Chapter Thirty-Five Viola #2
Sylas cups my jaw with both hands, one of his thumbs lightly brushing across my lower lip, and Gods, I’m weak—my body yearns for his lips against mine, but I can’t surrender to my desires.
He studies my face, as if he’s committing every minor detail to memory.
I don’t look away. I can’t. I want the gray of his eyes to swallow me whole.
“I’ve never hated you, not for a single second, not even when your life was in my hands on that cold metal table the first time I saw you.”
My foolish heart tugs. I cling to every word, because I want to believe there exists a world where we can be together. But reality is a cold plunge. He knows it, too. I don’t have much lifeblood left, and Sylas will live forever. We were doomed before we could even begin.
He’s lost too much. I cannot do this to him—give him another person to bury. “You’re only here now because I’m half Aspieri.”
A flicker of hurt crosses his eyes. “I’ve been here.
” His hands trace the length of my shoulders, leaving a trail of fire before settling at my waist. “I’ve been here since the first time I saw you confront Lorne in Hollow Tree, and then in the Poisoned Stairwell, and at your sister’s funeral, and in the catacombs… I could go on, Viola.”
He lowers his forehead to mine, the silence telling me everything he doesn’t say.
I close my eyes, breathing him in. The softness of mint and vanilla are an eternal reminder of how safe I feel with him.
I press my palms against his bare chest, feeling the taut muscles under my fingers.
He takes in a sharp inhale. He feels it, too.
The undeniable electricity between us. But if I give in, even just this once, I could destroy him.
“We can’t,” I say with finality.
His burning gaze drags across my face, before he nods and gently pulls away. He needs to leave now, before I change my mind.
“You can have my room. If you need anything, I’ll be next door.” He slides past me, leaving before I can say another word.
That night, I toss and turn, haunted by Sylas’s words. He has been my only constant at Gorhail, and I repaid him by doing what I’ve loathed all my life. I made a choice for him. How am I any better than Nan?
Shoving the covers aside, I swing my legs off the bed, not bothering with slippers.
The door to Beau’s room is at the end of the short hallway, behind Sylas’s reading nook.
I breathe out, cross the room, and walk down the hall.
My heartbeat is the only sound I hear as I stand in the darkness, under the watchful eyes of their ancestors’ portraits.
My insides are a mess of tucked-away feelings and agonized longing. Once I cross that door, it all becomes real. My hand hovers over the brass doorknob, and I’m torn between knocking and just walking in. Not for long, though, because I press down on the cold metal, settling the debate.
Beau’s room is smaller than Sylas’s. The forest-green walls lean to black in the night light. Even so, the wall of books with golden spines shimmers. I squint to get a better look of the bed.
It’s empty.
I take a few steps forward, halting. Did Paltro send Sylas back out to Firstline?
“Viola.” His husky voice washes me with cold relief.
I whirl, and there he is, sitting on a chaise near the small fireplace, setting down a book. He drags his gaze over my body, and I feel my cheeks burn. In fact, I’m certain they’ve caught fire.
“Nice shirt.” He smirks.
I look down, remembering that I’m wearing one of his shirts as pajamas. I tug at the seams, as if that would turn the shirt into a floor-length dress, suddenly grateful for the low light so he can’t see the panic on my face. “Thanks, I… will grab my own tomorrow.”
“Can’t sleep?” he asks.
I look at him, and my breath hitches. The soft glow of the fire brings out the warmth of his skin, and Gods, he is devastatingly handsome. The reflection of the flame in his gray eyes consumes me with want, and I take a step forward.
“I know you’ve been here all along,” I say quietly. “But this”—I take another step, gesturing between him and me—“Paltro won’t stand for it.”
He straightens up. “What made you think I care about what Paltro thinks?”
“I might die any moment.” Another step.
He lifts an eyebrow. “Does that mean you’re to stop living out what remains?” The sharpness of his mouth is infuriating, so much so that I ache to seal it shut with my lips.
