Chapter 8
She was in trouble.
Deep, deep trouble.
Gwen’s heart thrummed against her ribs like she’d guzzled a gallon of energy shots. He’d actually done it. She didn’t think he was going to, but he had…
And now she had no fucking clue where he was.
The spring was weirdly deep in the center and dark from the rocks. She could see a form moving beneath the ripples he’d caused, like a sea monster lurking beneath the tide. That little shiver of chill had skittered up her spine just before he dove below the surface, the one that made her feel like he was the predator and she the prey. Fear probably would have been the proper response. Or at least nervousness. Instead, her whole body felt electric with anticipation.
He popped up only a few feet away from her, and it was one of the most beautiful things she’d ever witnessed, the water running down his face and beard, the way his silver-blue eyes contrasted with his olive skin and the dark depths of the water and stone. He flicked his head to send his wet hair back out of his face, and she could do nothing but blink. What she wouldn’t give to run her hands through that hair. Her fingers tensed as she pressed them against the stone seat beneath the water at her sides.
Gwen could see the swirls of black tattoos, the hint of his black chest hair, and the contrast of several scars. So many scars. It’d stolen her breath when he removed his shirt. Sirus was muscled, cut like a Greek statue, but nearly every inch of him was covered in some long, short, or deep line. The one over his stomach seemed the freshest, though it was hardly the largest. Gwen swallowed thinking about it, her body quaking slightly.
She’d been brazen enough to ask him to come in, but it seemed her nerves were getting the better of her now that he was here. That harpy of insecurity whispered in her ear. He doesn’t want you to touch him. He just came in because you told him he could. He was here because he’d wanted to soak, not because he’d wanted to see you.
Conversation. She should say something. Words. Words would be good. She couldn’t remember any.
“Blocking,” she blurted.
Sirus tilted his head, finding purchase on a stone beneath him. “Blocking,” he repeated.
Gwen wanted to sink under the water. “I need to get better at it,” she fumbled, horrified at herself. Of all the things she could have said.
He looked pensive for a moment, then nodded. “I agree.”
She scowled. “Well, thanks.”
Sirus shifted closer to the shore. “Come here.”
Her body tingled at the demand. Slowly, she shifted to the edge of her seat. “Why?”
He pointed to a spot some feet away from him. “Stand there.” Hesitantly, she did as he asked, until she was standing on a rock, the water up to her collarbone. “Get into position,” he told her.
“Here?” This was not how she’d hoped this would go, but she should have expected it. She wasn’t exactly a skilled seductress. At best, she was a D minus.
He nodded. With a grumble, she did as he asked, raising her hand as if she were holding her sword. She deserved this, honestly. Blocking. Of all the things she could have said. What the hell was wrong with her?
“Your elbow is too far out, and your stance is unbalanced,” he critiqued.
“I am standing on a bunch of wet stones, up to my neck in water,” she retorted.
He came closer, and her whole body fluttered. Sirus reached beneath the water and pulled her elbow in closer. “Enemies will try to throw you off balance whenever they get the chance,” he told her, sliding behind her.
“Do you often get attacked in hot springs?” she mocked, though it came out far too breathless with him so close. Gwen tried to steady her nerves. Sirus was being Sirus. There was nothing to read into. Nothing?—
His fingers grazed her waist, and it sent a shock vibrating through her. He shifted her torso to tilt more inward in her stance. “Not often,” he admitted, his own voice low and close to her ear.
Gwen swallowed, dropping her stance. It took him a second longer to drop his hands from her. It sent a thrill pulsing through her, and she slowly turned to face him. Those blue eyes looked down into hers.
For a second, they stood there. For a second, she thought he might kiss her. “You asked me once how we become vampire. Do you still wish to know?” he asked instead. His tone was cool. Casual.
She was confused by the sudden change in topic but had no doubt of her answer. She wanted to know everything about him. Even this. A lump of nerves lodged in her throat. “Yes,” she replied with a small nod.
His gaze didn’t waver or flinch when he began, “We are collected during war. Even the greatest warriors fall when the odds and Fates are against them. We’re the most likely to survive the transition. Even as humans, all we know is death and blood.”
