by Kallysten
"We're not in my mausoleum,” she commented after a few minutes of silence, turning her head toward him even though she kept her eyes closed.
It wasn't a question, and she had probably figured out where they were, but he answered nonetheless. “My place."
"First time I've been here since..."
"Our Mating,” he finished for her when she paused. “I just thought it would be easier to take care of you here."
"I would have healed on my own, you know. A few days of rest and blood and I'd have been as good as new."
He wanted to object and point out that, left alone, it would have taken more than a few days for her back to heal completely, but he could guess that it wasn't really what they were discussing here.
"I wanted to help,” he admitted. “Wanted to have you here with me."
Her eyes opened for a brief instant and she smiled. “OK then."
She was silent again after that, and Vincent realized she had fallen asleep. He continued to apply the salve, moving down her body to her lower back, ass, and thighs. There wasn't much left in the jar when the last of the cuts closed and paled; he gathered all of what remained and spread it over her whole back one last time, massaging her flesh now rather than carefully applying the ointment. At last he was done, and pulled the sheet up to cover her, before laying down against her, the side of his body gently touching the side of hers, and for the first time since they had argued, since she had disappeared, he fell asleep in seconds and didn't wake until Lilia had decided he had slept enough.
* * * *
When Lilia awakened, feeling refreshed for the first time since being kidnapped, she found a warm body pressed along hers and a possessive arm curled around her back. She knew who it was, could have recognized the touch anywhere, but she took a deep breath, taking in Vincent's scent and letting it soothe her.
She then made sure to remain completely still, unwilling to chase him away by moving, but after a moment, she couldn't help herself and had to turn her head on the pillow to look at him. His face was just inches from hers, so relaxed in sleep that for a little while she just observed him, letting her eyes follow the pale line down and across his cheek, and almost wishing—almost—that she could kiss the scar away and erase what it meant. It felt as though she had put it there a lifetime ago, rather than a few years, and maybe it was true that they were different people now. So much had happened to them, between them, that the memory of their first fight seemed almost unreal.
In the end, she couldn't help it, and brought a finger to trace the mark as delicately as she knew how. Humans were such fragile creatures. Vincent's eyelashes fluttered open under the touch. Words of regret rose to her lips, but he spoke before she could utter them.
"I could have gotten rid of it, you know."
She raised an eyebrow, and he continued. “There are magic ointments for this kind of injury. The docs offered to use it on me when I went to have it stitched up. Same kind of stuff I put on your back, I suppose."
"And you didn't take them up on it?"
"I almost did. But in the end I decided not to. I figured it would be a reminder of what you were capable of. A reminder of what you had done to Peter. And a reminder of my promise to stake you."
A bitter smile rose to her lips. “Didn't work so well, did it?"
"I guess not,” he admitted.
She had no answer so she remained quiet, closing her eyes again and pulling her hand away from his face as she retreated into her mind and thoughts. Things were finally clear, all her memories in place, but there was still a blurry note. She wasn't sure why she even was in Vincent's bed. Had he forgotten about their argument?
"You're not mad anymore?” she asked when not understanding became even less bearable than the idea that he may still be.
"About Peter?"
It hadn't even occurred to her that he might still hold a grudge about that, and she remained silent, unsure what she could say that wouldn't make things worse.
"We were young. Inexperienced. We thought we were invincible. It would have been another vamp, if it hadn't been you."
There was a thread of guilt running through his voice, and another time she might have pushed things further; at that moment however, something else mattered more.
"Mad about anything else?"
He didn't answer until she had opened her eyes. The incongruous thought crossed her mind that he was so close she could have counted his eyelashes.
"I promised myself if we got out of it alive I'd let you explain.” He paused for a second, and his voice was just a hair thicker with tension when he added: “If there's anything you'd like to explain."
Was there? It felt as though it had been decades ago that she had decided she needed a new lover to try to forget Vincent. Did it still matter, now? She was in his bed, he had saved her, taken care of her; he couldn't still be as upset as he had been.
"For what it's worth,” he said when she had kept quiet for a few seconds, “I didn't follow you that night. I went to On The Edge to hunt. I never expected to see you there. Never expected to see you with someone else either."
There was too much hurt in his tone and on his face, even though he tried hard to hide them, and Lilia suddenly felt cold, colder than she had in a long time. Without thinking, she slid closer to him, pressing the length of her body to his and wishing no bed sheet or clothes had been between them. She nestled her head in the crook of his shoulder where she wouldn't be able to see his disappointment, then, she told him.
"I am a vampire,” she started, her voice no louder than a murmur. “Nothing you do will ever change that. And when you pretend I'm something different, it's like ... like a slap to my face."
"I didn't..."
Her hand tightened where she held his shirt and he stopped talking.
"I tried ignoring it,” she continued, even more quietly now if that was possible, “but it was too much. It came to the point where I had to do something to remind myself and even remind you what I am and what it means."
