Covet the Night, page 37
"I'm dying," Gwen said, voice more caustic than acid. "So you can either be the one to turn me, or it will be the Roux."
He blinked back at her, his handsome visage contracting with confusion. "What… what's that supposed to mean? You're dying?"
His voice took on that rough quality he always got when he was worked up. As if in the heat of the moment, his better senses left him, and his voice reverted to the thick accent of his homeland.
Gwen leveled him with a glacial stare, but all William saw was fire, blazing bright and hot in her eyes.
"I'm dying." Her voice cracked. "I have terminal cancer."
"What?"
Gwen continued on as if she hadn't heard him, but she was unable to meet his stricken expression. "My mother died of cancer too. You'd think I'd have a better chance at spotting it early, but my dad put the fear of God in me about getting tested. When we found out… when I knew the rest of my days were going to be bound to some hospital bed—" Her features pulled together as her throat closed up. She coaxed the words out. "I decided to leave and see the world. And then Laurel found me—"
"I tasted you." Startled by his terse interruption, her troubled brown eyes met with his bronze. "I tasted you, Gwen. I would know if you were sick."
Her icy composure thawed.
"And what did I taste like?"
William's mouth opened, then snapped shut as recognition hit him. "The tincture Laurel's been given ya, s'not just some nonsense to help you perform better, is it?"
Gwen shook her head.
"Her tincture is a blessing and a curse," she explained with dull inflection. "It gives me the strength I need to get by every day for up to about a week. It stops the cancer from spreading for that short time too, but once it runs its course, the cancer comes back—" She cleared her throat, fighting to maintain eye contact and a smooth delivery, even as reason battled with her to keep silent for the sake of Laurel and the others. It was too late, far too late to worry about that now. "—twofold. It spreads faster. Hits me harder. If you couldn't tell, I'm not exactly at my best at the moment."
Gwen waved at herself, a self-deprecating smile pinned to her lips.
William didn't smile back. Wouldn't. Couldn't.
"How long do you have?"
Her smile fell. "If I don't take my next dose? Maybe a few weeks. Maybe a few days."
"How many doses do you have left?"
"One."
XXII
V
oices clamored to fill the silence between them, their coarse enjoyment grating against their shocked nerves. William's face was devoid of emotion as his jaw worked to form a response that wouldn't quite surface.
It was an all too familiar sight for Gwen, who'd worn much the same look a dozen times after receiving her fatal diagnosis. The knowledge had left her cut adrift, not only from the world but herself.
Exhaustion settled into the spaces left by her outburst. She couldn't believe she'd told her secret. What would happen now to her and Laurel and the others? Guilt choked her. There would be hell to pay for her deceit and—
"Okay."
Gwen's gaze snapped to William's. "Excuse me?" A knot furrowed between her brows. "Did you just say okay?"
"Aye. It's not as much time as I hoped"—the solemn facade he wore fractured—"but I'll make certain every last moment of your life is lived on your terms. You don't have to be turned just to live by someone else's rules and be something you're not. You be you, and I'll be me, and that will be enough."
Gwen's vision blurred. "Why? Why would you still—" She shook her head from side to side as she was flooded with astonishment and grief—grief that threatened to bring her to her knees. A tremulous laugh bubbled out of her as he wiped away her tears. "Why me?" she croaked. "Don't give me the same bullshit that we're meant to be. I know there's something more behind it. Some ulterior motive."
"But we are, sweet. You're my soulmark, Gwen, and I'm yours." His throat bobbed as her lips puckered in question, and creases appeared at the corners of her eyes. "A soulmark is what humans might call a soul mate. Only a soulmark is more literal than that. We share a soul that’s meant to be one."
The breath rushed out of Gwen. He was serious. He truly believed what he said. She saw it in his eyes and heard it in his voice. But still….
"Soulmarks? How exactly does someone know who their soulmark is, or that they are one?" she asked. "And how does a soul become one, hmm?" Her sardonic tone lacked conviction, leaving her questions sounding oddly desperate in nature.
