I've been thinking about that promise constantly. Imagining it. Wanting it so badly it's become a physical ache.
"After," I say, and my voice comes out rough, barely controlled, "I intend to make good on every promise I made you in that war room."
Her breath catches. I watch her throat move as she swallows.
"Every promise?"
"Every single one." I hold her gaze, letting her see exactly what I mean. "I told you I wanted to taste you properly. I told you I wanted to take my time. I meant it."
Her lips part slightly. I can see her remembering, can see the heat building in her eyes.
"That sounds like a threat," she says, but her voice is unsteady.
"It's a promise."
The tension between us is unbearable. Every instinct I have screams to close the distance, to back her against the nearest wall, to finish what we started. My hands ache to touch her. My mouth aches to taste her.
But tomorrow matters. The meeting matters. If I touch her now, I won't stop. And we both need to be sharp for what's coming.
"You should prepare," I say, and the words cost me more than I want to admit. "Review the files again. Make sure you have all of this straight in your head."
She nods, but she doesn't move. Neither do I.
The moment stretches. The air between us grows thicker. I watch her fingers drift up to touch the ring at her chest, tracing the engraved M, and the sight of it does something to me that I don't have words for.
"I won't let you down," she says finally, and there's somethingraw beneath the confidence. "I know what you're risking by bringing me. I know what it costs you to trust anyone."
"You're not just anyone."
The words are out before I can stop them. She goes still. I don't take them back.
The silence stretches between us, charged and dangerous. I should say something. Clarify. Retreat behind professionalism and strategy. But I'm tired of retreating. I'm tired of pretending that every moment in her presence doesn't feel like the first time I've been alive in centuries.
"I should go," she says. Her voice is strained. "If I stay here much longer, I'm going to do something that will make both of us useless for tomorrow."
"That would be inadvisable."
"Very inadvisable."
Neither of us moves.
"Celeste."
"I know." She takes a deliberate step backward. Then another. Putting distance between us that feels like miles. "Tomorrow. We focus on tomorrow."
"Yes."
She's at the door now, her hand on the frame, her body half-turned toward the corridor. The ring glints against her chest.
"Maximus?"
"Yes?"
"We're going to win tomorrow. You know that, right?"
I want to believe her. Want to have her confidence, her certainty that we can walk into a room of ancient vampires and convince them to side with us over Konstantin.
"I hope you're right," I say.
