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

Chapter 15

Sirus swirled his scotch as he sat before the fire, his dark mood growing blacker with each passing minute. The clock had struck four in the morning some minutes ago.

This was the first night he’d left Gwendolyn to sleep in peace. He held her for several hours, until he knew she was resting deeply. Then he’d slipped away without a sound.

Sirus had felt a shift when he’d come to her. Had felt tension in her tonight he’d not felt before. He leaned his head back against his chair, closing his eyes. His desire for Gwendolyn was consuming. His need to be near her. To hold her. But he’d needed to clear his head.

His conversation with Niah haunted him. His own feelings haunted him. He downed his drink and stared into the fire. Twilight was settling over the forest, the snow now light and dusting compared to the deluge of flurries earlier in the day.

Sirus sensed Rath approach before he entered. “May I come in?” the gūl asked, as he always did.

Sirus nodded and motioned to the chair across from him. Rath took the seat. The leather creaked under his size and weight, but it held him steadfast. The gūl crossed one leg over the other and straightened a wrinkle in his pants. He did not speak for several minutes.

“Speak your mind,” Sirus half growled when he grew too impatient. That impatience alone was enough to verify his foul mood, though he assumed Rath already knew of it. He imagined that was why he was here in the first place.

Rath eyed him sharply. “Do you love her?”

The words cut like sharp blades. Sirus said nothing, just clenched his jaw tightly, grinding his molars. Silence lingered again, heavy and suffocating.

Sirus looked into the fire. “She deserves more.” It was all he could say. It was enough.

“Perhaps she does,” Rath replied.

It stung, and his eyes darted to Rath’s. The gūl’s expression was flat and unreadable, but his eyes bored into his like two arrowheads. “She is a wonder, to be sure, but she is still a woman, Sirus. And, despite what you may believe of yourself, under it all, you are still a man.”

Sirus let those words wash over him. The glimmer of hope they alluded to. He buried it in an instant. “She is young,” he replied with a chill that felt harsh even to his own ears. “She will recover. She will not regret leaving this place.” Leaving him. “She will make a new life. Find happiness. Bear children.”

“Ah,” Rath said, and it sent his hackles rising.

When Sirus glared at him, the gūl had the audacity to smirk, those white teeth glimmering in the dim light against his dark skin. It made Sirus want to rise up and strike him. Rath seemed to recognize the urge, as his smirk turned strained.

“I have lived amongst the clan since almost the beginning,” he said, his tone devoid of emotion, even if his expression was amused. “I have seen everything there is to see. You think you are the first to feel the way you do?”

Sirus stood then, his instincts surging to strike, slash, and fight. Instead, he stalked over to the table and poured himself another half glass of scotch. “I do not care what you’ve seen,” he replied darkly, downing his glass in one long gulp. The liquid burned pleasantly as it passed down his throat and sloshed in his empty stomach. “It does not matter.”

“Doesn’t it?” Rath countered.

Sirus refilled his glass. “No.” He downed that one even faster.

Rath stood then, the chair creaking again under his movements. Sirus did not turn to face him. “In the beginning, you were hunted like dogs,” he said. “After the clans were forged, it was only about surviving, continuing, finding your place. You may not know it, but it all happened faster than you would think. The D?kk were gone, but fighters were always in need. Warriors to do the bidding of the Folk under the cover of darkness. So it was for centuries.”

There was a pause, and Sirus could feel him holding back his next words. It was not like Rath to be unsure of himself, so Sirus turned. The gūl stood before his chair, his gaze fixed out the window.

“I am not of your kind. I do not feel as you do, but I’ve watched over you all as if you were my children for over a thousand years. I have watched you be reborn. I have watched you die. I have given your bodies to fire and buried the ashes in this forest. Each of you came to this place because you chose it, and not one of you ever regretted it.

“It is strange,” Rath mused, almost with a touch of humor. “When you live so long, it is easy to forget about the hunger for life. One can grow comfortable with what has been, can assume it will always be. Mortals live differently. They feel more passionately because they do not have the luxury of time.” Those sharp crimson eyes found his.

“You have lived the same way for centuries, Sirus. You have lived your life of blood and death and darkness for so long that you believe there is nothing else. I have seen how you have changed. I know how much you desire what she offers you. You have always desired it. No, you could never give her children, but that is not a woman’s only reason to live.”

