Chapter 33
Chapter
Thirty-Three
Iwake to the sound of a heartbeat.
Not just any heartbeat. Ours. The steady rhythm pulses through me, synchronized, a miracle neither of us can explain.
Before I open my eyes, I feel him.
Not his body, though I sense that too. The coolness of him beside me, the weight of his hand in mine. Something deeper. His emotions, bleeding into my awareness like ink in water. Relief, so profound it aches. Worry, still lingering at the edges. And love, vast and terrifying and certain.
He loves me. I've known it, heard him say it, but this is different. This is feeling the truth of it in my own chest, undeniable and overwhelming.
I open my eyes.
Maximus is beside me, sitting in a chair pulled close to my bed.
He looks exhausted. Blood still streaked across his shirt, shadows under his eyes, his normally immaculate appearance wrecked from battle.
But his gaze is fixed on my face, and when he sees me looking back, I feel his relief surge through the bond like a wave.
"You're awake." His voice is rough.
"You look terrible."
He laughs, a short, surprised sound. "You almost died."
"Don't remind me." I try to sit up and wince as pain flares in my side. The wound is still there, still healing, but the wrongness is gone. The unraveling has stopped.
"Careful." His hands are on me immediately, helping me upright, adjusting pillows behind my back. Through the bond, I feel his concern spike. "Elena says you need rest."
"How long was I out?"
"Through the day. It's evening now." His thumb traces circles on my wrist, right over the pulse point. I feel his wonder at the sensation. A heartbeat where there shouldn't be one. "How do you feel?"
"Like I killed my maker and almost died from magical silver poisoning." I manage a weak smile. "So, about average."
He doesn't smile back. His hand comes up to cup my face, and I feel the weight of what he's feeling.
"I'm okay," I say softly. "I'm here."
"I know. I can feel you." His eyes search mine. "It's strange. Having you in my head."
"I'm not in your head. I'm in your..." I press my hand to his chest, feeling the heartbeat beneath my palm. Feeling the warmth of the mark beneath his shirt. "Here. And you're in mine."
We stay like that for a moment, just feeling each other. The bond hums between us, a constant connection that makes the silence feel full instead of empty.
"I need a shower," I say finally. "I'm covered in..." I look down at myself. Dried blood, dirt, the remnants of battle crusted on my skin. "Everything."
"You need rest."
"I need to not smell like a corpse." I swing my legs over the side of the bed, and he's there immediately, hands steadying me. "I'm fine. I can walk."
"You were dying twelve hours ago."
"And now I'm not." I meet his eyes. "The bond worked. I can feel myself healing. Whatever was coming apart, it's stable now." I touch his chest again, feeling that heartbeat, the warmth of the mark beneath the fabric. "Because of you."
He's quiet for a moment, emotions flickering through the bond too fast to name. Then he nods.
"My quarters," he says. "Not here. You can shower there."
I don't argue.
He helps me stand, his arm around my waist as we make our way through the compound. It's quiet, the halls empty. I catch glimpses of faces in doorways, curious eyes following us, but no one approaches.
They can all hear it, I realize. Our heartbeats. Every vampire in this building can hear the rhythm coming from both of us.
Maximus's quarters feel different tonight.
The same elegant space, the same king-sized bed where we've spent every night since we first came together, but something has shifted.
Maybe it's the bond. Maybe it's almost dying.
Everything feels more vivid, more precious.
He leads me into the bathroom, and I don't protest when he follows.
We're both covered in blood. We both need this.
The bathroom is almost as large as my old apartment.
Marble floors. A shower that could fit six people. A massive tub that looks more like a small pool. Everything in shades of gray and black, understated luxury that somehow fits him perfectly.
"I'll get you clean clothes," he says, turning to leave.
I catch his wrist. "Stay."
He goes still. His reaction hits me instantly, a spike of want, quickly suppressed. He's trying to be noble. Trying to give me space to recover.
I don't want space.
"Stay," I repeat. "You're covered in blood too."
"Celeste..."
"I almost died." I step closer, still holding his wrist. "And right now, the only thing I want is to feel alive." I press my palm flat against his chest, feeling our shared heartbeat, feeling the mark warm beneath my touch. "With you."
