He sighs, his head resting over my heart. I wish the stupid thing would stop pounding. I found him; he is fine. There is no need to be so scared.
I am, though; I am still petrified by the thought of what could have happened to him if I hadn’t been worried.
“Home sounds really good,” he mutters and I smile slightly. This is the first time he referred to the estate as home. It is nice to hear him finally claiming the place I call home as his own, even if it comes on the back of tragedy.
The estate is his home; it has been since the day we said, ‘I do.’ I want it to continue to be his home.
“A warm bath and hot food is guaranteed. Afterwards, I’m tempted to put you under house arrest.”
Laughing softly, Everett shakes his head. “You won’t do that, but . . . you could start walking with me again.” He tucks his chin against his chest and whispers, “I miss you.”
11
Everett’s body shudders as he exhales heavily. He misses me? I want to scoff at the Vârcolac, but he sounds so sincere. If I am being honest with myself, I miss him, too. The past three days have been . . . lackluster without his laughter and conversation. Without his happy presence something seems to be missing. Maybe that something is simply him.
“Everett—” I didn’t think I could admit I missed him after his repulsion in the bathroom and it never occurred that he would confess to similar feelings. He did, though.
What am I supposed to do with that information?
Do I forgive him for his disgust? Do I even really care that finding blood in my mouth made him sick?
It isn’t that big of a deal.
“I understand if you can’t or don’t want to forgive me for my over-reaction, but I truly am sorry, Thanos.” He looks up, his eyes wide and blue, begging me to forgive and forget. “I want to be friends again.” Were we truly friends before? I like to think so.
“The kind of friends that kiss?” I ask. That was the kind we were before. We’d been slowly making our way toward more. Maybe, if he didn’t lose his dinner in a toilet, we could have gone further than just kissing in the bathtub.
“Maybe—” a pink tint flushes Everett’s face, changing the color of his nose and traveling down his neck. “—more, if you want.”
“Did you just . . . proposition me?” Everett covers his face with his hands before turning his head into my chest; I laugh softly. It is so unexpected after the combined events of the past four days that he would want friendship, much less more than friendship.
“We’re married and supposed to honor our vows. I want to do that. And I don’t want you to think I haven’t been enjoying . . . us.” He had been enjoying us, the time we spent together until our last kiss. Until he was vomiting, I had been enjoying us, too. For a moment, I forgot the two worlds we come from and the fact that our marriage is one of duty, not choice.
“Is this really the best time to have this conversation? You were just caught in a trap, Everett. You need food and rest.”
He needs time to recuperate and decide if friendship and more is something he is really interested in. Right now, the fear of being trapped is probably clouding his judgment. I’d be a fool to take advantage of that.
“Probably, but I also really need you,” he whispers. “I don’t want to wake up in the middle of the night, hugging one side of the bed and listening to you getting up because you’re not comfortable in your own room.” His fingers tighten in my shirt.
“How can I be comfortable when you’re spending half the night flinching every time I turn over?”
My bed isn’t somewhere I sleep easy anymore. Most of the time around midnight, I roll off the mattress and fall asleep on the sofa in my office. It isn’t comfortable either, but at least I sleep.
“I don’t—” he sighs and pushes against my chest. “Let me walk, Thanos. I can’t have a serious conversation like this.” I let him down easy and he stands up, pulling my suit coat around himself.
His blood is still the most powerful scent in the vicinity and it is insane how the lingering smell makes my chest quiver. I am never going to forget the sight of his matted fur or the sound of his quiet whimpers of pain.
“My reaction was unfair to you. I don’t even know what I was thinking since you told me you were going to feed. I should have expected the blood.
“Afterward, I thought you were angry with me so I kept my distance. Anger isn’t something I handle well. Normally, when people are upset with me . . . it doesn’t end well. I just . . . ” he shoves one of his hands into his hair and pulls slightly, “I keep expecting the worst from you and instead you show me nothing but kindness and hospitality.”
