Chapter 25
Dylan
The night before the gathering was a restless one. I found myself pacing the apartment, walking a hurried loop from the kitchen to the living room and back again as I worked myself into a frantic mess.
I didn’t like the idea of Amara being bait, but we had no better options. The thought of her in danger made my blood boil. I couldn't shake the nagging worry in the pit of my stomach, the fear that something might go wrong, that I might lose her.
Amara sat on the sofa with a bowl of spaghetti tucked between her knees, watching me with wide eyes and a furrowed brow, the flicker of a smile on her face like she couldn’t decide whether she should be amused or concerned.
When my pacing grew fast enough to nearly burn a trail through the carpet, I halted, turning to her and signing swiftly, “Are you sure about this? There’s still time to back out.”
Amara nodded vigorously, squeezing her legs to secure the spaghetti as she signed back, “I told you, I can do this.”
When I remained standing, staring her down in the hopes of prompting a different response, she cocked her head to the side and contemplated me for a moment.
“It’s a nice night,” she signed eventually, gesturing at the ceiling. “Let’s go to the garden for a bit.”
I was perfectly content to pace the living room another thousand times if it meant shaking off the tense animosity that clung to me like a dark cloud, but Amara blinked big doe eyes at me and I had no choice but to comply. I sighed and nodded, following her up the stairs.
The cool night air greeted us as we stepped onto the rooftop. Amara took my hand and guided me to a secluded spot, surrounded by lush foliage and bathed in the soft glow of the moonlight. I sat myself down in a huff and Amara perched at my side.
We were silent for a long while, staring at the faint starlight before Amara turned a tentative expression toward me. “Would you let me draw you?”
I hesitated for a moment, but one look at her had me caving. Amara was as tense as I was, she was just doing a better job of hiding it. But I could see it in the stiffness of her shoulders and in the way she twisted the silver ring on her finger.
I nodded. “Sure, why not.”
I shifted awkwardly, unsure of exactly what she wanted me to do. Amara bit down on her lip, lifting her sketchbook to hide the blush noticeable on her cheeks even in the shadows.
“Can I draw you –” she gestured at my clothes, leather jacket zipped to my throat, “without all this.”
I stared at her agog, signing awkwardly, “Are you asking me to strip for you?”
“It’s not like that!” Amara signed hurriedly, hiding her face behind her curls as she punctuated her explanation with mumbled words. “I’ve just – always wanted to sketch you – like that. You know… You have a nice – form.”
“A nice form?” I spoke aloud, eyeing her with a dry smile.
“Just shut up and take your clothes off,” Amara signed with a flourish, scrambling to her feet and overturning a flower pot to sit on.
“You’re serious?” I asked, but slowly got to my feet anyway.
I wasn’t sure I’d make the best muse, stringy limbs and shamefully flat chest included, but I was at least willing to humor her. Amara was already flipping to a new page of her sketchbook, nodding vigorously.
She set up her sketchpad and charcoal, and I began to undress, slowly zipping down my jacket and shrugging it off. I kept my eyes on her, holding her gaze even as I tugged my shirt over my head. The vulnerability of the act wasn’t lost on me, both literal and figurative.
Amara watched quietly, gripping her charcoal tight enough to crack it in two. I stripped away the last of my clothes, feeling the cool breeze against my skin, and stood before her, exposed.
“Now what?” I signed, resisting the urge to shrink into myself.
But there was no judgment in her eyes. They slid over me slowly, taking in every soft curve and sharp edge with careful precision. An artist’s eye.
As Amara readied her charcoal I sat down, splaying out on my back over the pile of discarded clothes. Rather than writhe under her intense gaze, I stared upward, inspecting the canopy of curling vines that drooped toward me like reaching fingers.
She started to draw, her eyes flicking between me and the sketchpad, and I heard the scratch of charcoal on paper. The moonlight cast strange shadows that danced across my skin, highlighting every protruding bone and cresting muscle.
I wondered what I looked like in her eyes.
“So – I was wondering…” Amara began aloud, interrupting the lengthy silence. Her voice was soft and lilting, each word melding into the next.
I turned my head to the side to watch her, but she burrowed further into herself, avoiding my gaze. She rarely ever spoke out loud. I could see her second-guessing herself. But she was trying, which was more than I was capable of.
I loved the sound of her voice.
There was a long pause when she hesitated, swallowing her words before trying again. “What was Maxine – talking about earlier?”
I rolled onto my side, propping my head up with one arm, and waited for her to look at me. But she kept her gaze down, her brow furrowed in concentration, dedicated to capturing me on paper.
I scooted closer, sitting upright and reaching for her hand.
“She was talking about mates…” I said, signing the words as best as I could when she finally lifted her eyes.
“A mate is someone a vampire is destined to be with,” I signed, watching her closely. “It’s a bond that goes beyond love, sealed with a bite. It’s... everything.”
Amara’s eyes left mine briefly, her hands moving fluidly as she sketched. I leaned forward to catch a glimpse of the page she pored over and saw my own dark eyes staring back at me. A lithe body sprawled across the paper, lightly sketched and overlapped with detailed hands, long swathes of dark hair, and smudged shadows.
