Chapter 21
For a fleeting second, Clare sensed he tried to resist her kiss, and then with a groan he bruised her mouth with the intensity of his response.
Oh, and she was ready for everything he had to give.
Three years of waiting, wanting.
For them both. She knew the truth of that now.
The power of him, every pent-up corded muscle and nerve, surged through her, his strength as his arms bound her, crushing her to him—she welcomed it all, with a small mewl as their tongues dueled, the kiss deepening into something so desperate and needy that she was pressed against the wall, and already her hands were moving to tear off his shirt, rip at his belt, carnal need and desire and wantonness merging as she thrust one of her legs between his to feel the hard length of his shaft pressing into her lower belly.
His mouth explored hers with the wildest yet most tender precision, his tongue marking her as his, possessing her, the heat of his hand on her scalp, no questions, no words.
She pressed against his desire, needing it, offering herself to him with so much more than her blood—with her life, her heart. Her soul. Everything.
How long they kissed like this, drenching, addictive kisses, she had no idea, because in Oliver’s embrace time lost all meaning. But she did know how feverishly she tore at his clothes, fumbled with the belt he’d just secured.
Finally, he dragged his lips from hers, put her away from him.
“This cannot happen right now.”
She slumped against the wall, letting it hold her up, her bones still liquid even when his touch had vanished.
Finally, she heard herself whine, “Then when? When will it be right for us?”
He shook his head. “I don’t know, Clare. But I cannot allow either of our judgments to be clouded… by lust.”
“It’s more than lust.” She challenged him, emboldened by the kiss they’d shared. “You feel that too.”
He sighed. “Yes, I do. But feeling things has made me… unable to make good judgments. Look what happened tonight. I drank half a bottle of whiskey, I came here to check you were safe. And then… exposed both of us to a fucking stray grimaald.”
She straightened, rearranged her crumpled clothes. Tried to listen to his words, not respond to her body.
“Clare, do you understand what I’m saying here?”
Logic seeped into her cells slowly, reluctantly. She nodded.
His gaze searched her face. “Promise me something. When I leave here, you call up the department, get Trent to come fetch you. Don’t leave here on your own. Do you hear me?”
She sighed. “Yes, I hear you.”
He looked down and for a moment his eyes flared red. She saw her breasts almost exposed in her nightdress, nipples pointing sharply through the material.
His gaze was raw when she glanced up at him with a twisted little smile. “Whatever happens, I won’t regret giving you my blood,” she blushed a little, “or forcing you to kiss me.”
She heard his breath punch out of his lungs.
“Ah, sweet Clare, there was no force. If only you knew how often I’ve wanted to do that…
” He stroked her cheek, and she turned her head and took his finger into her mouth for a second, hoping maybe he would lose control, drag her back onto the bed and they would finally unleash what had been brewing for so many years.
But all he did was take one of her curls and gently place it around the shell of her ear with the sweetest, saddest smile.
Clare sighed. He was stronger than her. She knew that. He’d had a century to learn self-discipline.
She accompanied him out of her apartment and down the stairs to the front door, not wanting to lose the magic of what they’d shared. As she opened the door he looked up at the sky.
“The sun is almost up,” he said. “It’s safe for me to leave. Grimaalds hate full sunlight more than vampires do.”
“Was that thing that attacked you a grimaald?”
He shuddered. “Clare, I don’t know. I hope not, but I have a sense it was.
And if it was, that means it’s somehow got through the force field we put in place to keep them out.
I can’t work out how I couldn’t really see the fucker, but that’s demons for you, their dark magick can morph.
It’s possible it’s seeking revenge. When I joined the PD, I purged grimaalds from Motham.
I hope to the gods they are not slipping through our defenses again.
” He laughed, and it sounded hollow to his ears.
“But if they are, I’ll find a way to stop them.
Now, go inside. Lock the door. Call Trent to drive you into work. ”
“I will.”
“Goodbye, Clare. And thank you,” he breathed softly, and then he was gone.
Bunching her arms around her torso in a hug, she watched him skim along the street as the sky became streaked with wisps of pink and purple.
She stayed there, watching as the sun finally rose, its light softening the shadows and warming the earth.
Warming her, melting the heart that had felt like a leaden weight inside her chest these past three years. Whatever happened from here, she knew that Oliver felt something for her. There was no turning back from this. For either of them.
Setting her shoulders, she walked back inside and bolted the door.
Undressing in the bathroom, Clare stared at her wrist, marveling at the magick of his bite, the way he had sealed it, leaving no sign of his partaking.
She remembered the strange but delightful dragging sense of him sucking her blood, how arousing that had been, how strangely satisfying, in and of itself.
There was no sign, no scar, nothing. But she could never doubt it had happened.
Her mind played back over Oliver’s horrific story; of watching his family being staked to death, of being powerless to save them. And the hellish memories he could never escape from. The sorrow of it must be unbearable.
But at least she understood his darkness now.
And simultaneously, a weight had been removed from her heart. Finally, the shame of that night three years ago was washed away. She felt cleansed, renewed, blessed by the pain and vulnerability he had shared with her.
They were both damaged by their pasts, were they not? Even though hers paled in comparison to his, there was a darkness, a sadness in them both.
Like they didn’t quite fit anywhere in this world. Except with each other.
You could heal him.
You could join him in eternity.
Electricity ran up and down her spine, spread through her veins like wildfire.
It was scary—and yet, empowering, the thought resonating on some deep level in her soul.
Was it lunacy, believing she could heal him? Bring warmth back to his drawn features, make him happy again?
Or was it perhaps the sanest, the rightest thing she had ever contemplated in her whole life. As if everything in her twenty-eight years on earth was leading up to this.
Clare shed her nightdress and almost danced into the shower.
She felt the slick wet heat between her thighs as she washed, and a smile shaped her lips.
That feeling of elation stayed with her as she dried her skin, shimmied into her bra and briefs, dressed, and pulled her hair back into its usual stern bun.
Hesitating, she pulled out a tendril of hair, then gently curled it around her ear.
Her smile widened, transforming her own reflection.
He would touch her again.
He would kiss her again.
He would partake of her blood again.
And then he would make sweet love to her.
She was certain of that now.