Chapter 9 #4
The furrow between his brows grew deeper at her words.
Lucien took a step closer to her, hand raising to push the hair off her forehead as he pressed his palm to her skin.
"Are you feeling well, Vesperin? You’re warm.
" His hand moved, brushing down the side of her cheek to touch the pulse point under her jaw.
Her mouth grew dry. His shirtsleeves were rolled up, revealing the veins and cords of lean muscle on his pale skin.
His lips moved as he counted under his breath.
"Your heart rate is a little fast. One hundred beats per minute—no, one-ten.
Sit down." Lucien ushered her to a seat at the kitchen bar, helping her onto it.
The action made them move closer to the hall.
Her heart thundered in her chest. If only he knew why…
Lucien moved to the cabinets, looking wholly out of place in his impeccable clothes; though, there were faint smudges under his eyes, nearly hidden by the frames of his glasses.
He fixed her a cup of water, sliding it across the counter, as he uncapped her pill bottle, tipping the contents into his palm, and counting out how many of the small white pills she had left.
He appraised her. "You haven’t taken your medication today or yesterday. Would you like to tell me why?"
Rin shot a surreptitious look over her shoulder, toward the hall. "I f-forgot."
Lucien rounded the counter, standing at her side, nearly boxing her in.
Her breath hitched as he held one of the pills up to her lips.
He pressed it against her closed mouth. "Open.
" Unbidden, her body obeyed him. He dropped the pill on her tongue, achingly careful not to touch her.
He nodded toward the cup, and she reached for it, lips closing around it as she took a heavy gulp, swallowing the pill.
"Now, will I have to watch each time to ensure you take your medicine? "
Even though she just took a sip of water, her mouth was still so dry. "No."
Another thump from her bedroom. Lucien stared toward the sound, lips parting with a question.
She was a fool; she couldn’t hide anything from Lucien. He was too observant.
But he may just have one weakness. Her.
"I’m hungry," Rin said in a rush. "Yeah, famished, really. Turns out food on Sibeth isn’t the best." She laughed nervously.
Lucien focused back on her. "Let me make you something." He turned to the fridge.
Shit, this wasn’t good. He needed to leave.
"No!" Rin exclaimed. "No. There’s, uh, nothing here. Just a bunch of Xara’s health food." She scrunched up her nose. "Could you go get some of that fried chicken from the place we tried the other day?"
"That’s further than the hospital." Lucien pulled his phone from his pocket, tapping away at the screen, regardless. "What do you want?"
"Extra spicy."
"Done," he said, grabbing his keys and wallet from his back pocket. "Go lie down, Vesperin. I do not want to see you up when I get back. You need some rest. The flight took a lot out of you."
Rin nodded furiously. "Got it." She hopped off the stool and walked him to the door.
"When I get back, you’ll tell me how the mission went." It wasn’t a question.
When the door clicked shut behind him, she breathed a sigh of relief, waiting a beat to make sure he was truly gone.
Then, she scrambled back to her bedroom, throwing open the door with a curse. "I told you to be quiet."
A quiet chuckle drifted out from beneath the bed, so soft it made the hairs on her arms prickle.
Cy’s head poked out, purple eyes trained on her ankles as she hovered nervously by the door. "Will you let me out now?"
In a graceful movement, Rin reached her dresser, opening the top drawer and grabbing her holstered Echogun, which was shoved under neatly folded stacks of panties and bras.
The delicate blue petals of the forget-me-nots fluttered in the breeze as she unclipped the gun from the holster and pointed it at the incubus.
"Depends." She held Cy’s eyes, the gun trained on the middle of his forehead as he lay half under her bed, sprawled on her floor.
"On?" The incubus looked struck by her.
Rin unclicked the safety. "Why you’re here."
Cy carefully moved out from under the bed, standing with his hands raised before him. He held her gaze the whole time, and her lower belly filled with warmth at the memory of those hands on her body, those fingers inside her.
"Who was the man that just left? A lover?" he purred.
She gritted her teeth. "A friend."
Tiny pinpricks of red filled the air, so faint she blinked, and they fizzled out. "You don’t feel like he was just a friend. Feels like you want him. Maybe it feels like you love him."
