Page 100 of A Debt of Darkness

“Ryan and I have the same sire, and that connection strengthens our friendship and all we’ve endured together,” he says. “I know you don’t like him, but you don’t have to fear him and if you give him a chance…”

I scoff and cut him off. “Says the man who was torturing him a few minutes ago. I don’t dislike him. He’s an asshole. A reasonable one. I dislike the idea of him controlling me.”

“He can’t manipulate or control you,” Henry says. “Unlike me. Ivy, our bond lets me influence you, at least a little.”

“I know,” I whisper.

His head nods. “It doesn’t bother you?”

I smile and lift my head off his chest. “No. It works both ways.”

“Indeed,” Henry says, smiling back as my head drops onto his chest again.

I nestle into him and settle, finding a way to keep talking as we rest in silence, coming together again. It’s simple and calm, tranquil and easy. It’s the way I’d like us to be and we find balance within and between ourselves. I doze and he plays with my hair, weaving his fingers through its blond tresses as he soothes me to sleep.

Henry’s still holding me when I wake.

“Feel better?” he asks.

I nod and rub my eyes, letting them adjust to the faint light creeping through the shutters. Every window in the castle is adorned with a thick cover, presumably making life easier for most of its inhabitants.

I stagger to the bathroom and Henry stays a few steps behind me, letting me do this for myself but keeping an eye on me. He’s there in case I fall and his concern is appreciated but not needed.

I’m not quite as fragile as he thinks. I survived last night and I think I’m beginning to flourish here. Despite my human weakness. Even with the odds stacked against me. Against us.

Henry leans against the wall, watching as I shower and spend a little more time than usual on myself. I’ve earned these moments and I pay attention to my aching muscles, being careful with the bandage on my wrist. I ask Henry if it’ll scar as I get dressed and his eyes darken, overcome by sadness.

“Yes,” he says. “We all carry scars, Ivy. Not all of them are visible.”

We sit and he adjusts the cushions and blankets, searching for perfection when it’s already more than good enough. I frown and he ignores me, staring at the lines of my brow like they’re adorable.

“You promised to let me care for you. In front of a priest no less,” he says. “Are you hungry?”

I shake my head and the tightening of his jaw signals he isn’t pleased. We argue about whether I am or am not hungry silently, using eye gestures and small facial movements to make our positions clear.

“You’ve not eaten all day,” Henry says, bringing the argument to an end as he picks up the phone and orders foodfrom whoever’s at the other end. “Indulge me, lea. Don’t make me insist.”

I pout and Henry ignores it. He leans forward, tucking hair behind my ears before running his knuckles over my face—and my core warms. I wasn’t cold or sleepy, but his touch wakes me and a familiar flush spreads over my chest.

Henry’s pupils dilate and he’s noticed my response. We’re finding our balance again as we slip back into our familiar roles. He’s taking control and I’m letting him have it, no longer fighting him every step of the way.

He answers the door and places the tray of food on the table. My stomach grumbles and he laughs as I’m betrayed. I dart forward, lunging for the food, and he taps my hand away, shaking his head as he tsks loudly.

The sound makes me shudder in all the right ways and Henry’s grin widens.

“Did I say you could feed yourself?”

A whine escapes my lips and Henry’s pupils widen further as my excitement catches his attention. I widen my eyes and try pleading with them and, to my horror, Henry grins.

“That’s fucking adorable, lea, but you can do better.” He sits and places some cushions on the floor. “Ask me nicely, and I’ll think about it.”

My clit isn’t thinking about it. It’s throbbing and I’m sure Henry knows. His fingertips dig into the sofa and he shifts his weight, nodding towards the cushions he’s arranged for me.

I slide onto my knees and tentatively find my position. I’m still sore and I adjust myself, leaning more weight on Henry than usual. He lets me take my time and only when I’m comfortable does he grow a little impatient. I stare at his hands, working out what I want to say, and there’s only one thing I want.

“I want you.”

Henry tenses as he strains to keep control.

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