Page 17 of Dark Night of the Soul

Night came. We’d managed to avoid each other the rest of the day. When it was time to turn in, I half expected him to hide out in his old room. Brooding and alone.

I sat on the edge of the bed, pulled off my boots and dropped them with a thud on the floor, frowning. I changed into my favorite nightshirt and, as I was climbing into bed, the door opened. There he was, filling the doorway like there wasn’t room for anything else.

We stared at each other.

God, I hated this.

He shut the door. I snapped off the light, plunging us into near total darkness. Moonlight pressed through the curtains illuminating the room in a soft blue-white glow.

He shucked his clothes. The mattress sighed with his weight.

No words. No nothing. There was a cold silence between us.

And I lay there thinking if everything ended tomorrow, we’d parted on less-than-ideal terms. I didn’t want that. But I didn’t know how to fix it. I turned to my side, closed my eyes and tried to sleep.

Knowing it would never come.

Then…

His hand. Brushing the hair off my neck. Slipping down the length of my arm leaving a tingling sensation in his wake. Curling in the edge of my shirt. Sliding under the material. His warm hand resting on the flat plane of my abdomen.

He shifted closer, his chest pressing into my back, tucking my head underneath his chin. His arm tightened around my waist, possessive in a way that made me ache. Guarding.

And then I realized I hadn’t seen Silas all day. I’d found Kincade in the library looking furious.

My chest tightened.

He’d decided something, and he hadn’t told me. Wouldn’t tell me. And this was… this was him grounding himself. Keeping me close while still putting distance between us.

If everything changed tomorrow, I couldn’t let tonight’s hush be our death.

“I don’t like this silence between us.” My voice was a roughened whisper.

I waited.

Finally, “I know.”

He said nothing else. I don’t know what I expected. He wasn’t a guy who freely shared feelings or flowery expressions. He was a man of action. I understood that.

I shifted to my back, still nestled against him. He knew what I was thinking. He always knew. His mouth came down on mine. Slow at first. Then deepening. I needed to feel him here. Present.

His hand moved up over my ribs, sliding to my breast where he paused there for a moment. Only a moment. Long enough to make the heat pound through my head. Long enough to make me realize he was memorizing every curve. He swept back down and then pushed away the material separating us, brushing over my hip, sliding between my legs. Into the slick heat that was there before he was.

I tugged the nightshirt away, tossed it off the side of the bed.

He moved on top of me, holding himself enough to keep some of his weight off.

This was measured. Slow. Deliberate. Not like this morning’s frenzy when we were pressed for time. My hands rested on his scarred back while he moved against me.

He pressed a kiss to my temple. Reverent. Like I might vanish beneath him. Then his mouth was on mine again, swallowing any sound I might have made. As if he didn’t want the rest of the world to know. As if he wanted this all for himself. As if waiting for me to come. And when I did, only then did he allow his own release.

He held me like that long after our breathing slowed, like if he loosened his grip even an inch, something terrible would slip through the cracks. I lay awake in the dark, counting the steady rise and fall of his chest, knowing with a certainty that chilled me to the bone that this wasn’t comfort. It was preparation. And whatever he was bracing for, he had already decided I wouldn’t be allowed to stop it.

Chapter 7 | Kincade

Sleep never came.

I lay awake beside her. Listening to her deep, rhythmic breathing. Listening to the manor settle and resettle around us. The night was heavy with the quiet that comes before violence.