Gwen blanched slightly, her throat tightening at the images his words brought to mind. A bloodied field full of fallen bodies. Sirus lying amongst them, covered in gore. A flash of him that night of the mirrors pushed its way forward.
He continued, “Each vampire, when they reach the age of siring, will spend time as a Collector. It is how we filled our ranks and kept the clans alive. The elders would find the most impressive warriors dying on battlefields and carry them away. To a barn or a patch of wood, or anywhere hidden.”
He paused for a moment, and her body chilled, even against the heat of the water. Gwen couldn’t look away from him. His eyes were frigid, but she saw pain in them when he looked past her shoulder and became lost in the darkness of memory. “We are roused in our dying moments. Asked if we wish to live. If we wish to become immortal.” He swallowed, and she held her breath. “We must be capable enough to consent. To at least nod our agreement.”
Her chest grew so tight it ached. That night of the mirrors, as he lay on the floor bleeding to death, he’d been so calm. So at peace. It had terrified her. To imagine Sirus afraid and dying. So afraid, he’d been willing to do anything in order to live. It made her stomach turn on itself.
“Those who agree are fed the blood of an elder,” he went on. “That is when the transition begins.”
Gwen let out a long breath. His cool gaze remained locked on the place beyond her, somewhere far away. “It burns everything. The magick consumes everything we were until it is nothing but ash. When only the last fragments of our human consciousness remain, when the pain becomes unbearable…only then are we given a final choice.” His eyes found hers once more. “To fall into the dark and be free—or heed the call and forge further into the pain.”
That shiver ran up her spine, and she shuddered. Sirus had chosen that pain over death. He had chosen to be what he was. He’d chosen to be vampire.
“I was a warrior,” he explained. “In a Persian army. At least, that’s what I was told sometime later. I remember nothing of that life. I chose to forget it.”
Gwen swallowed the lump of emotions that was lodged in her throat. She didn’t look away from him. She didn’t shift or squirm. She wanted to listen…to see. She wanted to absorb the full weight of everything he was telling her.
“I wish you to know what I am, Gwendolyn. How I became what I am. I am the dead reborn not because it was forced upon me, but because I chose this existence. It is why we are hated. Why others fear us and keep their distance. They cannot understand our desire. Unlike other immortal creatures, we’re not born of pure magick, nor are we chosen by the Fates. We are torn from carnage and reborn of death. We choose to be as we are. I chose to be a vampire.”
Gwen cringed as he said it, even though she’d known it was coming. He was telling her again that she was naive for not seeing what everyone else could see. For not running scared every time he came into the room. She struggled to form words as her heart ached.
“Do you regret it?” The question slipped out more easily than she’d anticipated.
His jaw clenched, the way it always did when he was frustrated, but it soon relaxed. “No,” he told her with that unwavering certainty of his. “I do not regret my choice. I never have.”
Gwen looked into his face. She could only guess that he assumed she thought less of him because of it, but the opposite was true. Her heart hurt when she thought of the man he once was, lying dying and broken. When she thought of all that he’d suffered as a mortal.
As she met his eyes, one thing became clear to her. She knew if that man had chosen to become a vampire over death, then his life had not been one of peace. He’d not wanted to die, and it wasn’t simply because he’d feared death. Gwen doubted he’d ever feared death.
It was a selfish thing to think in that moment, but she savored it deep in her mind and heart. Maybe this moment was not predetermined by the Fates or destiny, but she couldn’t help but be grateful for the choice he’d made all those centuries ago. If he hadn’t, she would have never known him, and she knew without a doubt she would have felt that loss forever, even if she’d never entirely understand what piece of her was missing.
She let out a deep, steadying breath, barely registering the hard-falling snow around them. “I don’t know why I wasn’t afraid of you,” she began, the words coming all on their own. “At first, it just didn’t really dawn on me to be. But then everyone kept looking at me weird because I wasn’t. I tried to convince myself that I should be afraid, but it never really happened. Then I thought my dream had somehow kept me from seeing it.”
