Page 42 of The Demon's Discovery
“Mine? Or yours?” She blushed hot, an enticing pink color creeping over her cheeks.
“Yours. Mine is… an unknown variable.”
“Alright.” She pricked her fingertip with a knife without hesitation, carefully squeezing out drops one at a time. Then we waited.
The mixture swirled lazily for several breaths. It was a shimmery silver, like someone had poured mercury into the glass. It continued to spin and swirl, darkening to red, then an odd greenish color, then settled on purple before emitting a tiny puff of steam and going still.
It was done.
Greta had perfectly executed a recipe that better-practiced alchemists had failed mightily at—and on her first try. One of only a handful of successes ever, if the records were accurate.
“You’ve done it,” I breathed, a wisp of her hair moving with my exhale, as I was still standing right behind her.
“I… Is that real?” she asked, reaching out a finger toward the container but stopping short of touching it. “The Elixir of Health. That can’t be right, can it?”
“It’s real.”
She spun, smile brighter than I’d ever seen, her hands fisted as she bounced on her toes. “We did it!” A little excited squawk came out of her throat, then she reached up and hugged me.
I wrapped my arm around her, steadying her against me, and stepped us back away from the table to prevent any accidents from happening. The last thing either of us wanted was to see that flask crash to the floor. I wasn’t sure I could get there, even with the help of my mist if it toppled over.
Whether or not I caused the way our feet got tangled up was a mystery, but Greta ended up with her back pressed against the supply cabinet, my forearms flat against the glass. Her chest heaved and cheeks flushed as she gazed up at me with wide eyes.
“Are you alright?”
“Yes,” she whispered.
There was no missing how her eyes tracked my mouth, the way I was steeped in her scent or how my heart kept trying to reach for her directly through my chest. It had been the sweetest torture to spend the day pressed up against her from behind, able to smell her hair and feel the curves of her body line up with the planes of mine. And now, with her dressed in my clothing, after what we’d been through earlier, I hardly had any restraint at all left.
“Greta,” I warned.
“It’s okay. I want—” She swallowed, my eyes following every movement of her throat and the way her tongue darted out to wet her bottom lip.
I cupped her cheek with one hand, warring with myself as every impulse in my body screamed at me.
Her eyes became glazed, half-closed, and I lost all hold on my control. I dove in like a man starved, plundering her mouth with my own. I swallowed her noises of surprise, growling back as she pressed herself against me instead of retreating.
She tasted like the berries we’d had with lunch, and I marveled at the softness of her body under my hands, my lips. I teased at her bottom lip with one fang, swiping at the tiny droplet of blood I’d made rush to the surface with my tongue as she sucked in a breath. To my great pleasure, she didn’t pull away as a brief collage of her here at the collegium danced across my mind. If anything, she hovered closer, asking for more in the way her eyes lingered, half-closed, her hands fisted in my shirt.
“Vassago.” My name was music on her lips, speaking to the darkest parts of me. The neediest. The most dangerous.
“Greta.” I pressed my lips to hers again, but gently, taking my time exploring. I mapped the way her cupid’s bow formed perfect points on her lush upper lip and a tiny scar caused an imperfection in her bottom one. The way she reached for me the way I was for her. The way she hesitated, but just barely, when I requested she open for me by swiping along her lips with my tongue.
As I kissed her deeply, she followed my lead, making another of those incendiary sounds. I lost myself in her, and it was glorious. When I finally swam back out of the heady moment, we were both panting, tangled in one another’s arms against the cabinet.
Guilt crashed in as I stared down at her, shame that I’d allowed myself to take advantage like that. “Forgive me, Greta, I?—”
“I wanted this,” she cut me off firmly.
I sucked in a shuddering breath and lowered my forehead to hers, blood surging again. “If I’m taking advantage, I’d never forgive myself. I shouldn’t have?—”
“You aren’t. You didn’t. Youwouldn’t.” She sounded so confident I had no choice but to believe her. “You’re the noblest gentleman I’ve ever met, which might not be saying much given my restricted exposure, but you’re allowed to feel things too. Just as I’m allowed to want something for myself. And I’ve never wanted anything like I wanted this.” Her breath eased out of her then, and her eyes widened as she realized the confession she’d made.
My heart squeezed in my chest. “I don’t deserve you, Dragonfly.”
She gave a slow smile. “Of course you do.”
Which naturally, was further proof I did not, but I said nothing. I just allowed myself to linger there, in that moment, for a little bit longer before crashing us both back to reality.