“Are you disappointed?” I ask.
“No—” he shakes his head, “—but I am an idiot. I was an idiot before and I was an idiot today for wandering off the trails. I knew about the traps and I chose to ignore the danger. I am sorry, so sorry for making you worry today, for how I reacted before.” His voice catches and he pushes his mud-stained palms against his eye sockets. When he swallows hard, I sigh before reaching out and pulling his hands away.
He isn’t an idiot. His choice today was foolish, and I didn’t approve, but I am not going to crucify him either. In the end, he is responsible for his actions and he seems to understand that his decisions resulted in his bloody predicament. He wandered off the path and it ended badly, but he is okay now. Isn’t that what matters?
“You’re not an idiot. I’m upset with you for not listening, for not staying on the trail, but I’m glad you’re okay. And what happened in the bathroom . . . I’m a Moroi, Everett, and that means even though I am half-human, I still need blood to survive.”
Without it, I will effectively starve. My eating habits aren’t something I can change to make him comfortable. They are what they are and I am unapologetic about the fact that I need blood in order to function.
“I know,” he whispers, “I even understand. It’s important you take proper care of yourself and that means feeding. I was tired, I suppose, and I just wasn’t expecting blood when we—”
His lips press together as he looks up at me with wide, blue eyes; all his desire to resolve this issue is shining brightly in his gaze. I want this affair handled, as well. It isn’t as if I am mad at him for his reaction.
When he first stumbled away from me I was upset, but that faded quickly. A gap was created, though, and I didn’t know how to bridge it after I walked away. The silence was easier to maintain than finding a solution. He seemed to agree because he didn’t approach me either. Both of us needed space.
“The first Friday of every month, I feed. On those days I can avoid—”
“No!” Everett protests loudly, shaking his head as he takes a step toward me, “I don’t want that. Please, don’t avoid me. It isn’t fair to you. Next time, I won’t be so surprised. Next time, I won’t think the worst of you. Next time . . . I’ll remember the man I know you to be and not the stories I’ve been fed my whole life.”
There doesn’t need to be a next time. Precautions can be taken to make sure we aren’t in this awkward position again. We can avoid kissing until I can brush my teeth or I can pop a breath mint. Finding a solution that suits us both would be easy if he'll let me talk.
I shake my head, “Everett—”
“I want this to work, Thanos. It only works if we accept each other. You accept who I am, what I am, without hesitation. You don’t even care that I’m a Vârcolac. You just let me be myself. I need to do the same for you. I know you’re not a monster and I should stop waiting for you to turn into one.” He sounds so certain I am not a monster. The conviction in the set of his shoulders and steadiness of his gaze is irrefutable.
“Everett—”
“Please, Thanos—” he interrupts, stepping forward again and curling his fingers in my shirt. “—forgive me. Forgive me for the other night and forgive me for today.”
There is desperation in his tone. Forgiveness is something he needs. He said sorry
and it is clear he means it, so why not let that be the end of this? It isn’t as if there is something to actually forgive him for.
“Can I talk now?” Everett’s ears tint, but he lifts his chin, determined to get my forgiveness or to at least convey that he is repentant.
“Depends; are you agreeing I was rude, as well as stupid, and accepting my apology?” Stupid, I don’t believe he will ever be. He was rude, but I understood his reaction and I accepted his apology when he first offered it.
“If I say yes, will you let me take you home?”
Now isn’t really the time to have this discussion. He is bloody and probably cold despite the warm night air. No doubt he wants to shower the blood and dirt from his body and settle into a pair of pajamas. After he is clean, well fed and rested, we can properly discuss what occurred.
“Only if you’re being sincere.” I sigh, shoving one of my hands into my hair. This man is going to drive me mad. I have no proper words to describe him.
