70. La – Zair – Us
La – Zair – Us
Delayed gratification is real. I’ve buried it, locked it under layers of control, telling myself I could wait because that’s what she needed.
Every glance, every accidental touch only added fuel to a hunger I refused to acknowledge.
But the moment she kissed me: all my reservations, rules, and plans crumbled in an instant.
That kiss… It wasn’t just a kiss. It was searing and unforgiving.
Heat, need, an unspoken desperation that consumed both of us at once.
I told myself I’d hold back. That I’d protect her because I owed her that much.
But as her hands tangled in my hair, as her body pressed against mine with a fervor of desire, I knew I couldn’t.
I should stop. I need to stop before it’s too late.
I love her. But what if she wakes up tomorrow and regrets this?
What if I’m just a distraction, a way to fill the emptiness she feels?
I tried to slow it down. Told myself to breathe, to keep my head, not to lose control.
She needs to be sure. I’m not going to push her into something she isn’t ready for.
I could see it in the frantic way she pulled off my clothes.
But then she said my name, like she needed me, like she wanted me. The feel of her skin against mine was a wildfire. There was no escape for me, not when everything in me was screaming to hold her. To claim her. To be hers completely.
I had to stop. I had to ask. I couldn’t let her move forward unless I knew this was what she wanted.
“Are you sure?” I struggle to keep the tremor from my voice.
“I can’t fight this anymore. I want you.” And then she shoves me onto the bed and climbs on top of me. As I enter her, everything clicks into place. She was made for me, and I was made for her. As the waves of pleasure hit, everything else fades.
I lose myself in her. Every touch, every movement, pulling me deeper into her world. I try to restrain, to let her take what she needs, but when she says my name, that last ounce of control snapped and I took control. I needed her. And she needed me too.
I flipped us over, claiming her lips once more, unable to stop. It’s everything I’d ever imagined and more. Like puzzle pieces, we align without even trying. There’s no fumbling or awkwardness to it, we match each other. We climb higher together, until we’re in the clouds.
When I came, it wasn’t just a release. It was something primal and unstoppable. The force of it left me exposed and undone. Her name escaped me in a guttural cry, and in that moment, I knew nothing could ever be the same again.
Then everything changed.
She went from the top of the mountain to a valley of despair before my body had even stopped trembling. Her breathing went from moaning breaths to sobbing cries. Her body curled inward, as if she was trying to hide.
No! No no no!
“Thea,” I whisper, the word catching in my throat. What have I done? I got lost in my own desires and pushed her too far. Oh god, what have I done? I should have stopped her.
“I’m so sorry. I should’ve stopped.” My voice cracks under the weight of my panic.
She shakes her head, her sobs growing louder. Each one feels like a jagged knife cutting into me. She’s still underneath me, we’re still connected and I have no idea what to do. I hold myself still above her, trying not to disturb her. Why didn’t I stop her?
I’m a terrible mate. A terrible person.
She deserves better, better than this, better than me.
I try to pull away from her and her body stiffens as if my touch burns. Before I can say anything, she shoves me. I pull away as she scrambles to stand. She tries to find her clothes, running from me, from what I’ve done.
I stumble into my sweats. I love her, I have to do something. Even if it’s just to leave.
“I’m so sorry,” I rasp. “Please, tell me what you need. Anything. I’ll do it.”
“No, you did nothing wrong, Zair,” her words are barely audible through the sobs. The rawness of my name, spoken in that broken tone, hits me harder than any blow. “I have a mate. I shouldn’t have done that. I’m a terrible person. I’m so, so sorry.”
I can’t breathe. I can’t move. Mate? What does she mean? No, it was impossible. She’s my mate. I’m sure of it. Right? Or am I wrong?
“The one I’ve been waiting for… my mate.” She sits on the edge of the bed. Suddenly perfectly still, her tears falling silently down her face. She chokes on the next words. “My banshee, Lazarus.”
No.
There’s no fucking way.
“Your mate… is a banshee named Lazarus?” I force the words out. I need to make sure I didn’t mishear. That I’m not hearing what I want.
She nods.
