leading.”

Her stomach churned. She could only imagine how horrible it must’ve been if it was used as a test of strength to lead a clan of immortal killer vampires. Nerves once again rose, along with a burn in her throat. She’d seen the tattoos spread over his bare chest when she’d leered at him through the window, watching him and Barith fight in the back garden in London, but that’s not what came to mind now. Instead, she thought of the tattoos she’d seen around the gaping wound Aldor had left. The ones smeared underneath all his blood. Her eyes drifted down to that spot at his stomach.

Gwen wanted to keep enjoying this, the forest, the fresh air, him. She wanted to pretend like things were fine and the clawing guilt wasn’t squirming in her chest like a gnawing, vicious parasite. She looked down to the steaming water and wondered if he’d soaked in the healing spring after that night with the mirrors. Gwen couldn’t get over how beautiful he looked. How healthy he was. That, at least, brought her a little comfort…a little.

She took in a deep breath, her nerves cascading in great waves, and let it out slowly. “Sirus,” she started. She’d tried to tell him back at the castle, but she’d been so startled by his confessions about his family, she’d lost her nerve. “I have something I need to tell you.”

She just had to say it. Even if he’d hate her after. She didn’t want him to hate her. Gwen closed her eyes, and all she saw was an image of him sprawled and bleeding and dying.

“It’s my fault,” she blurted, followed by a rasped breath. “It’s my fault you got pulled into that mirror. That—that you almost died.” She opened her eyes but kept them glued to the water. She couldn’t look at him. “I came back. I did something—” she went on, her voice cracking. Gwen looked down at the pink lines over her palms, then balled them into fists until her knuckles hurt. “When he took me the first time, you didn’t come with me. I don’t know how I did it; I just blinked, and I was standing there again, back in front of the mirror, back in the library. It’s my fault. I?—”

“Stop.”

Gwen flinched at his sharp command. Her heart thrummed, so loud he could probably hear it too. The forest rustled in the silence that stretched. Her stomach fell as her throat tightened with emotions. She tilted her head up, daring to look at him. He stood with his arms casually crossed over his chest, his black hair jostling in the gentle breeze.

“I tried to follow you,” he said at last. “And I failed.”

She shook her head, remembering the look on his face when he’d slammed into that barrier between them. A memory he didn’t have—couldn’t have. Gwen swallowed her emotions. “Sirus,” she breathed, pained by how poorly she was explaining this. “You almost died.” He had died. She still didn’t know how he’d come back, how her blood could have saved him when her own body was so weak. The wound beneath her sleeve was still raw and healing. And he looked—perfect.

The trees stirred, and the leaves whipped at her feet. Sirus’s boots suddenly fell into her line of sight. “It’s not the first time,” he told her.

Gwen scowled in frustration, then slowly raised her head to look at him. Tears threatened, and she willed them away. She wouldn’t cry. She wouldn’t let him play this off either. “But I almost got you killed this time,” she reminded him, her voice cracking. “Don’t pretend like it was nothing. That it wasn’t my?—”

“I am not afraid of death, Gwendolyn,” he pronounced with such force she shivered.

She tried to swallow and couldn’t. Her throat was too tight. He didn’t understand. She jumped up and shifted away from him, though she could feel the heat of his lingering gaze on her back as she did. “I forced you,” she declared when her voice returned. “I know what I did, that it wasn’t what you wanted. Rath told us to leave you alone, but I—I was selfish.” Her throat clenched tightly again, and it took her a moment before she could continue. “I just didn’t want you to die. I promised you’d be okay. I’m the reason all that horrible stuff happened to you.” The weight of it all smashed into her, so heavy it robbed her of breath. She’d never been so scared in her life. She’d never been so desperate either. She wanted to tell him that. She wanted him to understand how she felt…but the words wouldn’t come.

“You forced nothing,” he told her, his voice hard with certainty. “I would have followed you every time.”

Gwen took in a shallow breath. “But I forced you to drink.”

“No, Gwendolyn,” he growled. She sucked in a startled gasp at the harshness in his voice and spun to face him. His eyes were cold, his face set in hard lines. It was the tension in his jaw that told her he was angry, but she didn’t think he was angry at her. He shifted back on his heel and took his time before continuing, “I’d not fed in a long time. I took what you offered. Then I took more.” The last words were ice.

He clearly felt terrible for what he’d done to her, but she didn’t care about the blood or the bite. She would have done it a thousand times over if it would have saved him. Gwen stepped closer to him.

“Sirus, I didn’t care—” she started, but he raised his hand to stop her.

