Chapter 44 Bibliotheque
BIBLIOTHEQUE
Ciaran had pointed out the library the very first time we’d walked through the Crossroads of the Dead, but I had somehow never managed to go inside. Carved into the limestone, the library spanned a cavernous space. The stacks seemed to go on forever, lit by the same flickering sconces as the halls.
I didn’t have to wander far before I found him, sitting in a plush armchair in a little secluded reading nook at the far end of some stacks.
It was oddly quiet in here, with the books and the soft carpeted floor muffling any sounds.
My stomach jolted when I saw him sitting there, running his hands through his hair, balancing a giant tome on his long legs.
He looked… tired… worried… distracted. Dishevelled, in a way I hadn’t seen him before.
He glanced up, a deep line forming between his dark brows. Concern.
“Hi,” I managed to squeak out. I don’t know what I was so nervous about. It wasn’t as if I had to be shy in front of Ciaran. Not when we’d been through so much—done so much—together.
He looked me up and down once. “You’re alright.” His deep voice rumbled. I found myself distracted by the V of the shirt he wore. Softest cotton. His usual black. Exposing just a hint of that golden chest and the soft dark hairs sprinkled across it. Focus. Focus.
“I’ll live.” I shrugged, biting my bottom lip, attempting to stay on track. I had come here for a reason, but my body was so reactive to Ciaran’s. “Elena said I was out for three days.”
“You spoke to Elena?” He closed the book in his lap and stood.
“Yes. She told me where to find you. She was insistent that I give you another chance.” I let a small smile twist my lips.
“Seraphina, I…” He closed the distance between us. “I want to explain everything. Please. Let me explain.”
I could let him. I could let him pour his heart out.
Give his reasons for what he had done all those months ago.
I could take them and consider them. Weigh my options.
But why bother? I had made my decision in the graveyard.
I knew what I wanted as soon as it seemed like it was all going to be taken from me.
I felt nothing but regret. Not for what I had done to the viscount, but for how I had reacted—what I had done to Ciaran. He had done stupid, impulsive things, but so had I. In that way, we were a perfect match. And I wasn’t here for apologies or long-winded explanations.
“I don’t care.” I stopped him in his tracks. He looked like I had punched him in the stomach. “I don’t want to hear it.”
“But I… please.” He stepped closer still, but I couldn’t let my bravery waver. I came here for a reason. To say what I needed to say.
“I don’t care, because I’m in love with you, Ciaran.
And none of the rest fucking matters.” It came out without a second thought.
Gone was the time for weighing what each of us had done in the past. I didn’t care what he’d done or why he’d done it.
I had thought I was never going to see him again, and there was nothing on earth that could hold me back from him now.
“I don’t want to know why you did what you did.
I don’t need to hear a litany of all the reasons why you acted that way.
It’s done. It’s in the past. I did so many stupid things too.
I endangered everything you’ve built here—everyone.
So if you can forgive that? Fuck. Nothing else matters. ”
“Seraphina… I…” Ciaran looked like his brain had stopped working, his mouth opening and closing.
And for the first time, I felt a spike of fear—that maybe he didn’t feel the same.
That maybe I had misinterpreted everything between us, and he wouldn’t say it back to me.
But fuck. I had nothing to lose. So I chose bravery again.
“I said I love you, Ciaran. I’m in love with you.” The words had no sooner left my lips than Ciaran’s crashed into mine.
Hard, clashing, violent kisses—his hand gripping the base of my skull with so much ferocity that I was sure it would leave a mark.
Tears prickled in the corners of my eyes as Ciaran’s other hand gripped my waist, pulling me flush against him. Because he still hadn’t said it. And I wasn’t sure what this frenzied kiss meant. But then he pulled away, eyes wide and wild, hair mussed and chaotic.
“Seraphina.” He gasped, catching his breath. I raised my hand to my mouth, feeling the ghost of his lips there still. “I have been in love with you since I heard you sing on that rooftop.” And then his hand was on my chin, tilting it up gently. Tears shone in his eyes.
“Seraphina—” His voice was low, barely a whisper. And he said my name like a prayer. “I love you.”
And whether it was the earnestness in his eyes, the tenderness that softened his angular features or the way his voice sounded—rhapsodic—I believed him. And none of the rest of it mattered, as he bent from his considerable height, bringing his lips back to mine.
This kiss was feral, as Ciaran pushed us further into the stacks.
My palms found the plane of his chest, savouring the contact—the solid warmth of him.
His hands landed on my hips, touching the same spot on my back where his hand had rested during our card game all those weeks ago.
I shivered, my body reacting in the same way it had then; damp heat spread through me.
My back slammed into books, and Ciaran’s hand gripped the shelf beside my head.
