by Kallysten
Sliding over his torso with inoffensive bites and teasing licks, she stopped, just a second, with her lips pressed over his heart. She had always enjoyed feeling its beat, a quick tattoo against her lips or fingers when Ian was as aroused as he was now. She was almost surprised to realize it wasn't beating. For a brief moment, she had forgotten; remembering wove a painful knot in her throat.
"I'm sorry,” she murmured in between soft kisses pressed to his chest and down still. “So very sorry."
Ian groaned when she flicked her tongue at the glistening tip of his cock. “Just ... don't do it again,” he managed to say, his voice sounding rough with need.
"I won't,” she murmured in between open mouth kisses pressed down his shaft. “You only had one human life to lose. But I swear I'll protect—"
The fingers he had threaded in her hair tightened to the point of pain as he pulled her face up and away from his erection.
"What—what are you sorry about, exactly?” he asked, his needless panting subsiding and his eyes narrowed to mere slits.
Chapter Six
The noise of the heavy door banging shut behind Ian echoed throughout the lair but it wasn't anywhere near satisfying. He had thought—no, he had hoped—that Eyrin had finally understood how much he missed her, how much pain her rejection was causing him, how bewildered he had been by her betrayal earlier that night. He had believed that she wanted him just as much as he wanted her, and that talking to him had at last broken through whatever barriers she had erected around herself. But he had been wrong, on all counts. The passivity he had taken as an acknowledgment that he was her equal, now, had only been her way to give him compensation; her body for the life she had taken from him.
That she would have sex with him out of pity, remorse or guilt was worse than anything. It was worse than the gazes he attracted as he made his way to the weapons room, some of them mocking, others disgusted. Clearly, the news that he was a coward was spreading fast.
It was worse, also, than his fear that he would never touch Eyrin again. He'd rather have been celibate than accept her pity. Couldn't she understand that he didn't blame her for his siring? Things happened, sometimes good, sometimes bad, but always for a reason. His father had repeated as much to him dozens of times as he was growing up, and Ian was convinced of the truth of the words. There were many things he had lost forever when becoming a vampire, but he had been given just as much in return.
Or so he had thought until Eyrin had proved he had lost her so thoroughly.
The sword slid easily into his hand when he picked it up from its wall stand. It was heavier and broader than what he had been trained to use so far but he had wanted to try using it for a few days and it seemed like the perfect time. With as much frustration and anger coursing through him, wielding the heavier weapon wasn't the challenge it had first seemed to be. It wasn't as though he could return to his bedchamber. Eyrin might still be there, and he had no wish to talk to her any more. He had left the room so fast in his need to get away from her that he had barely taken the time to lace his breeches again and had not even picked up his tunic from the floor. Childer walked around the lair half naked often enough and what was still unusual for him was the norm for the rest of them, no one would notice.
One after the other, he pushed his body into the fighting forms Eyrin had taught him, bitterly aware that he was trying to escape her by doing something intensely associated with her in his mind. He could tell when his movements were anything less than perfect, when the sword did not slice through the air at the perfect angle, and he pushed himself to repeat the motions, time after time, as Eyrin would have urged him to if she had been there.
When his Sire stepped in, he was exhausted and ready to stop. But the older vampire observed him for a minute or two before going to pick a sword on the wall. Ian stood at attention when the Master took position in front of him, and was startled enough by the first strike that he was almost too slow to parry it.
"Focus,” his Sire said tersely. “I have no intention of hurting you, so don't let me."
Ian was prepared for the second blow, and the third, both of which he blocked cleanly if not easily. Growing bolder, he tried to strike back. His Sire evaded the blow with almost insulting ease. He then struck with words.
"Eyrin is hardly the only lover you could have."
Frozen in shock at the turn the conversation was taking, Ian didn't see the next blow coming. It was a testament to his Sire's control of his weapon that the blade merely nicked his chest, right above his heart, rather than cut more deeply.
"Focus,” the master repeated before striking again, acting as though he had not been saying anything out of the ordinary. “Human women come in every day. You could have your pick of just about any of them, few ever say no. And at least two of the Childer are making mooneyes at you. Or hadn't you noticed?"
Ian kept quiet as he parried or evaded strike after strike, his body falling into the appropriate defensive stances with hardly any thought. He had in truth given no consideration to either option the Master had suggested. He'd had eyes for no one save Eyrin for five years. Being constantly so close to her was not helping anything. He could see now that she didn't feel the same way as he did, that she had only been playing with him as a human and had tried to take him to her bed out of pity earlier, but it didn't make it any easier to let go of his feelings for her.
"So? Aren't you going to reply, boy?"
"I'm not a boy,” he protested without thinking. “And I don't want anyone else. I want Eyrin."
His Sire's next attack held just enough added force that Ian had to back away even as he blocked the blade with his own. His voice as he spoke again seemed to contain the very same strength.
"You have centuries left to live, Childe. Dozens of lovers to take, if not more. Why cage yourself? If she truly doesn't care about you—"
"I do."