His gaze didn’t waver. His expression was stoic and unflinching. “I felt it though,” she admitted, a touch embarrassed. “I’d get this tingle over my skin and a chill that ran up my back. I knew you were dangerous, even if I didn’t fully know.” Sirus’s jaw clenched, but she kept on going. She needed to say this. “It wasn’t until that night in the mirrors that I understood exactly what it was.” He nodded, and his eyes broke from her as he turned to look straight ahead. Her heart thumped against her ribs. “The way your eyes turned black…”
Sirus tensed. His whole body went rigid at her words, and she hated them. She hated that he responded this way. Gwen could almost taste the contradiction. It was sour and foul. The magickal world thought him lesser for his choice and what he was, and he believed them. It made her angry. Angry with the world. Angry with him.
“I was never afraid of you, Sirus,” she declared. “Not even after that night.” Her fingers were mindlessly running over that place along her arm where her own scar lay. It was faint now. Only a jagged white line.
His eyes darted down to the water, as if he could see what she was doing. Ice, rigid and cold, fell over him. He shifted. Maybe he wasn’t going to leave, but Gwen couldn’t bear the thought of it. She grabbed his arm to still him. The moment their skin touched, a crackle of energy skittered through her, and she saw a flash of blue.
“I don’t think I could ever be afraid of you,” she breathed.
His brows furrowed, and there was an agony in his expression that was so raw it made her ache. His jaw tightened, and she felt him tense beneath her touch. Gwen couldn’t help it. She reached her fingers up and ran them over the edge of his beard and along his cheek, willing the tension away. When he closed his eyes, there was both a pain and pleasure to it. She ran her fingers over the coarse, short hair along his jaw. When her thumb brushed his lower lip, his eyes shot open. No longer ice, but dark and liquid. A growl rumbled from deep in his chest, and her body flushed from scalp to toe. Her breath hitched. His eyes fell to her lips. The air crackled with electricity.
Gwen had thought it was her, but she knew then it wasn’t. She could feel the need radiating off of him in delicious waves of heat. As if he were a lion on a leash, threatening to be set free. She wanted him free.
She let her hand fall from his face and onto his shoulder, gauging his response. His muscles tensed, but he didn’t move an inch as she slid her hand down over his chest, feeling the muscles and brush of soft hair as she did. He shifted, the movement fluid and quick. Sirus wrapped his arms around her waist to hold her up, his fingers digging into her skin, pulling her closer.
Gwen braced her hands against his chest in surprise. She felt his growl beneath her palms as it reverberated through him and out into the frozen morning air. Her core grew liquid and hot, her skin no longer itching but burning with anticipation.
Sirus dipped lower and pulled her closer so that their faces were equal height, so close she could feel the warmth of his breath on her skin amongst the tendrils of heat rising form the spring. “Are you sure this is what you want?” he asked. His voice was racked. Like a man on the verge of falling into the abyss.
Gwen knew if she told him no he would let her go in an instant. If he let her go now, she might sink below the surface of the spring and never emerge again. She might have said something if she could have. As it was, all she could do was nod.
That’s all it took. He was slow in pulling her into him. Like he was savoring it. He growled again, low and dark. The moment his lips were on hers, it was like the rest of the world ceased to exist. It was fire and electricity. Satisfaction and relief. She wanted more.
Sirus’s whole body burned with a desire he feared could never be sated. He doubted countless lifetimes of tasting Gwendolyn would ever satisfy the bottomless hunger he had for her.
He’d not realized how fully it had consumed him until his lips were on hers. The shock and fire lit him up from the inside out like an explosion. He should be gentle, he knew that in the back of his mind, but he wanted her so badly. He’d never wanted anything as badly as he wanted her.
His fingers dug into her back as he pulled her body flush against his. She was soft and delicate where he was firm and sharp. It was everything. Against his chest, he could feel the slight touch of the fabric around her breasts, and it only made him pull her closer. When she slid her tongue over his lip, it broke him. He opened his mouth to her wicked tongue and groaned at the taste of her—sweet, with a hint of earthy chocolate. Gwendolyn whimpered a soft sound of satisfaction as Sirus’s tongue met hers with force. She did not shy away from him, and it sent a shiver up his spine. Never had he let the whole of himself go in the throes of passion. He’d never felt it safe. He’d never felt it welcome. With Gwendolyn, he wondered.
She wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him closer and matching his hunger with her own. Challenging him silently. Give me everything. I want all of you.
