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He nodded then sauntered further down the hall. Gwen let out a slightly stuttered breath, watching his hands as he clasped them at his back. She took in his posture. How he walked, the way he carried himself. Sirus always seemed alert, each step and movement almost strategic. He meandered casually, like he didn’t have a care in the world.
When she didn’t follow, he stopped and looked back at her over his shoulder. “You’re uneasy,” he commented with a tinge of concern. It wasn’t a question.
Gwen swallowed, unable to keep the little skitter from shooting up her spine, knowing he could tell how she felt. I’m fine, she nearly parroted again, but she stopped herself. Instead of deflecting, she said exactly what she was thinking: “It’s just—you seem so different.”
He turned to face her but kept the distance between them. Weirdly, Gwen thought she saw a touch of confusion in his eyes, which is why she added, “You seem so relaxed. So—” at home, she realized.
It hit her then. This was the place he lived, the place he’d spent most of his time far before he’d ever met her. He was relaxed because he was comfortable here. He didn’t have to be on guard or ready for a fight. Her heart swelled, a tiny tinge of a smile creeping at the corner of her mouth as she remembered how he’d defended it when she’d implied it was creepy during their walk in Abigail’s garden. And he’d been right too. Volkov was nothing like the dark, creepy ruins she’d imagined a clan of vampires would call home. There was a warmth to the place she’d not expected.
He shifted on his heel, looking down the hall behind him and then back at her. “Volkov is protected by old magick,” he told her. “It’s long been a sanctuary to my clan. To me.”
Gwen’s little smile fell away, and she slowly came up to stand in front of him, her chest fluttering. “It’s beautiful,” she told him, hoping he could sense how much she meant it. “I see why you like being here so much.”
His expression was steeled, but there was a touch of something in his eyes. “It’s not what you were expecting?”
She smirked sheepishly. “No. I get now why you got so annoyed when I called it spooky.”
Sirus’s gaze held on her face for a moment before he turned to continue down the hall. “We do get bats on occasion,” he confessed without even a hint of humor.
Gwen couldn’t help but smile as she followed behind him. Per usual, she couldn’t tell if he was being serious or funny. “How fitting,” she retorted with amusement, deciding she found it funny whether he’d intended it or not. “Then maybe it is a little spooky,” she teased.
He merely glanced back at her with one thick black brow cocked. She let out a little laugh in response. A tiny flicker sparked beyond the glacial wall in his eyes before he turned back to his path, putting his back to her. If Gwen hadn’t known any better, she would have thought he’d been tempted to smile back. The very idea made her heart flutter. Realizing how much she wanted to see him smile made her silently curse to herself.
Chapter Four
Sirus was surprised by how much he enjoyed showing Gwendolyn the clan’s many treasures. As he stood watching her gape at the Renaissance masterpieces strewn over the upstairs parlor, he recognized quite astutely that he desired her approval of his home. He wanted her to see Volkov as he saw it: a calm refuge filled with beautiful things. Now filled with one more beautiful thing.
Despite himself, his gaze would linger on her each time her attention was drawn in by the art and artifacts around them. Levian had done well in aiding Gwendolyn’s healing. There was no sign at all on her silken skin of the cut at her neck, nor the gash over her forehead. But Sirus knew she was weaker despite her refusal to acknowledge it. Her skin was paler, and there were dark smudges under her eyes. He felt more the bastard for encouraging her venture out, but he wanted to spend time in her company if she’d allow it.
Gwendolyn’s chestnut hair was brushed over the front of her left shoulder, and she fiddled with the ends as she took in one of the paintings. Sirus watched her fingers work over the satiny strands. He was jealous of those locks. She twirled a single finger around one unruly strand, and his breath caught in his chest as he imagined that finger twirling in his own hair. He let out an internal snarl of frustration that ended up being less internal than he intended. Gwendolyn peered back at him with curiosity but Sirus managed to cover up the grumble by feigning to clear his throat. He needed to get a handle on himself. He was hundreds of years old, not some fresh-faced boy.
They came to the last painting in the row, and he found his focus. This was the painting he’d been waiting for her to see.
“They’re faeries?” she asked.
“They’re the three Stars of Magick,” he replied, coming closer so that he could feel the slight heat of her body against his arm. He would not touch her again, but he was far from a saint. “The Stars of Umbra, Aether, and Terra.”
The three ethereal women dangled playfully from the roots of a wide tree that dipped below a dark, shimmering span of water. Umbra, cloaked and fair, draped in shadow. Aether appeared angelic, with glowing skin, dressed in a flowing white gown. Terra was depicted with vines and moss and fungi growing all over her like clothes. All the women looked powerful and at peace as they dipped their fingers or toes in the waters below.
Gwendolyn stepped closer to take a better look, and her brows furrowed together.
“The tree is Moldorn,” he continued. “The center of all things. The ocean below is the Celestial Sea. The three Stars were said to be used by the elder fae who first came to this world. Each was plucked from the Sea and gifted to the fae by the gods themselves.”
The legend was so ancient and the Stars so long-lost or hidden that some of the Folk believed them to be nothing more than story. Another fae tale to justify their superior power over the world. The Star of Umbra was even said to be used by the Dökk to create vampires. Sirus still couldn’t fathom the idea that Gwendolyn might be touched by a Star, but as her gaze spanned the painting with unfettered curiosity, he began to wonder if it could be possible. Her magick was beyond anything he knew. It felt beyond anything he’d experienced before. Sirus had tasted the blood of nearly every magickal creature over his long life. Even the blood of high fae didn’t stir him like Gwendolyn’s had. Her essence seemed to hum under his skin, pulsing through every last one of his cells.
She glanced over her shoulder and caught him brazenly staring. Her eyes immediately darted back to the women. “It’s lovely,” she commented, trying her best to hide the pretty bloom of pink from her cheeks and the quake in her voice.
“Yes,” he agreed, his voice cool. Lovely, indeed.
The color over her cheekbones grew darker when he didn’t look away. She shifted past him hastily, continuing down the hall, wrapping her arms tightly around herself. Sirus’s skin tensed from head to toe. He was so aware of her. The soft catches of her breath when he lingered closer to her. The slight rise of her pulse. Sirus knew he was being an ass, but he relished her reactions like a starving hound would a meaty bone.
Gwendolyn had seen him at his truest. Had experienced firsthand the pain of his unyielding hunger. He’d brought her pain. She had every reason to look at him as if he were a monster, had every reason to hate and fear him, yet she didn’t. She didn’t see him as a bloodthirsty killer. She peeked over her shoulder at him, those emerald eyes finding his. Gwendolyn looked at him as if he were merely a man.
A chill seeped into him. He was no man. He was a monster. Sirus had no doubt of that. But her reactions to him were fogging his better sense. Gods help him, he knew he didn’t deserve it, but he wanted more of her. Above all, he wanted her forgiveness.
As he followed her, preparing himself to say the thing he should have from the start, Sirus found himself stopping short before a doorway he was surprised to find open. Another den. One of many in Volkov. But this one always brought him pause—which was why the room normally remained shut and untouched. A smattering of worn chairs and couches sat spread around the space. A table in the corner held a chess set, the pieces spread out in the middle of a game.
Gwendolyn sauntered up next to him and looked into the large room, which was cast in rays of soft dawn light. “What happened to everyone?” she asked openly then took in a sharp breath. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to sound—I just?—”