“I would have taken more.” The darkness laced in his words made her skin skitter with tendrils of chill. “Much more.”

She didn’t believe him. As caught up in the moment as she’d been, Gwen had known he wouldn’t truly hurt her. And she’d been right. He was the one who had stopped himself.

The wind whipped loose strands of hair around her face, and she tucked them back behind her ears. “I wanted you to have it,” she made clear, and she meant it from the bottom of her heart.

He tensed at her words but said nothing.

Silence spanned between them once more, and they both just watched each other.

Gwen knew she hadn’t done this right, but she felt oddly settled now that it was all out there between them. They’d both said their apologies. They both had regrets. She knew they could argue about it back and forth for eternity, but she didn’t have the energy or desire to argue with him. Not now.

A needling pricked over her skin as the silence lingered. He was only an arm’s reach away. She wanted to close the gap between them. To see how he would react. She let out a stuttered breath of tension, and his eyes fell to her lips. It sent a rush of awareness through her…a rush of awareness and confusion. She kept catching him staring at her, and he’d dropped his gaze to her mouth more than once.

“Why did you kiss me?” she asked him, the question spilling out before she could stop herself.

His eyes shot up to hers, and the tendons in his neck tightened. “Why did you kiss me?” he countered.

Gwen’s cheeks flushed. She had kissed him first. Her skin grew hot at the memory. Why had she kissed him? There were so many reasons why, she struggled to remember them all. She’d kissed him because he’d smelled so damned good it had fogged her brain. Because he’d been so close she’d felt the heat of his breath on her face. Because she was an insane person who apparently found his whole vampire stare-growl combo a turn-on. Because she’d simply wanted to.

“I was upset,” she said instead, too chicken to tell him any of those things. “I got caught up.”

His gaze was cool and unreadable. Gwen’s cheeks flamed, and she tensed under his scrutiny. She could tell he didn’t believe her. She might have kissed him first, but he’d been the one who’d cornered her. Who’d set her skin burning with his wicked words. Who’d set a fire roaring inside her under his dark kisses. Then he’d left her, panting and disoriented like she were nothing more than a toy to be discarded at will.

The sting of his rejection washed over her anew and pricked at a soft spot inside her. A spot that sent her hackles rising around her like a dense steel wall. There’d been a threat of something in that touch, something she didn’t know what to do with. There’d been a threat in his kiss too. She wanted to ask him why he’d left her. Wanted to know what about her had made him turn and leave. She knew there was no way in hell she would ever ask him.

“It was a mistake,” she bit out, more defensive than she’d intended. It hadn’t been a mistake; it’d been jarring and glorious, but what was the point in telling him that? Maybe he’d merely gotten caught up in the moment too and had regretted it the second he pulled away.

Sirus’s cold expression was schooled and unreadable. “I apologize,” he offered after a few moments, “for my behavior that night.”

The confirmation stung like a slap in the face, and Gwen’s stomach bottomed out. So he did regret it. Gwen had known from the start that desiring him was silly. Even if he did care about her safety and well-being, that didn’t mean he wanted her. She’d basically thrown herself at him that night in the garden, and it wasn’t like she was great at picking up signals. He’d merely taken advantage of the opportunity she’d presented, and now he was apologizing for it. She suddenly felt nauseous and overwhelmed with embarrassment. God, she really was pathetic.

“It doesn’t matter,” she told him, trying to sound aloof and indifferent about the whole thing.

The way he looked at her, so chilled, made her insides twist, and Gwen had to fight the urge to run away from him. “Thanks for showing me the spring,” she blurted, far too loud and fast. “But I think I’m going to head back. I’m getting tired.”

He nodded, those lines in his jaw tensing. “Come. I can?—”

“It’s okay,” she cut him off, already heading for the trees. “I can find my way.” She shifted past him toward the path that led back to the castle, trying not to notice the smell of him or how he tilted to watch her. Her chest grew heavy with each hurried step. He didn’t follow her, and she was grateful.

“No more,” she declared to herself once she was far enough away. Gwen was frustrated she’d even brought up the kiss. She’d already known he wasn’t really interested in her. The very idea was ridiculous. He was a vampire, and she was just…well, her.

His apology replayed in her head, and Gwen groaned with a fresh wash of consuming embarrassment. Their embrace had been nothing more to him than a lapse in judgment. A sudden, sharp pang of disappointment stabbed her insides. He didn’t want her. Luckily, she didn’t have too much time to think about it more, as Levian found her a moment later and flew into a fit at finding her out of bed. Gwen had never been happier to be yelled at in her life.