Страница 42 из 130
Chapter 17 Cirri
Warmth curled around me. For once I didn’t wake up shivering under a thin wool blanket, or sprawled over my desk with a cramp in my neck.
Instead I was being swallowed whole by a plush mattress, nested into a cozy ball, and there was an arm sprawled over my waist, a mountain of heat at my back.
I blinked, remembering last night… how glum I’d felt sitting alone in that enormous room with no one to speak to, and no one caring enough about me to even sit in comfortable silence. I’d felt entirely invisible and ignored.
Was that going to be the epitaph? My memorial? “Here lies Cirrien lai Darran, who made no mark on the world, save for how intensely people avoided her”?
And then Bane had saved me from my own dark thoughts, which were spiraling into depths I’d never imagined before.
I was not the kind of woman who sat and felt sorry for myself. If I had time for self-pity, I had time for a book, or at least to sweep the floor or tidy. But in the empty expanse of that room, eating alone instead of at least having the communal society of the other Sisters’ indentured servants around me, I’d realized that I’d never experienced true loneliness before.
I’d always been a fish in a pond full of other fish, one among many, even if I wasn’t part of the jokes and laughter.
Having Bane come to me… I’d been so happy to see him. To ask him about his day, where he was during all those long hours that I’d spent sitting in the Bloodgarden. I enjoyed listening to the sound of his deep, rumbling voice, the way his monstrous features grew more animated as he got into the story.
When he’d showed me the paintings in the tower above, I understood just how deeply he was trusting me not to turn away from him entirely. Most of the paintings were horrors many Veladari had lived through for decades; safely ensconced in the Cathedral in Argent, behind thick walls, I’d never been exposed to such violence in my life. It was distant, almost dream-like, to look upon them and try to imagine them as reality.
But it was the portrait of Bane himself that struck me the most. The beautiful vampire, rendered almost life-like by Edda’s brush, seemed a man both brazen and brave, but there were hints of the Bane I knew in him now: the sweep of the brows, the gleam in his amber eyes, the full, sculpted upper lip.
And in the Bane of life, I saw hints of the Bane in the portrait. He was no longer beautiful, but some of that arch cockiness remained in the exaggerated, misshapen lines of his chiropteran features, particularly when he was self-deprecatingly mocking himself.
And his eyes… they were the same, if a little more sad now. The whites were now black, the gold burning a little brighter, but they held the same shine.
Oddly, I found myself thinking that if I were to have a painting of Bane to keep in my tower, I wouldn’t choose the one in the garret above.
I would want the one that showed him as he was now, the face that was monstrous, yet filled me with joy when I saw it.
And now that very head rested on the pillow behind me, his breathing soft and rumbling, the arm draped over my side relaxed and loose. Curled with my back to his chest, I studied his smooth skin, the ashen gray tones against the bright white of the underdress I wore.
He hadn’t tried to touch me, nor feed… the one thing I abjectly feared. Even now, relaxed and comfortable, the thought of those teeth sinking into my neck made my skin prickle.
I reached my hand towards his, carefully touching his claws. They had grown back since our wedding night; I’d noticed that when his body grew bulkier, harder, the ridges of his cheekbones, shoulders, and spine expanding into a sort of armor, that his claws grew as well.
They were as black as if he’d dipped them in an inkwell. I rested my hand on top of his; with our wrists aligned, my fingertips just reached his knuckles.
My mind immediately drifted to that night, to the sudden spirit of getting-it-over-with that I’d been caught up, and the surprising tendril of desire I’d felt.
It was the threat of being fed upon that had made me run. The rest of him… he was an enormous beast, radiating a base sexual energy that made me prickle in a different sort of way. If not for those fangs…
He was beastly, but there was enough left in him that was human to be intrigued.
The hand I was examining turned and curled around mine, our fingers interlacing, but barely. His was too large for easy hand-holding.
“How long have you been awake?” he asked, voice thick and gruff with sleep. “Were you going to let me sleep all day?”
But he made no move to get up, remaining lazily curled around me. I found that I had no real motivation myself to emerge from the warmth, the comfort and solidity of his arms.
I snuggled in deeper, using my free hand to spell. I’m happy to go back to sleep, as long as you don’t move.
His face was buried in my hair, pillowed on it and holding me in place; but with the rest of his body at my back, it was easier to keep my mind off his mouth. Unfortunately, my mind wandered to other things—the hard muscles of his body, the heat radiating from him.
