He managed to keep hold of her with one arm braced around her waist, though his knees buckled a little and his stockinged toes curled with pleasure. Breathing hard, damp with pleasure and exertion, he sagged against the sofa, eyes closed, and fought off a riot of conflicting emotions that threatened to shatter his bliss.
Macey shifted against him, sending a little twitch of lust into the depths of his belly, for they were still joined. He came out of his moment of half-consciousness to help her to her feet, not quite ready to look at her yet. Not willing to see what was in her eyes and expression…and certainly not wanting her to see what was in his.
He spewed out a mental breath, shoving away guilt and remorse and a whole lot of other things, and focused on the fact that his body was still humming pleasantly and Macey didn’t seem to have any problem with what had just happened. Except that… Damn it to hell.
No condom. No bloody damned condom. Chas went cold, and the last remnants of pleasure were gone. Just like that.
“Well,” Macey said, jolting him from his dark thoughts. Her voice was breathy and low, and she was looking down at the tatters of her frock instead of up at him. “I think I might need something to wear.”
He found his voice. “I didn’t use a condom.”
Now she looked up at him, tucking her short curls behind an ear.
“I—uh—it all was—rather unexpected,” he added, desperately wishing the whiskey was within reach. “I don’t usually…need…” Fuck. Shut the fuck up, Woodmore.
She shook her head. “It’s all right. Temple gave me—well, there’s a concoction to prevent pregnancy. Victoria Gardella used to use it too, and I suppose her daughter did as well.”
Chas couldn’t quite control a blast of relief, but he hoped he managed not to appear too giddy. “Good.” He felt as if he should be saying or doing something to alleviate the tension between them—why the hell was there tension after that, anyway?—but there was a sort of prickly aura around Macey that suggested he keep his distance, even though only moments ago she’d been gasping for more.
Please, she’d whispered. Oh, yes, please, Chas.
Whatever she’d wanted, he’d given her. And it appeared, at least for now, that was all.
And he, at least, wasn’t going to complain. It was a hell of a lot easier this way. And for the first time in far too long, he’d allowed himself pleasure without needing a pair of fangs jamming into his shoulder.
“I don’t suppose you have a bathtub I could use,” Macey said, rising from picking up her strewn clothing. She leaned against the counter and tossed back the rest of her whiskey.
“Yes, of course,” he replied, a little taken aback by her matter-of-fact attitude.
For it was clear she wanted a soak—and he wouldn’t be invited to join her.
This was going to be very interesting.
FOURTEEN
~ A Dawning of Hope ~
Sebastian dragged himself from the dream as though he were fighting out of a deep, dark pit. He was hot, sweaty, and hard with arousal, for the nocturnal visions had been dark and erotic and compelling. Dangerous.
He sat up, a shaking hand pushing away the hair plastered to his face. No, he told himself. Not that. Never that.
But the dream tried to lure him back, insistent and tempting as the images filtered through his sleep-fogged, weary mind: soft white skin, lush curves, full lips parted with pleasure and desire, glossy, dark hair, deep, velvet eyes…first it was his Giulia, then Victoria…and then their images had metamorphosed into Macey: the perfect combination of both of the women he’d loved and sacrificed for. She was twining with him, touching him, opening herself to him…and he took. Viciously, passionately.
That was what terrified him.
And there was blood—from him, for him—shiny and sleek, sliding down the long curve of her neck, tempting him even now in his memory. His nostrils flared as if he could scent her here…though she wasn’t nearby.
He’d scented her tonight. Perhaps that was why this dream had come again—this time stronger, longer, more insidious and much clearer and more detailed than the ones that had previously tormented him. Harder to push away, more difficult to ignore. Terrifying.
He knew Macey had come to the Silver Chalice tonight, for though she hadn’t even broached the threshold, Sebastian smelled her. When Chas rose suddenly from the bar and didn’t return, he wondered…and when Ned brought him a message that they’d gone to Woodmore’s, Sebastian’s suspicions were confirmed.
Thank you for taking her away.
But they were at Woodmore’s. The two of them. Surely the natural thing would occur…the tension between them, though subtle and dark, had leapt and sizzled—just like it had done with Victoria and Pesaro all those decades ago.
