Chapter Five
Briony
I close my eyes and let my body tumble his way. I fall through the air a second time, landing this time in the warm embrace of my mate’s arms. He hugs me to his broad chest, damp from the rain, and I rest my weary head on his shoulder.
“It’s okay,” he whispers, “I got you. I’ve always got you.” Then to the crowd, still firing questions at me, he roars, “Move!”
Instantly, a path clears and he strides right through it, splashing through the puddles forming on the field.
“Fuck, Briony,” he mutters, “I thought I’d lost you.”
I don’t know if he’s talking to me or to himself.
I manage to tip back my head and peer up into his face.
“I thought I’d lost you,” he repeats.
“S-s-s-sorry,” I slur, my tongue and mouth barely functioning.
He shakes his head and with the rain running down his face, I can’t be sure, but I think his eyes are wet with tears. “I don’t ever want to lose you.”
I can’t answer. All I can do is stare up into his eyes and hope he knows that I don’t want to lose him either. I don’t want to lose any of them.
“What happened?” he asks, silver eyes full of worry as he reaches the edge of the field and strides onto the pathway.
“L-l-l-lightning,” I manage to spit out.
“Shit.” He nuzzles his face against mine. “Briony, I was so …” More agony flashes across his face. “I’m going to fix you up.”
Soon, we’re at his tower and he’s carrying me through the front door. Thorne hovers in the hallway looking concerned, but there’s no sign of Dray.
“I’m taking her up to my room to heal her,” Beaufort tells his bond brother.
“She’s okay?” Thorne says, stepping a little closer. “Is she okay, Beaufort? What happened?”
I want to tell him I’m fine, that Beaufort is making a fuss, but I can’t find the energy to make my mouth work and my body’s shivering uncontrollably. I can’t make it stop. I’m not so sure I am fine.
“She was struck by lightning,” Beaufort says.
“What can I do? What can I do to help?” Thorne asks frantically.
“Go fetch her friends. She’ll be worried about them.”
Thorne is out the door immediately and Beaufort carries me up the staircase and into his room. He doesn’t switch on the light, laying me straight down on the bed. My body continues to shake as he peels my wet clothes from my body.
“I need to take a look at the wound, sweetheart,” he lays a warm hand on my forehead, “I’m going to be as gentle as I can.”
I barely hear his words. The world is swimming in and out of focus. And then pain – sharp and fierce.
I cry out.
I feel the weight of Beaufort’s hand on my shoulder, pressing me down into the mattress and then relief; blessed and all-encompassing relief.
I blink open my eyes, and in the darkness find Beaufort gazing down at my side, his right hand hovering over my skin and his shadows streaming from his fingers.
I peer down at my body. There’s a freaking big wound there – all charged and mangled flesh – and I almost faint all over again.
I let my head fall back down onto the pillow.
“Can you fix it?” I say, as the room spins round and round.
“Yes,” he says with that usual Beaufort confidence, “I’ve fixed a lot worse.”
The pain is less intense now, but I’m cold, shivering and sick to the stomach. Beaufort’s magic tingles around the wound, occasionally eliciting something sharper that makes me wince. Each time, he apologizes, his brows knotting that little bit more firmly together.
“Blaze,” I mumble after a few more minutes, realizing I abandoned the dragon out on the field.
“Shhhh,” he says, “just rest now, sweetheart.”
“But–”
“Sweetheart, that dragon currently has a small group of female admirers gathered around him. He’s just fine.”
“Huh?” I murmur.
“Last I saw him, there were several women stroking their hands all over your dragon’s neck and his chest, and he was vibrating in delight. He was clearly in his element.”
If I weren’t feeling so terrible, drifting in and out of consciousness, I would laugh. But I don’t have the strength right now. I close my eyes.
“I love you, Briony Storm. I love you so fucking much.”
I open my eyes.
Once again, I can’t tell if he’s talking to me or to himself.
“I love you too, Beaufort,” I murmur.
His eyes flick from the wound to meet mine and for a moment we just stare at each other. Then, with a whole lot of effort, I raise my hand and touch his cheek. They are rough with stubble and he leans into my touch.
“Don’t do that again,” he whispers, “promise you won’t.”
I’m quiet, because, what can I say? I can’t promise that. We both know I can’t. We both know who I am.
“I can’t lose someone else I love, Beaufort, I just can’t.” His eyes hold my gaze and for once his are full of empathy, like maybe he understands. “I just want us all back together,” I say, stroking my fingers over his cheek.
“Things may not be that simple, Briony.”
“Because you think the professor has betrayed me?”
“I don’t know what to think anymore, but you’ve taught me to be wary, to be more suspicious than I used to be.”
“Damn it,” I say, managing a half-smile as more of his magic heals that gaping great wound, “why did I do that?”
“You’re pretty inspirational.”
“Me?” I say.
“Totally, and I’m totally and utterly in love with you.”