She paused for an instant and took a deep breath, breathing in his scent before she continued, her voice a little louder now. “I went to three clubs that night. I wanted to pick up a body to fuck and maybe feed from. Anyone would have done the trick, but I kept finding men who looked just like you. It made me so mad at myself ... I had to force myself to choose one that was nothing like you."
Vincent was perfectly still against her, and Lilia found that she regretted now not being able to see him and what he thought of what she was saying.
"Nothing happened,” she rushed to the end of her story. “I went back home alone. I couldn't even manage to kiss anyone who wasn't you, let alone do anything more than kiss."
Now came the hard part, and Lilia steeled herself. “If you want to pretend, I'll let you pretend. I love you enough to close my eyes and take whatever I can have from you. Just ... just don't ask me to play at being human."
Having told much more than she had intended to, Lilia fell silent again and waited. He had let her talk without interrupting after his first outburst, and the only reaction he had given had been to tense for an instant when she had confessed she had not slept with anyone else. His silence and stillness were a little unnerving, and with each passing second Lilia's fear only grew that she had ruined everything, that her words had upset him as much as seeing her with someone else had, almost three weeks earlier.
She was certain her thoughts were being confirmed when he pulled away from her and she blinked furiously, unwilling to cry in front of him. She was a century old vampire, not a teenager, and she refused to cry for a man. She simply refused.
He didn't leave the bed however; instead, he merely sat up. Under her slightly confused eyes, he unbuttoned his shirt and pulled it off, leaving his chest bare. Her gaze was immediately attracted to his neck and the bite marks she had reopened while under the thrall. They had healed again, and were just a little less pale than they usually were, the new skin still tender.
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br /> Sliding in the bed next to her, he was soon face to face with her again; and at last, he spoke.
"I know what you are, Lilia. I'm not sure what I did to give you the impression I was pretending you were human ... hell, it's not like I ever dated a vampire before, so I suppose I did treat you like a normal girl. I just didn't know how else to act. But I swear I don't want you to be any different. I love you, as you are, vampire and all, and it scares the hell out of me but it's nothing when compared to the idea that I might lose you..."
Lilia was still refusing herself the right to cry, although not for the same reasons now.
"...and I don't know how else to prove it to you."
A gentle, slightly trembling hand caressed her cheek before sliding across her jaw and to the back of her head, and as Lilia allowed him lead her to his neck, one of those damn tears finally rolled down her cheek and slid onto the flesh he was offering to her to bite.
* * * *
Vincent had never been good with words. He could use his hands to fight, could ask a question with a look, but when it came to talking, and especially talking to a woman about what hid inside his mind and heart, he always felt stupid.
If he could have given Lilia a glance into his soul, she would have known, without the shadow of a doubt, that her fears were groundless, and that he wanted her, loved her, exactly as she was. But all he could do was give her a few insignificant words; that, and the ultimate proof of his trust and love.
A drop of water—a tear?—fell right in between the two marks that proclaimed him her Mate, and Vincent shivered. Her lips caressed the same spot, barely touching yet setting all of his body on fire.
"Are you sure?” she murmured, almost choking on the words.
He wished he could have told her how many times he had dreamed about this, how he couldn't think of a better way to show her that he accepted that she was a vamp, how he hoped that she would see he could hardly have given her anything more than what he was now offering. But all that passed his lips was a word, yes, and it was enough because he was saying yes to her. To them.
He felt her fangs rest against his skin, not piercing yet, merely touching, and shuddered at the contact, unconsciously holding Lilia tighter. She seemed to take his movement as his final consent and finally pressed home; her fangs broke in, and he knew, at the incredible sensation of warmth that ran through him, she had bitten through her marks again.
She had done the same while under the thrall, but somehow it had felt different then. It hadn't really been her, not his Mate, not the woman he loved, and if the touch had affected his body, it hadn't felt as mind-shattering as it did now.
For an instant, she merely remained as she was, immobile with her fangs deep inside him, and Vincent had time to regret not being inside her too, as he had been for their Mating, to savor their double union. When she finally pulled out, it was slowly, carefully, and the sucking he expected and braced himself for didn't come. Instead, she laved the bite with her tongue, cleaning the blood that was rising toward her and slowly tending to the small wounds until they were closed again.
"Thank you,” she murmured, her lips still against his skin, and Vincent wanted to say the words right back at her. He didn't, though, not right then, because she had shifted against him and her mouth was now brushing against his, caressing more than kissing, and the time for words had passed. Now was the time to love.
Epilogue
From where he stood, one step behind Don at the foot of the altar, Vincent came to a startling observation. His friend's complexion, as the bridesmaids stepped toward them, had slowly turned a pale green, as though to mirror their dresses’ color. And when Jeanie finally appeared, radiant, and floated toward them, he became almost as white as her dress was. Vincent made a mental note of it, promising himself to tease Don about his chameleon abilities later.
The ceremony began, and Vincent's attention slipped away. They had gone through the motions at the rehearsal, and he knew he wouldn't be needed until after the bride's sister had sung. That alone should pull him out of his daydream.
