Reaver(114)
Heavenly sunlight shone down into Verrine’s frilly, open-air bedroom, warming Yenrieth’s back as he panted through an orgasm he’d tried to hold back. Verrine had screamed or moaned through at least three, which had been the plan. His climax had not been in the plan, and his anger scorched his throat with every breath.
The instant it was over, he rolled off her, leaving her in a messy sprawl on her bed. He dressed while she watched him with drowsy eyes. When she sat up and discovered the blood on the sheets, she scrambled to hide it, and her embarrassment.
“What’s the matter?” he asked. “Ashamed?”
“No.” She wrapped a blanket around her naked body. “Of course not.”
Ice filled the hole she’d drilled in his heart with her lies. “You should be.”
She blinked, her emerald eyes shifting from drowsy to confused. “W-what?”
“Virginity isn’t something to be given over lightly.”
“You think I did this lightly?” She tugged the blanket more securely around her, as if the cold in his body was radiating outward. Maybe it was. “I’ve wanted you for decades. I saved myself for you.”
“You shouldn’t have.” He leaned in close, taking pleasure in how quickly she paled. “I despise you.” Snarling, he ripped the blanket away and left her exposed and vulnerable, the way she’d left him when she’d admitted to knowing about his children. “You took my sons and daughter away from me, so I took something from you.”
Her mouth worked silently. “I—I… Yenrieth, we’ve been over this. I thought you understood. I did it for you.”
“You did it for me? You kept my children away from me for decades to what? To help me?” His voice was at a low roar now, and all around him, the building trembled. “They grew up without me! Limos was raised in hell, Reseph was raised by a wench who is undeserving of raising a puppy, let alone a child, and Ares was beaten until he lost all compassion. Because of you.”
Tears spilled down her cheeks as she grabbed for him, but he stepped aside, unable to bear her touch. Just looking at her was hard enough. “Please… you have to understand—”
“Understand?” he bellowed. “Understand this, Verrine. I’ve fucked demons who were less disgusting than you.”
The memory knocked Reaver back a step, made him wobble, and Harvester caught him. She’d always caught him. He’d just been too much of an asshole to realize it.
“I’m sorry, Verrine,” he whispered. He knew it was Harvester in front of him and not the innocent young angel she used to be. But he’d never apologized to that trusting angel. And after what he’d just remembered, he knew no apology would be enough. “I’m so sorry. You didn’t deserve that. Yenrieth was a dick. I was a dick. I don’t deserve you, and if you can’t accept my apology, I understand. But I’ll never stop trying to make it up to you.”
“I forgive you.” Harvester’s voice cracked. “And I should have told you about your children.”
“No.” He shook his head. “No, you were right not to. We can play the what-if game for a century, but what it comes down to is that we can’t know what would have happened if you had. But I can almost guarantee that it wouldn’t have been anything good. You did what you thought was right, and that’s all that matters. You were right. I was wrong. So very wrong.”
“So,” she said, in a voice that was as shaky as his emotions, “you’re saying you remember everything, and you’re still sorry, and you still want to have a mating ceremony?”
With all his heart. “If you’ll have me. Someday when you’re ready. If you’re ready. I’ll always be here for you. I’ll wait as long as it takes.” He locked his eyes with hers. “You were always the one.”
For several agonizing moments, Harvester said nothing, and Reaver began to sweat. He might be one of the most powerful beings in existence, but all the power in the universe wouldn’t make Harvester budge if she didn’t want to do something. Like mate him.
Finally, Harvester lifted her chin in that muley way that drove him mad. “I’m not getting mated in any absurd formal angel ceremony.”
He suppressed a smile. “I’m fine with that.”
She sniffed. “And I won’t wear a ridiculous gown.”
“Agreed.” She’d be about as comfortable in a gown as a nun would be in a brothel.
Harvester, who had always loved torturing him, wound her long hair around her finger and made a long production out of studying the seashell paintings on the walls.