Page 48 of Gifted Destiny

Zosia’s power grows as steadily as the silence. As it burns brighter, I start to sweat. “I want to hear everything, Garrett. Get everything out.” Her tone is soft, but it’s as effective as a spell. Mated or not, her command forces compliance.

I barely recognize my voice as I list my thoughts. I don’t hide any details or apologize for hurting her feelings, even though my brutal honesty sometimes makes me wince.

Throughout the entire monologue, I study her for a reaction. Her eyelashes don’t flutter, her lips don’t press together, her jaw doesn’t tighten, and the color of her eyes doesn’t change. The sphinx simply listens as I whine about feeling passed over, trapped, and inconsequential.

The unrestrained flood is a relief at first, but it starts to feel like a curse as I continue. As I near the end, I realize I sound like the entitled brat my father raised me to be. I say this too, my tone mournful and pathetic, before falling silent.

Still, the magnificent Sphinx of the Western Library says nothing. The golden heat of her magic continues to pulse against my skin. It’s not painful, but it finds more truths – words I didn’t have time to think before she accosted me.

“Fuck. Why are you so unbelievingly beautiful? Strong? Brilliant? Amazing? You continue to be good to us, even though my brother is traumatized and scared to bond? Even though I’m a spoiled asshole? I still want you. I can cope with everything else – everything I just said – if you’d just claim me already. The more you wait, the more my griffin and I worry that you’ll decide you don’t want us.” I release a heavy breath. “And we’d understand why.”

My very last admission finally prompts a reaction. Her golden-blue eyes widen slightly, and the heat of her magic softens to a comforting warmth.

I can’t believe I revealed so much. I’ve been conditioned to evaluate every word for its usefulness and potential danger before they escape my lips. I can’t bring myself to regret a single word, however.

Several minutes of silence test the tension between us. She’s realized I’ve exhausted my complaints and is contemplating howto proceed. Her full lips part, and I brace for her reply. Instead of words, though, her tongue slides across the lush pink surface.

My control crumbles into dust. My chair slides noisily backward as I lean over the table to close the distance between us. The second my lips touch hers, a growl vibrates the dishes I pushed aside in my eagerness to get to her. She tastes like decadence – coffee, cream, sugar.

She’s a forbidden indulgence; I want to absorb her. The events that have created me disintegrate as my griffin relinquishes his pride and yields to her sphinx. The pathetic existence my human self has endured responds similarly. I am humbled by the complex juxtaposition of vulnerability and strength that composes this fascinating being.

I might be overcome with lust, but I’m still aware of her cues. At first, her body freezes with uncertainty. After a second, she leans into me and parts her lips. I plunder the depths of her mouth with my tongue and nearly fall apart with suppressed desire. I want … no …, I need to touch and taste every inch of her golden skin. I need to forget the world between her soft thighs. I need to be forged anew in her tight heat.

Just when I believe I might be able to fulfill my semi-poetic lustful needs, Zosia slides her wheeled chair backward. As the distance between us lengthens, I’m grateful for the thick, unyielding wood table. I could leap across it or break it, but I press my aching cock against it instead. I don’t know which is harder, but the contemplation reminds me that jumping directly into bed with this woman has consequences. I can’t think rationally when I’m touching her.

Her labored breaths draw my gaze downward. She has amazing breasts, and I’ve yet to see them uncovered. The rise and fall of her chest reveal their full shape and the hardened nubs of her nipples straining against her thin shirt. The scent ofher arousal and the visible evidence is because ofmykiss. She was not thinking about the ghost, the vampire, or my brother.

“Do you want to nullify your contract as a library guardian, Garrett Kennard?” The words are clipped and forced, but she feels compelled to ask. The dedication to her duty, enforced by the library or not, is an example of her strength. She’d rather be kissing me, but we can’t indulge in a worry-free hook-up.

The bond could form when we submit to each other, and it’s not something we can undo without disastrous consequences. My grievances will become truths. She doesn’t have to ask me this. She could dismiss my whining as inconsequential and bind me regardless. Her concern, more than her desire or her strength, is the deciding factor. If I left here, I’d leave with only my pride and desire for revenge. Leaving her would make me a fool.

A full-body growl accompanies my decision, and I step around the table to scoop her into my arms. The adrenaline and lust coursing through my veins make her weightless in my arms. All I feel are her soft curves melting into my hard edges.

She manages a garbled protest as her hands reflexively twine around my neck. I won’t be able to steal another kiss without a reply, but I don’t intend to leave her question unanswered. The remaining shreds of my pride insist on privacy for my final submission.

Three strides bring me to her bedroom door, and it opens at my approach. I kick it shut behind us. The scent in the bedroom is Zosia’s alone and the sheets are unrumpled and clean, as if the library has made an allowance and conceded to erase all traces of last night's lovemaking. Once she is mine, it won’t matter that the ghost was here.

Alone and unobserved, I meet her gaze again, unwilling to release her just yet. Holding her gives me strength. I take a deep breath and force aside the more ruthless aspects of my alphanature. Under Addington, they became a tool for manipulation. This woman, my mate, isn’t my father. I need to express myself in words, even if it defies every lesson I’ve been taught. Love and loyalty shouldn’t be weaknesses or bargaining chips. Offered freely, they become strengths.

“I do not want to nullify my contract or leave the library, Zosia Abram. I want to stay here with you.” My words shake despite my mental pep-talk; a scrap of control is relinquished with each word. “I spoke truly. Part of me chafes at being stuck here and altering the plans I’ve cultivated my entire life, but ….” Her all-knowing golden-blue eyes pull the truth from my soul. “I belong here.”

I release a breath I hadn’t been aware I’d been holding. “Fear has made me resistant to accept this. I keep thinking that you’ll realize you made a mistake or you’re choosing me for Bren’s sake. I don’t feel good enough for you or the library, Zosia. I’m not that smart, and I can’t even read properly. I know you wouldn’t pick me if you could choose anyone. My beast insists that you’re his mate, but I was worried our human sides were incompatible.”

Needing to do something, I set the woman in my arms on the edge of her bed. It physically hurts to release her, but my lust is muted as my brain and heart take over.

She doesn’t say anything, so I risk looking at her face, scared to see her agreement. Instead, I see understanding. Her bright eyes locate my doubts and soothe each one individually.

When she leans forward and wraps her arms around my waist, I nearly lose every scrap of control I’d gathered. I redirect my gaze to the textured ceiling. She has no idea what she’s doing, and her innocence makes her actions more enticing. I try to ignore her beautiful soft breasts pressed against my eager cock and her lips so close ….

I shut my eyes tightly and take a deep breath. We are talking. I concentrate on her words.

“I might not have picked you when I first met you, but I didn’t know you then. I know you now and you are my choice, if you’ll have me. Your fierce protective streak and unconditional love for your brother factor into why I want you, but it’s not for your brother’s sake. You might be an ass sometimes, but not all of the time, and you know when you mess up. Considering who raised you, I’m constantly amazed by these moments of compassion and humility. Your dyslexia doesn’t even factor into the equation. Being able to read quickly or well doesn’t prove someone’s intelligence. I believe that you balance our group perfectly.”

The tender, honest words prompt me to look at her, and I regret it immediately. Her head is tilted back to meet my gaze, her lips are slightly parted, and the movement presses her breasts more fully against me. Can’t she feel me straining against my pants? I’m not a small man.

With deliberate, careful movements, I unwind her arms and drag the chair over to the bed. She watches me curiously.

“I might be intelligent sometimes, but not when you’re pressed against me like that. My brain stops working entirely.”

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