Free to roam, his thoughts quickly found their usual path, and merrily skipped toward Lilia. It had been a year, or just a little more, since Jeanie had wrecked what should have been an easy spell by simply pronouncing the word ‘marriage'. A little more than a year since, moments after Jeanie had scared Don half to death, Lilia had proposed. And Vincent had replied with a proposal that had made things so much more complicated. So much more beautiful.
A year since they had Mated, but less than that since they had truly found each other, and yet Vincent could barely remember what his life had been like before Lilia. He couldn't imagine waking up alone in his bed, not being around her during the day, not having her by his side when he went to hunt, not having her jokes to laugh at, her lips to kiss, her body to love...
And this was probably not the best course for his mind to be taking while in a place of worship with dozens of people looking in his direction.
As though summoned by his thoughts, Lilia appeared. For an instant, Vincent was sure he was hallucinating.
This was a church, after all, and although it was late in the day, sunset wasn't close; not exactly the most auspicious setting for a vampire. But their eyes met, and he knew then, at the smile that illuminated her face, that she was really there. And it didn't really matter anymore how or why she had come; her presence made everything else trivial.
There were empty seats on both sides of the aisle where she could have had a better view, but she remained at the back of the church, close to the entrance. She looked a little uncomfortable, and Vincent tried, with smiles and eye contact, to make her forget where she was. It seemed to work, at least a little, and he couldn't have been happier.
Jeanie hadn't seemed particularly happy, when, a few months earlier, Vincent had told her whom he planned to bring as his guest, but judging by her lack of objections, he was certain that Don must have talked to her before he had. She had only requested that neither of them do anything that would inform the other guests that a vampire was amongst them, and Vincent had assured her that Lilia could pass for a human if she chose to. Which apparently was the case, because the red dress she was wearing, while cut high enough to make her legs seem endless and tightly clinging to her every curves, completely covered both sides of her neck and the marks there, her Sire's bite on one side, her Mate's on the other. And unless he was mistaken and it was a trick of the light or distance, her cheeks held more color than they usually did.
Don lightly clearing his throat suddenly caught Vincent's attention, and his cheeks were suddenly on fire when he realized he had missed his cue. His hand flew to his pocket, then out again when he realized it was the wrong one. A little more fumbling and he could finally give Don the wedding rings, carefully avoiding looking him in the eye, or worse Jeanie, as he did so.
The ceremony started again, the exchanges of vows taking the attention away from him, and Vincent breathed a quiet sigh. When he dared a look back toward the entrance of the church, Lilia had a hand over her mouth, and he could have sworn she was stifling a laugh.
Evil, evil vampire. He would show her. In a couple of hours, she might not be laughing so much.
* * * *
Being in a church felt extremely weird to Lilia. She hadn't been in one since she had been turned, yet somehow when she passed the door she almost reached into the holy water font before realizing that it might not be the best idea. After a hundred and seventy odd years, she was puzzled, for an instant, about the resurgence of the old forgotten habit, but she let go of that thought after catching Vincent's eyes.
He looked surprised to see her there, she hadn't been supposed to show up until nightfall at the reception; an overcast sky and Jeanie's not particularly enthusiastic but seemingly sincere invitation had prompted her to show up early.
Unwilling to test if she would be able to walk any closer to the large cross looming behind the happy couple, she remained at the back of
the church, standing near the wall, hands clasped behind her back. The service was not overly religious, for which she was thankful, but she wasn't paying much attention to it anyway. She was grateful to Don for having helped her and Vincent, but she wouldn't have come if not for her Mate. And it was worth the goose bumps over her skin and the internal flinch every time her eyes fell on the cross just to see him beam at her over the room.
Despite her lack of attention, she realized something was wrong when silence fell over the church and all faces turned toward Vincent. She realized what was happening at the same time as he did, and barely managed to suppress a laugh that threatened to pass her lips as he dug frantically through his pockets to find the rings.
The rest of the ceremony went without another glitch, but she barely kept her laugh at bay when the newlyweds walked down the aisle together. She slipped in next to Vincent as he walked by, and he threw her a look that was a cross between amused, mortified and accusatory.
"It's not my fault if you daydreamed,” she murmured, preemptively defending herself, and he only glared at her, causing another bubble of silent laughter to rise to her lips.
It was only when they arrived at the reception site that her amusement faded, when she realized she would be seated between Vincent and his father. Vincent should have been sitting at Don and Jeanie's table, but he had asked them to sit with Lilia at a less conspicuous table, and they hadn't argued about it.
Lilia hadn't known Emery was invited, and hadn't noticed him at the church, but it was impossible to avoid him as he waved at her and Vincent to show them where their seats were. She hadn't seen him since they had first met, and she had a rather fond memory of him, but she had not anticipated she would need to pay attention to her every word all evening long and the prospect wasn't particularly exciting.
But during the dinner, Emery commented, sotto-voce, that it would have been common politeness for their hosts to provide her with food that suited her. She threw him a startled look before turning to Vincent, who had heard the comment. He shrugged.