“Everett—”
Yanking me toward him, his mouth presses against mine. There is strength in his grasp as he pulls me closer and slips his tongue between my lips. I should protest, push him away and tell him to wait a second, but maybe because I miss him, maybe because I like the feel of his mouth against mine, I do the exact opposite.
Curling one of my hands around his neck, I tilt his head back. Blood fills my mouth and I know by the tang against my tongue, it is his. Pulling away will put us in the same position we are trying to dig our way out of now.
Besides, despite the fact that it is Vârcolac blood in my mouth, I don’t want to push him away. I want to draw him closer and sink into his taste. My tongue sweeps into his mouth the same way it did three nights ago and he rocks against me.
There is something hungry and fierce about his mouth against mine, something determined and absolute, as if Everett has decided his course and has every intention of following it till the end. I respond accordingly, pressing our bodies closer together until it feels as if not a single space separates us.
My chest burns, maybe from lack of oxygen, but mostly because of the man rubbing against me. Pushing him back, I pant as he heaves; his chest rocks against mine.
“You are really determined to be forgiven,” I mutter.
Everett shrugs, his head falling against my chest. “I miss you, Thanos—” his voice is soft, “—and I realized when I was trapped . . . we are good together. I’ve never really had that before, being good with someone, and I don’t want to be the reason I lose it.
“I don’t want to be the reason we aren’t friends or you don’t sleep in your bed. I don't want silent meals and lonely walks. I want what we had before. I don’t . . . I don’t want you to leave,” he mumbles and I sigh, wrapping an arm around his shoulder and pressing my cheek against the top of his head. This man . . . I am lost to him, or just nearly so.
“I’m not going anywhere, Everett. I . . . I missed us, too.”
I miss him.
His arms curl around my waist and he squeezes me tightly.
“Does this mean you forgive me?”
I laugh, giving him an equally as hard squeeze. “Only if you let me take you home now.”
12
Everett grunts, his body swaying. Sweat has developed along his hairline and little beads are rolling down his jaw as his wide blue eyes focus on the television screen. He clenches the video game controller in his palms as he bounces up and down.
"Go! Go! Go!" he shouts while passing a car and taking first place as mine slams into the wall and explodes in a fiery death, for the umpteenth time.
"You're cheating," I accuse, my shoulder bumping into his. He falls sideways, knocking into the arm of the sofa, but doesn’t lose his placement in the race.
How the hell is he first and I am clocking in at eighth when I am the one who wasted hours playing this stupid game with my little brother?
"I call foul."
Everett laughs, sitting up. "Hater."
His shoulder bumps into mine and I feels as if I've stuck my tongue in an electric socket. Since we fell back into our comfortable groove a week ago, I've been growing increasingly aware of him. Every morning my awkward boner has more to do with him wiggling his delectable ass against me all through the night, than a need to use the bathroom.
It is utterly perplexing how he is absolutely oblivious to the desire he stirs in my lower regions. I am never unaware of his body's every reaction to anything I do.
How come he is so damn unaffected when I am taking cold showers every morning just to stop myself from taking him? How come he isn’t dying with the need to touch, taste, take pleasure when we spend most of our nights pressed so close together, I can feel his chest rise and fall against mine?
"It's called winning," he says, bringing me back to reality.
"I married a cheater is what it's called," I tease.
"You married a winner," he remarks, speeding past the finish line to start his final lap. "Congratulations." I scoff, turning my attention to the issue at hand.
My car moves into seventh and then sixth place. Everett spins out of control and whines in the back of his throat. My gaze shifts to him; his tongue is sticking out of his mouth as he sways, trying to take first place back. His whole body participates in the fight; his shoulder and arm muscles flex and bunch with the force of his grasp.
Leaning forward, he scoots to the edge of the sofa and bounces softly. Sinking his teeth into his bottom lip, he rocks forward. I groan, closing my eyes to block out the sight.
He is killing me!
"Victory!" the T.V. blares.
