The pain of love lost that lurked beneath Reginald’s chill, dark oceans.
“Those are not your memories, Layla Price.” Reginald spoke coldly, though she could see he was shaken.
“No, but they’re yours.” Stepping away from the door, Layla approached him again like one approaches a wild animal – with caution but with uncompromising love. “They’re the deepest part of what you hide every day, because it hurts too much to tell anyone where you’ve been. It hurts too much to tell anyone how much you’ve loved… and how much you lost.”
“What do you know of love and loss?” He spoke with cold wrath, though Layla could see a tremor starting in his body, as if he couldn’t contain all the emotions now pouring through him.
“I don’t know about your love and loss.” Layla stated, feeling his misery like a deep ocean around her now, crying with lonely gulls. “But I want to. I want to know who you are, Reginald. The real you, beneath the façade. We’re Partners. Shouldn’t your true Partner know your pain? Isn’t that what made Sylvania different from the rest of your lovers? Because she knew what you hide – and loved you anyway? Isn’t that why you loved her, too?”
Reginald went very still. Gazing at her, she saw him war deep inside; disdain slipping over his haughty face, then agony. As he took a deep breath, Layla felt his chill tides ease until she wasn’t being pummeled anymore. And as that massive tide finally rolled back, she felt Reginald’s true pain, deep beneath the rage.
Sadness drowned him to his core. Sadness filled him like a lonely ocean, an endless isolation like a man stranded on an iceberg in the frozen north. This was no pretty Gilligan’s Isle. This was endless suffering, and as Layla felt it, her hand flashed to her heart, clutching her jacket as it choked her. Deep inside, her Dragon roiled, keening with a strangled sound as it thrashed through all that sadness; as it tried to heat it into anything but agony and failed.
Reginald watched her, his lips parted as he felt her Dragon react to his pain. For a long moment he did nothing, then at last stepped forward, moving to Layla and taking up her hand. They didn’t speak as he gave a heavy sigh, then escorted her to the dining table, leaving her as he stepped to a copper side-bar near his towering apartment windows.
Layla watched him as his rage finally came unwound. He idled at the side-bar, letting her see him in all of his wretchedness as he turned and poured two crystal tumblers of brandy from a decanter. His face was clean of powder and rouge, and as Layla watched him pour, he reached up and picked the elastic band out of his golden hair, letting it tumble free.
And suddenly, his devouring sadness heightened all that amazing perfection – making Reginald Durant beautiful as a high-north dawn.
Silken strands of hair like sunlight dazzled Layla as Reginald poured the brandy with a deft elegance. She had seen him in his natural beauty before, but now with his true emotions bared, he was absolutely stunning. Barefoot in his pearl-grey silk trousers, his matching quilted dressing-robe hung open, his chest bare. His dancer’s body was gloriously lean with sinewed muscle; his skin a creamy white with only a touch of golden hair at his chest, leading down to his navel between sculpted hips. His abdomen was a sleek, muscled dream, that perfect V-shape men would kill for, lower things hinting in his silk trousers. As Layla stared at his impossible beauty, Reginald gave her a deep look – making her blush.
“Sorry.” She mumbled, feeling like she should face the door.
“I’m not.” He held her gaze, something fierce and calm in it now. “It’s nice to show someone who I really am. Beneath the powder and rouge, and rage.”
Layla swallowed. Heat stirred deep inside her, not her roar of fire around Adrian or Dusk, but a strange clear space where she could both feel her attraction to Reginald and also observe it. As if she had stepped outside her body but was inside it at the same time, she felt like she stood upon a sea-cliff observing the waves, yet also feeling herself moving within those waves. Picking up the tumblers of brandy, Reginald approached, stepping close to Layla and offering one.
“Thanks.” She nodded, taking it. Their fingers connected on the glass and Layla paused, not because she was swamped by the vengeful sea or her own inner fire, but because she felt the simplicity of his touch. Their fingers hesitating, and Reginald watched her – his fingers slowly moving over hers; caressing hers. Layla swallowed, feeling her strange attraction rise. She pulled her glass away and he let her go, his gaze deep upon her now like the ocean.
Layla took a sip of brandy, feeling its sweet burn slide down her throat. She was grateful for it bolstering her shakiness, pushing back the events of the past days and Reginald’s strange, intense mood. For a moment, she closed her eyes, reveling in the orange peel flavor of the alcohol.
It was a basic thing, a scent without magic – a taste without passion.
Opening her eyes, she found Reginald watching her. He was quiet now, and he didn’t swirl or sip his brandy, just stood there watching her. Something about it reminded her of Luke in his calmer moments, and Layla realized Reginald was a lot like Luke. Clean, tidy, impeccable. Observant, determined, responsive. Dominant, and critical. But Reginald had had a few hundred years of life to influence his destructive side – a few hundred years more heartbreak. The image of a Scandinavian harbor surfaced again in Layla’s mind and a wash of white surf from Reginald rolled it away, the scent of sea-brine easing off his skin.
“You stay with me despite all my fury and punishment, Dragon Bind,” he spoke softly, watching her. “Wanting to know the real me despite all the cruel ways I’ve demeaned you, harangued you, and tortured you these past weeks. You want to know me in a way no one but Sylvania ever asked to do, her Ephemeral nature unable to spurn a tortured heart. Why?”
Layla swallowed, but her answer was on her lips, warmth easing from her as she spoke. “Because I don’t believe the costume you show the rest of the world, Reginald. The man I felt that first day you helped me control my magic during my entrance interview held me safe in the harbor of his hands. You did the same when your brother Bastien set my magic free the other night, holding me with a strength and tenderness I’ve felt from no one else in my life except maybe Dusk. The persona you show the world is cruel, but only because of heartbreak. But the real you, the man I see in your memories with that woman on the beach, and the one I feel when you hold me – he is something else. Someone amazing.”
“And do you presume to know me, Layla Price?” He asked again, with his calm distance.
“If you’ll let me.” Layla spoke, feeling his misery.
“And do you want to know me?”
“Yes.” Layla knew it was the truth as soon as she said it. “I want to know who the strongest Royal of the North Sea Sirens is. I want to know who the man is that I call Partner. I want to knowyou, Reginald, the real you.Sivvir.”
That last word startled him. Layla didn’t know where it had come from, it had just been there upon her lips. But as she spoke it, she knew it was right. Somehow, that was Reginald’s real name, the name he hid from the world and the persona he hid with it.
Layla saw him shudder. As if all the fight went out of him, as if the fury of the north suddenly died, Reginald’s black tides washed away. Something vulnerable moved through his eyes, changing them from ice-blue to a stormy pearl-grey. But Layla felt sunlight upon those deep tides now. As if her words had thawed his heart, flecks of golden sunlight danced within his grey gaze. With the most broken smile Layla had ever seen, Reginald raised his brandy glass to her in a salute.
And then downed it entire, in the most uncouth motion she’d ever seen from him.
CHAPTER 13 – CONTROL
Reginald’s gaze was faraway as he stared at Layla, something complex moving through his pearl-grey eyes. Reaching out, he stroked her curls, up in a twist at the side of her neck for traveling. Something beautiful blew through him like the first winds of spring as he played his fingertips gently down Layla’s neck above the collar of her peacoat.
“Sivvir.” He sighed at last. “No one has called me by that name in a very long time.”
