Eternal

14 ~ Metamorphosis

Aidan struggled to sit up, wincing as he did so. He looked entirely drained after that last outburst.

I offered a hand, tugging him forward as I pushed the bed’s single pillow behind his back. “You okay?”

“Just . . . exhausted.”

I gave his hand a squeeze. “I am not letting you go, Aidan. Seriously. We’ve got to figure something out. We can talk to Matthew, see if he has any ideas.”

“Matthew? Oh, right. Dr. Byrne. How is that . . . relationship . . . working out?”

“It’s good. He’s been like a brother to me—an overprotective big brother. And he’s been working on your cure. Actually Matthew, Tyler, and Sophie are all working on it together.”

“Tyler? Now, that’s a surprise. I thought your little friend was the one who was ready to hand me over to the authorities from the get-go. I should think he’d be gloating.”

“Nope. Believe it or not, he’s going to be glad that you’re back. Crazy, right?”

He dropped his gaze, refusing to meet my eyes.

“Don’t,” I said, shaking my head. “I’m serious. You’re not going anywhere.” I tightened my grip on his hand for emphasis.

“I like that you’re wearing my ring,” he said, changing the subject. “My grandmother’s ring. It looks perfect there, doesn’t it?” He lifted my hand, turning it so he could examine it from all angles. “I noticed it the moment you stepped into Mrs. Girard’s office, you know.”

“I can’t keep it. Any of it, now that you’re back.”

“Of course you can. All the paperwork is in order. I assume you found it all?”

I just nodded.

“And the flowers? I left very specific instructions.”

“The flowers were there.” I could still remember their sweet, citrusy scent. “If you were trying to break my heart, you did an excellent job. Just so you know.”

“I never, ever meant to hurt you.” The pain, the undisguised despair in his eyes nearly stole away my breath.

I wanted to erase that pain. To heal his broken body, his broken spirit. Leaning in to him, I pressed my lips tenderly against his forehead. His eyes fluttered shut, a low moan escaping his lips as I feathered a kiss over one eyelid, then the other. His arms stole around me, drawing me against him till there was no space between our bodies.

“I can’t believe you’re here,” I murmured, my lips trailing lower, toward the corner of his mouth before moving on to his jaw, his chin. “You’re really and truly here.”

One of my hands slid under his shirt, across the hard planes of his chest, while the other tangled in the hair at the nape of his neck, as silky and soft as ever.

“Dear God, Violet,” he said, his voice a hoarse whisper.

“Dear God, Violet, what? Keep going?” I paused, my mouth hovering just above his parted lips. “Or dear God, Violet, stop now before you kill me?”

In response, his head bent toward me, his lips brushing softly against mine. I froze, temporarily paralyzed now, terrified that if I opened my eyes I’d find myself alone, awakened from a hazy dream. He’d be gone, a figment of my overactive imagination.

Please be real, I silently pleaded. Please.

When his lips found mine again, they were more persistent—less tentative, more demanding. I let out a whimper, overcome with a sudden sense of familiarity. His taste, his scent—the memories flooded back, overwhelming me. It seemed like both a lifetime ago and just yesterday that he’d last held me in his arms. An eternity and a split second, all at once.

Desire exploded inside me. Somehow, I ended up straddling him, my knees on either side of his waist as I kissed him back with a hunger I hadn’t even known I’d possessed. There was a fire in my belly now, urgent and hot. I was not letting him go. I was never letting him go.

His hands were fisted into the bed’s covers now, the air between us electric. Every moan, every shift of his body beneath mine made the fire inside me burn brighter, hotter. We kissed until we were breathless, and then I dragged my mouth away.

Our gazes met, his eyes as glassy and unfocused as mine, but still rimmed in red. Dangerously red, I realized. Still, the heat in his stare made it impossible for me to stop, to move off him and seek safety before things went too far. Instead, I slid lower, pressing my lips against the side of his neck, down to his collarbone. Pushing aside the soft cotton of his T-shirt, my mouth trailed lower.

