Chapter 32
Maeve
IT WASN’T RAINING WHEN I arrived, but I felt in my blood that the storm would hit soon. And now, as I stand at the window of the small room in Boar and Badger, staring out at the city below, the first raindrops start to fall.
It’s a gentle rain, accompanied by mist and fog. The trees lining the cobblestone streets have already shed many of their leaves, and the ground is bathed in orange and yellow and red, the fallen leaves made more vibrant by the wet weather.
As it usually does, the weather calms me. My heart beats steadily despite what I’m about to do.
If Severin shows up, that is.
I handed him the note days ago, but I haven’t seen him since.
When I discussed this with Isis, she told me he would come. She had no doubts. But I’m not so certain.
So, as I stand at the window, watching the rain fall and the autumn sky start to darken, I begin to convince myself that he’s not going to come. And I tell myself that I won’t be upset about it. I won’t hold it against him—just like I said in the letter.
Far off, thunder rumbles, and I draw a steadying breath, feeling the storm in my veins.
Then, so softly I almost don’t hear it, there’s a knock at the door.
I turn from the window.
It could be anyone, I think as I pad in bare feet across the cool wooden floor. Maybe the innkeeper bringing linens or extra wood for the fire.
My hand hesitates on the door handle. I draw another breath.
Then I pull the door open.
And everything inside me simultaneously squeezes and relaxes.
Severin stands there, his midnight eyes catching the light from the fire behind me, his crisp jacket collar turned up against the cold. He doesn’t smile when he sees me. Instead, he wears a stoic expression, like maybe he’s walking into an execution rather than a fire-warmed room at an inn.
It makes me smile, just a little. Because this is exactly the Severin I’ve come to know.
Without a word, I step out of his way, holding the door open.
He hesitates at the threshold, like he’s having to decide one more time if he’s going to go through with this. I hold my breath, waiting.
Then he steps into the room. I close the door behind him with a soft click.
We stand in the quiet, the only sound the tap of rain against the windows and the crackle and hiss of the fire I lit in the hearth.
He has his back to me now, his shoulders bunched up a bit, hands in fists at his sides. I wait.
Without turning to look at me, he says softly, “Are you certain about this?”
My blood pumps a little harder, excitement and nervousness twirling through me. Severin draws a breath and turns his head, just slightly, as if he can smell the shift in me.
I lift my head a hair higher. “Yes.” The word comes out with gentle conviction. “I’m sure.”
The air between us tightens. Even without Severin turning around, I can detect the change in him, the hesitation turning to resignation.
But I don’t want him to resign himself to this. I want him to want it, just like I do.
“Do you want this?” I ask him.
He doesn’t answer me right away. Instead, his gaze goes to the far window. His shoulders rise and fall as he breathes deeply. I don’t speak.
Then, after a drawn-out silence, he whispers, “More than I’ve wanted anything in centuries.”
A tingle dances down my spine.
That’s all the answer I need.
I twist the lock on the door, and the muscles in Severin’s jaw twitch with the sound of the tumbler falling into place.
Crossing to him on quiet feet, I reach out, let my fingertips drift across his long black jacket.
It’s speckled with rain and still cold to the touch.
Slowly, I reach around him, undoing the clasps down the front, then ease it from his shoulders.
While I hang the jacket on the coatrack, Severin stands still.
As I look at him from across the room, I get the feeling he’s like my energy sphere.
Right now, he’s trying to hold himself still, trying to contain everything going on inside him. But there’s a tension in his shoulders that whispers of energy waiting to explode.
Storm energy doesn’t want to be static, I think. And right now, he’s feeling like a storm.
I need to get him moving, talking.
“Do you want tea?”
I move past him, then slip a heat glove onto my hand and fetch the kettle from over the fire, pouring two cups without him responding. The scent of lavender and chamomile joins the scent of woodsmoke and rain filling the small room.
Severin still hasn’t moved.
I take a seat in one of the armchairs by the fire.
“Severin,” I say softly.
His dark eyes meet mine.
“It’s okay. Come sit down.”
He’s like a man made of stone, standing there like he’s ready to weather the storms of time. But finally, with a bit more coaxing from me, he crosses the room and takes a seat in the armchair across from mine.
Finally, as he takes his first sip of tea, some of the tension leaves his shoulders.
I think he’s more afraid of this than I am. And that only helps to calm me more.