He broke away from my lips for a moment, his teeth lightly grazing down the side of my neck; I arched into the touch, giving him access to my neck, my collarbone, my breasts, whatever he wanted, as my hands grappled with the buttons on the front of his pants.
When I was in the viscount’s thrall, I had truly believed that I would never have the chance to make things right between us.
I thought I was going to die, and that the last thing I ever said to him was that I never wanted to see him again.
Being in his arms now felt more like a dream than anything I had experienced during my extended somnolence.
I savoured every touch, every kiss, every point of contact.
I clawed at him with ferocity. It would never be enough—never close enough.
“This is very inappropriate of me,” Ciaran said, growling into the spot where my neck and shoulder met, eliciting a fresh wave of shivers down my spine, “but I find I don’t particularly care.
” He hissed and swore as my hand slid down the front of his pants, making contact with the already hard length of him.
“I’m going to fuck you in the library, Seraphina. ”
It was a statement, not a question.
Of course I could refute it, but I didn’t want to. I whimpered in response. To the bluntness: Ciaran was never one to mince words. But Ciaran still looked at me expectantly. He wouldn’t do anything—wouldn’t move forward unless he got an answer.
“Goddess, yes.”
And so he did, pulling my leggings down around my ankles, not even letting me step out of them before he hoisted me up.
He pinned my back against the stacks, reaching between us.
I was more than ready for this, and all I wanted was for him to slide into me.
For us to reconnect on a physical level.
But even in this frenzied state, Ciaran made sure it was going to be good for me first. And when I was limp and pliant in his arms, biting down on a cry and clenching around his fingers, he finally notched the head of his cock to my entrance.
Ciaran rolled his hips rhythmically, rocking into me as my back slammed into the stack again and again.
I really hoped this library was deserted; I was much too far gone to actually care, though.
I tried not to cry out too loudly as Ciaran pushed all the way in, hitting a sensitive spot that caused me to clench around him.
At this angle, I had no control; all I could do was hold onto Ciaran’s shoulders as he pushed in again and again.
His strokes were hard—punishing—and I savoured every single one.
“Seraphina, I’m going to…” Ciaran groaned, his voice sounding strangled. “I… I’m going to…”
I had to bite my lip as he hit that spot again, my own release building, cresting, almost breaking… almost…
“Me too.” My voice came out husky as I arched back into the bookshelf behind me, my hands scrambling for purchase along his shoulders. Ciaran reached between us once more, circling my clit with intent—I went barreling headfirst into release.
“Fuck.” He shuddered as his orgasm slammed into him. I broke too, clenching around him, my fingertips digging into the hard muscle of his shoulders.
It had been so fast and hard, clawing and desperate this time.
Not like the languid lovemaking from a few days ago.
But with what we’d been through since then…
I didn’t expect anything else. And as Ciaran breathed into my neck, I knew he was reassuring himself that I was here, that this was real, that we were safe.
“I love you.” His whispers were barely audible. “Seraphina, I fucking love you.” So I pressed kisses into his hair, breathing in the familiar scent of him, reassuring myself of those same things as well.
Minutes later, Ciaran carefully untangled our limbs—our bodies—and placed me back on solid ground.
We tried to right our clothes, and I took in the mess we’d made around us.
Several books had fallen from the poor shelf that had the misfortune of being in our way at such an inopportune moment.
I fixed my leggings and my shirt, which had become twisted under Ciaran’s roving hands.
There wasn’t much more chance for cleanup here; we were slick and damp and sticky from both of us.
Ciaran crinkled his nose too, silently apologizing for the mess.
I giggled and stuck my tongue out, feeling lighter than I had in so many days.
Weeks, maybe. Acceptance. That’s what I finally had.
I was going to have a real life here. With Ciaran.
And Elena and Mal, and Fionn and Rory. There was a future for me.
A future that I could decide—I could choose.
I could dance. Or I could sing. Hell, I could do both.
Without the threat of exposing my magic, I didn’t need to worry about breaking my oath to my mother anymore.
I could train that magic, too. Never a shell of a woman like Seff’s mother, never playing second fiddle to anyone.
I could be myself truly. And for the first time, I wasn’t looking to someone else for answers, or trying to do what I should do.
Life Beneath Lutesse was waiting for me.
My life. And I was ready to take it on, no walls, no lies, no compromises.
But as I bent down to pick up a book that had fallen open, I noticed an image on the faded, yellowing page.
It was a crude drawing; it couldn’t even come close to capturing the true awe-inspiring terror of her.
But it was all there. How, I wasn’t sure, because I had truly never seen her before that dream.
The thick curling hair. The taloned feet.
The crown of worn animal horns. The wings.
Those eyes, black as a moonless night. The Goddess of magic wielders and fey, whose image I had never seen before she terrorized my dream: Ishtar.