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What this meant, she had no damned clue. She couldn’t even really believe it had happened. She was more than a little disappointed it had stopped. Her body still ached. Hungry for more.
She looked over to him once she got her feet steady, but she couldn’t see his face clearly in the dim light. She wanted to say something but couldn’t think of anything to say. She almost said thank you but winced when it crossed her mind. Could she be more pathetic?
“Come,” he said, turning toward the path, putting his back to her, “when you’re ready.” Then, without another word, he strode off into the darkness.
She blinked, not totally comprehending what had just happened. When she heard his graveled steps getting farther away, Gwen stumbled to where he’d just been standing. He was moving so quickly, she’d have to run to catch him. Like he couldn’t get away from her fast enough.
Her stomach fell, and she suddenly felt faint. A distant memory slammed into her as she watched him go. Once, in high school, she’d made out with a boy on the basketball team behind the gym. He’d heard some other kids coming, and before she could make sense of it, he’d shot off in the other direction. As if being caught with her would have ruined his life. Ironically, he’d also been her last crush.
That same sinking feeling spread in her guts as Sirus put distance between them. With stuttered breaths, she watched him disappear down the path. Not once did he look back. Not once did he seem to slow down. Raw embarrassment bloomed in her chest when he vanished around a bend and into the darkness.
She’d known Sirus could be cold—but to treat her like this? Like some plaything? Gwen’s embarrassment grew. She thought they’d shared something. A connection. Even if it had been a weird one. Doubt flooded her. Had she really misunderstood all of that? She couldn’t have. He’d kissed her. More than kissed. She’d felt his firm dick pressed against her belly. She groaned and fought the urge to puke.
Had she really misread him so badly? Was he really that big of an asshole? Gwen shivered. It wasn’t until that moment that she’d ever really felt vulnerable near him. Like she were actually prey. She felt it then. Starkly. Anger began to bubble up and transform her embarrassment into full-blown fury. “Bastard!” she snarled.
He was an utter and complete bastard! And Gwen had fallen right into his trap. Hook, line, and sinker. She hated him. She hated herself for falling for it. Hated herself for kissing him like she had. What had she been thinking? That he actually wanted her? That he actually liked her? Of course he didn’t!
With a snarl, she started to pace back and forth in front of the little fountain of Venus, panting in the oppressive scent of the roses. Her boiling rage and bitter disappointment churned together into an emotional sludge.
“How dare he?” she half seethed, half sobbed.
If he thought he could just manipulate her like that, he had another thing coming. Maybe she wasn’t hundreds of years old or immortal, but she wasn’t a child. Her teeth gritted so hard she thought they might crack. She’d wanted to stomp out her crush, and, sure as hell, Sirus had done it. Gwen had never been one for vengeance, but as she stood there in that garden, still feeling heady and breathless from their embrace, she could think of nothing else. She wanted revenge.
Revenge for leaving like he couldn’t handle the thought of being caught with her.
Revenge for making her feel like she wasn’t good enough.
Revenge for manipulating her.
Revenge for making her want him.
Revenge for making her feel something she’d never felt before.
Revenge for every pant and moan and sliver of desire she’d felt for him.
She wanted revenge. Plain and simple.
Gwen tore off Sirus’s jacket and threw it in the fountain, savoring the chill the cold night air spread over her skin. She couldn’t believe she’d ever thought he was attractive or smelled good or actually had a decent bone in his vampiric, cold-blooded body.
“Bastard!” she hissed again as she went storming down the path toward the chateau, her skin prickling with fury. She had no idea how she was going to make him suffer, but she had no doubt she’d come up with something.
Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned. Well, Gwen was a raging inferno of fury, and as she stomped up the terrace, she doubted even the devil himself could get in her way.
Unfortunately, when she stepped back into the sitting room, the target of her revenge was nowhere to be seen. Abigail stood with a glass of champagne in hand and Roman at her elbow, laughing in tandem with Levian. Henry lingered at the doorway, silent and stone-faced. Sirus wasn’t there.
“There you are!” Abigail chimed when she saw Gwen. “What took you so long?”
With a deep, steadying breath, she coasted into the room. “I was enjoying the roses,” she replied, forcing a half smile, the most she could muster.
“They’re lovely, aren’t they?” Abigail replied with a sigh, not at all picking up on Gwen’s anger. Levian, on the other hand, flashed her a look of concern. “I want to take credit and say it’s magick,” the witch went on, “but Henry here watches over the gardens like a hawk.”
“They’re beautiful,” Gwen told him, trying to tamp down her raw temper.
He gave a small nod. “Thank you.”
“Ready to go?” Levian asked, resting her empty glass on Roman’s tray. “Sirus has already gone.”
Gwen’s chest tightened at the mention of his name. He’d seriously run away from her? Coward. Bastard.