How long their kiss lasted, he had no idea. An eternity, a moment. When she ran her hands through his damp hair, he broke away to spread hot, desperate kisses along her jaw, her neck. Gwendolyn gasped a moan, arching her back into his hands when he raked his teeth over those freckles he loved so much. His cock throbbed, hard and wanting between them. He’d been so desperate to taste that spot again. So desperate to hear those sweet sounds. His chest swelled at knowing he was the cause of those sounds. That he was bringing her pleasure.
Another growl escaped him, dark and urgent. He slid his hands down and pressed his fingers into her perfect round arse, yanking her up to straddle him. She took in a sharp breath of surprise, shoving her hands over his chest between them to steady herself. He held her firm against him, wanting her mouth, her tongue, her hands all over him. He wanted her skin against his. She held her distance for a moment, her eyes heavy-lidded, as if entranced, her mouth hanging open as she tore in harsh breaths, her lips swollen and red from their kisses.
Sirus carried her to the bench she’d been sitting on beneath the water and perched himself there, settling Gwendolyn over his lap. Hunger rioted through him, liquid and hot, as she gazed down at him. He pulled her hips closer, until her sex rubbed against his hard length, only a few little pieces of fabric keeping them apart. He wanted to show her what effect she had on him. She groaned a sweet little sound, her emerald eyes darkening, and ran herself over him. The noise he made was primal and base—not a growl or a moan, but something between. She did it again, teasing him. Teasing herself. It was the sexiest, most consuming thing he’d ever experienced. She did it again.
“Fuck, Gwendolyn,” Sirus breathed pleadingly before he took her mouth in another searing kiss.
For a while, that’s all they were. A tangled form of limbs and tongues and heat. She rubbed against him, and it took everything in him not to tear those scraps of fabric off of her and bury himself inside her with abandon.
He’d thought about it. He’d dreamed about it. He’d pleasured himself countless times imagining this moment and the feel of her clenched, hot sex around him. But Sirus wasn’t focused on his own pleasure in that moment. He’d spent more time imagining her face as she came apart in his arms. What sounds she would make when she found her peak and fell over the edge. He wanted to bring her to that place. He craved it more than a man lost in the desert craved water.
When he pulled away from their kiss, she was panting and flushed and brimming with need, the teasing no longer playful but hot and desperate. Her eyes were heavy, her pupils dilated and dark. He kissed a hot trail down her neck, spending time nibbling on those delicious freckles. She rasped his name, rubbing her sex along his length. He grabbed her hips hard, held them still, and hissed against her flesh. If she kept on, he’d spend himself, and there were more important matters to tend to.
Sirus lifted her light body, pulling her from the warmth of the water so that her chest became flush with his face. Gwendolyn buried her hands in his hair and gasped at his forcefulness, but she didn’t protest. Not one little bit.
His mouth watered seeing the tips of her nipples harden beneath the silk of her bra. He kissed and nibbled around the line of fabric. The moan it elicited from her was so luscious his cock twitched, and he thought he might spend himself just listening to her cries. He wrapped his left arm tighter around her to hold her up, freeing his other to trail over her skin. He ran his finger along the edge of that dark fabric. She shuddered, and his name fell from her lips in a pleading whisper.
His siren desired more. Who was he to deny her?
Through the fabric, Sirus brushed his fingers over the tip of her peaked nipple, watching her face as he did. She groaned, her head falling back with abandon at the threat of what was to come, her fingers digging into his hair and her nails grating along his scalp.
A dark rumble spread through him at the slight touch of pain those nails brought. He pulled the fabric down with a single finger, revealing one perfect breast. For a moment he was motionless, stunned by that perfect mound of sweet, milky flesh. Flesh he’d dreamed of worshipping. He gently kissed the top before palming her, her hard nipple grazing against the rough skin at the center of his palm. Gwendolyn hissed a sharp breath, and shuddered under his touch, arching her back further into his hand, pressing herself harder against him.
Rougher. His siren did not want his gentleness.
Sirus groaned before leaning in to feast hot kisses along her neck. He palmed her roughly, scraped his teeth along the skin of her exposed neck. When she was writhing and panting against his touch, that’s when he dropped his mouth to that perfect swell of flesh. When he took her into his mouth, it was like feasting on a delicacy.
