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She did. Nyxara’s memories were still too close to scrub completely from her mind, and in those memories, at least, it hadn’t been like this. It’d happened before, she was sure, but not in an instance she’d seen in the goddess’s head. She wanted this to be just them, a memory that couldn’t be interposed over any others, something that belonged to her and Bastian alone. “I’m the one giving orders, aren’t I?”
He chuckled, ran his hands over her ribs before settling behind her. Then the push, the gasp, the give, and he was inside her, warm and close.
They stayed like that a moment, both breathing hard. Then Bastian moved, sitting on his knees, and pulled her up, keeping them connected, so she almost sat in his lap. He kissed her shoulder, his hand rising to gently span the front of her neck, not squeezing, just there. His other hand went to the bundle of nerves between her legs. His finger brushed across it; she made a strained, pleasing sound.
“There we go,” Bastian growled, and then he started to move, his hips slowly pressing up at her.
She matched his rhythm, clenching down as he pushed up, as his finger circled just where she needed it, his other hand mimicking the motion on her breast. “Do you know how much I’ve thought about this?” he murmured into her hair. “Do you know how many times I’ve gripped myself and pretended it was you? I haven’t had anyone else since you came to this damn Citadel, Lore. You’re all I can think about, all I want, it’s driven me fucking mad.”
He was on the other side of where Gabe had kissed her, where his touch had left a pleasurable bruise. Bastian’s teeth gently bit the skin beneath her opposite ear, asking.
She pushed back into him.
His growl vibrated against her neck as he mouthed at her, making his own mark, a mirror to the one Gabe left.
Everything blurred as Lore moved until the only thing she could feel was him, and then she came apart and he followed behind, hiding his shout in her hair.
They slid apart, fell to the side. Bastian gathered her close, his arms around her waist, his chest against her back. Neither of them spoke.
Lore didn’t realize she was crying until she felt the tear slide down her cheek, land on the pillow.
But Bastian must have noticed, because he pushed up on his elbow, gently cleared away the track with his thumb. He still said nothing—what was there to say?—but he bent down, and he kissed her, soft and asking for nothing.
And they lay like that for a bit, sweat drying. They’d made a mess, but the bed was big enough that they just rolled away from it, a problem to be dealt with later.
“We should sleep,” Bastian said finally around a yawn, as if he was halfway there already.
Lore squeezed her eyes shut, snuggled farther back into him. She waited, listening to his breaths until they evened out, until his grip around her slackened.
Then, careful not to disturb him, she climbed out of bed.
Her gown still lay in a crumpled heap; Lore leaned down and dug through the fabric until she found her pocket. The cloth was still inside, still smelling faintly of chemicals.
Chloroform. The smell was almost nostalgic, reminding her of Gabe and the first time she’d seen him in the alley after she’d raised Horse, of all the things that had conspired to bring her here.
And now she was getting out.
She hadn’t planned to sleep with Bastian. She’d planned to use this, knock him out for long enough that he wouldn’t know she was gone until she was long gone, make it difficult for him—or Apollius—to follow her.
She’d lost valuable time, but she didn’t regret it. Not one thing.
Slowly, Lore crept to Bastian. He slept curled on his side, like she was still there, and it put a painful twinge in her chest.
Lore lowered her hand with the cloth scrap until it covered his face. He didn’t stir, just breathed in deep, letting it out on a contented sigh.
Holding her breath, afraid it would come out in a sob if she didn’t, Lore crumpled the cloth in her fist and got dressed, hurriedly, her thighs still sticky. Then she rushed down to her room, got her bag, and went out the door, leaving the Citadel behind.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
True predators don’t sleep, they only wait. Be wary.
—Advice from a Caldienan hunter, written in a letter archived at Farramark University
It was easier to get out of the Citadel than it should’ve been. Lore supposed that made sense—the Presque Mort were still preoccupied with the fire that Gabe had set in the Church, and she guessed the bloodcoats were, too. The halls were nearly deserted, the usual guard outside of their apartments nowhere to be found.
They hadn’t been there the night Amelia was murdered, either, Lore remembered. Though now that she knew why she was killed, she wondered if that was on purpose. Maybe Amelia had bribed the bloodcoat to leave.
The thought made Lore shudder, but she stayed her course, winding through opulent hallways toward the green that led to the North Sanctuary and the storm drain Bastian had led them through so long ago. If there was a single good thing about all this, it was that she knew Bastian could take care of himself, now. The guards outside his apartment had long been to keep her in rather than to keep anyone out. Apollius wouldn’t let anything happen to him.