“Why can’t I find him? He should’ve been there today,” she whispers, her knees drawn close to her chest.”I don’t think he exists anymore.”
That’s who she’s been looking for. Who was tearing her apart from the inside, and I was here hiding in my own insecurities.
I sit down beside her on the bed, the decision made in an instant. I have to tell her. Even if she rejects me, she deserves to know.
“Thea,” I say softly, my hand gently lifting her chin. “Look at me.”
Her eyes are red and swollen, but she does as I ask.
“What do you think Zair stands for?” I pause, the last chance to back out. “La-Zair-us.”
She cocks her head in confusion. Time seems to freeze. I hold my breath, waiting for the fallout. She blinks a few times and pulls away from me, eyes wide.
“You’re Lazarus?” she whispers, her voice filled with doubt.
“That’s my banshee’s name,” I say, struggling with the confession. “Only my family knows it. Never told a soul.”
“You don’t sound like Lazarus.”
How does she know what I sound like? Well, this isn’t it. With unsteady hands, I reach up and remove my lip ring. I take the small, metallic piece and place it in her hand, curling her fingers around it.
“There, love, is that better now?” I say, my Irish brogue thick with disuse.
Her eyes widen.
“Lazlo,” she whispers in awe. Then she throws herself into my arms, kissing me with a desperation that splits me open.
I hold her close as sobs begin to shake through her — raw, relentless.
Each one feels like a blade. But they aren’t from pain.
They’re from relief. So I hold her, and I let her fall apart.
“I’m sorry,” she whispers. “I know the crying hurts you. I just… I can’t stop.”
That makes me still. How does she know that?
“Don’t worry ’bout it, love.”
That makes her cry harder. I hold her until her body finally relaxes against mine. She slowly pulls away, meeting my eyes. I can tell she has no idea where to start.
“Ye’ve got me puzzled, I’ll admit,” I say softly. “How did ya know me real name? Who I am? How did ya know to look for me?”
“God, I missed that accent,” she sighs, and I’m scared the tears will start again, but then she lets out a shaky laugh. “You know how your mom named you Lazarus after the myth that male banshees can bring people back from the dead?” she asks and I nod. Okay, she knows a lot about me.
“You can,” she says. “Over winter break we get captured and locked in a prison for months,” she wavers before continuing. “I was dying, and I offered you my soul, to protect, and I woke up back here.”
“Why didn’t ya know who I was?” I ask.
“They captured you in banshee form, and that’s how you stayed. They didn’t know who you were. They were trying to break you, get you to reveal your name so they could go after your family.” She pauses, her fingers brushing my face. “I never saw you in this form. And I only saw him once.”
A quiet moment passes.
“Can I see him? The real you?” she asks softly.
“Me banshee form?” I ask, appalled. She nods, unflinching.
I flinch. I’ve never shown anyone. Not anyone still breathing, anyway.
But she knows what I am. She’d seen the worst and still come looking for me. I take a deep breath, close my eyes, and let him out.
It rolls over me like a tide, unmaking what I was. My bones shift. My skin greys. My eyes sink. A harbinger of death. The real me.
She kisses me. Her lips are warm and real, grounding on a face no one was ever meant to touch.
My eyes fly open in shock.
“How can ya kiss a banshee?” I ask, still unable to wrap my head around it. I drop into my regular form, a little unsure.
“How could I not? You’re amazing, and you’re wonderful,” she tells me, her voice warm. “Hell, you made me fall in love with you, twice. While competing with yourself.”
“I take people’s souls,” I say simply, still questioning myself. Why am I fighting her on this?
“You help souls,” she says, no hesitation in her voice. “And I can take them too. Does that make you like me any less?”
“No,” I reply, offering a small smile. “Honestly, your soul magic? It’s pretty damn sexy.”
She laughs, full and unguarded. Her body shaking against mine.
“What?”
“When I first realized I had soul magic, I was wondering how people would react. And I thought Lazlo? He’d totally find it sexy!” She laughs again, her eyes sparkling.
“Ya know me well,” I say, smirking. “But really, what’ve I told ya?”
