“I think I’m in shock,” I answered honestly.
“You’re that surprised that I would kiss you? I thought it was fairly obvious that I’ve wanted to do that for a while.” Ciaran’s mouth quirked into that half-grin of his, and despite the gravity of the situation I grinned back.
“I was referring to the fact that you jumped off a balcony. That you punched Seff in the face. That heshotyou. That you’re now perfectly fine.” I pushed his bloody shoulder in what was meant to be a playful shove, but I found my hand instead frozen on the muscled curve of his upper arm, lightning jolting throughme at the point of contact. Our eyes met across the table. “And I didn’t even get the Pentacle.” It was barely a whisper.
“I know.” Ciaran sighed.
“I failed you all.”
“We got out alive. We can try again another day. You scared the shit out of me, though. When you were dancing with him I…” Ciaran exhaled. He didn’t have to finish the thought. We sat in silence for a few moments. My thoughts drifted back to the alcove. I could still feel the ghost of his lips on mine. My core pounded in response to the memory.
“You’re shaking, love.” Ciaran scooted his chair closer to mine, draping an arm behind my chair as he leaned in to whisper in my ear. “We can go up and rest soon. Just try to act casual. No one will think we’re anyone other than two paramours about to have a clandestine evening upstairs.”
“And… are we?” I swallowed, giving voice to the question on my mind as my throat worked harder than usual to get down what little saliva remained in my dry mouth.
Ciaran let out a dark chuckle as he pressed a single kiss to the side of my neck. He downed the rest of his beer in a long, long draft.
“I’ve had it with this night,” he announced as he stood, his chair scraping the worn wooden floor beneath us. “Shall we?” Ciaran held out his hand to me.
Eyes trained on his, I took his arm. Ciaran placed a hand on my lower back, guiding me toward a door on the other side of the tavern. It was a proprietary gesture—as if he were signalling to the other patrons of the tavern that I was his, and his alone. I wasn’t sure if it was meant to be a part of the show we were putting on for the other patrons, or if he meant it, but in that moment I was his—completely—body and soul. I belonged to him.
TASTE
Out of breath, we climbed the stairs to the third floor of the tavern. The room they had given us was at the end of a long, dim hall. Eerie orange lamplight cast dancing shadows on the dingy beige walls as we walked. The carpet beneath our feet gave off puffs of dust with every step. Cleaning was clearly not the priority in this place. The din of the patrons in the tavern below drifted through the hall as they revelled the night away, unaware that two wanted criminals were hidden among them. Neither of us said a word until Ciaran opened the door with the iron key they’d given him downstairs, and we slipped inside.
Instantly the noise from the tavern was muffled. I turned the lock as I shut the door behind me and took my first confident breath since we’d run from the opera house. I peeled the mask from my face, slick with cold sweat from the run. Not two feet in front of me, Ciaran did the same, the only sound our panting breaths, his eyes locked on mine. Ciaran took one long step to close the distance between us.
The kiss in the alcove had only been the beginning, and I was nowhere near finished with him. I had almost lost him tonight. Every point of contact between us at the table downstairscrackled with electricity. Nothing had ever felt like this before. Like there was a physical pull between us. It wasn’t going to stop. Wasn’t going to ease until we gave in.
Now, my breathing only ramped up as I tilted my head to meet his gaze, not backing down. Goddess, he was so much taller than me, the difference amplified even more at this distance. Still too much distance.
“Tell me, Seraphina. Tell me you want this,” Ciaran said with a growl, any inhibition stripped away with his mask; his face was mere inches from mine, our ragged breaths mingled.
“Yes.” It came out in a sigh, barely a whisper. “Ciaran, I want this.” It was an invitation and an unleashing as his lips crashed into mine. This was not a soft or tentative kiss. We had faced down certain death together tonight. We had escaped by the skin of our teeth, covered in blood. There would be no more hiding our feelings. No more indecision. There would be nothing soft or tentative about this.
Ciaran ran his tongue along the seam of my lips; I opened for him, my tongue sliding over his, as his hands gripped my waist, roved up my back and tangled in my hair. He pulled my hair back, tipping my chin up to bare my neck to him. As he trailed kisses beside my ear, his hands travelled to the small of my back, lower. A thrill skittered down my spine, the kisses on my neck matching time with the pulsing ache between my legs.
“Ciaran…” His name came out as a gasp, as his teeth found the spot where my neck joined my shoulder. All the walls I had so carefully crafted around me fell. I was wide open. It was exhilarating and terrifying. This stupid ball gown was too tight—there wasn’t enough air in the world for me to gulp down, as the enormity of this thing between us crashed over me, like waves on a violent sea.
His hands paused on my hips as he pulled his face away from my neck to look me in the eyes, the unspoken question lighting in his dark eyes.
“Yes. Yes. Yes,” I managed as I began to fumble with the laces of the Goddess-forsaken corset on my gown. Which was apparently taking far too long, as Ciaran mumbled a spell, and the laces burst open of their own accord, splitting the dress wide open, my breasts breaking free.
“You are so beautiful,” Ciaran whispered as his eyes roved over my bare torso, lingering on my nipples, peaked in the dim light. “Goddess, I have imagined you like this every single day since I met you.” An exaltation—a whispered prayer. His mouth found mine once more, this kiss slower, but still deep and thorough. His calloused hand brushed over my breast, rasping against the sensitive skin, sending sparks straight to the apex of my thighs.
How had it taken us this long to get here? It felt inevitable, from the first time we met on that rooftop. Some dark twist of fate that found me there that night.
But my head emptied entirely as he began to guide me toward the bed, any and all thoughts melting away. I grappled with the buttons on his jacket, still wet with all the blood he had lost, baring his muscled chest to me. I paused, running my tongue over my bottom lip, to marvel at the man before me, as his clothes hit the ground. The swirling scars down the side of his neck, spreading across his heaving chest, gleamed in the gloom. The new scar, just beneath his shoulder, where Seff had shot him. Where dried blood was now flaking off.
“Youare so beautiful.” My own whispered benediction a mirror of his. But he was. Those scars, which told of a man who had known pain—a man who had suffered, but stood tall, and strong and powerful despite it all. He was magnificent to behold.I wanted to drink it all in. I wanted to touch those scars, that magnificent body,everywhere.
Ciaran pulled the rest of my dress off. This stupid ball gown was so much more cumbersome than what I usually wore, and I stepped awkwardly out of the bulky garment. I was nearly bare before him, only flimsy undergarments remained. He pulled me close, his hand cupping my face, tongue claiming my mouth, our bodies pressed together. He was so warm; his chest and shoulders healed and whole beneath my roving fingers, which were trembling with need. I began to grapple with the buckle of his belt, desperately trying to free the length that was straining against his pants.
“Wait,” he gasped, pulling free of our kiss. “Please. Let me taste you first, Seraphina. I need to taste you.” The words were strangled and desperate. Pleading.
My mind was mush. All I could do was nod. So carefully, Ciaran laid me down at the edge of the bed, running his hands down my thighs as he lowered himself and knelt before me. No one had ever done this for me. It was so taboo according to Scion’s scriptures—any act performed simply for pleasure was a sinful act. Sex was strictly for creating more arrows for Scion’s quiver. Though I had heard, ad nauseam, from Carlotta how pleasurable such an intimate kiss could be, I had never experienced such things.
The anticipation did nothing to stop the trembling of my limbs. Ciaran gently pulled my knees apart. “Is this okay?” His eyes met mine, reassuring and warm—I felt safe in his presence, and I trusted him with my body and soul.