Sirus pounded his fist against the sideboard, sending the bottles clanking loudly. “Do not dare assume what she would want.”

Rath took him in. “You are right, Sirus. I cannot speak for her. Neither can you.”

It cut. Like shards of glass digging into his flesh. Gwendolyn was her own woman, and he would never know unless he asked her directly. But it was impossible. Sirus knew she would never choose him over the Eden of the Veil and the promises it held once she’d been there and seen it.

She was a wonder and a gift, and he would cherish her always, but he could not keep her. She could not be his.

“I have known true darkness,” Rath continued. The words came from a depth that made the shadows around the room skitter. “There’s a difference between those consumed by it and those who master its gifts.”

The gūl straightened himself to his full height. The fire flickered in the hearth, and the room grew dark as he pulled in the darkness so that only his crimson eyes glowed in the faint light. To any other, the display would have been horrifying. Even Sirus felt a chill of visceral unease.

“Perhaps she does deserve more,” Rath added. “But do you not owe her the opportunity to give voice to her desires? Do you not owe it to her to do the same?”

No. He deserved nothing, but he wanted so much. Much more than he could ever ask of her.

Rath read his expression as if he’d said the thoughts aloud. The shadows fell away in an instant, flooding the room with the soft orange glow of the fire once more. Where there was once tension, Sirus sensed something far too close to sadness in the gūl’s expression.

“I have never known you to fear anything, Sirus,” he added. “If you let her leave without giving voice to your heart, you will have welcomed fear in love’s place. Gwendolyn does deserve everything she desires, but there is a difference between what you cannot give her and what you choose not to.”

Rath left him then and Sirus could do nothing but swallow the lump that had lodged itself firmly in his throat.

Do you love her?

Sirus remembered Gwendolyn’s face pressed against his neck as she’d slept in his arms. He did love her. With every fiber of himself. He had no doubt of it. But Rath was right—fear crept through him like a virus.

He pulled the darkness around him and savored the chill it spread through his bones. He was a monster. And a coward.

Sirus had left her not even an hour ago, and already he ached to be near her again. To hold her, to breathe in her soft scent.

Niah and Rath were right.

Perhaps he was a fool, but Sirus refused to be a coward. He wanted to tell Gwendolyn how he felt. Wanted to ask her to stay here with him. Wanted to hope she might desire to.

Sirus tore across his room, not sure what he would say or do when he got to her, only knowing he must do it. His heart pounded with anticipation.

He made it as far as her door before he stilled. The cold brace of reality slammed into him, staying his movements as a wrinkle of awareness slithered through his body. He turned to the east, sensing something skirt the edge of the forest. A presence. Power.

Sirus knew to whom it belonged. He backed away from her door slowly and let out a long, slow breath, focusing on chilling his heated blood. His icy heart sank.

For weeks they’d waited, and it was this moment she chose to come. Without word or notice, Iathana had finally arrived. The dryad had come at last.

Iathana sat wrapped in a thick gray cloak on the edge of a fallen evergreen. Her dark brown fae skin shimmered against the moonlight and the soft falling snow.

She could sense Sirus long before he appeared, just as he’d been able to feel the stirring of her power as he’d stepped into the forest.

He’d not expected the dryads to come without notice. He’d not expected Iathana to come herself. It was rare for her to venture beyond the Veil.

They’d only met once before, during Merlin’s fall and subsequent imprisonment. She’d only bothered to get involved because Merlin had deigned to harm her own kin.

“The forest is restless,” Iathana observed in that rich, silken voice he remembered. Her eyes shot open beneath the cover of her hood, revealing vibrant golden irises. “As are you, vampire.”

The trees stirred under the presence of her magicks. Like the tide of an ocean, it pushed and pulled with her. Of course he was restless. Anyone would be under such scrutiny.

He edged toward her slowly, stepping into the clearing until he, too, was bathed in moonlight. “Why now?” he demanded.

The dryad’s eyes flared. Their power cascaded over him, sending a shiver up his back.

“Do you no longer require my aid?” she asked.

Sirus narrowed his gaze. He was already agitated by this exchange, and her question only bothered him more. Impatience wouldn’t serve him or his purpose. He should be grateful she’d come herself.

