Vanished.
Dissolved into shadows or mist or whatever medium Fae princes use for dramatic exits, leaving nothing but the ghost of his presence and the lingering sensation of his kiss.
Shadow tendrils strike where he stood.
They erupt from darkness I didn't notice accumulating, void-black appendages that move with lethal speed toward a target that no longer exists. They slam into the wall behind where Koi was standing, finding nothing but stone and frustrated emptiness, writhing with obvious agitation at having missed their prey.
I blink.
Then look up.
Cassius stands in the library's doorway, andgods?—
His eyes glow with darkness so absolute it seems to drink the surrounding candlelight. Not the silver I'm accustomed to, not the warm grey that softens when he looks at me, butvoid—pure, absolute, consuming darkness that speaks to aspects of his Duskwalker nature usually kept carefully contained. His shadow tendrils multiply as I watch, spreading from his form like wings made of night itself, each one carrying the particular weight of being seriously, fundamentallypissed off.
The bond mark on my neck burns.
Burnswith intensity that makes me gasp, his claim responding to his emotional state with sympathetic intensity that borders on painful. The sensation carries his feelings directly into my nervous system—jealousy, possessiveness, the particular fury of someone who has found another man's lips where his belong.
I try to act like this isn't the hottest thing I've ever seen.
Try.
Fail spectacularly.
Because watching Cassius consumed by jealous rage, shadows writhing with barely contained violence, those void-dark eyes locked onto me with intensity that promises consequences...
Fuck.
"Hmm," I begin, trying to gather thoughts that have scattered like leaves in a hurricane. "Either I'm totally horny for you, thirsty, or you're just really hot when you're a possessive asshole."
The words emerge with confidence I don't entirely feel, bravado covering the very real arousal that's making my thighs press together beneath the table.
He rolls those void-dark eyes.
The gesture should diminish his intimidating presence.
It doesn't.
Then he moves.
Duskwalker speed carries him across the library faster than my vampire perception can track—one moment in the doorway, the nextright there, hand closing around my throat with pressure that demands attention without restricting breath. His grip forces me to stillness, to complete surrender of movement, and then his lips slam against mine.
Oh.
Oh gods.
The kiss is nothing like Koi's brief claiming.
This isconquest.
His mouth demands rather than requests, takes rather than asks, claims territory that his bond mark has already declared his with the particular aggression of someone reasserting ownership. His tongue sweeps against mine with movements that make me moan into his mouth, the sound swallowed by his ongoing assault on my senses.
I let him have control.
Let him dominate the kiss with the particular intensity that his jealousy demands.
Because I understand what this is—not punishment, not anger, butneed. The need to reclaim, to reassure himself that I'm still his despite whatever he witnessed or sensed, to remind both of us that the bond between us carries weight that no stolen kiss can diminish.