William trailed his knuckles down her neck, where they rested fleetingly on her pulse before skimming down to her clavicle. Gwen sucked in a restless breath.
"What are you—"
He shushed her softly. "Soulmarks are literal. We wear them on our skin—an imprint, a symbol, a mark—and those that match are destined for each other." His touch twisted, and he pressed the pads of his fingers firmer against the raised skin of her scar. "We bear each other's mark, the triquetra. I recognized yours the moment I saw it, despite it being obscured by this."
"But you can't kn—oh."
Gwen's eyes squeezed shut, and her mouth fell open as a wave of heady desire coursed through her. A small whimper tore from her mouth as pleasure collided with pain, buckling her knees at last. William was there to catch her; one strong arm looped around her back to hold her close. Stars were in her eyes. The glorious torture of his soft touch upon her birthmark—no, soulmark—left her senseless.
"We join our souls in three stages," he whispered near the shell of her ear. "The first is the sealing. It's a declaration that marks the beginning of the end, because once we’re sealed, there's no going back. We'd be drawn to each other by our marks, our bodies, and souls to complete the second stage, the marking.
"The marking connects us further. They say with it, you become more in-tune with your soulmark and that you can feel them from afar: their pain, their happiness—everything. And the last stage is the binding. Through the binding, the soul we share finally becomes one. When one is hurt, the other hurts. When one is filled with joy, so is the other."
His fingertips slipped away from their place over her soulmark, leaving goose bumps in their wake. The pleasure his touch summoned in Gwen departed leisurely, untangling from the web of pain and sickness with gentle forethought. As if it couldn’t stand to leave her to her fate but was powerless to do otherwise.
She folded, her face pressed against his chest as she caught her breath in small pants. William held her close, his heart lighter than it had been in centuries, even if it was fully exposed.
"You are my other half. It's always been you, Gwen. It will only ever be you."
He ran his hand up and down her back, coaxing her closer still. She made no argument to his insistence and tilted her head to press her cheek against his chest.
"Why didn't you tell me sooner?" There was hurt in her voice, like that of a child.
William swallowed the thick lump in his throat, his hands splayed wide, touching as much of her as possible. "I wanted it to be your choice. I wanted you to choose me—to choose us."
Gwen's face twisted to hide it against his chest. Curling her arms about her middle, she made herself smaller than she already was. Her tears dampened William's shirt, each hitting like a bullet to his heart.
"Don't cry, sweet. Don't cry." He petted her ruined hair, the lovely updo undone by his own hand not minutes before. "Shh, sweet. I've got you now. From this point forward, I've got you. Two weeks isn't nearly long enough, but it'll have to do. At least you'll be you." Undeniable emotion welled in the back of his throat as his eyes misted with bittersweet heartache. "At least you'll be you," he repeated gruffly as he pressed a kiss to the top of her head and breathed in her scent.
She smelled of some exotic flower with hints of citrus tickling his senses. He inhaled another lungful, committing it to memory. Gwen sniffled against his chest and squirmed, but he wouldn't relax his hold—couldn't. There was no place better for her than his arms.
"If you'd gone through this initiation with the Roux, they'd have never allowed us to be together even with the knowledge of the soulmark. They'd have kept us apart at all costs because they can't bear the thought of one of their own choosing another, let alone by fate’s hand. They're selfish creatures, Gwen. You'd never be able to make a move without them approving it first. You'd never live as you should."
William checked his anger quickly, feeling Gwen tremble. He loosened the strict band of his arms, allowing her to pull back a few inches and stare up at him gravely.
"It won't be that way with us. We'll do whatever you want," William promised. "We'll leave this place and never look back. There's a whole world out there for you to see, a world that's filled with beauty and splendor and so many choices. You'll finally be able to live a life on your terms—and nobody else's."
Gwen said nothing at first. She wiped and dabbed at her face, clearing off the mess of her ruined makeup with the backs of her hands and fingers, and sorted through her riotous thoughts. She ducked her head to steady the shaky tread of each inhalation. It wasn't that she didn't know what to say to William's confession. She did, but getting the words out would break him.
