Page 82 of Slaying the Vampire Conqueror

He flinched, the faintest twitch of muscles across his face.

“I can’t give you that.”

“Because your people need a new home.”

A pained hint of a smile. “If only it was that simple.”

My palm was still pressed to his chest, over the loose cotton fabric of his shirt. Slowly, I slid my hand up, inside his shirt—finding bare skin.

He stiffened, but didn’t stop me. Nor did he move. He barely breathed.

Deep inside him, the curse burned and ached.

“The past is devouring you.”

He let out an almost-laugh. “So bold of you, to talk to me that way.” Rough, scarred fingertips touched my face, the contrast between his skin and the touch so stark it made my heart stutter. His gaze lowered, lingering on my mouth.

“Do you think I don’t see,” he said, voice low, “that the past is devouring you, too?”

I knew that a wounded soul craved another to mirror theirs.

That was all this was.

But my soul was hurting, too. And perhaps I, too, craved someone who understood that.

I didn’t move my hand from Atrius’s bare chest. Nor did I move when his hand slowly flattened against my cheek, fingers tangling in my hair, cradling my face.

And when he came closer, closer until his breath mingled with mine, I let him.

Even when the space between us disappeared entirely.

His mouth was soft. Almost shy, at first. And when my lips parted against his, a little ragged breath escaping, he took the opportunity to deepen the kiss, his tongue, soft and damp, sliding against mine, releasing his own shuddering exhale.

Gods.

He was alive, and broken, and familiar, and mysterious, and dangerous, and safe. And for one terrible moment, Iwantedso fiercely, I forgot everything else. My hand slid against the topography of muscles in his bare chest, running down over his abdomen and settling at his side. His grip tightened in my hair, pulling me, and gods, I let him—let him urge me closer, let his tongue roll deeper into my mouth, let myself open up to him. My other hand found his cheek, his hair, running through the smooth tendrils and resisting the overpowering urge to grab it and pull him closer.

He broke the kiss but I chased it, tilting my head for another angle. Every time we came together again it was fiercer, like waves crashing in a storm. Our bodies were now entwined, my breasts against his chest.

And I couldn’t pretend anymore this kiss was his alone.

Because Weaver, I wanted more of him. Wanted to embrace the darker, forbidden sides of the desire that sleeping beside him every night had stirred. The kind of desire I was only allowed to explore by myself at night, my hands between my legs, or occasionally with another Arachessen willing to bend the rules with me up to wherever we decided the line of our vows had been drawn.

He wanted me. I knew it now, by the rigid length of him pressing through his pants. I had known it for weeks, every time we lay down together and woke up in an embrace.

My palm against his bare skin kept moving, sliding along the muscles of his torso—sliding down. When the tip of my little finger brushed against the waistband of his trousers, he abruptly jerked away.

That was enough to make me snap back to awareness.

My face was hot. My heart pounded wildly. For a moment, Atrius and I just stared at each other, his eyes wide.

What had I just done?

The realization of what more I almost did—what more Iwantedto do—hit me like a bucket of cold water.

His nostrils flared, and I realized that he was taken aback by his own desires, too—perhaps even more than I was.

He rasped out clumsily, “Not tonight.”

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