Page 83 of Once Upon a Midnight Dreary
Therewaspain.Andthere was warmth.
The pain lanced through her, sharp and unrelenting, making every bone feel fractured, and her head throb like it was splintering apart.Fatigue weighed her down, her body leaden.Like she’d been dragged down to earth and buried beneath centuries of sorrow.
But the warmth…oh, the warmth.It cocooned her like a woolen blanket pulled close on a winter night.Steady.Rocking.Arms cradled her, rocking faintly, clutching her as if she were something precious.Not something.Someone.Someone loved.
Her lashes fluttered, the world a blur of shadow and faint candlelight.Then Gabriel’s face came into focus above her—drawn tight with worry, his eyes rimmed red, his jaw taut.The moment her gaze found his, something broke.Relief shuddered through him, softening the harsh lines of his face until she saw his unguarded expression—the wild, aching relief of a man who’d nearly lost everything.Human.Vulnerable.Hers.
“Gods,” he rasped, his voice tinged with the edge of fear.His forehead pressed to her hair, his breath trembled against her temple.“I thought I lost you.”
She wanted to speak, to soothe him, but her throat burned, her mouth parched.It took all her strength to drag her arms upward, heavy as stone, and curl them around him.He stiffened, then crushed her closer.
Bits and pieces of memory tried to surface—her blood dripping onto the altar, the words torn from her throat, the searing light that had consumed her.
The light.What was that?She wasn’t certain.It burned bright and hot, flaring from somewhere deep inside her as it did that first time Lenore tried to touch her, tried to take her.It saved her then as it saved her now.
Then nothing.Only this moment.Only him.
He clutched her, his face in her air, breathing deep.His breath fluttered over her neck.
Gabriel pulled back, brushing his hand over her face with a sort of wonder flickering through his eyes.And he was smiling.She had never seen him smiling.Not like that.
“Did it…did it work?”When she spoke, her voice was thin and papery, but she forced the words out.
For one unbearable moment, she thought he was telling her no, that this was all for naught.That Lenore still hovered and haunted.That all of it—slicing her hand, saying the words, watching the blood drop—was in vain.
Then a laugh broke from him.An unguarded, joyful sound she’d never heard from him.Half joy, half disbelief.
“It did.”A fierce smile lit up the contours of his face, making him more handsome than she’d ever seen him, pushing back the sorrow and the shadows and making her heart trip.“It did, you marvelous girl.”
Relief slammed into her with a reckless abandon.Her eyes stung.A lump formed in her throat.She tried to swallow it back, but it wouldn’t budge.The lonely, haunted man of Ravenfell Manor, the one who had been tethered to this place for years, was gone.Replaced by this lighter, freer Gabriel.His dark eyes, once full of mourning and regret, were lit with a joyous appreciation.As though he dared not hope for this moment.
But it had come, hadn’t it?Doubt edged through her.
“Lenore?”she asked, tentative, her throat thick.
“Gone,” he said, unwavering.
“And you?”She searched his face, terrified of the answer yet hopeful.“Are you…?”
“Free.”The word came out reverent, almost disbelieving.
Her heart clenched.All the emotions she held in check these last few days suddenly exploded out of her.Her throat constricted.Hot tears blurred her vision, spilling before she could stop them.He caught them on the pad of his thumb, brushing them away with a reverent, unhurried touch.
“You freed me, Victoria.”
He gathered her against him again.Her face pressed against his chest, the rough linen of his shirt brushing her cheek.She inhaled the scent of him.That earthy, smokey, leather scent.A scent that was wholly Ravenfell and him.A scent she had not realized until that moment it was both.
“It’s over.”Her words were muffled against him.
“Yes,” he murmured against her hair, his arms holding her tighter, as if he’d never let her go again.“It’s over.”
Her fingers fisted in the fabric of his shirt, clinging to him.Holding onto this moment that was quiet and reverent and earned.The ache in her palm throbbed, wet and sticky against the linen, and only when she pulled back did she see the smear of red staining the material.Mortification cut through the haze of relief.
“Oh.Your shirt—” Her choked, sounding small and broken, the apology tangled.
But Gabriel’s gaze never wavered.“I don’t care about the bloody shirt.”The words were fierce, final, as if nothing in the world could matter less.
Before she could argue, before she could form another word, his mouth covered hers.His kiss devoured the protest, stealing the breath from her lungs and every thought from her head.It wasn’t desperation—it was deliverance.A kiss that branded her, that poured every moment of his longing, his loneliness, his despair into her until she tasted the years of it on his lips.Heat rushed through her veins, dizzying.The world stilled for them alone.
