Chapter 63
He carries me to the shower and turns on the water.
When the air becomes steamy around us, he sets me gently onto the tiled surface. I close my eyes as the warm water pelts my aching body. Rogan reaches for a bottle of body wash and pours some into his palm. He slides it over me in gentle strokes, navigating every curve and crevice.
His touch is like therapy. It’s like he’s healing the superficial wounds Eris inflicted. But more powerful is the emotional healing, the soothing salve of his strong hands on my weary body.
He wants me to sate him.
I’m ready.
I grab his cock.
“Let me take care of you first,” he says.
And I fucking love him all the more.
“You’re beautiful,” he whispers against my ear.
His words make me shiver despite the hot water cascading over us.
“I feel like a bruised peach,” I say with a chuckle as I lean against his hard golden body.
“Then you’re the most exquisite bruised peach I’ve ever seen.”
I open my eyes to meet his gaze, and there it is—the love and the affection that I’ve been craving. It’s an affirmation that I’m not just a creature of darkness, not just a pawn in a deadly game. To him, I’m more than what my blood makes me.
After all, he defied fate for me.
He continues the slow exploration of my body, tracing the contours of my muscles, lingering over the jagged scars that litter my skin. He kisses the hollow of my throat, the curve of my shoulder, the rise of my breasts.
“I see you,” he says. “I see you as you are, princess.”
I meet his gaze in the steam-filled shower, and I see a depth of love and understanding that takes my breath away. His green eyes shine with affection.
He sees me. Not the human, not the vampire, not Richard’s stepdaughter. Not even the mother of his child.
He sees me.
Just me.
A sob wrenches up from my chest.
I’m not a crier. But the sob is a release.
Rogan holds onto me as I let the tears fall onto our entwined bodies, washing away with the steady stream of water. It’s a purge of fear and guilt and rage that have coiled tight within me for so long.
“I love you,” he whispers into my ear. His voice is raw, stripped of all pretenses and full of sheer honesty.
Before I can respond, he takes my lips in a searing kiss. The utter intensity of it steals my breath. I can taste him on my tongue—earthy and wild, unmistakably Rogan. He’s all around me, inside me, filling me with his warmth, his scent, his essence.
Slowly the tension starts to leave my body. The aches and pains recede, and in their place comes a sweet surrender—a submission that I’m glad to give him.
His hands are everywhere—stroking, kneading, caressing until I’m lost in sensation. Until I’m nothing more than a bundle of raw nerves strung high with desire and anticipation.
The world outside ceases to exist, the only reality being Rogan’s touch, his scent, his taste.
The ether seems a distant nightmare as we move rhythmically against each other, erasing painful memories with each stroke and caress.
We are lost in each other, finding comfort and salvation in our shared desire.
This is what Eris could never take away from me—Rogan’s love. Deep love. True love. Love that conquered fate.
Our love is more potent than any magic, any bloodline. The realization sweeps over me like a tidal wave, leaving me breathless.
He lifts me then, his strong arms holding me like a vise, and shoves his cock into me with one smooth thrust.
The time for gentle exploration is over, and I’m good with that.
As Rogan’s movements grow more insistent, I match his pace, losing myself further in the rhythm of our bodies. His grip on me tightens, tightens, tightens, as he fucks me harder and faster.
Our moans get lost in the rush of water around us.
I cling onto him as a powerful wave of pleasure crashes over me. It breaks against the walls of my senses and washes away horror-filled memories of death and bloodshed.
“Rogan,” I whisper against his lips, my voice shaky with need.
“Shh,” he murmurs, pressing a soft kiss to my forehead. “I’ve got you.”
But it’s more than that—he has me. All of me, every scarred piece and ruined fragment. And in his arms, I’m whole again.
When he growls into me, releasing, I swear we’re one body, complete in each other.
When we finally emerge from the shower, our skin pink from the hot water and the raw passion, I feel lighter. The harsh reality of my situation still lingers, but for now, it’s muted, pushed to the background.
In this moment, I feel only the power of Rogan’s love.
Rogan wraps a soft towel around me, his touch gentle as he rubs the fabric against my damp skin. He doesn’t utter a word as he leads me to our bed, tucks me under the covers and slides in beside me.
I turn to him, curling against his side as he wraps an arm around me. His heartbeat is steady beneath my ear, and though I hear his delicious blood flowing through his veins, the sound is more of a comfort than a craving.
For now.
Because tonight, I don’t want to feed.
I want to feel.
But the hunger is always there. Just beneath the surface. Coiled. Quiet. Waiting.
Rogan traces slow patterns on my back, soothing and calming.
“I can’t promise that things will be easy,” he whispers, “but I’ll be right here, through every storm, every scar, every moment you want to run.”
I close my eyes.
Let myself surrender to the feelings for this man.
Because tomorrow…
Tomorrow comes the storm.
And I will not run.