"William." Gwen rested her hands on his chest and toyed with the seam of his button-down. "This is my choice. The Roux is my choice. Becoming a vampyré is my choice."
William wore his devastation plainly as his face scrunched together in confusion and hurt. He gave a curt shake of his head, chest rising and falling in quick succession.
"If this is because of your cancer… that's not a done deal, Gwen. There's magic—dark magic—that my friend can do to keep you alive. Jax is the most powerful sorcerer I've ever met. If anyone can do it, it's him—and he owes me." His eyes flashed dangerously.
Something in his voice cut to the quick in her. It, coupled with the crushing realization that he'd rather see her dead than immortal, broke a piece of her heart that she'd not known he held. Weakly, she pushed at his arms. Blood was rushing to her head, pulling her equilibrium this way and that as she struggled against his hold. When at last he released her, she refused to meet his eye.
She had to get back to the Roux. She was too vulnerable here. Overwhelming anguish was curling in on her. She'd revealed her biggest secret to him, and nothing had changed, save for confirmation that any life together would never be nothing more than a fantasy.
As she angled toward the alcove's Gothic mouth, William shuffled sideways to stand in her path.
"Didn't you hear me? You can live, Gwen. Jax can—"
"I'm going to die."
He growled. At her. Gwen growled back her own frustration, her blood boiling. He wasn't listening to her. She didn't want to die.
"There's magic out there that can stop this. I'm sure of it."
"I'm too far gone."
"You're not—"
"I am, William! Stop! Please, just stop." Her chest was heaving, her temperature rising. She could feel it all so acutely, and it hurt. Gwen pinched the bridge of her nose, body quaking. "Move."
"No."
"I'm going to die, William," she repeated coldly, staring down his chest as she dropped her hand to her side.
"Stop saying that."
Gwen ducked out of reach, stumbling into the wall to avoid him. His eyes ached with sadness.
"I heard the banshee's cry no less than an hour ago. I'm finished." Though the words were thick on her tongue, she delivered them smoothly. Unable to bear the weight of his anguish, she squeezed past the small gap he'd left between himself and the alcove's archway, legs wobbly with fatigue. Her lungs seized, and she stopped, coughing into her palm as her sudden breathlessness overtook her.
"Are you—"
Spying his approaching hand, Gwen shrugged away, still coughing. Her ribs ached as she tempered her fit.
"Gwen…." Her focus zeroed in on her palm and the red spots that painted it. "Here, sweet." William was moving before she could properly react, using a handkerchief to clean her palm. She licked her lips. The metallic taste she encountered mirrored the one coating the inside of her mouth and throat. She swallowed thickly, looked away.
"I have to go," she mumbled, pushing past him.
"Gwen, please. Stop and let's talk."
Her body went rigid. "There's nothing to talk about, and if any of your feelings for me are real, then you won't say a word about my illness either." She glanced over her shoulder to see him standing in the same spot, looking at his ruined handkerchief. She cleared her throat as the world, and all its noises and calamity came back into focus. "There were witnesses," she explained. "Bailey and River saw the whole thing."
Gwen held still, waiting for his reply, but there was only the sound of the court. She deflated as the seconds passed. His silence rang loud in her ears as she walked away from him.
All his pretty promises were for nothing. And the soulmark? Well, if they never completed the first stage, did it even really matter? Did it exist?
Don't cry. Don't cry. Don't. Cry. There was no point in mourning what she couldn't change: his mind, her fate, their bond. She tucked up her trembling chin.
She would simply have to persevere, just as she'd always done. If luck was on her side, she'd at least die by the Roux's hand and be brought back to life. And if not… then she'd have lost him anyway.
"Wait."
Gwen froze, but she didn't turn around. Keep walking, she commanded her body. You're only asking for heartache.
With those words in mind, she slogged forward, uncaring of the bodies in her path to get to the staircase. The number of people in the Styx had tripled.
"Wait."
The nearness of his voice made her gut clench. She quickened her pace. She refused to continue this pointless back-and-forth. He'd spoken his peace, and she hers, but there was no compromise. She pushed forward, shocked to hear the voice of her sire-to-be seconds later.
