He lets out a soft laugh, then takes my hand and flips it over. In a whisper, he says, “I was.”
His lips find the soft skin on my wrist, kissing it delicately. He holds them there for a moment, and I’m sure he’s feeling the beat of my heart thrumming just beneath the skin.
“Of what?” I ask, trying not to break the spell of this moment, this instance of Severin softening enough to be vulnerable with me. He’s usually so cold and unyielding, like marble. It’s nice, getting to see this other side of him.
“Of hurting you.” His black eyes flick up to meet mine, reflecting the candlelight. “And of wanting more once I started.”
“You think you couldn’t stop?”
He draws a deep breath, then lets it out in a sigh, releasing my wrist from his hold and settling back into the fluffy pillows on the bed. “I think I wouldn’t want to. And want—desire—is dangerous to a vampire. And everyone around them.” His gaze goes sharp. “Dangerous to you.”
I shift in the bed, moving to straddle him. His hands find the dip of my waist, and he trails his thumbs across my skin softly. “I’m not afraid of you, Professor D’Arques.”
“Why not?” he asks into the dark.
Leaning forward, I press a gentle kiss to his mouth, then rest my forehead against his. “Because I trust you.”
He lets out what sounds like a mix between a grumble and a sigh. “I’m not sure that’s wise, Miss Vandermere.” His voice is low and rich, and it makes tiny shivers go across my skin.
My lips lift in a smile as I sit back. “Maybe not. But it’s the truth.”
His hands tighten around my waist, his expression going serious. For a long moment, he stares at me, his eyes narrowed, and in the dim candlelight, I watch something flicker across his expression, but it’s there and gone before I can begin to understand it.
Quietly, as if he doesn’t mean to say it at all, he whispers, “Then you’re braver than I am.”
One of his hands lifts from my waist to cradle my head, and he pulls me into a kiss. This one isn’t hungry like the others; it’s gentle, slower. It almost feels like surrender, or something very near to it.
When we break apart, he trails his thumb across my cheekbone, then shifts me, tucking me against his chest. I go willingly, settling into his warmth and the firmness of his body,pressing my head against his chest, where I can feel his heart beating against my ear.
My own special lullaby, I think, sleepiness starting to creep in.
His arm wraps around me, comforting and secure, and his other hand finds mine, lacing our fingers together against his chest.
“Sleep, Maeve,” he murmurs into my hair, his lips and breath brushing the crown of my head.
My eyelids grow heavy, my exhaustion finally catching up with me. Across the room, the candles blur into soft halos of golden light, and I feel myself starting to drift.
Just before I fall asleep completely, a thought surfaces: I wonder if trusting is ever truly wise, when we all know trust can lead to hurt. Maybe it’s a choice we make not because it’s safe, but because the alternative—holding back, shielding ourselves out of fear of pain—is a kind of death all its own.
I don’t have an answer, but as sleep pulls me under, Severin’s arm still wrapped around me, I decide I don’t yet need one.
That’s a question for another day.
Chapter 22
Maeve
WHEN I WAKE THE NEXT morning, the room is dark and warm. I’m cuddled in blankets, still naked, the sheet smooth against my bare skin.
I keep my eyes closed, recalling everything that happened last night: making the long walk into Wysteria with the others, drinking whiskey and dancing in Gild, then returning to Boar and Badger with Severin—and the fun that ensued after. As I shift in bed, I feel the tenderness between my legs.
Yawning, I finally open my eyes.
And Severin is no longer in the bed beside me.
My chest squeezes, heart beating a bit too hard.
I sit up, mussed hair hanging around my face, and search the darkness for him through bleary eyes.