Aidan made a sound deep in his throat and then released his death grip on the covers to grab the hem of his shirt and tug it over his head. I leaned back, my hands resting on the spot where the waistband of his jeans met his bare skin, just below the jutting curve of his hipbones. My breath hitched in my chest, my fingers itching to slip under that waistband, to brush across his silky skin. He wanted it, too—the evidence was pretty hard to ignore. He wouldn’t stop me, not now, no matter how far I decided to push it.

And it was my decision; that was clear. He was leaving it up to me, patiently waiting while I worked it out in my head.

Oh, man. This was just so dangerous, in so many ways. But . . . maybe just a little . . . more. The word reverberated around my head, tempting me. More. I would stop when the fangs came out, I resolved. Yes, I could do that. That made sense, would keep things safe.

At least, as safe as I could be from a vampire who’d clearly been tortured and starved, who hadn’t had access to his elixir since mid-December, who was looking at me now with a burning hunger for who knows what.

I took a deep, gulping breath and tugged off my own shirt.

At first his face registered shock, then appreciation. I could feel the weight of his gaze sweep over me, his eyes seeming to darken a hue. With a sigh, I slid down his body, fitting myself against him. The sensation of skin against skin—mine flushed hot, his cold—made butterflies flutter wildly in my stomach. Somehow, we were kissing again, hot, hungry kisses. When I pulled away this time, we were both gasping for air.

Struggling to catch my breath, I laid my cheek against the taut muscles of his chest. For several minutes we just lay there in silence, my hands idly exploring every curve of his stomach, his shoulders. I listened to the raucous thump, thump of his heart as it pumped the infected, vampire blood throughout his body. His royal vampire blood.

At the reminder of our predicament, hot tears gathered at the corners of my eyes, threatening to spill over. “Please stay, Aidan. Please,” I begged, the tears slipping from my eyes and dampening his chest now. “Let’s just agree to Mrs. Girard’s plan for now. Give her what she wants. You know it’s the right thing to do. And then we’ll . . . I don’t know, figure out the rest later.”

The cure. Matthew and the rest of them could keep working on it in secret. Mrs. Girard had only said that Aidan couldn’t—she had no idea that her most scientifically gifted faculty member had taken up the project’s reins. She had no idea why he’d want to. I was having a hard enough time understanding it myself.

For me. The thought popped into my head just like that. Matthew was doing it for me, because it’s what I wanted most of all. Because he’d do anything for me. He’d said so himself. And that just made me cry harder.

“Shhh,” Aidan said, his hands stroking my hair. Despite his weakened physical state, his hands were strong and firm. Comforting. “It’s going to be okay, I promise you, Vi.”

“Then promise you’ll stay,” I said, choking on the words.

He reached for my chin, tipping it up, forcing my gaze to meet his tortured one. “Do you really think I could leave you now? After today?” He shook his head determinedly, his jaw set in a hard line. “Never again.”

But no matter what he said—and how convincing he sounded—I knew it was ripping him up inside. I was sure that, without me factoring into the equation, he’d simply disappear. Off the grid, away from everyone who cared about him. Hunted by his enemies forever.

But I couldn’t let him live like that. I wouldn’t. Maybe that made me selfish, but I would not extinguish that tiny flame of hope that still burned inside me. I glanced down at the delicate ring on my finger—his ring—knowing that it could never be enough. Just memories and tokens and photographs . . .

I wanted more. I wanted him—all of him.

Somehow, we could solve this. Mrs. Girard could have her Dauphin, and eventually Aidan could have his cure. Right now, he wasn’t in any shape to deal with it, to take action or make decisions. I was the strong one now. It was up to me to figure it out, to make it happen. And if I had to move heaven and earth, to slay a thousand vicious vampires—hell, if I had to personally take out Mrs. Girard herself—I would.

There was not a doubt in my mind that I would.