My decision has been made.
Through our thread of connection, I feel the moment Severin realizes what I’m saying, understands the implications for us both.
For a long while, he says nothing. Behind me, the fire crackles, and the winter wind makes the cottage creak in the darkness, tossing the flames in the hearth.
Severin’s fingers tighten on my waist. “Maeve...” My name leaves his lips like a spell, like a prayer to the goddesses. His throat bobs as he swallows, and his eyes search mine, as if he’s trying to find a hint of hesitation.
But I don’t look away.
His eyes narrow in the corners. “This isn’t something we can undo,” he reminds me. “You will be tying yourself to me in a way that cannot be undone.”
“I know,” I whisper, leaning in to press my forehead to his once more, my eyes fluttering closed.
At long last, he says, “I won’t make decisions for you. Your future is yours, Maeve. Are you sure this is what you want?”
That’s all I’ve wanted: Him to see me as his equal rather than a delicate witch who needs constant sheltering and protection. Him to let me make choices instead of being controlled by his, regardless of where those choices might lead me.
“I’m sure.”
The bond between us rejoices.
And Severin watches, fire flickering in his eyes, as I sit back and reach to pull my sweater over my head.
Chapter 63
Severin
MAEVE PULLS HER SWEATER OFF and settles it onto the floor beside us. Beneath it, she’s wearing a thin camisole, and her nipples press against the fabric. I lift one hand, trailing it along her side until it settles over her breast. My thumb brushes her nipple, and I turn my gaze up to hers.
Staring back at me are violet eyes filled with conviction.
She wants me to feed from her again, to make permanent this connection between my blood and hers. To press into the unknown together, prepared for whatever may come. And I won’t deny her—not when she’s chosen this with full understanding of what it means. Of what we could become.
My attempts to protect Maeve did nothing but push her away; I almost lost this, losther, because I didn’t trust her to make such an important decision for herself—not because I don’t think her capable, but because I...
Because I love her.
But loving her does not mean sheltering her from the world. Or from me.
Loving her means letting her make her own choices. And in this, I’ll lay down my sword. I won’t fight her.
Because I want it too.
My throat has been dry since the last time her blood coated my tongue. No amount of donated blood satiates the hunger I have. My fangs crave her like seedlings crave sunlight. Theyneedher in a way I am unaccustomed to. In a way that I’m afraid of.
But I won’t let that fear control me anymore.
My hand moves from her breast to her cheek, and I wrap my fingers around the back of her head, drawing her mouth to mine slowly, reverently. She tastes of red wine, and when her tongue strokes languidly along my bottom lip, I growl, my cock growing hard in my trousers.
Our bond burns in my blood, and I can feel the trust she’s putting in me. I feel her anticipation, her heat.
She breaks our kiss and leans away from me, already short of breath. Then she pushes to her feet, which are still clad in thick winter socks.
Slowly, without her gaze leaving mine, she continues to undress herself: first the flowy cotton pants she’s wearing, then the thin camisole. Her breasts are full, her nipples flushed red against her pale skin. I want to suck them into my mouth, to bite down just hard enough to elicit a gasp. But I remain where I am, looking up at her from the floor as she reaches for the lacy black panties she still has on.
And as she eases them down, the firelight behind her reveals the trails of wetness coating her inner thighs.
My cock strains harder, and I grit my teeth, fangs aching for her.
