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“An ass you’re glad is coming with you,” he reminded her.
Levian rolled her eyes and gave Gwen a brief hug goodbye. “We’ll talk about your vampire issue when I get back,” she whispered low.
“Try not to murder Barith while you’re gone,” Gwen whispered in return.
“I make no promises,” Levian replied with a deep, nervous breath.
“Are you ready?” Niah asked from the doorway.
Levian nodded and glanced up at the grandfather clock. It was nearly midnight now. “Yes,” she replied. Rath had showed up to see them off as well. Sirus was nowhere to be found.
Before they left, Levian turned to Gwen. “I promise to find out all that I can.”
Gwen’s stomach tightened. The whole point of this trip to see Levian’s father in The Prison was for her. “Thank you,” she told the mage.
Levian smirked. “Don’t thank me yet.”
After they all said their goodbyes, Gwen set off to her room. Sirus would probably come tonight, and she knew she needed to tell him how she felt. With every step, her anxiety grew heavier and heavier. That little harpy of insecurity creeping up on her.
She would tell him, she’d decided. Soon. Just not tonight.
Chapter Fifteen
Sirus swirled his scotch as he sat before the fire, his dark mood growing blacker with each passing minute. The clock had struck four in the morning some minutes ago.
This was the first night he’d left Gwendolyn to sleep in peace. He held her for several hours, until he knew she was resting deeply. Then he’d slipped away without a sound.
Sirus had felt a shift when he’d come to her. Had felt tension in her tonight he’d not felt before. He leaned his head back against his chair, closing his eyes. His desire for Gwendolyn was consuming. His need to be near her. To hold her. But he’d needed to clear his head.
His conversation with Niah haunted him. His own feelings haunted him. He downed his drink and stared into the fire. Twilight was settling over the forest, the snow now light and dusting compared to the deluge of flurries earlier in the day.
Sirus sensed Rath approach before he entered. “May I come in?” the gul asked, as he always did.
Sirus nodded and motioned to the chair across from him. Rath took the seat. The leather creaked under his size and weight, but it held him steadfast. The gul crossed one leg over the other and straightened a wrinkle in his pants. He did not speak for several minutes.
“Speak your mind,” Sirus half growled when he grew too impatient. That impatience alone was enough to verify his foul mood, though he assumed Rath already knew of it. He imagined that was why he was here in the first place.
Rath eyed him sharply. “Do you love her?”
The words cut like sharp blades. Sirus said nothing, just clenched his jaw tightly, grinding his molars. Silence lingered again, heavy and suffocating.
Sirus looked into the fire. “She deserves more.” It was all he could say. It was enough.
“Perhaps she does,” Rath replied.
It stung, and his eyes darted to Rath’s. The gul’s expression was flat and unreadable, but his eyes bored into his like two arrowheads. “She is a wonder, to be sure, but she is still a woman, Sirus. And, despite what you may believe of yourself, under it all, you are still a man.”
Sirus let those words wash over him. The glimmer of hope they alluded to. He buried it in an instant. “She is young,” he replied with a chill that felt harsh even to his own ears. “She will recover. She will not regret leaving this place.” Leaving him. “She will make a new life. Find happiness. Bear children.”
“Ah,” Rath said, and it sent his hackles rising.
When Sirus glared at him, the gul had the audacity to smirk, those white teeth glimmering in the dim light against his dark skin. It made Sirus want to rise up and strike him. Rath seemed to recognize the urge, as his smirk turned strained.
“I have lived amongst the clan since almost the beginning,” he said, his tone devoid of emotion, even if his expression was amused. “I have seen everything there is to see. You think you are the first to feel the way you do?”
Sirus stood then, his instincts surging to strike, slash, and fight. Instead, he stalked over to the table and poured himself another half glass of scotch. “I do not care what you’ve seen,” he replied darkly, downing his glass in one long gulp. The liquid burned pleasantly as it passed down his throat and sloshed in his empty stomach. “It does not matter.”
“Doesn’t it?” Rath countered.