The faerie lifted the corner of her lip in the slightest whisper of a smile before her eyes drifted up to the trees, as if they’d said something of interest, then back down to him.

“For centuries, your clansmen have lived in this forest,” she went on, delicately caressing the green needles of a branch within reach. “For centuries, it has watched over your kin. You are the wolf.” She rose and stepped closer, keeping her eyes on the trees. “The wolf of shadows.”

Iathana stopped just at the edge of the warding spells that rested unseen between them, the haze of perpetual mist lingering behind her. She ran a slender finger along the edge of the spell. In response, a glimmer cascaded through the air.

She didn’t need to display the breadths of her magick for him. He’d witnessed them when she’d taken on Merlin. This was her subtle way of reminding him.

“When your kind were unleashed on the world, I hunted you,” she declared without any touch of feeling. “I believed vampires to be twisted abominations of your human forms. A dark plague of rabid animals to be culled.”

Her words did not stir Sirus. He’d known as much already. Though how many vampires she’d slain, he didn’t know for sure.

Iathana let her gaze fall upon him once more. He could read nothing in her eyes but power.

“It was the forest that convinced me otherwise.” The magick of the trees stirred around him, as if to confirm her words. “You are creatures forged from death, but even you have your place, vampire. You’re woven into the fabric of creation as we all are.”

It was a lovely sentiment, but it held no value. Vampires would soon be nothing more than a distant nightmare relegated to lore.

“Our fate is written,” Sirus replied.

Iathana stared deep into his eyes, and he willed himself not to look away.

“You believe you deserve the same fate as your makers?” she asked.

Her question reminded him too much of something Rath had once said, something that edged too close to hope. Sirus didn’t reply. His silence was answer enough.

She stepped back and looked to the forest as it rustled under a gust of wind. Her cloak shielded her mouth, but Sirus sensed she was communing with the trees.

“Time will tell,” she replied.

Sirus clenched his jaw. He had no interest in her musings over the fate of his kind.

Iathana seemed to sense this, as she said a moment later, “Nestra and the zephyrs are beneath my concern, but I will take the woman to the Veil if it is what she desires.”

Despair rippled through him instead of the relief he’d anticipated. The taste of Gwendolyn lingered on his tongue. The memory of their bodies entwined. Bitterness rose within him. “What was the purpose of your delay?” he pressed. If Iathana had merely come at the beginning and taken her away?—

“Do you fear you cannot protect her, wolf?” she asked in return. “Or is your fear rooted elsewhere?”

With precision, she struck him right at his center—a jolt of raw anger seared through his bones. Iathana didn’t shift in the slightest when the shadow slipped around him. She merely turned to look at him as if he were no more than a pitiful child.

Fear.

Before Gwendolyn, Sirus had known little fear. Yet it was fear that crept over him now like a suffocating vine.

He’d feared his hunger and his ability to control himself around her.

He’d feared how trusting she’d been of him.

He’d feared how willing she’d been to save him.

He’d feared her affection.

Now he feared he would never see her again.

He’d caused Gwendolyn so much pain and grief. All because he’d been weak. It wasn’t Iathana’s delay that had led them to this place.

“Fetch her,” she ordered, breaking his trance. She turned to sit on the edge of the tree where he’d found her. “I will wait.”

Sirus’s walk back to the castle was like an eternity that spanned an instant. As he stood before the great doors of Volkov, he paused. Gwendolyn hadn’t cowered at the sight of his war-torn flesh. She hadn’t feared his touch. She’d trusted him. Had faith in him.

The weight of her trust was heavy on his shoulders as he debated. Sirus knew he should not choose for her. His darkest desire was for her to stay, but no matter what he wished, Sirus knew Gwendolyn deserved more than he could give. She was only beginning her life. If she rebuffed Iathana’s invitation, he was not certain she would ever get the chance to enter the Veil again.

A familiar ice began to fill his heart as he entered the castle. Even if Gwendolyn desired to stay, Sirus was sure she would regret it in time. No matter how much he wished to hold her again; to feel the warmth of her bare skin against his own; to kiss her; to breathe the soft scent of lilies deep into his lungs. Her light did not belong here in this castle of ghosts and shadows.

She would always deserve more than a monster.