The words were as quiet as they were unexpected, and Ian almost tripped over his own feet as he turned to face the newcomer. Eyrin was leaning against the wall by the entrance, where their Sire had to have noticed her. Had he been talking to her, rather than to Ian? How long had she been there?
"You do?” the Master said almost scornfully. “And yet, you've been rejecting him ever since he rose as one of us, Eyrin. If you care, you have a strange way of showing it."
Ian remained silent. He didn't trust himself not to defend Eyrin if he opened his mouth, and that was the last thing he wanted to do, still wounded as he was by what had happened in his chambers. Yet, he couldn't help wondering if she had come here looking for him, and if so, why.
He should have known better by now, but again, he couldn't help hoping.
* * * *
It seemed that hours had passed since Ian had left her, lashing out with words that, at that moment, hadn't made much sense. But as Eyrin had remained still on the bed and had thought about what she might have done to upset him so, she had begun to piece it all together.
He had been angry at the way she had kept him away from the fight earlier that night, and had expected an apology. Instead, she had apologized for killing him, moments after he had assured her he didn't blame her in any way for that. Of course he had been upset. She would have been, too, in his place, and she could only blame herself for not understanding faster. She would apologize for knocking him out even if she still believed it had been the right thing to do despite the consequences, but maybe she could also apologize for pushing Ian away these past weeks, if it turned out that he truly wanted her.
Maybe she could also stop lying to herself and admit that she wanted him too.
She had seen the effect glimpses of her ruined face had on vampires and humans alike, and she had persuaded herself that no one would ever touch her with anything over than pity for the scars marring her body. However, she had seen the same reverence and awe in Ian's eyes when he had looked at her as she had ever witnessed in his human gaze. She had been too caught up in what they were doing at t
he time to realize as much, but with just a few caresses of his eyes, lips and fingers, Ian had made her feel as though she were still beautiful rather than disfigured. It might have been why she had forgotten, for a brief moment, his siring and the incident that had led to it. It had quite simply been the first time in weeks that she had felt like herself again, and she owed that to Ian. All she could hope was that she hadn't broken what existed between them beyond repair.
She slid her tunic back on before leaving the room to look for Ian, unwilling to show her scars to anyone else. Finding him was a simple matter; all she had to do was follow the sound of his voice and clashing metal. She arrived just in time to hear him declare, “I don't want anyone else. I want Eyrin."
The pang in her chest was painful but sweet. Her Sire's gaze on her, on the other hand, made her shiver in cold. Thankfully his eyes didn't linger on her and he returned his attention to Ian, launching on him an attack that made Eyrin's fists clench even more nervously that she could smell Ian's blood in the air.
"You have centuries left to live, Childe. Dozens of lovers to take, if not more. Why cage yourself? If she truly doesn't care about you—"
She hadn't meant to intervene, not like this, but before she knew it the words were passing her lips.
"I do."
Judging by the way Ian startled when he heard her voice, he had not noticed her presence until she had spoken. Part of her wanted to scold him for it; she had tried to teach him to be aware of his surroundings at all times. However, before she could decide whether to remind him of that lesson to him or not, their Sire's words chilled her once more to the bone.
"You do? And yet, you've been rejecting him ever since he rose as one of us, Eyrin. If you care, you have a strange way of showing it."
"If I didn't,” she shot back, trying with some difficulty to remain courteous in front of his accusation, “I wouldn't have kept him safe from that battle tonight. He wasn't ready for it and you should have known it."
She heard Ian begin to protest but she didn't hear what he was saying, caught as she was by the unanticipated triumph on her Sire's features and in his voice.
"I knew it!” he exclaimed, and for a second Eyrin thought he was agreeing with her. “I knew you had something to do with it. You will apologize to Ian for it, in front of the entire clan. You may believe what you want, but he was ready for that battle, and because of you he was unable to prove it."
Eyrin still didn't believe Ian would have been entirely safe, had he taken part in that fight, but she could hardly refuse what clearly sounded like a direct order from her Sire. The protest came from the most unlikely person.
"It's not necessary, my lord,” Ian said quietly, almost submissively despite his contradictory words. “I will show what I can do with my acts. An explanation won't change how others see me, only how they see Eyrin."
Of all things, the Master rolled his eyes at Ian.
"As foolish as ever,” he muttered. “But you were the wronged one, and if that's what you want..."
"It is, my lord."
Ian cast an almost shy glance in Eyrin's direction; she had no idea how to answer it or his words, so she gave him a smile, just as hesitant. Their Sire didn't even try to disguise his snort of laughter.
"I've had enough of this,” he said, shaking his head as he retrieved Ian's sword and returned it as well as his own to the wall stand. “You two are liabilities on the hunt, too distracted by each other to pay enough attention to what you're doing, or playing games like you did tonight, Eyrin. It ends now. I want you to settle this out. Talk, fight, have sex, do whatever it takes but get past these apologies and regret nonsense. I've made you both, I am responsible for you both, and I am tired of you two acting like children. Go. Now. And don't let me see you again until you've resolved all of it."
He practically pushed Ian and Eyrin out of the weapon room and toward the bedchambers hallway, and before she knew it Eyrin was in her bedchambers, Ian next to her. The time had come to leave behind everything but the truth.
