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Gwen’s cheeks flushed. She had kissed him first. Her skin grew hot at the memory. Why had she kissed him? There were so many reasons why, she struggled to remember them all. She’d kissed him because he’d smelled so damned good it had fogged her brain. Because he’d been so close she’d felt the heat of his breath on her face. Because she was an insane person who apparently found his whole vampire stare-growl combo a turn-on. Because she’d simply wanted to.
“I was upset,” she said instead, too chicken to tell him any of those things. “I got caught up.”
His gaze was cool and unreadable. Gwen’s cheeks flamed, and she tensed under his scrutiny. She could tell he didn’t believe her. She might have kissed him first, but he’d been the one who’d cornered her. Who’d set her skin burning with his wicked words. Who’d set a fire roaring inside her under his dark kisses. Then he’d left her, panting and disoriented like she were nothing more than a toy to be discarded at will.
The sting of his rejection washed over her anew and pricked at a soft spot inside her. A spot that sent her hackles rising around her like a dense steel wall. There’d been a threat of something in that touch, something she didn’t know what to do with. There’d been a threat in his kiss too. She wanted to ask him why he’d left her. Wanted to know what about her had made him turn and leave. She knew there was no way in hell she would ever ask him.
“It was a mistake,” she bit out, more defensive than she’d intended. It hadn’t been a mistake; it’d been jarring and glorious, but what was the point in telling him that? Maybe he’d merely gotten caught up in the moment too and had regretted it the second he pulled away.
Sirus’s cold expression was schooled and unreadable. “I apologize,” he offered after a few moments, “for my behavior that night.”
The confirmation stung like a slap in the face, and Gwen’s stomach bottomed out. So he did regret it. Gwen had known from the start that desiring him was silly. Even if he did care about her safety and well-being, that didn’t mean he wanted her. She’d basically thrown herself at him that night in the garden, and it wasn’t like she was great at picking up signals. He’d merely taken advantage of the opportunity she’d presented, and now he was apologizing for it. She suddenly felt nauseous and overwhelmed with embarrassment. God, she really was pathetic.
“It doesn’t matter,” she told him, trying to sound aloof and indifferent about the whole thing.
The way he looked at her, so chilled, made her insides twist, and Gwen had to fight the urge to run away from him. “Thanks for showing me the spring,” she blurted, far too loud and fast. “But I think I’m going to head back. I’m getting tired.”
He nodded, those lines in his jaw tensing. “Come. I can?—”
“It’s okay,” she cut him off, already heading for the trees. “I can find my way.” She shifted past him toward the path that led back to the castle, trying not to notice the smell of him or how he tilted to watch her. Her chest grew heavy with each hurried step. He didn’t follow her, and she was grateful.
“No more,” she declared to herself once she was far enough away. Gwen was frustrated she’d even brought up the kiss. She’d already known he wasn’t really interested in her. The very idea was ridiculous. He was a vampire, and she was just…well, her.
His apology replayed in her head, and Gwen groaned with a fresh wash of consuming embarrassment. Their embrace had been nothing more to him than a lapse in judgment. A sudden, sharp pang of disappointment stabbed her insides. He didn’t want her. Luckily, she didn’t have too much time to think about it more, as Levian found her a moment later and flew into a fit at finding her out of bed. Gwen had never been happier to be yelled at in her life.
Chapter Five
Sirus held up the hem of his shirt as Rath inspected the small, raw wound at his stomach. He barely registered the slice of pain when the gul grazed his claw at the edge.
“It will take time,” Rath said, straightening himself up to his full height, which was nearly a solid foot above Sirus. “You know, injuries from Dökk blades are harder to heal. You’re lucky he didn’t take proper aim.”
Aldor had barely gotten the chance to stick him in the stomach, let alone anywhere else. However, Sirus knew what Rath meant. The blade had lodged only in muscle. If it had struck an organ, he never would have made it out of the Hall of Reflections. Dökk weapons were rare in the world, but most creatures knew them. Unlike other enchanted weapons, injuries from their dark blades didn’t heal. Not as they should. The process was slow. Painful. If the damage was too severe, survival was unlikely. Sirus assumed the only reason Aldor hadn’t tried harder was because of the poison. He remembered the smug look on the creature’s face as blood spread over his lips. He’d thought Sirus a dead vampire standing.
Once he’d finished redressing the wound, Rath took the chair opposite Sirus before the fire of his study. Ra’thruraak was far older than the Clan of Wolves. How much older, no one knew. All that was known was that he hailed from the Shadow Dark, a vile realm beyond the mortal plane full of dark creatures referred to as gul. He’d lived amongst the Dökk before their destruction. A slave stolen from another realm to do their bidding. With the fall of the Dökk, Rath had lost his only way home. He was trapped here. How exactly he came to be with the clan, Sirus did not know, but he’d been here nearly since the beginning. To the Clan of Wolves, the gul was a mentor. A teacher.
“It’s good to see Niah again,” Rath began. “And your acquaintances are amusing.”
Amusing. Tiresome, more like. Though Barith and Levian hadn’t been up to their usual antics since the mirrors. No stone-shattering fights or drunken parties had ensued, at least as far as he was aware. Barith had spent much of his time watching over Gwendolyn, and Levian was locked away in her rooms or the library. He’d not seen Niah since the mirrors, but he assumed she was lingering around the upper floor of the west wing as she used to.
“You’ve not found them too tedious?” Sirus asked.
“Not at all,” Rath replied casually. “It’s been some time since I’ve had the excuse to cook. I’ve found their presence rather pleasant.”
Sirus was surprised but in part relieved. Outsiders had rarely been granted entrance to Volkov. No one outside the clan had entered its halls in centuries. Having several strangers within their walls was an adjustment, to put it mildly.
“How do you fare?” Rath asked in return.
Sirus took a moment before he answered, “I live.”
“You do, indeed.” Rath’s crimson eyes didn’t shift from his. “You wish otherwise?”
Sirus’s jaw clenched. He’d followed Gwendolyn out of the darkness. Of all the actions he regretted, that choice was not one of them. “No.”
“She is quite unique,” Rath noted. “Your Gwendolyn.” Sirus’s blood thickened at the mere mention of her; he tensed at the possessive phrasing. She was not his anything. In fact, she’d made it quite clear in the forest she didn’t wish to be anything to him. The sting of her words still lingered like a pestering insect bite, but he pushed past the memory and focused on the task at hand. He and Rath had kept their conversations brief since his return to Volkov. It was time for them to speak candidly.
“What do you know of her?” Sirus pressed him. “Of her magicks?”
Rath was a creature from another realm. Intuitive and experienced in ways he’d never divulged. Sirus had not told anyone, but after Gwendolyn’s display in London, his first instinct had been to bring her here to Volkov. To see Rath. A part of him still regretted he’d not done exactly that.