That must be why he’d dreamt so deeply tonight. It had to be.
Sebastian closed his eyes and touched his vis bulla. The sharp, pain-laced energy skittered along his hand, jolting through the rest of his body—a welcome shock, a necessary reminder. Then, following his habit, he found the ruby signet ring Wayren had given him long ago when she knew his intention. It will give you strength, she’d told him just before Sebastian embarked on the journey that took him to Lilith the Dark and set him on this path of the “long promise.”
When the hell would this promise be finished, anyway, dammit?
The ruby ring was heavy and comforting—it was almost as steadying as Wayren’s own presence was—and Sebastian felt the edge of his anxiety subside. Thank you.
And then, continuing on the rite of sorts, his routine to remind him of who he was, from where he’d come, and why he was here, Sebastian touched each of the five copper rings on his other hand. The Rings of Jubai hadn’t moved for more than a hundred years, attached to his skin after he plunged his hand into the Pool in the mountains of Romania. It was then, as he knelt there with his hand in the horrible, cutting, thick waters, that Giulia had appeared to him the first time.
Help me.
Sebastian was never certain whether he’d actually heard her plea, seen her face…or merely desperately visualized it all in his mind, but she’d been there nevertheless. Freed to communicate with him, perhaps, when he donned the rings—or when he shoved his hand into the harsh waters of the Pool. He didn’t know for certain whether the Pool and the rings were the impetus for Giulia appearing to him, giving him the chance to save her, but the two events would be forever connected in his mind.
And that was why he’d secretly gone back to the Pool, long after things had changed for him, long after he’d lost Victoria.
Now, he touched all five rings, out of habit attempting to twist or loosen each of them in turn…and then he froze. His eyes bolted wide in the darkness. His heart thudded sickeningly.
One of them moved.
Had it? Had one of them moved?
His fingers were suddenly slick and clumsy, but he managed to try it again…yes. The fourth one moved. It turned, shifted just a little, rotating the slightest bit. For the first time in a century.
Surely it was a sign.
He could hardly breathe, afraid he’d been mistaken…but when he tried it again, the ring moved once more.
A quick, hard shudder rushed over him. His hands turned to ice, his pulse surged and leapt, his lungs felt constricted.
Surely this meant the time was near.
At last.
Macey opened her eyes to find sun streaming into the room. Through the haphazardly drawn curtains, she could see the roof and spire of a church, with its cross sitting proudly on top of it.
Next to her, the bed sagged a little under Chas, who still appeared to be asleep—“appeared” being the key word. She was certain he could fake sleeping as well as he did most everything else.
Everything else. She gave a pleasant little shiver at the memory of last night.
She hadn’t intended to end up here in his bed, but after her bath—and a long, steaming interlude of unpleasant thoughts—he’d poked his head in as she was wrapping up in a towel.
“Thought you might have drowned,” he said. “You were in here so long.”
“Takes more than a bath to get the best of a Venator,” she told him…and found herself distracted by his dark, broad shoulders—still bare and now marked by her fingernails—and the rest of his nude torso. He was simply the most darkly attractive man she’d ever seen, and he tasted and felt as good as he looked.
“I’m going to bed,” he said casually. It was neither an invitation nor a rebuff. Simply a statement.
“Alone?” The word popped out before she thought it through. Or maybe in the back of her mind Macey already knew she no longer wanted to be alone with her thoughts. She’d had plenty of time in the bath to relive those moments with Iscariot, to see the evidence of his power and malevolence in the slender red line down her sternum and around her breast, and to battle back reams of confusion and fury—and even guilt. To wonder and regret and stew.
Being with Chas would keep her from thinking about Iscariot and Capone, Sebastian and her father…and Grady.
“That’s up to you, lulu.” He made it clear he could go either way, and for that Macey was both grateful and insulted.
Nevertheless, she gave him a slow smile and dropped her towel. When his eyes narrowed with invitation, she lunged toward him. He staggered a little as she slammed him into the wall, and they almost slipped on the tile floor of the bathroom before he yanked her out into the hallway, muffling her mouth with his.