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Gwen could see the swirls of black tattoos, the hint of his black chest hair, and the contrast of several scars. So many scars. It’d stolen her breath when he removed his shirt. Sirus was muscled, cut like a Greek statue, but nearly every inch of him was covered in some long, short, or deep line. The one over his stomach seemed the freshest, though it was hardly the largest. Gwen swallowed thinking about it, her body quaking slightly.
She’d been brazen enough to ask him to come in, but it seemed her nerves were getting the better of her now that he was here. That harpy of insecurity whispered in her ear. He doesn’t want you to touch him. He just came in because you told him he could. He was here because he’d wanted to soak, not because he’d wanted to see you.
Conversation. She should say something. Words. Words would be good. She couldn’t remember any.
“Blocking,” she blurted.
Sirus tilted his head, finding purchase on a stone beneath him. “Blocking,” he repeated.
Gwen wanted to sink under the water. “I need to get better at it,” she fumbled, horrified at herself. Of all the things she could have said.
He looked pensive for a moment, then nodded. “I agree.”
She scowled. “Well, thanks.”
Sirus shifted closer to the shore. “Come here.”
Her body tingled at the demand. Slowly, she shifted to the edge of her seat. “Why?”
He pointed to a spot some feet away from him. “Stand there.” Hesitantly, she did as he asked, until she was standing on a rock, the water up to her collarbone. “Get into position,” he told her.
“Here?” This was not how she’d hoped this would go, but she should have expected it. She wasn’t exactly a skilled seductress. At best, she was a D minus.
He nodded. With a grumble, she did as he asked, raising her hand as if she were holding her sword. She deserved this, honestly. Blocking. Of all the things she could have said. What the hell was wrong with her?
“Your elbow is too far out, and your stance is unbalanced,” he critiqued.
“I am standing on a bunch of wet stones, up to my neck in water,” she retorted.
He came closer, and her whole body fluttered. Sirus reached beneath the water and pulled her elbow in closer. “Enemies will try to throw you off balance whenever they get the chance,” he told her, sliding behind her.
“Do you often get attacked in hot springs?” she mocked, though it came out far too breathless with him so close. Gwen tried to steady her nerves. Sirus was being Sirus. There was nothing to read into. Nothing?—
His fingers grazed her waist, and it sent a shock vibrating through her. He shifted her torso to tilt more inward in her stance. “Not often,” he admitted, his own voice low and close to her ear.
Gwen swallowed, dropping her stance. It took him a second longer to drop his hands from her. It sent a thrill pulsing through her, and she slowly turned to face him. Those blue eyes looked down into hers.
For a second, they stood there. For a second, she thought he might kiss her. “You asked me once how we become vampire. Do you still wish to know?” he asked instead. His tone was cool. Casual.
She was confused by the sudden change in topic but had no doubt of her answer. She wanted to know everything about him. Even this. A lump of nerves lodged in her throat. “Yes,” she replied with a small nod.
His gaze didn’t waver or flinch when he began, “We are collected during war. Even the greatest warriors fall when the odds and Fates are against them. We’re the most likely to survive the transition. Even as humans, all we know is death and blood.”
Gwen blanched slightly, her throat tightening at the images his words brought to mind. A bloodied field full of fallen bodies. Sirus lying amongst them, covered in gore. A flash of him that night of the mirrors pushed its way forward.
He continued, “Each vampire, when they reach the age of siring, will spend time as a Collector. It is how we filled our ranks and kept the clans alive. The elders would find the most impressive warriors dying on battlefields and carry them away. To a barn or a patch of wood, or anywhere hidden.”
He paused for a moment, and her body chilled, even against the heat of the water. Gwen couldn’t look away from him. His eyes were frigid, but she saw pain in them when he looked past her shoulder and became lost in the darkness of memory. “We are roused in our dying moments. Asked if we wish to live. If we wish to become immortal.” He swallowed, and she held her breath. “We must be capable enough to consent. To at least nod our agreement.”
Her chest grew so tight it ached. That night of the mirrors, as he lay on the floor bleeding to death, he’d been so calm. So at peace. It had terrified her. To imagine Sirus afraid and dying. So afraid, he’d been willing to do anything in order to live. It made her stomach turn on itself.
“Those who agree are fed the blood of an elder,” he went on. “That is when the transition begins.”
Gwen let out a long breath. His cool gaze remained locked on the place beyond her, somewhere far away. “It burns everything. The magick consumes everything we were until it is nothing but ash. When only the last fragments of our human consciousness remain, when the pain becomes unbearable…only then are we given a final choice.” His eyes found hers once more. “To fall into the dark and be free—or heed the call and forge further into the pain.”
That shiver ran up her spine, and she shuddered. Sirus had chosen that pain over death. He had chosen to be what he was. He’d chosen to be vampire.
“I was a warrior,” he explained. “In a Persian army. At least, that’s what I was told sometime later. I remember nothing of that life. I chose to forget it.”