With that size and strength, I would be no match for him at all. Although, when it came to size… his groin was nestled against my rear, and through the thin linen of my dress I felt his mammoth cock, already rigid and growing harder by the second. My breath caught for the slightest moment, before I forced myself to keep it even. Warmth pooled low in my belly, my heart beating a little faster.
I had some experience in that regard… with human men, of normal sizes and shapes. Losing my virginity had been briefly painful, and then rather tepid, but then, I’d lost it to one of the Cathedral hostlers, when we were both nineteen and utterly inexperienced. The next one had been a bowyer’s apprentice, a shy man who made up for the lack of wild passion with technical experience.
So I understood men and what sex entailed. What I had no experience with was the pulsing member behind me, which felt too big to reasonably fit inside a human being, and even without touching it, I could feel something strange about the shape.
Maybe it was the fear of his thirst combined with the warmth of his body to inspire the sudden jolt of lust, but I was… curious.
I wanted to know if his cock would be silky and heated over the hardness, if I could fit my fingers around him, what the strange shape of it was.
If he could even fit in me at all. If he would touch the rest of me as carefully as he held my hands.
I licked my lips, my lungs suddenly feeling shallow and airless, and prepared myself to make my desire and curiosity clear, to at least ask my husband what he was hiding about his body—
Bane drew in a hissing breath as I moved, and his hand tensed around mine.
With a smooth motion he pulled away, cold air hitting my back with all the pleasure of exposing myself to a winter rain.
“I wasn’t attempting to hint at things you’re not ready for,” he said gruffly, sitting on the edge of the bed. “I can wait.”
I scrambled to pull my dress closer around myself, feeling the outrage of a soaked cat to be ripped from the comfort of the nest so abruptly. Not only that, but the icy air brought me back to myself—if I had started something, would it only be sex?
Or would he want to feed?
If all my skin was exposed, if he lost any control… for the same reason I felt desire, I also felt fear. He was too strong to be stopped.
The ripple of lust became a pool of dread. I reached for my journal, then I stopped and really looked at him.
His shoulders had risen, the broad curve of his back displaying the sharp nubs of his spine as he gazed at the floor.
He was defensive… because of me. Because I’d run from him the first night he’d tried to touch me, completely rejecting his advances.
I had inspired this apprehension in him; it was terrible to see a creature like Bane, so self-assured in every other respect, look as though he were expecting me to scream at him or slap him away.
Swallowing a sudden burst of self-loathing, I pressed my palm to his shoulder, clambering on my knees across the mountain of blankets until we sat side by side.
Let me find new clothes, I signed, gesturing to the brocade left in a pile on the floor. And I’ll come find you again.
Bane watched my hands move, and my heart ached at the wariness in his eyes. I got up to grab my journal and found the last page I’d written on.
I’d like you to spend some of today with me, if you can, I wrote. I’ll go put new clothes on, and if you could keep me company for breakfast, I’d like that. I won’t keep you from your duties, but I feel that I haven’t seen you as much as I’d like.
He read over my shoulder, his breath ruffling my hair, and I felt some of the tension leave him.
“Oh, we’re going to spend the day together,” he said, smiling a little, some of the light in his gaze displacing the wariness. “I have something I want to give you.”
You’ve already given me too much. I arched a brow, tapping the end of my pen against my sentence to emphasize it. I was a servant living like a queen. Giving me anything more would practically be a crime.
“As the Lord of the Rift, I get to make the rules on what constitutes ‘too much’.” He was gri
So I rolled my eyes and wrote. As Lady of the Rift, don’t I get a say in this?
“Not today, you don’t. Try again tomorrow, but I don’t think you’ll want to.”
Now a different kind of curiosity was piqued. What is it?
Bane rose, stretching, the muscles of his back rippling. I looked down for a moment, trying to hide the faint flush in my cheeks. He pulled one of the oddly-tailored shirts from a wardrobe, and I only looked up once he’d pulled it on and leaned over to read my words.
“It’s a surprise.” He held out a hand, and I took it. “I’ll walk you to your chambers for your morning ablutions, my lady. And then the rest of your day will be fully monopolized by yours truly.”
He lifted me from the bed and I gathered up the brocade, pulling it on with unseemly haste, but I very much wanted to get the dressing part of the day over with so I could move on to the important things.
He loosely laced the stays so I wouldn’t be a complete shambles walking through the halls, and I held my journal tight as he brought me back to the Tower of Spring.
“I’ll wait for you out here,” he said, holding the door open for me. “Don’t take too long.”
Give me five minutes, I signed, and once the door closed I practically dashed to the wardrobe, flinging aside more fussy brocades and velvets until I found something easily laced at the sides by myself.