She moaned, and it was like music. A long note of utter, dark pleasure. Her hands fell from his hair and perched on the tops of his shoulders, as if she were lost. Sirus worshipped her with his mouth, sucking and kissing and licking and nipping at each breast until she was whimpering for more. For him to fill the need inside her. For her release.
He held her up still with one arm, feasting on her breasts with hot kisses, while his other hand dipped below the surface of the water. He ran his fingers up her thigh, testing to see if she would want him touching her there. She dug her nails into his shoulder and looked down at him, her eyes wild as they met his. Dark and luscious and hungry.
He slid his fingers up further, and her gaze grew molten. An invitation. A call. More. She wanted more. To be sure he understood, she dipped her body further down so that his hand moved higher up her thigh.
Gods, yes. He would give her more.
Sirus licked her hard, exposed nipple as he ran his thumb over her panties at the place he knew she wanted. The sound she made caused his blood to quicken. He’d never forget that sound. She moved along his touch and whimpered. He could hear it in her little cry. Not enough.
His body tensed, his pulse pounding so hard his heart felt barely contained behind his ribs. Gentle. He knew he should be gentle.
“Sirus,” she groaned, both plea and command. She did not want gentle.
A curse in the old tongue fell from his lips against her skin. He pushed her panties aside, and the moment his fingers touched her sensitive flesh, they both moaned with raw and utter ecstasy. She was swollen and ready. He knew if she weren’t in the spring she’d be drenched. He rubbed his fingers over her again and groaned in tandem with her. He was so hard it hurt.
Sirus took her breast back into his mouth to distract himself from his own need. She moved over his fingers, her hands once more buried in his hair as he pushed her to the edge. When he felt her growing close and a pleading groan fell from her panting lips, he pushed one finger slowly inside her.
Gods, she was so hot and slick. He’d made her that way, and it was a heady, possessive thing to realize. Gwendolyn moaned, throwing her head back, pulling away from him just enough that she broke his mouth’s hold over her breast. When he pushed another finger inside her, all was lost. She worked over him, riding him as he thrust his fingers to the rhythm she set.
She bent to press her lips desperately against his. Her tongue worked in his mouth in feral, hungry strokes, breaking away only to moan and gasp her pleasure. She breathed his name, and he could sense the pain in it. She was so close.
He’d wanted to taste her. To lay her out over the grass at the edge of the spring and feast on her until she couldn’t form a single thought amid her pure and utter ecstasy. But it was cold and snowing, and she was close…and if he laid her out on the shore he wasn’t sure he’d be able to keep himself from her. If she tried to touch him or pull him toward her, he’d give in in an instant.
How any rational thought managed to seep in through the heat of their embrace, he had no idea, but it was there. She wasn’t his. He could give her this. Satisfy her wanting and bring her pleasure, but that didn’t mean he could take his own. She was not a mere dalliance.
He couldn’t have her.
Pain. He felt it hot and visceral as it scorched through him. She was not his.
Sirus kissed her roughly, losing himself to the moment. If he could not have her, he would make this perfect. He scrubbed his beard down her neck before working over one of her breasts. Then the other. Gwendolyn writhed under his touch, her sounds short and lush and dark. He shifted to get a better angle, continuing to work his fingers inside her while his thumb caressed that spot where she desired pressure. She shuddered a gasp when he did, pulling him closer.
“Sirus,” she breathed before she moaned. Close. More.
His thumb worked over her, his own muscles tensing as he sensed her reach the edge. It only took a few strokes of his thumb before her body began to grow rigid with that sweet pain she was so close to relieving. He kissed her, and it was…different.
A jolt spread through him at that kiss. It was short, only a harsh pressing of lips and a small swiping of tongues, but there was something in it. Something gentle and hard all at once. When she broke away, she glanced at him. A flare of magic caressed her emerald eyes, and he shuddered to the depths of his bones. Her breaths turned sharp as their rhythm grew tighter, and she leaned her forehead against his, digging her fingers into his beard. It was so intimate. So overwhelming, he lost himself in that simple moment. When she came apart, she didn’t throw her head back or rock with abandon like he’d imagined. She pressed herself against his body, wrapping her arms around him like she might float away if she didn’t, burying her head in his shoulder. Her entire body tensed, then shuddered violently as she found her edge, her sharp cries of pleasure muffled against his neck, her sex clenching around his fingers. He drew out her pleasure until all the tension faded from her and she fell limp in his arms.
