Chapter 36
The steady rise and fall of Evangeline’s back under my hand as she sleeps tucked against me is a balm to my soul. After we’d come so close to losing her, after the seven circles of hell we’ve spent wading through the last couple weeks, this is what I need.
I made sure to take care of her after our time together, leading her into the shower and washing her from head to toe.
When Aamon joined us, it was like getting the smallest glimpse into a reality I so desperately want—the faintest flicker of hope.
She rolled her eyes when I insisted on applying some of Laurel’s salve to her hips, arguing that she wasn’t even sore.
But I wasn’t taking any more chances with her.
Even with the Arcane fully running through her veins now, she still feels so fragile to me, fast asleep against my chest. I know Aamon senses it too.
He went easy on her, all things considered.
I know the ferocity he usually fucks with, and while he tormented both of us thoroughly, it wasn’t his usual brand.
“You awake?” My gruff voice rumbles through the room. The midday sun is surely out by now, but the blackout curtains in the room keep us shrouded in darkness.
Aamon chose to stay after I got Evangeline tucked back into bed, but I know he’s not sleeping, not in that miserable desk chair that is two sizes too small for his large frame.
“Yeah,” he answers after several moments of silence.
I can’t see him well from here. Evangeline is on the side closer to him, and though her frame is tiny, I don’t want to shift to meet Aamon’s gaze over her and risk disrupting her sleep.
So instead I recline on my arm bent behind my head and stare up at the dark ceiling, watching the dim light glare off the blades of the fan as they lazily spin.
“I’ve got her, you know," I quietly assure. "You should go feed.” Almost instantly I’m rewarded with a sneer. “I’m serious, Aamon,” I challenge. “I could feel your bloodlust the moment I walked in here. You’re lucky I came when I did, or you may not have been able to keep it in check.”
“Despite what you may think, I am capable of managing my own hunger.” His voice is low, but it does nothing to disguise the irritation in his voice.
“Are you?” I've watched him punish himself like this for years now. Always pushing to see how long he can go without feeding, stumbling through this life with a fraction of the power he should be capable of. Always teetering on the edge of that primal rage, and losing himself to it more times than I can count. “All I’m saying is you need to replenish. Especially after binding her to you.”
“She barely drank any of my blood,” Aamon scoffs.
I sit up, making eye contact with him and abandoning any caution at disturbing Evangeline as she rolls into the crook of my arm. “She what?” I knew he offered his blood to turn her, I watched the crimson drips stain her lips. But . . . “She actually fed from you?”
Aamon sighs, pushing his palms against his knees as he sits up a little straighter. “Like I said, it was barely anything.”
“Perhaps.” I dip my head towards him, furrowing my brow. “But in addition to what you’d already offered to turn her? Making a bloodbond is more than just a regular feed, Aamon. And when was the last time you fed before tonight?”
“Enough,” he bites out bitterly, leaning forward and leveling his gaze at me.
His dark eyes are near pitch black in the shadows of the bedroom and my skin pricks with the anger in his voice.
Magic stirs inside my veins—not that of the Arcane, but that of a vampire bound to another.
“When I need your help with her, I will ask for it. Do you understand?”
My jaw tightens, my body tensing as I try to fight the power. I don’t want to drop this. But the magic in me is working like a drug, suppressing the fight building in my blood.
“I just”—I try to overpower the will to obey—“want to make myself—available—if need be.” My words are sandpaper on my tongue, nearly silent as I choke them out.
He sits back, his hold relaxing a fraction and I let out a huff of air at the released pressure. “I know,” he says calmly.
I lean back against the headboard, trying to catch my breath from the exchange. It’s the only sound in the room for several long moments. “How does it feel?” I ask at last. “To have her bound to you.”
The crushing power doesn’t return, and I assume it means this is a topic he’s more willing to discuss. Still, it takes him a while to respond. “Different,” he says at last. “Your bond, it feels easy. Natural.”
I smile, knowing exactly what he means. I've never been able to tell why, but something about our souls just melds seamlessly together.
Part of me believes we were meant to find each other.
To live side by side as something without definition.
Friends, brothers? Maybe even something more. Something spiritual.
We made the decision many years ago to be bound to each other.
Aamon resisted for a while, still wary of the bloodbond after his experience with Andras.
But after many, many arguments, I was able to convince him that this provided a layer of security for him, a foothold to something else besides Andra's ruthless existence.
Binding himself to me, and in turn me to him, gave his soul another tie in this life.
The truth is, I had no idea if that would actually work.
But I couldn’t stand to see the pain in Aamon’s eyes, the way Andras’ rule over him was sucking the life force out of him.
I figured if I could convince him to be bloodbound, perhaps he’d at least have me—in the end.
As a punching bag, as a blood source, as a voice of reason when he inevitably pushed himself too far.
“But with her—” Aamon’s voice grows distant and I bristle, desperate to know what he’s thinking. “It’s abrasive. Like my body wants to reject the bond, or like it’s . . .” He trails off and I swallow hard, knowing without him voicing the word what he means.
Incomplete.
I know because I can feel it too. The energy shift when I offered my blood to her, the way my magic recoiled at the feel of her own.
And yet, there’s this promised intent between the three of us.
What could be if we took from her like she did from us.
Our bond, right now . . . it only goes one way.
I can’t help but imagine the pure euphoria we could experience if I—if we—fed from her.
The feel of her blood is suddenly so fucking strong, so loud right here beside me—and I lean in to inhale the intoxicating scent. “And you?” I ask, clinging to anything to distract myself. “How are you feeling after making that call?”
“Fine,” he says too quickly. I know it’s a lie.
“I know that was hard for you to do, Aamon. But I cannot explain how thankful I am to you for offering—”
“I said I’m fine,” he reiterates. He stands, stretching his arms above his head and pulling on his leather cut. “I’m going to get some sleep, and you should too.”
“Aamon, I—”
“Tomorrow is a full moon, after all.” He cuts me off, throwing me a wink as he makes his way to the door. “You never know what kind of mischievous behavior may require our attention.”
I don’t get the chance to respond before he’s slipping through the door and pulling it shut behind him.
I sink back into the bed, breathing in deeply as visions dance through my mind of what his statement could've possibly meant. Evangeline stirs momentarily beside me, and I freeze, nervous I'll wake her. But instead she settles deeper against me, her head nestled in the hollow of my collarbone, giving me a pristine opportunity to smell her scent once more. And fuck me, despite all we’ve done tonight, I’m hard as a rock, once again.