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Sirus refilled his glass. “No.” He downed that one even faster.
Rath stood then, the chair creaking again under his movements. Sirus did not turn to face him. “In the beginning, you were hunted like dogs,” he said. “After the clans were forged, it was only about surviving, continuing, finding your place. You may not know it, but it all happened faster than you would think. The Dökk were gone, but fighters were always in need. Warriors to do the bidding of the Folk under the cover of darkness. So it was for centuries.”
There was a pause, and Sirus could feel him holding back his next words. It was not like Rath to be unsure of himself, so Sirus turned. The gul stood before his chair, his gaze fixed out the window.
“I am not of your kind. I do not feel as you do, but I’ve watched over you all as if you were my children for over a thousand years. I have watched you be reborn. I have watched you die. I have given your bodies to fire and buried the ashes in this forest. Each of you came to this place because you chose it, and not one of you ever regretted it.
“It is strange,” Rath mused, almost with a touch of humor. “When you live so long, it is easy to forget about the hunger for life. One can grow comfortable with what has been, can assume it will always be. Mortals live differently. They feel more passionately because they do not have the luxury of time.” Those sharp crimson eyes found his.
“You have lived the same way for centuries, Sirus. You have lived your life of blood and death and darkness for so long that you believe there is nothing else. I have seen how you have changed. I know how much you desire what she offers you. You have always desired it. No, you could never give her children, but that is not a woman’s only reason to live.”
Sirus pounded his fist against the sideboard, sending the bottles clanking loudly. “Do not dare assume what she would want.”
Rath took him in. “You are right, Sirus. I cannot speak for her. Neither can you.”
It cut. Like shards of glass digging into his flesh. Gwendolyn was her own woman, and he would never know unless he asked her directly. But it was impossible. Sirus knew she would never choose him over the Eden of the Veil and the promises it held once she’d been there and seen it.
She was a wonder and a gift, and he would cherish her always, but he could not keep her. She could not be his.
“I have known true darkness,” Rath continued. The words came from a depth that made the shadows around the room skitter. “There’s a difference between those consumed by it and those who master its gifts.”
The gul straightened himself to his full height. The fire flickered in the hearth, and the room grew dark as he pulled in the darkness so that only his crimson eyes glowed in the faint light. To any other, the display would have been horrifying. Even Sirus felt a chill of visceral unease.
“Perhaps she does deserve more,” Rath added. “But do you not owe her the opportunity to give voice to her desires? Do you not owe it to her to do the same?”
No. He deserved nothing, but he wanted so much. Much more than he could ever ask of her.
Rath read his expression as if he’d said the thoughts aloud. The shadows fell away in an instant, flooding the room with the soft orange glow of the fire once more. Where there was once tension, Sirus sensed something far too close to sadness in the gul’s expression.
“I have never known you to fear anything, Sirus,” he added. “If you let her leave without giving voice to your heart, you will have welcomed fear in love’s place. Gwendolyn does deserve everything she desires, but there is a difference between what you cannot give her and what you choose not to.”
Rath left him then and Sirus could do nothing but swallow the lump that had lodged itself firmly in his throat.
Do you love her?
Sirus remembered Gwendolyn’s face pressed against his neck as she’d slept in his arms. He did love her. With every fiber of himself. He had no doubt of it. But Rath was right—fear crept through him like a virus.
He pulled the darkness around him and savored the chill it spread through his bones. He was a monster. And a coward.
Sirus had left her not even an hour ago, and already he ached to be near her again. To hold her, to breathe in her soft scent.
Niah and Rath were right.
Perhaps he was a fool, but Sirus refused to be a coward. He wanted to tell Gwendolyn how he felt. Wanted to ask her to stay here with him. Wanted to hope she might desire to.
Sirus tore across his room, not sure what he would say or do when he got to her, only knowing he must do it. His heart pounded with anticipation.
He made it as far as her door before he stilled. The cold brace of reality slammed into him, staying his movements as a wrinkle of awareness slithered through his body. He turned to the east, sensing something skirt the edge of the forest. A presence. Power.
Sirus knew to whom it belonged. He backed away from her door slowly and let out a long, slow breath, focusing on chilling his heated blood. His icy heart sank.
For weeks they’d waited, and it was this moment she chose to come. Without word or notice, Iathana had finally arrived. The dryad had come at last.
Iathana sat wrapped in a thick gray cloak on the edge of a fallen evergreen. Her dark brown fae skin shimmered against the moonlight and the soft falling snow.
She could sense Sirus long before he appeared, just as he’d been able to feel the stirring of her power as he’d stepped into the forest.
He’d not expected the dryads to come without notice. He’d not expected Iathana to come herself. It was rare for her to venture beyond the Veil.
