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Soon she’d keep her distance from him, the way everyone else did. Soon the veil of this dream would wear off, and Sirus would simply be a dark creature to avoid. He’d felt uneasy the moment her eyes had met his in the darkness of her apartment. He’d felt drawn to her in a way he couldn’t explain. In a way that defied logic and reason. Sirus was not a creature of emotion. Logic and reason were the sturdy foundation on which he firmly stood. A foundation he needed to remind himself of as he looked down into her confused face. He let the cold sweat morph into a sobering chill that seeped into his bones and replied as benignly as possible, “Your dream could mean many things.”
It was the truth, though he knew she was hunting more. She was hungry for details. Details he wouldn’t give. He could feel her eyes on the side of his face when he offered her none. Could sense her tension rising like a thickening fog in the air between them.
“Sirus,” she said to draw his attention. A jolt shot through him like a burst of lightning, and his breath caught, as if in that moment his name on her lips had woven an unknown spell into being.
Unable to stop himself, he met her gaze and immediately regretted it. There was a plea in those deep pools of green that made his blood stir. A plea he knew he couldn’t satisfy. “You should rest,” he told her, collecting himself at last. It was enough. He’d already lingered longer than he should have.
She kept her eyes on him. Appraising him. He felt his skin burn under her gaze. She looked as if she was going to scold him. Sirus wanted to see that crinkle in her nose one last time before he took his leave. He fought the urge to bite out a curse at his own folly.
Gwendolyn did not scold him. With a heavy sigh, one weighted by the world, she shifted to look at the fire. “I’m tired,” she told him, seemingly just to say it. She looked exhausted. Her under-eyes were dark with circles, her body heavy from exertion. Whatever her magicks and her lineage, she was clearly no immortal. She needed rest.
“Sleep,” he told her, reaching for his jacket. He shouldn’t have lingered so long.
She glanced up at him. “Do you sleep?” she asked, slumping back in her chair to begin untying one of her shoes.
Sirus knew he should move to leave, but he didn’t budge. He stood frozen to the floor and watched her small, nimble fingers move over her laces. Some of her dislodged brown hair fell into her face and over the patch of freckles on the edge of her neck. He very much wanted to run his fingers along that place. He very much wondered how her soft skin would taste at that spot.
He grimaced at his own baseness. What the fuck was wrong with him? “Not often,” he replied more sharply than he’d intended.
She scrunched her face as she tugged off her shoe, not seeming to notice the rasp in his voice. Her comfort was unmooring him in startling ways he did not care for. He needed to get out of here.
“How often is that?” she pressed, thankfully still looking at her feet.
He did not move. “A few hours a week.”
“Must be nice,” she grumbled under her breath before she tossed the other shoe on the floor. He couldn’t help but notice she had rather small feet.
Gwendolyn stood and peeled out of her jacket. Sirus was ashamed of the way he leered, but he didn’t deign to look away. The more he looked upon her, the more like an idiot he felt for thinking her rather unremarkable when he’d first laid eyes on her back in New York. She was slight but curved in all the ways he found a woman desirable. Her movements fluid and tempting. She reminded him of a pixie, with her round cheeks, sharp eyes, and small form. Perhaps one of her ancestors had been a pix?
In her sleepiness, she threw her jacket to the edge of the chair behind her and missed the arm. She mindlessly bent over to fetch it, revealing her backside to him in its full glory. Sirus swallowed harshly. Yes, she was quite desirably curved.
“So how does it work?” she asked, not noticing his lecherous gaze.
Perhaps she wasn’t a pix but some kind of nymph?
“Becoming a vampire.”
Sirus stilled. It took him a moment to register what she’d asked. It was an odd thing, but no creature had ever asked before. Not Barith. Not Levian. No one. It was no secret how vampires were made, but many, he assumed, did not wish to know the details. Especially not from the mouth of a vampire himself. Not from him.
He wondered if she would have asked such a question if she wasn’t so tired. The way she swayed on her feet, she seemed almost drunk with exhaustion. Entirely unsure how to answer and trying very hard not to linger on the sway of her body, he said the first thing that came to mind: “Magick.”
“No kidding,” she retorted, clearly unsatisfied. “I mean, how does it really work?”
He lingered in silence for a long while, debating whether or not he should reply. He might not have if he’d not sensed an opportunity. Gwendolyn was far too comfortable around him, and he was far too intrigued by that comfort—and by her. Perhaps it was best if she did know the truth of what he was.
“We’re reborn at the very precipice of our human deaths,” he replied in a tone so chilling she visibly shuddered.
Sirus knew he was being foolish in his attraction. Gwendolyn was out of bounds. Very out of bounds. And he was irritated that he couldn’t seem to get control of his curiosity. That he couldn’t seem to control his damned eyes when they wanted to linger on those all-too-tempting freckles across her neck.
“So you were human—before?” she asked.
“Yes.”
“Buy why—why did you become a vampire?” The innocence of the question struck him. Proved what he already knew: Gwendolyn was naive to their world. Too naive. Another stark reminder of why he needed to squelch the easiness she felt around him.
“I was dying. I wanted to live,” he told her, as if pointing out that the ocean was indeed blue. Those green eyes went wide. “We cannot remember that life,” he added, not entirely sure why he did. “When we are reborn, it cleanses us of all that we were before.”
Her brows scrunched. “So you can’t remember anything? If you had a family? Or friends?” The look in her eyes was almost touching. No creature had ever looked at him with anything close to empathy before. Not that he deserved it. In fact, he very much did not.
