Covet the Night, page 29
His eyes flickered back up to hers and allowed her one pivotal moment to pull away or deny his words. But Gwen was floored by William's convictions and assurance. Confusion refused to relinquish its hold on her. This game he was playing wasn't what she'd been prepared for.
Her lips were poised and parted to demand more answers for the dozens of questions bombarding her, but he closed the space between them. He darted the hot tip of his tongue out to taste her before enveloping her mouth in a slow, all-consuming kiss.
Devoid of all rational thought, she kissed him back and pressed him for more.
Gwen twined her arms around the back of his neck as she slid against him restlessly. The spark he inspired in her was pure chaos. She couldn't understand it. She wasn't sure she wanted to.
Ignoring her impatience, he kept each pull of his lips and swipe of his tongue languid and prolonged. He drew out every sensation as he held her more firmly to make slow love to her mouth. Gwen whimpered at the calculated assault.
"Now tell me you don't feel it," he whispered hoarsely, drawing back. His gaze fluttered over her face, keen to her subtlest movements as she processed his words.
She ducked her chin, panting lightly. The area around her scar, over her heart, was oddly sensitive. It prickled with the skim of her breath passing over it. Gwen squeezed her eyes shut. Now was not the time to lose focus. She felt foolish, like some middle-grade schoolgirl weak in the knees because her crush smiled at her. It wasn't fair that he had such power over her.
"Tell me." His breath batted at her temple, mussing the fine hair there.
Gwen's heart tried valiantly to keep up with her racing thoughts. She needed to regain ground and remember why she was here—to gain information for her sisters about his weaknesses. As of this moment, she only knew of one: herself. She'd have to use that against him.
"Maybe," she said thickly. William stiffened against her. "Tell me something—"
"What?" he asked eagerly.
"Everything. Your hopes and dreams"—his chest puffed out against her—"your fears and flaws."
For a moment, he said nothing. Gwen stared at him guilelessly—at least, she hoped that was how her facial features read. His lips parted, and hope snared her heart. Could it be so easy to get the truth?
William's body began to shake against her, vibrating stronger and stronger as his laughter increased. Gwen swallowed her apprehension as best she could when his laughter finally settled. His fingers grazed the underside of her chin, coaxing her to meet his eye.
"Is that why she sent you to me so easily? To find out all my dirty little secrets by presenting me with her sacrificial lamb?" He shushed her at the flash of anger in her eyes. "You've yet to master the Roux's subtler techniques for extracting information. They'll play the game for years, earning the trust of their prizes before drawing blood. You're not cut out for life as a Roux."
He was the second person to say so, and it felt like a punch to her gut. But so did the opposite. Gwen hiked her chin up higher. "That's not what Briar thinks."
"Briar's an old hag, filled with nothing but hot air." William led her to the leather chairs.
"I didn't realize you held such animosity for her," Gwen said.
"We have history." He had the audacity to grin at her shock. "You're not jealous, are you?" She scoffed and tamed her expression into one of disdain. He heaved a sigh when the silence dragged on. "Come on now. Don't be like that. I was only teasing. You've nothing to be jealous of. She couldn't hold a candle to you."
Gwen shook her head and looked away.
"How about this, then," William said. "You tell me about your life before and what drew you here to the court, and I'll tell you one of my fears."
The chair released a whine as she sat straighter. She crossed her legs, deliberating his offer, and his eyes followed. She smirked.
"Fine," she agreed. "You first."
William met her eyes head-on. "I'm afraid someone's trying to kill you."
Gwen's lips parted in awe.
"Excuse me?" she asked breathlessly.
He rested his elbows on his knees as he counted off the reasons on his hand. "Your friend and the vampyré went after you in the Cellar, you were one of the few hurt by Valdora's magic at my fight, and just the other night, you were assaulted again by your friend."
"And that's your fear?" Gwen repeated slowly. "That someone's trying to kill me?"
"Aye." He cocked his head minutely to the side. "You don't seem, er, as alarmed as I imagined you would be."
"Nobody's trying to kill me," she said with confidence. "But the Roux…."
"They don't lack enemies."
Gwen smiled grimly. "They most certainly do not. Any guesses on the perpetrator?"
He eyed her shrewdly. "As I said, the Roux don’t lack enemies."
"But what if you're right and I'm wrong. What if someone is out to get me? What does your gut say? Who would target me?"
Wearing a stoic facade, he leaned back in his seat. "The other night, I didn't just happen to be in the right place at the right time when you were in danger. I'd been following you, or at least trying to."
"Stalker."
He ran his tongue over his teeth behind closed lips, then gave a brisk nod, holding her regard without a hint of remorse. "Aye. I'd follow you to the ends of the earth more likely than not." William chose to politely ignore the uptick of Gwen's pulse and short intake of breath at his blunt admission.
"How?" Curiosity urged her to ask. "How did you find me?"
"I have my sources." William saw no value in revealing Briar's involvement, but as Gwen's shock persisted, he expanded. "It was a matter of deduction and luck. I didn't know your exact location but rather several places where I knew you were more than likely to be.