"Stop feeding off my emotions." The gun followed him as he walked to her dresser, fingertips drifting over the petals of the flowers that would forever bloom.
"It’s not feeding. Not really, Ves. Not like sex." He grinned. "Tasting emotions is like tiny sips of alcohol, not enough to make me drunk, but enough to whet my appetite."
This incubus was mercurial, flipping on a dime. From tortured regret to sensual prowess.
"Enough of your games. We don’t have long."
Cy tested the edge of her bed with his palms, feeling her duvet. "Is your lover going to return?" When she didn’t answer, he continued, "We made a bargain, I remember."
Her eyes narrowed, heart skipping perpetual beats in her chest. Maybe she should lie down like Lucien had told her. "One you didn’t uphold. You weren’t quiet."
"I got under your bed like you ordered. Now, you’re going to hear me out. As much as I love a little danger, I’d prefer it if we have this conversation without a gun in my face."
Rin held his stare. He wouldn’t have come all this way if he wanted to hurt her, right? He had had plenty of opportunity for that when they were in the hotel, when she was weaponless underneath him. She lowered her gun, but didn’t engage the safety, finger resting on the trigger guard in warning.
"You have thirty minutes to convince me that I shouldn’t turn you into the authorities," Rin finally said.
Cy sat on the edge of her bed, looking so comfortable among her things, like he had always belonged there—a missing piece.
"I can work with thirty minutes. Give me one." He looked up at her from under a fan of sinfully dark lashes, purple eyes glittering. "Just so you know, I would have obeyed even if we didn’t bargain, doll. You don’t get it. I’ll do anything you ask."
The air turned thick with tension.
"I’m here, Ves, because we’re Soulbonds."
Funny, how all it took was a handful of words to upend her entire world.
Cyrus stared up at Vesperin, infusing every bit of regret and adoration and truth he could muster, beseeching her silently to understand as he begged her to believe him.
The place that she called home was sparse.
A small bed with a fluffy comforter that he couldn’t really imagine her curling up under.
A dresser pushed against the far wall, with tiny blue flowers lying on top—no vase in sight.
It was a far cry from the opulence Cyrus was used to.
Yet he found he would give it all up for her. Hell, he had.
On top of the dresser, there was a downturned photo frame. His head cocked. Strange, and so out of place among the relatively untouched and impersonal room that it caught his eye.
Vesperin was trembling, her pale skin flushed as she stared down at him.
"What do you mean?" she repeated, for what must have been the tenth time. And each time his reply was the same.
"We’re Soulbonds."
She paced away from him, setting the gun down next to those delicate blue flowers. "If we’re Soulbonds"—she scoffed the term—"then why don’t I remember anything?"
She had him there.
"I don’t know." Cyrus rose from her bed, walking tentatively toward her. "My guess is it has to do with your appearance."
"What’s wrong with my appearance?"
Unbidden, he raised a hand toward her. She jolted into action, but it was still too slow for a Hunter in training, sluggish almost. His fingers caught the ends of her hair.
The white strands drifted through his palm like silk.
Her lids fluttered at the touch. He wanted to trace her eyes too, to recall the memory of their soft brown depths, so different from the pale grey that stared at him with mistrust.
"Were you born like this?" he murmured, as her hair slipped from his hands completely.
Her back bumped into the dresser, rocking the downturned frame. "I—no, I was born with…"
"Brown hair that turned amber when it caught the sun and brown eyes with darker flecks around the edges," Cyrus finished.
Vesperin stilled. "How do you know that?" she breathed.
"Because I know you."
She was so still that he was able to touch her.
His fingertips drifted to the curve of her cheek, and the delicate line of her throat worked with a swallow.
Her skin was so supple. Dainty. How was this soft girl a Hunter?
The sweet, traumatized girl from his memories—imprinted onto the backs of his lids every time he blinked, haunting his dreams—who cried with ease and loved fiercely, once the demons that had hurt and used her had been chased away with his touches.
Vesperin looked up at him, head shaking as if to dispel the truth she felt imbued within his words. Silently, she reached for her dresser, brushing past the flowers, petals fluttering from her proximity, as she lifted the downturned frame, hands shaking as she held it between them.