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“I’ll tell Niah to begin with the basics,” he told her.
Gwendolyn blanched. “What?”
“You want to learn,” he pointed out. “You should.”
Her mouth fell open further, and she simply stared at him as if he’d lost his mind. Sirus dropped his hands, clasping them at his back, and cocked a brow, waiting patiently for her to find her words. He’d learned her well enough to know she was about to argue with him. “I-I can’t learn how to use weapons,” she sputtered eventually.
“I don’t see why not,” he countered coolly.
A little squeaking sound fell from her open mouth. “Because it’s nuts!” she snapped, flailing her arms out to expose the front of her silken gray nightgown. “I can’t fight like—like?—”
Like he did? Or Niah, perhaps? “You can,” he refuted without a shadow of doubt, trying his best to keep his gaze from drifting down to her very becoming nightgown. “If Niah will not teach you, I will. I’m the one who taught her.”
He’d not intended to offer her lessons but the moment he said it his body flooded with anticipation. Gwendolyn was strong and quick and sharp and instinctual. He had no doubt she’d be good with a blade. The image of her standing with a sword in her hand sent a shiver up his spine, and he reluctantly forced the vision away.
“You taught Niah?” she clarified, her voice a bit shaky.
He nodded curtly. “I did.”
She swallowed, her neck tensing under the action. “And you really think I could learn?”
Something in his chest tightened in response to the insecurity in her voice. At the trust in her eyes. If he told her she could, he knew she would believe it, because she trusted him. In this, at least. “I’ve no doubt you can learn. What’s more, I think you will excel.”
Gwendolyn took in a slow breath, her glistening green eyes locked on his. He could tell her mind was racing behind those emerald pools. “I’m supposed to train with Niah again in the morning,” she told him, her voice weak and strong at the same time.
“We can begin then,” he replied. There was a moment of silence in which the reality of it seemed to settle on them both. “I thought you would take more convincing,” he admitted. The fact that she hadn’t encouraged him that much more.
From the shift in her expression, he gathered that she’d also thought it would have taken more convincing. She’d surprised them both, it seemed. “You can take it back if you want,” she offered.
The corner of his mouth twitched. He felt the challenge laced underneath her words. “You may be the one who wishes to recant,” he countered. “Especially if you think Niah is tough.”
Sirus expected a wash of reluctance to spread over her features. Instead, he found himself holding in a breath at the raw look of anticipation that skittered over her.
“Bring it,” she challenged.
He took a few steps closer, so that he towered over her. He caught the little catch of her breath as he did. The scent of lilies filled his lungs and fogged his senses like a fever dream. When she mindlessly bit at her bottom lip, his blood quickened. The attraction between them still lingered, and he’d only grown more and more aware of it over the last several days.
Sirus had been tempted by her since the beginning. Like she were some siren luring him in. He’d reasoned it had to have been the magick in her blood. That his preternatural self had been drawn to it. Perhaps that’s all it had been then, but he was not so obtuse not to realize it wasn’t mere lust that had driven him to embrace her in Abigail’s garden.
He’d lied when he told her he’d come for Levian. Sirus had stepped into the hall after his bath knowing full well Levian was in the den with Barith on the lower floor. The soft scent of lilies had been unmistakable. He’d traced it here. Then he’d watched her from the doorway, transfixed by her lithe figure stretched out as far as she could to acquire the book just out of reach. He knew she’d fall. He knew he’d catch her. His body still hummed from where she’d been pressed against him.
There was a second he found himself unwilling to move, but in the next he leaned back on his heel and put distance between them, his eyes staying fixed on hers. For nearly a week, he’d skulked around the castle, chasing her shadows, scolding himself for his childishness. Now here she stood. Facing him head on. Boldly challenging him as if she held no fear of what he was at all. Not even after everything she’d seen of him. He knew he was a fool, but he could not help himself from wanting to be near her at every opportunity.
“We will begin in the morning, then,” he confirmed, not tearing his eyes from hers. She didn’t flinch. “I suggest you get some rest. You’ll need it.”
“I’ll be fine,” she threw back at him as she slid past, holding the book tightly against her chest, the scent of lilies falling behind her. Her soft, padded steps sent his blood into a frenzy. “You’re the one who might need a nap.”
He caught the feral growl that threatened to slip out of him and tamped it down. Sirus watched her go, transfixed on each step, forcing himself to stay rooted to the spot and not follow her.
She stopped short at the threshold and spun to face him, her brows furrowed. “You’re no Heathcliff, you know,” she said, as if it were abject truth. “You’re not a monster. Neither is Niah, nor Rath. If she didn’t want you just because you’re a vampire, then she was more than stupid—she was an ignorant bigot. She didn’t deserve you.”
Gwendolyn had taken him by surprise more than nearly anyone he’d ever met, but it was rare for Sirus to ever be truly stunned. Her eyes dazzled, full of fire. All he could do was stare into them. Satisfied she’d said her piece, she left him, the soft sound of her bare feet echoing along the hall.
A harsh breath escaped him some moments later as the words played over and over in his head. Sirus ran his hand through his damp hair and over his trimmed beard. Gwendolyn thought Lady Damara, a high fae of the Autumn Faerie Court, had not deserved him. Him, a creature snatched from the clutches of death, reborn of dark magicks and bred for nothing but bloodshed and pain.
You’re not a monster. If he’d been capable, he might have laughed at the idea of it. Gwendolyn had to be the only creature on this plane or any other who would think such a thing. Sirus had no doubt of what he was. He was a monster. He was a reaper of souls. The Hound of Hell. The creature who lurked in the shadows and sent a shiver up your spine. A bloodthirsty killer covered in the scars to prove it. Blood and pain he knew, but there was a dark desire in him to know something more. To be something more.
Sirus stared into the dark hallway beyond the library. A realization struck him like a snake, one he’d watched slowly coil yet now found himself surprised by the inevitable strike. He was not sure he could ever feel love the way most creatures did, but he knew what he felt for Gwendolyn was beyond what he’d ever felt for Damara. The sudden strike of understanding cut into him, and Sirus had to turn away from the door to keep from chasing after her. He didn’t want to wait until tomorrow to see her.