Because I trust him. And I know he’s concerned for me.
I know he’s going to take care of me.
And I haven’t needed—or wanted—anybody to take care of me for years.
I’ve always been independent. It’s probably the storm magic inside of me, that inherent need to be wild and free.
Right now, though, I want to be cared for by him.
I want to put something precious into his hands and know that he’s going to be careful.
“Talk to me,” I tell him. My legs are clad in loose cotton pants, and I pull them up beneath me, cuddling into the armchair.
He flicks a glance at the window and grumbles, “I dislike the rain.”
And immediately, it makes me laugh.
“Well, you’d better get used to it,” I say, then take another sip of tea. “When you’re around me, the storms are never far away.”
Finally, this gets him to crack a very small smile, just a flicker of movement at the edge of his mouth.
“Why do you dislike it?” I ask, trying to draw more conversation out of him, even if it’s small talk.
He softens into his armchair a bit. “Because it’s cold. And wet.”
“You don’t like cold, wet things?”
He wrinkles his nose in distaste. “No.”
“What if it’s a summer rain?” I tip my head at him. “Summer rain is warm.”
He blinks at me slowly. “I still don’t like it. Though it’s not quite so irksome.”
I laugh, then put my teacup on the table between our armchairs. “Are you always so grouchy?”
There’s that flicker of a smile again. He hides it behind his teacup as he takes a sip. “Yes.”
“We’ll work on it,” I say.
Now one of his eyebrows arches. “We?”
I nod once. Then, slowly, I unfold my legs from beneath me and stand. Severin looks up at me as I reach down to take his teacup and set it on the side table. Gently, I ease myself into his lap. His arms come around me with some hesitation, and he tightens up again.
“Yes, we,” I say. I trace my fingertips over his high cheekbone, then down his jaw, where a hint of a dark beard is just starting to show. “Because I’m not going anywhere.” I curl my fingers around his chin and tip his head down so he has to look at me. “Do you understand?”
That same muscle feathers in his jaw again. He searches my eyes, and I hold his gaze steadily.
“Are you going anywhere?” I ask when he doesn’t respond.
This time, he answers me.
“No.”
My fingers soften on his chin, and I lift up to press a gentle kiss to his mouth, which is still warm from the tea. When I ease away, I whisper, “Then yes. We.”
He takes a long breath, his chest rising and falling with the movement. Though the tension lingers in him, I can see him actively fighting it.
“Severin.”
His dark eyes meet mine.
“You don’t have to be afraid.”
His arms tighten around me, just a bit. “I don’t think you understand the gravity of what you’re asking me to do.”
“I understand the gravity,” I say, starting to stroke my fingers along the back of his neck, where his dark hair has grown a bit long. “You’re using it as an excuse.”
He says nothing.
“Why did you show up tonight?” I ask. “If you’re not ready, why did you come?”
His gaze goes to the fire. The flames dance, reflected in his eyes. Again, he says nothing.
Now a bolt of irritation goes through me.
I extract myself from Severin’s arms and stand from my place in his lap.
Hands on my hips, I stare down at him. “I want you to feed from me. That’s why I’m here, why I set this up for us.
” I gesture to the room with one hand. “If you have no intention of doing this with me, then—”
“I have every intention of doing this with you,” he says, voice dropping to a growl.
Slowly, his gaze slides from the flames to me.
“Don’t you understand, Maeve? I can’t say no to you.
” His fingers curl into the armrests, dimpling the plush material.
“I’ve never submitted to anyone in my life.
” His eyes narrow further. His voice is lower this time when he says, “But I’ll submit to you. ”
A thrill goes through me, making my magic pulse, and heat curls low in my belly.
“Then stop hesitating,” I say.
My fingers find the hem of my loose tunic, and I slowly pull it off over my head, exposing my breasts. The air in the room is warm, but as Severin’s gaze traces over me, my nipples harden in anticipation. Then I take the trousers and slip them over my hips, dropping the material to the floor.
I’m naked in front of him now, the firelight dancing across my skin.
Around me, the air prickles with electric currents, my magic becoming restless, excited.
Reaching up, I push my long hair back over my shoulders, revealing my throat. Severin’s gaze immediately goes there, and his jaw tightens, bobbing hard as he swallows.
With a steadying breath, I say, “I’m ready.”