Page 96 of A Study of Blood and Ichor

Vain roared as he came, spilling himself inside me and leaving me wild and breathless all over again. I rolled my hips over and over until I took everything from him, and he shuddered with a trembling breath.

I stayed seated firmly against his still-hard cock when he pulled himself up, dark eyes never once leaving mine as he wrapped his arms around me. As he kissed across my collarbone and throat, his shadows fell away, and the bright morning light spilled in through the bedroom windows, blanketing my bare skin in its warmth.

We sat tangled on the fur rug we’d found ourselves on after the shadows had dissipated, holding each other in silence. Vain ran a hand through his hair, pushing the stray locks off of his face with a cocky swagger and then brushed the loose strands of mine behind my ears before resting his palm at the base of my throat. He kept the pressure light, somewhere between greedy and possessive.

“Now,” Vain said, low and full of promise. “Now you belong to both of us.”

TWENTY-SIX

Ava

After we stepped out of a long shower together, Vain left to make breakfast while I dove back into his bed and refused to move a muscle under the cool, silken sheets that smelled like a combination of both him and Rory. Warm and smoky. Bright and sweet.

The mouth-watering scent of sautéed onions and garlic wafted through the penthouse and a gentle sizzling echoed from the kitchen. As I laid there in his bed, I watched the dust motes dance lazily in between the golden rays of the morning sun. I had once told Vain that this would never be my home, but I had never felt more at home than I did in that moment.

I had spent the majority of my life at the Moreau Coven, living among my peers, some of whom I once considered to be my family, but I never truly felt like I fit in like the rest of them. I had sought out their approval but never received the love I desired or needed. Not from them. And certainly not from my real family.

But, somehow, I had found some sense of belonging with Rory and Vain.

When they returned to the bedroom, Rory was in control, bare chested with a pair of dark sweatpants slung low across his hips as he balanced a platter of food and two mugs on a wooden tray table.

He beamed at me as he set it down. “Unfortunately, you drank all the tea, so you’ll have to settle for coffee.”

“Coffee is fine,” I said, returning a grin.

The dish he set between us was four poached eggs set atop a red, peppery sauce, garnished with salty crumbles of feta cheese. There were even toasted slices of bread to dip into the sauce and the golden runny yolks. The moment the first bite hit my tongue, I nearly came again.

“How are you feeling?” Rory asked after finishing up what he had claimed as his half. He rested on his side, head propped up with one arm as he sipped at his coffee.

“Good,” I said, offering him a soft smile. “A little sore, but I feel better than I’ve felt in a while.”

“And what about the ichor? Are you still feeling the effects of that?”

I flexed the fingers of my right hand and assessed the fuzzy remnants of the power that still lingered after.

“It’s just barely there,” I said, then noticed the slight hesitation in his expression. “Don’t worry, I’m okay.” I took another bite and hummed before changing the subject. “I didn’t realize Vain was this good of a cook.”

Rory chuckled. “Bold of you to assume I didn’t contribute anything to the cooking. What if I told you I was the one who made breakfast?”

Given the mischievous glint in Rory’s eyes, I already knew the answer. “I’d say you’re a pretty liar.”

We both laughed.

I pushed the tray away and laid down on my stomach beside him with my arms cradled beneath the pillow. He stroked a wisp of hair behind my ear, his touch warm and endearing.

“Look, I feel like an idiot for not asking earlier. But are you…taking anything?” he asked.

“No,” I said.

“Shit.” He shook his head. “I wasn't thinking. I shouldn’t—Vain shouldn’t have…”

“Rory, it’s…” I paused and tugged away from his touch. “We won’t have to worry about it.”

I almost couldn’t bear to look at him. But when I did, his gaze was soft, searching yet understanding somehow.

“My last partner…he wanted a family. But I knew I didn’t want that. I can’t, even if I did—Rory, I can’t…I can’t get pregnant.”

How could I even begin to explain to him? I used to think that I was broken and that no one would ever truly want me. The rejection I feared—the pity—it was the reason I had never even told Luke. I couldn’t bear the thought of catching that hurt in his eyes as I dashed his hopes in an instant. Instead, I’d left him and made him hate me. It had been easier that way, for the both of us, at least that’s what I’d tried to convince myself. But really, it had just been easier for me.

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