Page 43 of Enthralled

All traces of laughter fade from his face. He looks up at me again at last, his eyes clouded and uncertain. “Not rapidly, I fear. Not without . . . assistance.”

I press my lips together. Then: “What sort of assistance?”

He lifts a hand, waves it feebly. “That’s not for you to worry about. We have more pressing concerns at this moment.”

That’s when I know. I know exactly what he needs, exactly what kind of magic it will take to restore him. A shudder creeps up my spine. Because he is truly horrible, hideous. A ghoul sprung straight from the Nightmare Realm.

But those eyes of his . . . Those are the same eyes I know so well.

Something sparks within my chest.

I slide from the desk, standing before him where he sits, huddled in his chair. His shirt hangs open, revealing every protruding bone of his chest, all held together by paper-thin skin. I take a step nearer, stretch out my hand, and rest my palm against his heart. It beats wildly, frail and fast, like a dying bird in a snare.

His eyes flash, catching mine. “Please,” he whispers hoarsely. “Please, Darling, I’m . . . I’m not sure I can bear it.”

“You’ve borne a great deal, my love,” I whisper. “I think you can bear a little more.”

I lean over him. His eyes take up the whole of my vision, bright and burning, desperate. I will not see the rot, the ruin. I will not smell the decay emanating from his every ragged breath. I will only look into those eyes and see what I know is true.

Then I press my lips to his.

He’s so cold, so still. It’s like kissing a corpse. My body trembles at this proximity to decay, yet I refuse to recoil. I hold that kiss, hold that connection for as long as I can bear, pouring everything I have into that small point of contact between two bodies and souls.

At last I draw back, my eyes still closed. “Darling,” he rasps, as though I struck him a blow.

“Hush,” I whisper and cup his cheek. Then I lean forward and kiss him again. The spark in my chest flares brighter, stronger. It seems to rise from inside me, flowing up my throat, across my tongue, burning on my lips. I hold this kiss longer, until he gasps in sudden shock and perhaps a little pain. But when he starts to draw back, I grip his face harder, this time with both hands. “Castien,” I whisper, “kiss me.”

He obeys. His lips move against mine, molding and urgent. They’re already fuller than they were at first brush. One of his thin hands touches my cheek. I press my own palm against it, holding it there. It’s cold as ice, but I send the warmth of my soul into it.

In my head a clamor of resistance fights even now. All the pain of the angry words I hurled at him at our parting storm inside me, threatening to break us in two. I let them go—the hurt, the pain. Everything I caused and everything he withheld. They don’t matter. Not here, not now. Neither betrayal nor anger nor abandonment nor any other hurt we’ve inflicted on one another. Here, in this moment, we are two broken hearts longing to be made whole again. It is terrifying—that gut-plunging terror one feels when standing on the brink of a cliff.

But I will not shrink from this fear. I will take the plunge. With him.

Suddenly he grips my shoulders, pushing me back. I look down into a face still old, still lined. But now I see him again—my Castien. Iron gray hair flows from his head in glorious waves, brushing his shoulders, framing features marred with pain such as one never sees revealed in the ageless fae. That pain only makes him more beautiful in my eyes. He rises from his chair, towering over me. He is like a great king of legend, no longer in his prime, but on whom the mantel of true majesty rests. He takes my breath away.

“You left me,” he breathes, his voice hoarse and hard.

“You sent me away,” I reply in little more than a whisper.

“You told me you hated me.”

“I did.”

He takes my face between his hands. “And now?”

I wrap my arms around his neck, drag him down to me. I don’t care that he’s not the youthful man I once loved and loathed. I don’t care for anything except the knowledge that he is my Castien, my beloved, my Fatebound. Let the nightmares close in on all sides and devour us! I will have him. Here and now.

The energy between us changes. I’m no longer on the offense but suddenly the recipient of everything he feels, everything he needs. His lips against mine are savage, demanding. He’s taken charge, and I am utterly helpless against the force of his passion. His hands are in my hair, gripping at the roots as his mouth devours me. His tongue slips between my teeth, ravishing, and I receive him with a moan that only excites him more. He tastes of salt and wide, lonely skies, and it awakens such a deep hunger in me I fear can never be sated.

He backs me up, away from the desk. I reach behind me, uncertain and unmoored. My hand grasps the cold bar of the rolling ladder attached to the bookshelf. I wrap my fingers around it, my arm up over my head to brace myself. His right hand catches hold of my wrist, pinning me there even as his other hand slides to my throat, fingers resting over my pulse. His knee parts my thighs, and I feel the swell of him pressed up against me, a pressure that calls to the ache in my core.

“Clara, my darling,” he growls against my temple, breathing in my scent. His hand slides down lower, lower, molding over my curves. I arch into his touch, my eyes half-closing as I moan. For me it’s been mere weeks since we were last in each other’s arms, since our flesh became one. But it feels like a lifetime. His mouth explores my ear, my jaw, my throat, kissing, tasting, nipping. “I’ve burned for you,” he says, releasing his grip on my wrist. I hold fast to the library ladder as he runs his hands over the shape of my body, his palms hot through far too many layers of fabric. I could scream for need of his skin against mine. “I’ve burned with a fire that could know no relief all these years.”

“Forgive me,” I plead, only just now realizing there are tears on my face. “Forgive me, my love.”

He draws back, looks down into my eyes. The expression sparking in the depths of his dilated pupils sets my heart racing. He’s changed again. His hair is raven black, streaked with threads of gray. His face is harder, sterner, older than the one I once knew, but so beautiful it hurts. “Forgive you?” His breath rachets hard and fast. “Oh, Darling! I forgave you long ago. My only hope now is that you can bring yourself to forgive me. For withholding the truth. For being a coward. For—”

I place two fingers against his lips. “It’s forgotten,” I whisper. “Forever. There’s only you and me. There’s only this moment.” Taking hold of his hand, I press it against my beating heart. “My gown . . . it fastens up the back.” I flick my lashes, peering up at him again. “Will you help me?”

---