Her grin widens, turning wicked. “Oh, everything.”
I narrow my eyes, suddenly suspicious. “Everything?”
She nods, barely containing her amusement. “You told me you used to name your stuffed animals after desserts. A bear called Pudding and a rabbit named Crème Br?lée.”
I groan, already regretting this. “No…”
“Yep. And then there was the time you tried to ride a goat and ended up face-first in a pile of manure.” Her grin grows, and my face flushes with embarrassment. “Oh, and that tea party you had with Strawbaby and she made you wear a dress!”
I flop onto the bed, dragging my hands over my face in horror. “I’m going to kill Lazlo,” I grumble, before rolling on top of her and pinning her down. “Those are my deepest secrets!”
She laughs, wiggling under me. “Those are just the tip of the iceberg, banshee boy.”
I groan dramatically, but I think I’ve fallen off the deep end. Banshee boy. My heart soars. She doesn’t care. She honestly likes banshees.
“Wait, Strawbaby? You mean Mo?” I ask her.
“Can’t hide your family and then tell me their names, so you used nicknames. Mo is your little sister?” she asks, and I nod. “And Toadstool?” she asks, and I lose it — head and shoulders shaking, tears leaking from the corners of my eyes.
“I’m an asshole,” I tell her. “That’s Este.”
“Why didn’t you, Zair, tell me you have sisters!” she accuses “That was one of my make or break questions for ‘Are you Lazarus?’”
“Ya had a list? Jaysus — why’m I even askin’? ‘Course ya did.”
“Do you have sisters fits into conversation a lot easier than ‘Have you ever visited The Quiet Shore?’”
“That’s how you know so much about banshees for our project!” I suddenly realize. “Do ya know how hard it was to pretend I didn’t know shite? Weirdest day of me life.”
Her laughter rings out, bright and unrestrained, and I can’t help but grin.
“God,” I murmur, resting my head on her shoulder. “How long were we talkin’?”
“Months,” she says, her voice gentle. “We spent months talking. I only ever heard your voice, though. It made finding you really hard when you wear a charm to hide it!”
“Well, I feel like I should tell ya that I’ve known ya were me mate for a couple o’ days. Since you shared your magic with me.”
Her mouth drops open in disbelief.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
I shrug, playful.
“Ya were hung up on some lad. Seemed like a right wanker.”
She laughs, the sound lifting my spirits, and before I know it, she pulls me into a deep kiss. I lose myself in her warmth, the rest of the world fading away.
“Stupid wanker,” she murmurs against my lips. “I’m never letting you go.”
“Swear it?”
She frowns slightly, and all the joy leaves me.
Is this… not forever?
“Will you—will you scream for me?” she asks, cautious.
“The mate scream?” I blink, stunned that could be what she means and then hope slams into me so fast it steals my breath.
“Only if you’re ready,” she says quickly, like she’s afraid she’s pushed too far.
Without a second thought, I let out a cry so raw, so guttural, it echoes through the room, shaking something loose in me. It’s a call only a mate would understand.
She doesn’t shy away. Instead, she glows faintly, and I feel her consciousness brush against mine.
“Thank you,” her voice whispers in my mind. “I’d almost forgotten what it felt like to be whole… and without you, I’m incomplete.”
I brush my thumb along her cheek. “Did ya ever hear the story of the Celtic love knot?”
She looks up, eyes shining. “No beginning, Zair.”
“Reckon I did,” I say softly. “No end to it, Thea. I love ya fierce, so I do.”
Her hand curls around the back of my neck. “I know. You’ve always been rubbish at hiding it.”
I laugh, full-hearted, because it’s true.
“Would ya listen to yourself? You fell for this feckin’ eejit twice!”
Her laughter joins mine, my mate. We fall into one of those quiet silences, wrapped up in each other, our bond weaving tighter, our souls locking into place.
After a little while, I press a kiss to her forehead. “Are ya ready to tell me what happened to ya, then?”
She smiles faintly, eyes distant, voice barely above a whisper.
“It’s a long story.”
I kiss her again, heart steady for the first time in ages.
“I’m not goin’ anywhere.”