“You hate Mortemagi,” I say, as a poor attempt to give him one last out.
He smiles on an abrupt exhale. “I don’t hate you.”
“Just once.” I’m standing in front of him, the suppressed desire since we met pulsing beneath my skin.
He tilts his head, eyes boring into mine, hungry and hopeful.
I take in the painfully beautiful lines of his face, settle on the delicate curves of his lips, and the deep ache within me blooms into an insatiable need for him to touch me.
Reaching for my waist, he tugs me to him, the hunger in his eyes melting into quiet reverence. He looks at me like I am the answer to his every plea, like I am his salvation.
“Just once.” His voice breaks, and I straddle his legs, settling in his lap.
My shirt lifts, and his fingers trail from my waist to my hips, pressing into my skin.
His shallow breathing matches my own, hesitating yet demanding at once.
It whispers Are we really doing this and Please devour me at the same time.
His eyes drop to my mouth, and I bite my lower lip, raw anticipation coiling my insides.
“Viola,” he moans, and I loop my hands around his neck, threading my fingers through his hair. It’s so, so soft. My thumbs rub gentle circles on the back of his head and he leans forward, his nose brushing against mine. Our hearts thump in tandem, his hands firmly pressing into my thighs.
“What are you waiting for?” I groan against him, our lips almost touching.
“Your permission.” He smirks, faintly brushing his lips against mine. It sends an electrifying jolt down my spine, and I arch into him. The next moment, my lips are closing on his. They are softer and warmer than I imagined. He tastes like mint and vanilla, like the first snow of Albion’s winter.
Sylas kisses me like I’m the most fragile thing to exist. His lips take time to explore mine, his tongue tentatively teases mine, tangling it into a dance that unravels my core.
And by Death, I would surrender to him, body and soul.
He makes use of every inch of my mouth, kissing me like his life depends on it, like he’s been waiting for this moment forever.
Every thing about him feels so right, I begin to panic.
It’s not him I should have been worried about. It’s the way he breathes life into my heart, the way my world begins and ends with him, the way time halts when we’re together.
The moment he notices my slowed pace, he pulls away, our ragged breaths the only sound cutting through the silence.
A frown settles between his eyebrows, and he drags his hands from my thighs to my waist. His eyes are all over my face, searching, questioning, making sure I want this.
And I need him to know that I do, that in his arms I feel safe in a way I’ve never felt before.
I answer him by leaning forward and trailing kisses along his throat, up his neck, and right above the bruise in the corner of his lips.
He lets out a gasp, and I take his lower lip between my teeth, tugging, teasing until he breaks.
He meets me with hunger and despair this time, like if he lets go of me, I will vanish.
I kiss him with the same fervor, every movement a silent demand for more.
He meets my ask with more, more, and more until we’re both out of breath.
Still, we don’t stop. I roll my hips against him, and something fierce, almost feral flashes across his eyes.
“Please,” I murmur against his lips, and he claims my mouth again, his hands firmly pressing into my waist. Heat builds up in my lower belly, and I realize that there is nothing I wouldn’t give him.
Under his touch, I feel alive, invincible, like he knows exactly which pieces to take apart and which to put together.
And it’s terrifying. How my heart seems to want to beat only to the sound of his.
“Yes, but not here,” he whispers, pulling away, our lips still brushing against each other’s, and I let out an involuntary moan. “I will have you, Viola, but not here,” he says as he moves me so I’m sitting sideways in his lap now.
I don’t protest, the events of the day finally catching up to me. I settle my head in the crook of his neck, and he holds me so close, rubbing the small of my back as our hearts settle into a quiet rhythm. My eyelids feel heavy. I don’t want to let go of him. “Sy,” I mumble.
“Mm-hmm,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to the top of my head.
“Can I sleep here tonight?” I hold my breath. “Just tonight.” I don’t care what happens after this. Because this moment sealed my fate. I’m already over the cliff, whether he catches me or not.
“Sure.” He smiles against my hair. “Just tonight.”