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She looked stricken by his apology, her eyes growing wide. Her face soon fell, as did her gaze. He knew it was impossible to expect her forgiveness so soon. To expect her forgiveness ever. It had eased him in ways he couldn’t express when he found out she wished to see him. When he discovered she wasn’t terrified of him as he’d expected. He’d wanted to show her his home. Had wanted to share this part of himself with her. Now he waited for her recoil. For her dismissal.
“So am I,” she breathed with a heaviness that caught him off guard, as if she were overwhelmed. “I’m glad you’re okay.”
Sirus was racked by the tenderness in her voice. The genuineness with which she said it cut at him like a thousand knives. The others were glad he’d not died, but it was Gwendolyn who’d sacrificed a part of herself to save him. It was her blood that pulsed in his veins. Her magick, her essence, that had called to him in the darkness. He didn’t know what she could feel the need to apologize for, but he didn’t question her. He was too unnerved to pry. After all she’d witnessed of him, after all he’d done to her, after all the pain he’d caused, she was glad he was alive.
The emotions that swirled within him were frustrating and unfamiliar. He knew he shouldn’t entertain any of them, but all Sirus could focus on in that moment was how much he wanted to be near her. There was still so much to tell her, but there was time, and he did not want to stress her more than he already had.
“There’s a place in the forest,” he started, his heart pounding far faster than normal. “I would like to show it to you. If you’re up for a walk?”
Gwendolyn looked up at him with a touch of surprise. He tried not to focus on the way her lips parted just so. A sly smirk suddenly spread over them, a mischievous twinkle in her shimmering eyes. His body tensed in response.
“It’s not a fountain, is it?” she prodded him in jest.
His pulse quickened at how quickly she’d shifted back to comfort and familiarity. Before he even knew what he was saying, Sirus replied with an uncharacteristic touch of devilry, “You’ll just have to see, won’t you?”
Her eyes widened at his retort, then narrowed suspiciously, that little crinkle forming over her nose, tempting him with a raw urge to smile for the second time that morning.
The forest was nothing less than magickal.
Every tree, rock, and blade of withering grass seemed to sing as Sirus led Gwen across the leaf-strewn lawn to the edge of the woods. She ran her fingers along the trunk of a tree that was still clutching onto its last remaining leaves. From her room, all she’d seen were scraggly branches devoid of life and coated in a cloudy gray mist. Now, it was bright and airy and buzzing with energy. The ground was blanketed with gold and red from the fallen leaves, the crisp breeze more of a comfort than something to brace against.
“Snow will fall soon,” Sirus told her when he caught her glancing up at the smattering of clouds.
Gwen imagined the forest was even more beautiful covered in fresh, powdery snow. She grazed the needles of a fluffy evergreen. “It’s beautiful,” she exhaled. The first words she’d spoken since they stepped outside.
He looked out amongst the trees, and her chest fluttered. His profile was captivating against the rising pink hues of the early morning light. “I spend much of my time in the forest.”
“I can’t blame you,” Gwen replied, willing her voice steady after it cracked at the start.
“Beyond the warding spells, the forest is ensconced in perpetual mist,” he told her before turning back to his path.
“The castle is protected by magick, right? Levian told me no one can get in from the outside.”
“If outsiders grow too close, they will become lost in the mist,” he confirmed. “Only a vampire of our clan can guide another through the barrier. Not even transport magicks will work within. Most magicks don’t act as they usually would either.” Now that he mentioned it, Gwen vaguely remembered Levian lamenting the dampening of magick inside Volkov. Last night, the mage had come to her room carrying a bag full of stuff she’d not been able to conjure.
Gwen followed as he continued deeper into the thick trees. She could only assume he looked even more beautiful amongst the trees in the moonlight. Sirus slowed until he walked in stride with her, his demeanor even more relaxed out here in the forest. As if he were entirely in his element. Gwen rubbed her fingers against her elbow, as the memory of his touch made her skin tingle.
She’d sensed his sadness over the loss of his family. It had torn at her heart, seeing him express a glimmer of something beyond the icy indifference he showed to the world. The way he’d expressed his sympathy toward the loss of her mother and Abigail’s inability to help her had startled her so thoroughly, she still wasn’t entirely sure what to make of it. She never talked about her mother with anyone. When she realized what she’d said, combined with his touch, the moment had simply overwhelmed her.
They walked in silence for a long while, and she tried to enjoy the moment. The ease with which he fell in stride beside her. The way his feet moved amongst the brush, as if he were more animal than person. She found herself nearly mesmerized by his steps.
“What is it?” he pressed her.
Gwen buried her face in her rustling hair, hoping that her cheeks were already pink from the crisp bite of fall that fogged her breath. Of course he’d caught her staring at his feet. “How do you do that?” she asked him, genuinely curious. “Move so quietly? Like you’re—” an animal. It sounded bad in her head, so she was reluctant to say it out loud.
He clasped his hands at his back, once more stretching his shirt over his muscled chest. He looked at her, not even bothering to watch his path forward. Even when he wasn’t paying attention, he moved with grace and skill.
“Years of practice,” he offered, his voice cool.
Gwen smiled softly over at him. She was beginning to tell the difference between his frosty tones. This one had been to placate, and possibly poke fun. “You know, you could actually give me an answer,” she pointed out.
“Didn’t I?” he replied.
She rolled her eyes. He clearly knew what she’d meant, but she explained anyway. “That first night in London, I asked you all sorts of questions, and you gave me the same nonanswers.” When she’d asked how old he was, he’d replied very. When she’d asked how he drank blood without fangs, he’d told her they managed. On and on. Though now she knew why he didn’t need fangs. A little skitter of cold sweat spread up her back at the memory.
“I take it that’s also a skill that comes with practice?” she posed, keeping her voice light. “Answering and not answering at the same time.”
“It is,” he admitted. “Though I was also taken aback by the questions.”