Still, truth had never seemed so hard to reach.
Chapter Seven
As she walked away from him and to the fireplace, Ian kept his eyes on Eyrin and was eerily reminded of the day he had been sired. Eyrin had seemed as unwilling then to have him anywhere near her, as she seemed to be now, and it pained him to think that she only tolerated him because their Sire had requested it from her.
"If you want me to go..."
He left the offer unfinished, certain that he didn't need to say more. He could see a faint smile drawn on her lips when she turned back to look at him.
"And disobey our Sire's order?"
His hands closed into tight fists and he started backing off toward the door, but Eyrin stopped him with a shake of her head and softer words.
"I was coming to you for the same reason he sent us here."
"To have sex?” Ian challenged. “If that's it, I'm not interested in your pity. I'm sure I'll find someone who doesn't mind that I'm a vampire."
Her sad sigh weighed on him to the point that Ian almost felt like asking for forgiveness before he remembered that he had nothing to feel sorry for, unlike Eyrin. He watched, slightly resentful, as she sat on the edge of her bed and tapped the mattress next to her with her hand.
"Come,” she said, a request more than a command. “I have one last lesson to share with you. Then you'll be free to leave if you still want to."
Reluctantly, Ian crossed the room to go sit near her, although he sat farther away than she had suggested. Then he waited. It took her a long moment to start talking, and when she did her eye seemed to hold him where he was.
"Vampires aren't supposed to feel love, you know. That's one of the first things our Sire ever taught me."
Ian remembered hearing the same thing from the Master, but before he could say as much she continued, still very quiet.
"But that doesn't mean we can't love. And it certainly doesn't mean we don't. I think you love me. I think you loved me even before I killed you. And I..."
Ian didn't dare move or even blink for fear of breaking the charm and stopping her. He had hoped beyond reason, but he hadn't hoped for anything like this.
"The most difficult for me,” she said slowly after a few seconds of silence, “is that I don't know if I'm sad or happy that you are a vampire today. I did kill you, and I can't express how horrified I still feel at that idea. You tried to comfort me, and in return, I took from you the most precious thing you owned."
He tried to interrupt her at that but she reached over to lay two fingers over his lips.
"And at the same time, I can't help but be glad, for so many reasons. You'll live forever. I see you every day instead of four times a year. You make a strong vampire, and part of me knew you would. So maybe it wasn't completely an accident that I killed you after all. That terrifies me. That's not who I am. I protect humans, I don't let harm befall them. And that's why I didn't let you fight tonight. I'd rather see you hate me than see you hurt, or worse."
The fingers retreated, leaving Ian free to speak, but he caught her hand before she could rest it in her lap as before.
"I am as much to blame as you are, if there is blame to be given. I gave you my neck when I shouldn't have. I knew the risks, and I chose to ignore them. I would do the same today, if I had to. Maybe it wasn't completely an accident that you killed me, but maybe it wasn't completely an accident either that I let you do it."
He kissed the inside of her palm, hiding his smile with a second kiss when she shivered.
"Do you want to pick up where we stopped earlier?” he asked, allowing his words to caress her skin.
"Where you stopped, you mean? I wouldn't mind, I think. What about you?"
Her tone had been teasing, but her free hand was anything but when she cupped Ian's crotch. He groaned as his cock hardened eagerly at her touch.
"I wouldn't mind either,” he agreed, but had to express his only reservation before they moved any furthe
r. “As long as you're not letting me touch you simply out of guilt."
She blinked at that, as though surprised, and drew both her hands away from Ian. “I'll promise I'm not if you'll say you don't want me out of pity."
It was Ian's turn to be surprised. For a second, he thought about asking why he was supposed to feel pity. Then he saw the uncertainty reflected on her face-or rather, on the part of her face that he could see.
Slowly enough that Eyrin could easily have stopped him but with his eyes pleading for her not to, Ian reached out to brush the hair away from her face. Her head jerked back a little, and he could see that she was fighting herself not to move any more.
"Remember when I said you were beautiful?” His voice trembled along with his fingers when they pushed her hair behind her ear. “I meant it then. I still mean it now."
Still very slowly, he leaned toward her to kiss the healed but prominent marks that marred her cheek but Eyrin turned her face at the last second so that their mouths met instead. Earlier that night, she had been passive when he had kissed her. This time, she took the initiative as she had always done before that day, pressing her tongue to the seam of his lips until he complied and let her in. She stilled for a second at the first touch of her tongue against his and Ian grinned into the kiss when she stroked against the bleeding cut on the side of his tongue.
Part of him had missed this, offering his blood to her and feeling as though he were melding with her. It was only a small cut from his own fang and it closed even as she caressed it, but she practically purred into his mouth before pushing him down to lay on the bed.
"I hadn't thought I'd ever taste you again."
A dark shadow passed over her face as she spoke and Ian started to sit up again to comfort her, but she held him in place with a light hand pressed at the center of his chest. Lithely, she moved over him so that she was straddling his body. Ian's eyes tightened when she rocked the apex of her legs against his crotch. The layers of fabric between them were sheer torture.