"In the end, it was because I heard you in the walls, but there was also something in the air." He rubbed his jaw. "Magic, pure and simple. It made my skin itch like the devil, and I knew I needed to investigate. I wasn't expecting a response when I banged on the hidden door."
Gwen's shoulders sagged as she studied him, her bottom lip prisoner to her teeth as she worried over the information. "So, who do you think was after me?"
"Someone proficient in dark magic."
"A sorcerer?"
William's lips thinned to a line, but he made no move to confirm or deny. He wasn't ready to commit to that, but his gut was tugging him in that direction. Besides, he hadn't had time to consult with Jax. He was the only sorcerer William trusted, but every minute of his nights was taken with something or another.
Gwen huffed and crossed her arms over her chest. "That's nothing I don't already know."
"I told you a fear. And I told you my thoughts on who did it."
"That was hardly an adequate answer." And didn't reveal any new insights.
"I said it was someone proficient in dark magic. Infer from that what you will," William said, his tone brooking no further comment.
Gwen balled her hands into fists out of sight. "What about demons? Could it have been them?" Liv’s and Brit's obsidian eyes couldn't have been a coincidence. And what of the man who fought William in the Pits? Hadn't his eyes turned black, however briefly?
A pensive frown tilted William's features down. "Demons don't wield magic like sorcerers or witches. Their power lies in influence, and even that is contained to their specialty, so to speak: despair, desire, or wrath. They amplify those feelings and can manipulate them. That's it."
She slumped in her seat, half relieved and half terrified about the depths of magic.
"Satisfied?" he asked.
She nodded begrudgingly and cast a longing look at her glass of wine still on the table. Without a word, William fetched it for her before taking up his seat again.
"Your turn," he practically purred. Gwen cocked an eyebrow, unimpressed. "What made it so easy for you to turn your back on your old life in favor of this one?"
She clenched her jaw as she painted on a cruel and somewhat self-deprecating smile. "Destiny. I'd been trying to 'turn my back on my old life,' as you so eloquently put it, for years. It was inevitable that one day I'd finally leave it behind me."
"Years?" he prodded gently.
Gwen took a sip of her wine to quell her suddenly dry mouth. "The relationship I had with my father was unsustainable. His wants, my needs." She forced herself to maintain eye contact. "One always won out over the other, and more often than not, it wasn't mine. The day I left, I could finally breathe, and when I put an ocean between us—" She exhaled. "—it was the first time I put myself first. I promised myself I would live my life on my terms from that moment forward."
"And living life on your terms means forfeiting it?" Her body grew hot as she leveled him with a glare, but William was unswayed. "You're twenty-eight. You have so much life left to live." She didn't, but he didn't need to know that. Nobody did. "See the world. Finish what you set off to do—hell, I'll escort you myself. I'll show you everything there is to see."
An acerbic laugh flowed out of her as she shook her head. She was unable to form words as bitterness welled inside her. She'd never see the world as a human. Her days were numbered—literally—and there was no magic save a vampyré’s gift that could change her fate.
Gwen broke their eye contact, gluing her gaze on some painting. A dash of fatigue swept over her. She wouldn't last long once she'd polished off the last of her tincture in three nights' time, but at least the third initiation test would be done by then, followed swiftly by their baptism. Or so Laurel said.
"Why?" William's question was bathed in sincerity. "What makes Laurel's offer so enticing? Your immortality comes at the cost of a lifetime of their wants and needs, not yours. And correct me if I'm wrong, but you just said you ran from your own father for that reason."
"My wants and needs already coincide with the sisterhood. I'm not concerned." She'd poisoned Briar's cup, hadn't she? She was here on the sisterhood’s behalf! Gwen recrossed her legs.
A hint of color tinged William's cheeks. "Choosing this life comes with some other unsavory caveats. What did Laurel say that convinced you it was worth the lives of countless others to become what she is?"
"She said I could experience the world without a ticking clock hanging over my head," Gwen replied truthfully, voice softer than she intended. "She said I could have it all and more. I'd be stronger and faster. Powerful. All while showing me the best places around Vienna."
The weight of William's regard bored into her. She squirmed and told herself it was merely the discomfort of the waning tincture. It was absolutely not his probing gaze.
"You don't want a family? Children?"
"No." She swung her gaze back to him in time to see surprise flash over his face.
"Really?"
"I've never seen myself as a mother. The cool aunt role always seemed more my speed."
Another silence fell between them, though it wasn't nearly as lasting as the other.
William studied the woman before him. She wasn't telling him the full story. There was something deeper driving her toward this decision—he was certain. Clearly, she didn't trust him enough to share, not that he blamed her. But that still posed the question: How did he gain her trust? Moreover, how could he change her mind?
He wanted nothing more than to tell her she was his soulmark—the second half to his soul and his bloody salvation. He wanted to end this foolish game he'd started, but more than anything, he wanted her to want him on her own terms without the knowledge of the piece of fate that tied them together. He wanted it to be real and mutual, but he couldn't get a clear read on her.
It was obvious that she was fully ensnared in the Roux's web. She'd done their dirty work already; what else would they convince her to do? His chest tightened. He needed her to see the light, that there was more worth living for outside of this place.