Jumping to his feet, Everett fist pumps. I flop back against the sofa, exhaling.
Standing over me with basketball shorts hanging low on his hips and a smug grin on his lips is doing more to make my erection pulse than the times I’ve watched him strip during our daily walks. How—why the hell is Everett’s giddy smile and happy bounce from winning more appealing than him just being straight up naked? What is he doing to me?
"How the hell do you keep winning?"
Tossing his remote onto the sofa, Everett lays a hand on my shoulder before sliding into my lap. His knees settle on either side of my thighs and I swallow hard. There is no way in hell he’ll miss the boner I am currently sporting. The damn thing is doing its best to impale him as he wiggles as if to get comfortable.
"Because you—" he leans closer, his mouth skimming along my jaw and I inhale, grasping his hips tightly, "—are distracted." He nips at my chin and I am not even sure what this conversation is about anymore.
"If you stopped looking at me every five seconds, you wouldn't crash into walls."
That is a good point, but I much prefer looking at him.
"Maybe you should put on a shirt," I mutter. Everett’s mouth is hot and moist against my neck as he places a soft kiss against my Adam's Apple.
"I like winning," he whispers, his fingers traveling up my bare chest. A pink stain blossoms on his cheeks as his eyes dark. Sliding my hand up his thighs, I push his shorts higher. He rocks forward, bowing his head to flick his tongue against my neck. I grunt as my hard-on slides against his ass. Everett whimpers against my chest as his fingers dig into the flesh.
Jesus Christ.
He is going to make me explode. How middle school of me, but it isn’t as if I can help it. We've been married for a little over three weeks, exactly twenty-five days actually, and in that time my hand has been my only companion to stave off the need his regular kisses inspire.
Now, he is wiggling in my lap while kissing and stroking my chest as if he wants to do something besides pass a lazy Tuesday playing video games. My body damn sure has more than casual couch activities in mind.
"Cheating," I say, my voice tremulous. His tongue is hot against my collarbone. My fingers dig into his hips, pulling him closer. It doesn’t escape my notice that he isn’t wearing any boxers.
How have I never noticed that before?
Why do I have to notice it now?
"I like to call it a good game strategy," he mutters, rocking against me sharply. The bold action is so unlike him but it has my blood boiling with pure desire. My chest shakes when his shaft presses against my abdomen. Everett moans softly as I lift my hips.
The minx is trying to seduce me and I don’t care; I want to be seduced. Maybe it is past time we properly enjoy our marriage.
"You're quite the tacti—"
The entertainment room door slams against the wall; Benjamin stumbles toward the sofa, breathing heavy.
“Sir—" he gasps, laying his hand against his chest, “—your father has been calling for the past forty-five minutes. There is a fire at the waterfront." A fire? A fire!
Pushing Everett off my lap, I stand, patting myself down, but Benjamin holds my phone out. There are a dozen missed calls. Ignoring them, I find my best friend's contact.
Duke King Cooper is someone I've known for almost ten years. I've depended on the Necropolis Detective just as long. There isn’t a man alive or dead I trust more. "Duke—"
"I'm already here," he interrupts, "I'll hold down the fort, but hurry."
He'll keep the press away, keep anyone from exploring the warehouse. If necessary, he'll let the whole damn thing burn to the ground to protect my family. That is the kind of friend he is. Human or not, he is family.
"I'm coming,” I tell him. The line dies.
“Go." My butler, from the chair he collapsed in, dismisses me as I step toward him in concern while rubbing his chest.
At nearly six hundred years old, the dragon is far too advanced in age to be deliver messages. If he continues with his active lifestyle, the last two hundred years of his life cycle will burn out a hell of a lot quicker.
"I ain't dying today, boy,” he snaps.
My gaze moves to Everett whose eyes are the size of tea plates. "Everett—"
"I want to come; I can help." Everett's fingers close around my wrist.
“Everett—" I start; he shakes his head.
After The I Do Page 8