That’s where she lay, panting, sated, and hot. Her cheek nestled on his shoulder, her body pressed against his while he held her. Every moment that passed, he expected her to pull away. Expected her to put distance between them. She didn’t. She lay there with him while he stroked his fingers up her back beneath the water. Soon her breathing steadied, and he realized with shock that she’d fallen asleep.
Sirus stuttered a ragged breath and closed his eyes, savoring the feel of her body against his. All these years, he’d wanted this, had dreamed of it. He wrapped his arms tighter around her, and Gwendolyn shifted in her slumber. He knew it wouldn’t have been like this with anyone else. No one else was Gwendolyn.
He didn’t know what this meant. He didn’t even entirely know how to comprehend it, but he felt it so deeply it threatened to unravel him. They’d not even coupled, and he felt more exposed than he’d ever thought possible. The way she’d come undone was not what he’d expected. It was raw and vulnerable and tender.
He swallowed, opening his eyes once more. Despite himself, Sirus wrapped his fingers around her slight wrist and gently moved it up so he could see. All that remained was a jagged, dark pink line where he’d dug his teeth into her flesh. He ran his thumb over it, feeling the raised scar. She nuzzled her face deeper and let out a heavy, satisfied sigh.
Conflict roiled within him. She shouldn’t want him. Trust him. Care for him. He’d had all those thoughts before. She should not, but she did. His chest ached as he looked at that little scar. He wasn’t worthy of her affection. The jagged line on her arm was proof enough. Yet, she’d opened herself to him. It had not been mere lust that had brought them together. Not simple desire, like it had been in Abigail’s garden. No…this was something far more precious.
The way she’d held on to him as she’d come apart. He’d felt her violent shudders. Had felt the skitter of magick that came with them. Sirus knew he should push away the emotions that raked over him. That he should not entertain such things. But, by gods, he could not find the desire to do it. Not as he held her. Not after what they’d shared, as brief as it had been.
Love. The word slipped through his mind, foreign and sharp. The idea of it was strange, but his chest swelled in response. This bond he felt between them…Did she feel it just as he did?
Sirus was not even sure it was possible for someone such as he to love. For someone with a soul of shadow and a heart of black ice to feel such a thing. But he knew, without a doubt, that if he could love, he would love her.
The light to his shadow.
Grief tore through him. He knew it could never be. That she could never be his. He mourned that fantasy to the very depths of his being as he leaned in to press his nose into her damp hair. The snow fell over them, and he barely noticed it. For eternity, he would simply hold her like this if he could…but he couldn’t.
Gwendolyn might not fear him. She might desire him. Care for him…His throat grew tight, and he would not let himself think of anything more. That she could feel anything deeper than care.
Fates and bonds were things of legend and lore.
They were not real.
The harsh truth was, even if Gwendolyn wanted him now, she would not choose him forever. She would grow tired of his darkness and seek out the light. She would crave real love. She would desire a family. Children.
He imagined little chestnut-haired girls and boys coated in freckles and fair skin running through the forest. Sirus’s muscles began to loosen and his trembling to subside. He would not dare to take such a dream from her. Such joy.
Sirus held her closely, breathing in the scent of her hair, relishing the touch of her skin against his and the soft heat of her breath on his shoulder. He burned it into his memory, knowing it would be all he’d ever have. Soon she would leave Volkov forever. No matter how much he wanted her, he knew there was no future for them beyond this moment. There were no happy endings for vampires.
There was an ache deep within his chest, a foreign sensation that was not exactly pain but hurt all the same. He rested his cheek against the top of her head, letting the ache seep through him. What would come next, he did not know for certain, but he knew he would never regret this. He’d never regret their time together. To his dying breath, he would think of her.
“You are light,” he whispered into her hair in the old tongue of his forefathers. “You are color. I am yours.” And he always would be.
Even if she could never be his.