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He chuckles lightly.
My heart squeezes, and I breathe him in, giving myself this moment to soak him in, wishing it could last forever but knowing it can’t. He is in my arms, and still, I miss him—the parts that have been stolen. All of him. Even his actions and words show how keenly he feels their absence.
I thought my hate for Elizabeth was as deep as humanly possible, but I was wrong. It has become an infinite well.
After a while, he straightens and rests his forehead against mine. “Are you real? Is this moment real?” he asks. The question is so quiet I barely hear. He doesn’t wait for an answer. “Lately, nothing has felt real. It is like the world has been painted in a strange light… the hour before nightfall as one season slips into the next. When everything is bathed in that odd golden glow, and the sky is a mix of blood and bruises.”
The taste of tears rises at the back of my throat. I have to swallow twice to find my voice. “Yes.” I nod. “I am real…Thisis real.”
He closes his eyes, and for a while, our mingling breaths are the only sound. A lock of tousled hair falls forward as he leans a little closer. I reach up to brush it away, pausing mid-swipe when his fingers wrap around my wrist. The moment stretches on. His gaze flicks to my mouth in such a way my nerve endings tingle in anticipation.
I lower my arm, and he lets go. Alaric moves in as if he will kiss me, only to stop shy. I intended to defer to him, but my lips find his before I can stop myself.
At first, Alaric makes no move to kiss me back or pull away. But with a soft sigh, he leans into it, mouth moving against mine. Tentative and uncertain. It’s slow and gentle, passionate and filled with need, yet restrained. A secret stolen in the shadows. Something he is almost afraid to allow himself. His tongue brushes over my bottom lip, seeking access, and I grant it. He tastes of wine and warm caramel.
The bond we share trickles past the curse’s barriers whenever we are close, and I want to tell him, without words, how much I love and admire him, but sensing he needs a gentle hand to find his way back. I refrain.
Alaric trails kisses along my jaw, and down my neck, nipping at my skin as he goes. Each scrape of his fangs sends a thrill along my spine. He tugs aside the collar of my top, but when his tongue sweeps over the scars there, he stills.
He pulls back to look me in the eye. “I was told Mr. Wellington marked you, but I didn’t believe it because you do not treat him as his claimed.”
I shake my head. “He has no claim on me—other than that of a temporary guardian.”
The question of whodoeshangs unspoken in the air between us. When I don’t answer, Alaric’s curiosity turns to suspicion of what he thinks I might be hiding. The drink in his system must be keeping him relaxed because he dismisses the issue entirely.
“Strange,” he murmurs, almost to himself. “You are nothing more than an ordinary human.”
“That’s right,” I say.
I wait for him to continue, wondering where exactly his thoughts are tonight, but his eyes are unfocused as he reaches up to play with a lock of hair.
“Mortals do not possess magic.” He heaves a sigh that makes my lips twitch from fighting a smile. Eventually, he continues, “But I think you must. How else could you have me so completely under your thrall?”
“I think you might be drunk,” I offer.
Alaric stills, then his eyes focus as he meets my gaze. His hand lowers, falling down to his side. “I’m not drunk…” He glares. Though he clearly intends for it to intimidate, I can’t help but find it endearing. Then, haughtily, he adds, “I am the crown prince.”
A laugh bursts free from my throat. I clap my hand over my mouth to stifle it. Alaric seems to realize what he said and smirks.
From the far end of the library, a click and the rattle of a metal latch echoes back to where we hide among darkened shelves. At the sound, Alaric steps back, putting distance between us. I can’t help but hate whoever it is.
The steady stride of a single set of footsteps moves closer without hesitation, as if they know exactly where we are. We both smooth our hands over our clothes, taking a moment to gather ourselves. Alaric dons a mask of indifference, the same one he uses to hide his pain. Seeing it is a sharp knife.
And as if the last several minutes have been nothing more than a figment of my imagination, he walks away without a second glance.
A feminine voice greets him. They speak in low tones, and then his footfalls grow further and further away.
I stare at the shelves of books across from me. Their magic has drained away, and the stories within no longer interest me.
Before sorrow can root itself in place, I remind myself of the woman, the monster, who is responsible for the torment he’s living with. Elizabeth has hidden among humans and vampires, and demons for too long. I have only seen a fraction of Alaric’s pain. How many others have suffered at her hands? A new level of fury rises within me. I welcome it, fanning the flames. Suddenly, there is no sacrifice I can make that isn’t worth it to destroy her.
Determination alone will not be all it takes. I might fail, but I must still try.
Even if that means surrendering everything I am.
My body.
My heart.