That life was worth living for.
William was desperate for her to have the human life he was denied and would gladly stay by her side until her dying day. And when she was gone… he too would meet his final end. It was a peaceful thought, but one he'd never see come to fruition if he couldn't convince her otherwise.
She didn't deserve a life in the shadows, and neither did he.
Not anymore.
"Go out with me." William leaned forward, eyes shining bright with eagerness.
Gwen's puzzlement drew a line between her brows.
"Isn't that what we're doing now?"
He shook his head. "This is dinner. I'm asking you to go out with me right now."
"Go out where?" William's eyes moved from her face to the ceiling, then away. Confusion filtered over her features until realization took hold and held every muscle in suspense. "You mean, go out as in… leave? Leave the Dark Court?" Gwen's heart sped up as he returned his studious gaze to her and nodded. "I can't," she insisted. "There are rules—"
"What rules?"
"Rules of the Roux," she blustered. "There are specific ones the initiates are meant to keep."
"Such as?"
Gwen floundered, her mouth opening and closing like a fish.
"Let me guess," William drawled. "Don't let anyone bite you, keep yourself pure for the sisterhood, do and say only as the Roux allow it—"
"You're unbelievable," she hissed, pulse on the rise, "and it's certainly none of your business what code of conduct we live by."
"Come on," he goaded, the room's warm lighting painting his features in a youthful finish. "You let Laurel make her case for immortality while showing you the sights. Why not let me do the same? Or are you afraid I'll convince you otherwise?"
"I'm not afraid—"
"Then let me show you. No one will know you've left, and I'll make sure you're back in plenty of time before they return to fetch you. Give me a chance," he pleaded, voice low and true.
Gwen swallowed. Hard. "Why are you so adamant about this? About us and my mortality? What's one more human life to you?"
It was William's turn to swallow. He darted his tongue out to wet his bottom lip. It didn't escape his notice that Gwen's eyes followed the movement with a hawkish intensity. The sight gave him confidence. He'd gotten her to admit the attraction between them; now, he just needed her to admit that there was something more between them. He needed her to take a leap of faith with him.
"Because I've fallen for the sound of your heartbeat." A beautiful flush coasted across Gwen's neck and chest. "And I'm afraid of what they'll turn you into if it stops." The flush plummeted into nonexistence. "And," he said, trying to make eye contact with her, "perhaps it has to do with me as well."
Her gaze jumped from his mouth to his eyes.
"What do you mean?"
"My life was taken from me without permission, and I was thrust into a world that didn't want me. It's not the same for you. They want you, and you want them and what they have to offer. But the gift of life is a precious thing—one to be cherished and guarded. You never truly live as an immortal—not the way you can as a human.
"There's beauty in the finite. You savor the little things more, create moments and memories that are worthwhile. But when you're stuck in eternity, those moments lose their meaning as it all blends together. It's a recipe for loneliness and madness, which is how most vampyrés meet their end.
"You've gotten a taste of the splendor and extravagance of the afterlife. Now let me show you the splendor and exhilaration of life. Let me take you into the city." William stood and held out his hand. Gwen remained seated, staring at his hand with warring emotions. He took a step closer, around the bend of the coffee table between them. "It's still your life… at least until your initiation is over, and it's theirs."
Gwen continued to stare, chest rising and falling at an embarrassing pace. She hated that his words resonated. She hated how seeds of doubt were sprouting inside her after convincing herself so thoroughly that joining the Roux was the solution to all her problems.
But most of all, she hated the way she longed for him to take her in his arms and kiss her again.
"Nothing will be open," she murmured weakly.
William chuckled, the sound warm and entirely too pleasant. "Clearly, she didn't show you the best parts of the city. Don't worry, sweet. I know just where to go."
Taking a cue from her oftentimes disobedient tongue, she reached out and took his hand.
XVII
S
he couldn't believe she was here, sitting side by side with William in the back of some sleek black Audi. She'd officially gone crazy. What was she thinking when she'd taken his hand?
Had she been thinking?
Clearly not, because if the sisters caught wind of her adventure with William, they would—she gulped—well, she didn't quite want to think of what misery would rain down on her head should they discover them.
For what must have been the fiftieth time, she swept her gaze sideways to observe William.
Gwen could list all the reasons why she'd chosen to go with him: it was her last chance to see the city as a human, she was unlikely to be hurt with a supernatural warrior by her side, and, most importantly, it was her life. Until the moment her heart stopped beating, and the Roux blood entered her body to turn her into a vampyré, it was still her life. She wanted to live it.
Damn his words. If he'd said anything else, she would have refused, but the temptation was too much.
However much she repeated her logical reasoning, they were losing a battle with her nerves, which couldn't seem to decide whether they were thrilled or sick.
Both, most likely.
Her skin tightened minutely, her body becoming conscious of something before her eyes made the connection. Gwen's eyes swept up to William's. He was staring at her as she stared at him. A slow, satisfied smile curved his lips. She looked away with a soft scoff, heart picking up its tempo to play loudly in her ears as she gazed out the windows of the car.
"I can't believe you know what Uber is," she muttered, "or have a smartphone."
