Chapter 10 #3
His Soulbond—the one who had stolen his heart centuries ago, then ripped it back out of his chest, still beating, when he’d watched her die.
Now it was back, and each thump he vowed to savor.
She’d returned his heart months ago when she’d walked into the club he owned—the club he named in memory of how she haunted him.
Forget You Not. Because Cyrus could never forget Vesperin, not when he starved himself of pleasure, refusing to touch another, and not when he lay awake at night, wondering if it would have been easier to end it all and let his Soul find hers in the next life.
"What could you possibly have that is worth more than this—your home?" The King stretched out his arms, indicating the space around him. Cyrus saw the background of the hologram—the sleek, curved high-rises and neon-lit skies.
"I have love. And I have a home. It is not a place."
His father snarled, eyes landing on Vesperin again. "You will come crawling back one day, and when you do, I will make you rue the day you turned it all away for some Earthen whore."
Rage filled Cyrus, breaking his control. "Don’t fucking bet on it."
He let Vesperin’s hand go, storming forward to slam his palm down on the panel in the table’s center, praying he’d hit the right button. The hologram flickered, the feed cutting out.
In the aftermath, it was silent.
The reality of what he’d just done hadn’t quite hit him yet; though, he knew it would eventually. When it did, he would fall into Vesperin’s arms and forget with the ripe cherry taste of her lust on his tongue.
Asura stepped forward, Volik following. They both took to their knees, head bowed. The Sibeth flag rippled from the soft breeze of their sudden movements.
"You do not have to bow for me. I’m no longer a prince," Cyrus said. It all felt surreal. Yet… he’d do it again, over and over if it meant he could be with Vesperin.
They stayed kneeling for a moment longer, as if to show their respect, then slowly rose.
"You will always be a…" Volik’s eyes flicked to Vesperin. Cyrus tensed, not knowing what the incubus would say. "A trusted friend. And my true choice of prince. Your siblings don’t have the spirit you do."
Cyrus huffed a laugh. "No, but they have public opinion. I’ve always been the untamable prince. Not any longer."
"We’ll keep an eye out for bounty postings. If we see your name, we’ll let you know," Volik shared.
Asura inclined her head. "I’d warn you to get off the streets before it hits the news. I doubt King Soltren will take further steps. He thinks you’re still playing, but this time"—her eyes fell to Vesperin, and Cyrus felt her stiffen at the scrutiny—"I see that you’re not."
As the two bounty hunters left the room, Cyrus realized he may never see them again. The door shut behind them before he could express his gratitude. This night could have ended a lot differently if they’d chosen to stay loyal to his father.
In the dimness of the room, he finally turned to Vesperin, wrapping an arm around her shoulders as he tugged her into his chest. She made a soft sound. He just needed to feel her, feel that she was safe. They were okay. Together.
"Vesperin," Cyrus sighed into the top of her hair, the sound of her name holding a thousand unspoken things.
Eventually, she pulled away first as she tipped her head back and stared up at him.
"You didn’t tell him," she started, "that he’d met me before. Does it make you sad that life will go on, and he’ll never know that I was the girl he once killed?
" She said it slowly, and he wondered if it was hard for her to admit to it—that she’d been killed before.
Did she remember fully? Or was it still just snippets of fuzzy memories…
"That’s life. We don’t always get what we want. I’m okay with never knowing. If it means you’re safe."
"Did you mean it?" Vesperin whispered. "That I’m your home?"
Cyrus rubbed the pad of his thumb over her bottom lip. "Of course I did. My home is you—and your Soulbonds, too, I guess. They’re okay," he teased lightly.
Her eyes were glistening with unshed tears. "You’re my home, Cyrus. I love you."
"I love you, doll." He laced their fingers again, not bothering with pulling up his hood as they stepped out of the room into the main office.
It was quiet. After-hours. The floors were a silvery marble, and a large carpet was in the lobby, engraved with the Sibeth flag. They walked out of the double doors together, down the grand, curved steps that led to the streets.
He began to walk straight, but she tugged him back.
"Not that way." Vesperin jerked her head behind him, and he could see the faint walls of the Academy in the distance. Damn, how far had Asura and Volik taken them?
Cyrus sighed. "Offer’s still on the table, you know?"
Vesperin glanced up at him as they walked, a question in her eyes.
"You can tie me up anytime you want."
