Interlude IV
Morning After
The two newcomers had arrived about the time of the First Disruption. One had been dark as night itself. The other like an angel. The latter had judged, and the former was the judgement.
Arya’s body is soft against mine. Her skin no longer bears the sheen of sweat from last night’s activities. And yet, despite the sweat, the musk, and her mussed silver hair, she’s perfection.
She is everything.
And it only now occurs to me that I almost let the Prophecy push me away from her. I almost let the idea of her importance outweigh the possibility of her being my match—my other.
The Seers had made it so clear that Arya was the key to this puzzle. They had said she was the one who would bring forth the new age. The new era. And I can’t find it in me to put that pressure on her. Not yet.
Not when she’s bearing so much.
Aaron had said she was a natural leader—that the assaults on Old Chicago had been put down with embarrassing ease. That she was brutal in her efficiency.
And I had dared to question her. Had dared to act as if I would not do the very same thing.
I press a tentative kiss to the curve of her ear, and she nuzzles closer. Her backside wiggles against my front and I feel another flush of heat at the contact.
“You’re awake?” she asks in a deep, sleepy voice. The timbre rumbles against my chest and unlocks the further depths of my heart this woman will eventually sink into.
“I do not often sleep,” I whisper, kissing her neck more roughly. “Not when I am fully fed.”
She’s quiet for a moment before wriggling further into me, like she can’t get enough contact.
“Sunlight?” she asks, and I grin a little against her neck.
“Painful, but not deadly. Weakens my abilities in human form. Sanguine form is unfazed.”
“Garlic?”
“Delicious.”
“Mind control?”
This time my breathing hitches. I hadn’t expected her to ask about that—nor for that to be one of the many stereotypes she’d know of. But, of course, Arya is well-read. She’d have to be with the amnesia.
“Cass?” she whispers, but before I can answer, she turns in my arms.
Her breath warms against my jaw, silver eyes staring up at me inquisitively.
My jaw hurts from the clench and I fear I might have pricked my own lip with the incisors.
“Baby,” she breaths, pressing a sweet kiss to my mouth. “I didn’t—”
“No,” I shake my head a little. “Well, yes. Yes I do.”
She, of course, asks the next logical question.
“On me?”
My answer is immediate. “Never. Not once—the minor siphons that put you to sleep were my Remnant powers. Not vampiric.”
She studies me for far longer than I would like.
“If I had,” I start, wondering if I’m digging myself into a deeper hole, “I would not have asked for the knife. I would have told you to give it to me.”
That gets her attention. She lets out a short gasp, grey eyes widening.
“I—” she stammers out, cheeks reddening.
“I have never lied to you, my love,” I whisper, pressing another kiss to her forehead, then her nose. “I will not start now. I do use the power on others, but even if I were to try on you, it would not work. You are far too exceptional.”
She blinks a few times, maybe parsing out the information, maybe just sleepy. “Can you still try?”
I let out a soft snort at her brazen behavior. At her undaunted reactions to things that she had never known existed a month ago.
“If you wish,” I say.
The power comes naturally—it always does. And, as it does with every living being, the power identifies her aura. Her presence.
She shifts a little as I brush my fingers against the pulsating presence. Her eyes refocus on me as I try to plunge my will into hers.
Her eyes flinch, but nothing happens.
“Did you do it?” she asks, and I cannot help the laugh that trickles out of me.
“Yes,” I whisper, pulling her closer. “I tried to force you to touch my face. It was like bouncing off a stone wall.”
Her lithe fingers appear from beneath the sheets and curl around my jaw, brushing softly against my lower lip. She reveals the sharpened incisor, studying it silently.
“You are so beautiful,” she breaths, releasing my lip with a little pop. “I wish you had revealed yourself earlier.”
I heave out a deep sigh, nodding slowly. “It took everything in me to not interfere with your bouts of—”
“Self-harm,” she finishes, dropping her eyes. “Or maybe was it when I was crushing on a woman who never wanted me in life and only ever realized she was a problem in death?”
I close the space between us and let my tongue answer her. She groans softly as her built up tension melts.
“The weeks just before the first killings were the worst,” I say, studying the way her eyes have glassed over. “You were so sad and alone. I wanted you to feel desired. I wanted you to know that there was someone who saw you for you. For the power and the person.”
She sniffs like she might start crying. Her beautifully tousled hair and expressive eyes. Silver orbs that feel as though they see more to me than anyone else has. That they might see more than any other being should.
“Thank you for trusting me,” I say, watching the way her eyes crinkle as she thinks. “Even though I truly did not deserve it.”
Arya’s wet huff of laughter is followed by an impish smile. “There were several times where I wanted to wring your neck. When you ambushed me in the bathroom, I nearly tried it.”
I suck in a sharp breath at the embarrassing memory. “I admit that was poorly done. I was worried about you.”
Her smile softens. “I know—now at least. I get it, though. The whole facade you put on.”
She must see the frown on my face, because she lets out another laugh.
“Maybe it’s not a facade, but it’s a mask. It’s the mask of a warrior and a leader. A woman who has seen far too much death and decay to let anyone close enough.”
Arya shifts a little before pulling herself sitting. She lets out a yawn and stretches widely—her naked skin reflecting in the sunlight from the thickly reinforced windows.
My heart does a double thump at her figure. At the figure that no longer looks sickly and pained. At the woman who looks like a completely different person from who I had met months ago.
“But I see through you, Cassandra Alta,” she says, a jaunty tease in her tone. She slides off the bed and saunters to the bathroom. “Now come join me in the shower—I have a plan to get one up on Darkrend.”