“Do you – think – we’re mates?” Her words were a whisper, her expression disarmingly hopeful.
I took a deep breath, feeling the catch in my chest. It was a knee-jerk reaction, to lie and evade and bury the truth. But I had no walls left to hide behind, no shovel to dig myself another shallow grave.
“I believe we are,” I signed slowly, kneeling at her feet. “From the moment I met you, there’s been something... different. I feel it in my bones, in my soul.”
She paused, her charcoal hovering over the paper, and stared back at me. I lifted a hand to her cheek, tucking a stray curl behind her ear. My words were a murmur, but my lips delivered them clearly.
“You’re my mate, Amara.”
The charcoal slipped from her fingers, rolling off the sketchbook and clattering to the floor. For a moment, I feared she might protest, or reject me. The thought terrified me. The admission was a vulnerability I wasn’t used to. But Amara reached out, fingers grazing my skin, smudging streaks of charcoal across my cheek.
She leaned closer, sinking to the floor before me, sketchbook sliding from her knees. I wrapped my arms around her and pulled her to my chest. The kiss, when it came, was careful. It carried with it the thousand thoughts we couldn’t put into words.
Amara’s hands roamed over my body, exploring every inch of my bare skin, and I could feel the heat of her touch. At the sudden sharp crack of electricity between us, the kiss grew urgent, more demanding. The garden around us faded into obscurity, lost to me as we collided. I could feel the bond between us solidifying, the connection deepening with every caress.
Amara’s hands moved to my back, pulling me closer, and I responded in kind, my hands fastening to her hips. Something inside me – something that had lain dormant for a very long time – sparked back to life. It was a small flame and a weak one. But it was there.
Along with the new life that bloomed in my chest came a tidal wave of sensations. Feelings dead and buried bubbled up all at once, a million emotions cresting like a wave. I felt alive again – anguished, aroused, and inexplicably in love all at once.
And I had to tell her. It was urgent. It was the most important thing in the world.
I pulled away just enough to move my hands, touching a hand to my chest, crossing my arms over myself, and pressing a palm to her chest.
“I love you,” I spoke aloud, over and over again, my hands repeating the motion even as my words slurred together. “I love you. I love you. I love you.”
Amara smiled at my words, then leaned in to lock her lips with mine. She smelled like a summer's day, a breath of fresh air gusting through the crevices of my heart, and I wanted to lose myself in it.
I wanted to mark her. To be consumed by her. Mind, body, and soul.
The thought surged through me, and I tugged her sundress up over her head before crashing my lips to hers again. She sank onto her back, dragging me down with her, and sighed into my shoulder when my mouth roamed the juncture of her throat.
I pulled away to gasp in a breath and relished the sight of her body splayed out before me. Every dip and curve cast shadows that seemed to caress her. Her skin, creamy white, was almost translucent – thin blue veins like spider threads clear beneath the surface.
Amara looked at me under heavy lids and parted her legs slightly. Her presence was intoxicating, the sweetest fruit splayed before me that had my body trembling with desire. I leaned over her and took one of her nipples in my mouth, sucking on it briefly, before letting a sharp incisor sink into the soft flesh, causing her back to arch beneath me.
I lowered myself between her legs and felt her shiver of anticipation. My fangs grazed her thighs, and she jerked at the slight touch, rolling her hips to meet my mouth. I nipped at her inner thighs, making her squirm. Every slight contact was deliberate, calculated to drive her wild, and she moaned for more.
I lifted my head to smile, fangs protruding beneath my lips. I drew her dripping underwear to the side and ran a finger along wet folds, eliciting a shuddering gasp from Amara. She twisted in pleasurable torment, driven to a precipice by the slightest teasing.
Finally, I lifted her hips and removed her underwear entirely, tossing them to the side before gripping her thighs and pushing my face between her legs. My tongue flicked out and licked slowly, tracing lazy circles before probing deeper. Her moans grew louder and stuttered with every caress, and I felt the moment her climax rushed through her body in an electric bolt of ecstasy.
Before she was done riding out her release, I moved over her, seeking out the fluttering pulse at her throat. I hovered over her for a moment, our bodies almost touching, acutely aware of the fragile, invisible barrier between us. A barrier that, once broken, meant there would be no going back.
Amara tipped her head back and bared her neck. Welcoming me.
I had no strength left to fight it. My hand gripped her hip, the other clutched at her shoulder, and I brought my fangs down on her neck. Amara tensed as teeth broke skin, protruding fangs closing over that tantalizing pulse where her neck sloped down into her shoulder.
The pain was no doubt sharp, but what followed was a rush of endorphins, a wave of pleasure that rocked the both of us – a shattering orgasm on its own. She clung to me as she gasped, nails raking down my back. Her blood was ambrosia, hot and heady on my tongue.
The bond between us was sealed, an unbreakable tether.
When I finally lifted my head, Amara’s rolling eyes steadied to meet mine, and she reached for me, thumb wiping at the blood that stained my bottom lip. She brought her lips to mine, feverish and wild. Her words were slurred, like she was speaking through a haze, but they struck straight to my core.
“I love you – ” a sharp intake. “I love you.”
And I was hers, just as she was mine.