She growled lowly at his words, and he laughed into the night, no longer hidden.
Outside, Rhyden found them. Cyrus felt Vesperin stumble back in shock.
The vampire’s arms were crossed, expression lethal. He toyed with the sleek grip of a long-barreled pistol, the chamber glowing, then holstered it beneath his leather jacket. "Took you long enough. I was about to break through the security wards."
Vesperin raked her fingers through her tangled hair, and Cyrus and Rhyden both tracked the movement, as though they were starved.
"Why didn’t you?" she asked.
"Figured you had it covered with all your big talk—what good is your incubus after all if he can’t fucking keep you safe.
Security would’ve reached the Embassy within minutes, anyway.
Of all the crimes I’ve committed, I don’t want to go down for breaking and entering.
Seems like Cyrus isn’t a lost cause like I thought.
" Rhyden’s eyes raked over Cyrus’s form.
Cyrus didn’t think he ever remembered Rhyden saying his name—he’d take it. "Following us?" He slapped the vampire’s chest, ignoring his warning hiss. "Look at that," Cyrus purred, "you do care."
"How did you find us?" Vesperin asked.
Rhyden reached for her other hand like it was an afterthought, taking it roughly. Cyrus felt her almost slip out of his hold from the vampire’s rough handling of her.
"Is this fucking rope burn?" Rhyden lifted her wrist and stared at the faint red marks on her skin.
Cyrus knew he’d have matching marks. The thought made him smile.
The ease with which Rhyden deflected made Cyrus curious.
Cyrus wasn’t quite ready to share what had happened, how he’d abdicated the crown… "By the way, Rhyden, I’m good for a lot more than keeping her safe. Who do you think keeps her up at night and drives those pretty little moans from her lips?"
Cyrus danced away from Rhyden’s sharp bite of flames. He felt a lick of heat against his calves.
It grew silent between the three as they walked back to the Academy dorms, and not once did Rhyden share how he’d known where they were, nor did Cyrus reveal why he and Vesperin were at the Sibeth Embassy in the middle of the night. Secrets were always revealed.
Atlas placed the book on the shelf and stepped back, tilting his head as his gaze traced the words on the spine.
The Mythos of Soulbonds. A gift he had bound himself, each word inscribed in his own hand.
He remembered her wistfulness, hours spent in the archival buildings, her eager curiosity making her brown eyes bright.
He knew she would like the book. He had glimpsed it in the threads of fate. Thus, he had bound it.
Atlas rolled his shoulders back; the dark ends of his cape—which he had traded from the dark coat he wore on Earth—brushed the tops of his polished boots.
He always felt such a deep sort of ache when he thought of Vesperin. It was as though he were missing a limb.
Happiness… something he had not felt in truth since those days on the first planet, Stella, in the village of Luxuria beneath the willow tree.
Where he had come to know Vesperin’s body as intimately as he knew his own—or better.
He had traced each curve and freckle on her skin, could close his eyes and see the constellation of them behind his lids.
Atlas thought he knew a semblance of peace now, by finally seeing her again. Yet watching was even more torturous. He knew it was not yet their time, so he was forced into a period of waiting. For a being outside time, patience had not been a virtue he needed to know.
Until now.
The library was utterly silent. The sound of his boots echoed across the untouched marble floor.
It was white and polished with golden accents.
Pure and light, just as he remembered her liking.
She never liked dark things. She loved brightness and color—happiness.
Blue butterflies and breezy dresses to wear in the warm months.
The air on Polis held a preternatural stillness.
Each breath he breathed was singular. He had called animals into being, knowing how much she would enjoy them. Yet, no other beings resided on the planet. Save for himself when he stole away from watching her, Polis was a barren scape, floating in a galaxy not yet discovered.
The halls of the castle were silent. A tapestry he had stitched by hand fluttered as he walked past. The grand double doors opened beneath his hand, revealing the wide throne room.
Two thrones, large and imposing, sat at the far end of the golden carpet laid out—one smaller than the other, made for a queen.
Five smaller chairs—not quite thrones—resided on the dais.
Atlas walked to the large throne and sat, his cape swooshing behind him. He rested his chin on his hand with a disgruntled sound as he stared at the empty room. He had seen the parties and dances, the laughter and cheers, that would soon fill the space. But for now?
He was the King of nothing.