Thorne may be the quiet one, but Beaufort hasn’t exactly been forthcoming with sweet words and declarations of love before. I guess I really gave him a scare. Truth be told, I gave myself one too.
“There,” he says finally, beckoning the shadows back to his hands and pulling the covers up over me. “You’re all fixed.”
“I’m sorry, Beaufort,” I say, “so sorry.”
“You don’t have to say that, sweetheart.”
“I do.” I peer down, unable to meet his gaze. “I don’t know what came over me. It was like I was possessed.”
“A panic attack. Have you ever had one before?”
“Yes, but it was different last time.”
He strokes my cheek tenderly and a sob bubbles up in his throat, bursting free of his mouth. He shakes his head. “Ahhh, I’m sorry, I’m just … fuck.” He tries to force them back, wiping his fingers across his eyes but the tears leak through.
“Beaufort,” I say, “I’m fine, aren’t I?”
He nods, swiping at yet more tears.
Gritting my teeth, I roll up and drag him towards me, he folds into me, his forehead resting on my shoulder and for several moments, his body shakes silently as I hold him.
I want to promise him that I’ll never leave him, that nothing bad is ever going to happen to me, but I can’t. They would be false promises, hollow words.
Instead, I run my palm up and down his back and then into his hair, stroking my fingers through the glossy locks and then cupping the side of his face, tipping his head back so that he’s looking up at me through watery eyes, so reminiscent of the storm outside.
I wipe away the tears with my fingers from his face.
“You understand, then,” I say. “I can’t stand to lose Fox – to lose any of you – just like you can’t stand to lose me.” He nods his head. “And I can’t promise you, I’ll be here forever. No one can.” Not even an immortal like Fox. “But I am here now, Beaufort.”
Then I press my lips to his and kiss him.
“Briony,” he murmurs into my mouth, his arms coming to circle my waist. “You’re not well and–”
“Beaufort,” I growl back, deepening our kiss, my magic beginning to tingle in my veins, all the pain gone now his arms are round me and my heart is beating for him.
I roll back down onto the mattress, pulling him down with me. He braces his arms around me, so as not to crush me with his weight.
“I don’t want to hurt you,” he protests.
“Really?” I say, cocking an eyebrow and smirking at him. “I thought you were into that.”
“Briony!” he says. “I’m serious.”
“You won’t hurt me. I want this, Beaufort. I need it. I need you.”
I nearly lost my life up there in the sky tonight and I want to feel alive. I want to feel loved. I want to feel him.
He pulls back, looking deep into my eyes and then he kneels up and tugs his sweater and his shirt over his head.
I reach up and swim my hands over the hard planes of his body, wanting to commit to memory every ridge and every muscle. His eyes drift shut as if my touch is electric and then he captures my hands in his, kissing each palm gently, before pinning them down onto the mattress above my head.
I think he’ll keep them there but he doesn’t, he strokes his hands down my wrists, over my arms and down my body, making me squirm in pleasure because his touch has always felt so good.
“You’re so beautiful, Briony,” he says. “So beautiful. I sometimes find it hard to believe you’re real.”
I can’t help giggling at that. “I’m real, Beaufort. Very real, and I’m right here with you.”
He shakes his head in disbelief and then scrabbles at the waistband of his pants, yanking them away and taking his briefs with them.
Then, gently, slowly, with great care, he lays his body on top of mine.
It’s warm and heavy, and I sink further into the mattress, loving the feel of his weight on top of me.
I hook my hands around his neck, scratching my nails into his scalp, and bring his lips to mine once more.
We kiss like this for what feels like forever – slowly, languidly, exploring each other’s mouths until we’re breathless and needy.
Despite my earlier words, he’s careful with me – much more gentle than he usually is – rolling his body with consideration and grinding his hips into me with restraint. It’s so different from how things are between us usually. None of that angry, raw passion.
This is something deeper, something more intimate. He holds my gaze in his as he makes love to me, showing me with his body, just like he did with his words, how much he cares about me and how much he treasures me.
Although it’s different, it’s just as good, and soon I feel the pressure building inside me, like water against a dam. I say his name, and then I come – and all that pleasure breaks through.
It’s incredible, really. Only moments ago I was in the most pain I’ve ever experienced in my life – far more than the pain of being electrocuted by the Madame or by Henrietta; far more pain than the time Odessa and her gang had beaten me half to death. That lightning strike was excruciating.
But now, I’m floating in bliss and ecstasy and an indescribable pleasure.
My eyes never leave his all the way through my orgasm, and he watches me intently until finally the same pleasure swims across his face too.
His rhythm falters; he jerks into me, grunts loudly, and then I feel that familiar flood of warm liquid between my thighs – one I’m beginning to love just as much as the feel of him inside me.
“I love you,” he whispers, kissing me again.
And we stay like that, entwined in each other, not wanting to move.
And I could almost forget, almost forget that there’s a pain in my heart.
But I can’t.