His control wavers. I feel it like a tremor running between us. The desire he's been holding back, the desperate need to touch me, to confirm I'm real and whole and here. Centuries of restraint, cracking under the weight of almost losing me.
"You're injured," he says, but his voice is hoarse.
"I'm healing." I reach for the hem of my ruined shirt, what's left of it, and pull it over my head. The movement tugs at my wound, but the pain is distant, manageable. "And I don't want to be careful tonight. I don't want to be gentle." I drop the shirt on the marble floor. "I want to feel you."
His eyes travel down my body. The blood, the bandages, the bruises already fading. And the mark, the crimson bond mark over my heart, glowing faintly in the bathroom light. His want floods into me, hot and immediate, no longer suppressed.
"You're sure?" he asks.
"I just killed my maker, survived a magical assassination attempt, and bonded myself to you for eternity." I reach for the fastening of my pants. "I've never been more sure of anything."
Something snaps in him.
One moment he's standing there, fighting for control. The next, his hands are on me, pulling me against him, his mouth claiming mine with a desperation that steals my breath.
And I feel it. Not just the kiss, not just his hands on my skin. I feel what he feels. The relief of having me alive. The hunger he's been suppressing for hours. The overwhelming love that saturates everything else.
It's almost too much. Almost.
I pull at his shirt, needing it off, needing to feel his skin against mine. He breaks the kiss long enough to tear it over his head, and then we're pressed together, chest to chest, our heartbeats pounding in unison. Our marks pressed together, both glowing brighter at the contact.
"Shower," I manage against his mouth.
He reaches past me and turns on the water. Hot, steaming, perfect. Then his hands are at my waist, stripping away what's left of my clothing while I do the same to him. Boots, pants, everything, tossed aside until we're both bare, both exposed, both feeling everything the other feels.
He lifts me easily, carrying me into the shower. The hot water hits my skin like a benediction, washing away the blood and dirt and remnants of battle. I wrap my legs around his waist, my back against the cool marble wall, and pull his mouth back to mine.
The bond makes everything more intense.
I feel his hands on my body, and I feel his sensation of touching me. The softness of my skin, the curve of my waist, the weight of me in his arms. A feedback loop of pleasure that builds with every touch.
"I can feel what you feel," I gasp against his throat.
"I know." His voice is wrecked. "I feel you too."
He presses me harder against the wall, the water cascading over both of us, and I feel his need like it's my own.
"Don't hold back," I tell him. "Not tonight. I want all of you."
He groans, a sound that vibrates through both of us, and shifts my weight, positioning himself at my entrance. I feel his anticipation, his desperation, his overwhelming love, all of it amplified through the bond until I can't tell where his emotions end and mine begin.
He pushes into me.
The sensation is indescribable. Not just the physical feeling of him filling me. I feel that from both sides. His pleasure at being inside me. My pleasure at taking him. The bond weaving it all together until we're gasping, both of us, overwhelmed by the intensity.
"Celeste." My name on his lips is a prayer.
He starts to move, slow at first, controlled. But the bond won't let him hide. I feel his restraint fraying, feel how much he wants to let go.
"More," I demand. "Harder."
He obeys.
The wall is cold against my back, the water hot against my skin, and he's everywhere. His body against mine, his emotions flooding through me, his pleasure building in tandem with my own. Every thrust sends waves through the bond, echoing between us, multiplying.
I rake my nails down his back, and I feel the sting of it through his senses. He bites down on my shoulder, not hard enough to draw blood, not yet.
It's too much. It's not enough. It's everything.
"I need..." I can't finish the sentence. I don't have to.
He knows. He feels what I feel.
His hand slides between us, finding the place where I need him most, and the dual sensation, his fingers on me, my pleasure flooding through him, tips us both toward the edge.
He growls against my throat.
The orgasm hits like a wave, crashing through both of us simultaneously. I feel him shatter as I shatter, his release and mine tangled together through the bond until there's no separation, no distinction, just us. One pleasure, one heartbeat, two bodies sharing every sensation.
I catch a glimpse of our reflections in the bathroom mirror.
Two bodies pressed together, water cascading over us.
And on both our chests, glowing softly through the steam, the bond marks pulse with crimson light.
Brighter now than before. Responding to our passion, our connection, the pleasure flooding through the bond.
Beautiful. We're beautiful together. Marked. Matched. Mated.