"Gwen! Oh, thank the gods I found you." Laurel flashed down the staircase and swept Gwen away from the worst of the crowd as they milled toward the demons' games. She brushed back Gwen's hair, scanning her for injury. Her eyes lingered in confusion over her mouth, then rose to meet her eyes. "If I had known the Cellar was still closed, I'd never have sent you to deliver that message. The only other place shifters tend to loiter is here, if not the Pits, and I checked there first. Oh." Her hands fluttered about Gwen's person, eyes filled with concern. "What's happened? What's wrong, pet? Tell me. I'll fix everything for you."
The thickening crowd was making a point to veer around them and openly ogle. Laurel ignored them, her focus completely on Gwen.
"Hey," Laurel crooned, voice like crushed velvet as her fingers quickly brushed away a rogue tear. "Talk to me. Whatever it is, I'll take care of it. Don't even worry about the message. I'll get it to her myself—"
"I did it," Gwen said. "It's done."
Laurel's forehead creased, her frown lingering as she leaned forward and brushed a kiss over Gwen's forehead. "Let's get you back home. I'll run you a bath with Epsom salt and some other tinctures and oils to help—" She stopped abruptly, her eyes locked on something behind her. Gwen's body ran cold. "You," Laurel snarled. "You did this to my childe."
"She's not yours," William retorted, stepping into view out of the corner of Gwen's eye. His arms were crossed over his chest, and a glower transformed his features into something fearsome. "Not yet."
"Is that so?" The menacing purr sent a shiver down Gwen's spine. In the next instant, Poppy, Violet, and Antonia appeared behind Laurel, forming a half-circle around them.
"She has a right to choose her fate."
The weight of his stare called to Gwen, but fear kept her hollow gaze forward—fear that she'd surrender to him and certain, permanent death.
Laurel calmly took a step away from Gwen. "You're right, Beast. She does. Gwendolyn, you may go with him if it pleases you. You do not yet bear our immortal kiss. We have no true claim to you without it."
Gwen waited for the “but” that lay at the edge of Laurel's voice, yet none came. Laurel's eyes were locked with William's as she offered Gwen the out, but when silence reigned, she turned her gaze back to Gwen.
"No?" Laurel asked kindly, almost hopefully.
Gwen whipped her head from side to side. "I choose you," she said, feeling foolish for the tears that leaked out of the corners of her eyes. Don't cry, she scolded herself inwardly. You'll only make it worse. "I want to be a Roux."
A warm hand reached out and tugged on Gwen. She went gladly to Antonia's side, if not numbly, her ears ringing as her public declaration sank in, and William called hoarsely after her. She couldn't make out Laurel's retort, but she registered the movement of the two other vampyrés as Antonia wrapped her in a hug. The three Roux vampyrés formed a wall between Gwen and William, their combined strength a force to be reckoned with.
The eyes of the gambling hall watched the scene play out greedily. Passersby slowed to see the events unfold as the two parties' voices rose above the crowd.
"It's all right," Antonia said, pulling back with a frown. "They'll take care of him. They'll make sure he doesn't bother you again." She glared in William's general direction. "Peony told me the other day that he's not to be trusted. He's too close to the Vrana family, and there’s all the bad blood between our family and theirs. He's not worth the trouble, Gwen. You're making the right choice."
Gwen turned her sullen gaze in the direction of the growing fight, her feet unconsciously shifting her closer to it and out of Antonia's arms.
"Let them handle it, Gwen," Antonia insisted, reaching for Gwen, but she stumbled forward out of the younger girl's reach.
"Stop," Gwen said, sidling up between Laurel and Poppy.
"Gwendolyn, let us take care of this." Poppy placed a hand on Gwen's arm, herding her back with little effort.
"No, please. Let me—"
Poppy's gasp interrupted Gwen's plea as she looked at Gwen in astonishment. "You've changed your mind, haven't you?" she asked, crestfallen. Poppy speared William with a glare.
