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“This is spooning,” she teased. “One of the many positions of cuddling.”
He released her only to reach down for the blanket at the foot of the bed and pull it over her. “If that is so, I have cuddled before. Though it was much less pleasurable, as my partner was Barith.”
She let out a sleepy huff of laughter, hugging his arm to her chest. His own chest ached at the tenderness of her touch. “And the story there would be?”
“Even immortals can freeze to death,” he admitted, trying to force himself to relax next to her. “Barith can summon fire, but not constantly. When one is stuck in the frozen tundra during a blizzard and the Sun Dragon can no longer draw fire at his will, one must do what they must.”
Gwendolyn smiled, her eyes drifting shut. “So who was the big spoon?”
Sirus did not reply, and she laughed again, even more sleepily than before. “It’s funny to imagine, Barith spooning you in a blizzard.”
“It was less humorous in the moment,” he grumbled, kissing the top of her shoulder.
She nestled deeper against him as he felt her drifting further toward sleep. The moment he sensed her succumb, he lay there next to her, wholly unsure what to do with himself. For long years, Sirus had wondered what this would feel like. He’d wondered countlessly what this would feel like with her. He was frustrated by how uneasy he was now that he’d been given this gift.
With a steadying breath, he pulled her closer. This night had been beyond anything he could have imagined. She was beyond anything he could have imagined. His heart ached as he felt her own beneath his hand, which was held tightly in her grip. Of all the moments they’d shared. Of all the ways she’d surprised him.
He struggled. Struggled to see himself as she saw him. Struggled to trust himself as she trusted him. Her neck displayed no sign of what he’d taken from her, just a small patch of pink. Sirus didn’t know how she’d healed this time when she hadn’t before. It scared him. The way she’d been able to draw her magick to her.
The fear rippled through every part of him, and he held her closer. He could feel the magick more than before. Could feel it humming through him from the blood she’d given him. A small sliver of hope slipped through the fear as he listened to the soft pattern of her breath. Gwendolyn was strong. Resilient. Maybe she could find a way to harness this magick. She had healed herself. Perhaps her situation was not as dire as they’d believed.
Doubt and instinct crept in from the recesses of his mind, and he pushed them away. He breathed her in and closed his eyes, savoring the moment. Committing it to memory.
It scared him.
It scared him to think she might care for him too.
Sirus didn’t know what the future would bring, but as he held her he let himself hope.
Chapter Fourteen
“You seem restless, brother,” Niah observed as she rolled her neck, placing her sword back with the others on the rack.
He was restless—not that restlessness even began to scrape the surface of the layers of emotions inside him. The last several days had been nothing less than blissful. Walks with Gwendolyn, stolen kisses, their evenings of laughter with the others in the den. Coming to her bed in the evening, holding her close as she slept. He was beginning to feel like he was holding on to a dream. A dream he knew could not last.
He wiped the sweat from his brow with a cloth but made no reply.
“She is safe here,” Niah said, taking a guess at what troubled him. “The dampening spells will keep her magicks at bay well enough to not cause harm. She is probably safer here than anywhere, except for the Veil.”
He knew this already, but it did nothing to calm his unease. “Your point?” he asked flatly.
“Sirus,” Niah declared with impatience. He glanced over at the direct use of his name. “The others might suspect, but I wasn’t reborn yesterday. I know about you and Gwen.”
His blood rushed with ice. “There is nothing to know,” he replied.
Silence fell as they held each other’s gaze. The longer it lingered the more palpable the tension became.
Niah’s expression turned harsh. She took her time before continuing, clearly deliberating her next words carefully. “You’re drawn to her,” she observed, her voice cool. “Not just by her magick or her beauty, but by her spirit. Her trust.” The words cut deeper than the blade of one of her knives. “I will not tell you what to do nor warn you away from your choices. Hades knows I have no right to do such a thing.”
She took in a deep breath and let it out slowly. Her expression remained as severe as ever. “I once thought being immortal was the greatest gift of all,” she told him. “That it would give me wisdom beyond everything, because I would have lifetimes to learn.” She shook her head. “But I was foolish.” Her hands fisted at her sides, then loosened. “Most of life’s greatest lessons are forged in the fires of pain, and what can you learn when you spend eternity feeling nothing?”
Niah’s eyes shot to his. Heat flashed within them, scalding and clear. She straightened her back, the warrior inside her refusing to be cowed by discomfort. “I fell in love once,” she declared.
The confession startled him. How unwavering she was.
“Her name was Currin. She was a pixie. An Eldreth,” Niah continued.
The Eldreth were some of the foulest of ancient pixie families. They didn’t simply dabble in the black market of magick—they ran it. They were hard and opportunistic Folk with an intricate underground network of thieves and brokers and buyers. If something you desired was impossible to find, the Eldreth were there to help. For a hefty price.
