My eyes widened as understanding swept through me. “Her lover was the first Atlantian.”
He nodded. “Yes, the elemental line. It happened again and again throughout the centuries. An ancient deity would find their heartmate in a wolven, and they’d complete their trials to prove their love. Some believed that was how the changelings and other bloodlines began. Or, an Atlantian would find their heartmate in a mortal, therefore creating another line once the gods gifted them with life. That kind of love was rare—is still rare. When acknowledged by both, it’s the type that means they would do anything for each other, even die. And heartmates have always been linked to those who have created something new or ushered in great change. It is said that King Malec and Isbeth were heartmates.”
“But if they were heartmates, then why didn’t the gods offer the trials and then grant her the same gift of life they did for the other heartmates?”
“If they had, then the first vampry wouldn’t have been created, and the world…the world would be a vastly different place.” Casteel followed the direction of my thoughts. “But creating life is complex and full of unknowns, even for the gods. They never foresaw Malec being inventive enough to drain Isbeth of her blood and replace it with his in his desperation to save her. But the problem was, they’d already gone to sleep by then and were too deep in their slumber to hear Malec’s pleas.”
“Gods,” I whispered. “That is sort of tragic. I mean, his actions started…all of this. And yes, he was already married, but it’s still tragic.”
“It is.”
“And the gods are still asleep, unable to offer the trials and grant those gifts now.”
“But not too deep asleep to not be aware of what is happening,” he said. “Do you no longer think what Kieran said is so crazy?”
My heart flip-flopped. “I…I don’t know. What about you?”
A smile full of secrets appeared. “I don’t know either.”
My eyes started to narrow, but then something occurred to me. “Wait. There’s something I don’t understand. Malec was a descendent of the ancient deities, right?”
“Right.”
“Then how did he turn Isbeth into a vampry? The other deities—when their heartmates were given their blood, they weren’t turned into vamprys.”
“That’s because the others were not drained of blood. They were given the gift of life by the gods,” he explained. “The transformation is not the same.”
“Sort of like one is sanctioned by the gods and the other isn’t?”
“Sort of.” He shifted closer, dropping his hand to rest on the bed beside my hip. His head lowered slightly, and I allowed myself to read him.
He was feeling a lot of things, one of them I rarely felt from him. It reminded me of what it felt like to sneak into the city Atheneum and find an interesting book, or when I watched the night-blooming roses open. Times when I was content. He was content. He was also wary, and I thought that was for what could come tonight. And he was…he was so very tired.
“You still haven’t slept. You need to sleep.” I started to reach for him, but stopped, unsure of myself. We were married now. More importantly, it was real—this was real, what we felt for each other. “The Ascended could be here tonight.”
“I know.” He lifted his head. “I will rest, but there is something else I want to do.”
My chest got suddenly tight as my mind went in a completely inappropriate direction.
“We are married. It’s official, except for the crowning, but there is another tradition.”
My throat dried. “The Joining?”
He blinked once and then twice. “I’m trying very hard not to laugh.”
“What? That is a tradition, right? I asked Vonetta about it—”
“Oh, my gods.” He dragged his hand down his face.
“And she said—”
“It’s not about that,” he cut in. “It’s about us. Just you and me, and the tradition of sharing ourselves with one another.”
“Oh,” I whispered, and now my mind was happily playing around in a very inappropriate place. “Like…sex?”
He stared at me. “I really enjoy the way your mind works, but that’s not exactly what I was talking about.”
“Well.” My face heated. “This is awkward.”
Casteel laughed as he cupped my cheek. “Don’t feel awkward. I meant it when I said I love the way your mind works. But it’s a tradition for a couple to share blood after a wedding. It’s not required. Like I said, it’s merely tradition, one meant to strengthen the bonds of marriage. Not doing it doesn’t change anything—”
“But doing it changes what?”
“It…it’s an act of trust.” His hand slid from my face. “It’s a pledge to share everything. It’s mostly symbolic.”
My heart was pounding again, and the bodice of the dress suddenly felt too tight. It was clear that this was something he wanted, even if it was only symbolic. Possibly even something he’d once envisioned himself doing with Shea before…well, before. I felt a surge of anger and pity for a woman who’d been dead for more years than I’d been alive, but it still took a lot for me to push those feelings aside.
“And I know the idea of drinking blood isn’t exactly appetizing to you. So, I understand if you don’t—”
“I do.”
He leaned back, his eyes turning bright. “Is it because you want to or because I’m asking.”
“How often have I done things you’ve wanted, but I haven’t?”
He laughed. “Good point.” The humor faded from his eyes, replaced by a devouring sort of intensity. “If you’re sure. One hundred percent sure?”
“I am.”
“Thank fuck.” He started to reach for me but drew up short. “We need to take off that dress. Netta will have my ass if I return it to her wrinkled.” His gaze lifted to mine. “And I have a feeling it’s going to get very wrinkled.”
So did I.
Pulse thrumming, I stood and reached for one strap. Casteel followed, taking hold of the other. “Are there buttons?”
I shook my head.
“Thank the gods again,” he murmured as he dragged the strap free of my arm. “Because I would likely just give up and tear the thing.”
“You usually have better patience than that.” The dress gathered at my hips.
“Sometimes.” Eyeing the slip, he helped me step out of the gown. “But not when it comes to you.”
“I don’t think that’s true,” I said as he started to toss the gown. I stopped him. “I’ll take that.”
His lips pursed as I laid the gown on the chaise. He waited for me at the corner of the bed. “I really have a thing for you and little ridiculous straps.” He reached out, placing his hands on my ribs. He pulled the material taut against me. “And your breasts, but they are not ridiculous or little. Regardless, I have a thing for them, too.”
“Thank you?” I said as he walked around me, sliding his hand across my stomach. He laughed, and the sound was part relief and part need. I didn’t need my abilities to know that. I started to reach for the clasp on the necklace.
“Leave it.” He glanced down. “And the dagger.”
My brows raised. “Seriously?”
“When will you realize I speak the truth?” The tilt of his lips was wicked. “It turns me on when you’re armed with something sharp.”
“There’s something so entirely wrong with you.”
He came around to my front. “But you like what’s wrong with me.”
“There is something wrong with me, too.” I looked up at him. “Because I do.”
“I know.” He touched my cheek. “I’ve always known you like that I enjoy when you make me bleed.”
Casteel kissed me and it felt like the first time our lips had ever touched. In a way, it was a first kiss, and Casteel and I had more than one first. With each truth, each change, it was like starting all over again but with all the experience and memories. And kissing Casteel was like daring to kiss the sun. I placed my hands against his chest, feeling the warmth of his skin through his shirt and this—all of this—was another first, because I kissed without once worrying if I should, without wondering if I would regret it. I kissed with abandon, and there was a freedom in that I had never known before.
He pulled me against him, one arm around my waist as his mouth trailed over the curve of my jaw and then down my throat. I tensed with wicked anticipation.
“There are other places, you know? Where I can drink from you.”
“Like where?”
“Places that are far more sensitive than the neck.” He dragged his hand down my shoulder, cupping my breast through the slip. His thumb found the aching peak. “Like here for example. Would you like that? Don’t answer yet. There are other places even more sensitive. More interesting.” He moved again, over the curve of my hip and lower still. He gathered up the silk. “Lift your arms.”
I stretched my arms above my head, shivering as his clothing brushed my newly bared skin.