Chapter Five

Solène descended the stairs on legs that quivered. For the last year she’d been aware of Taran, keen to his comings and goings. Aware he watched and waited while she bided time of her own. One full year of longing to reveal herself, to know the life they had lived before, if even for a short while.

She stopped on the bottom tread and stared into the dimly lit shop. Taran filled the doorway, his posture rigid as steel, his focus attuned to the creak of aged wood. Solène took a moment to simply drink him in. To bask in his magnetic presence and the power that ebbed off his shadowy form. He could make even the strongest of witches feel small and insignificant.

But she knew beneath his alluring arrogance and dark vitality laid self-doubt and gentleness that was wholly displaced with the demonic blood he carried. And that intimate awareness charged her with life. The energy that arced between them tripped her pulse into double-time. She gave him a smile. “It’s good to see you.”

Taran bowed his head and shook it. His sigh filled the chilly corridor. When he looked up, anguish passed across his face before he frowned. “Solène, you cannot pretend nothing has changed between us. I have changed.”

She stepped off the stairs and crossed to stand in the shadow he cast. “We are both affected by things beyond our control. Is it that difficult to believe in the one thing we have always understood?” Her smile broadened as she set a palm against his sternum. Beneath her fingertips, his heart bounded. His breath caught, telling her more than words ever might, the deep effect she still had on him.

Further proving he was not as immune as he’d like her to believe, his gaze darted down the length of her body, then raised slowly, taking her in from her bare feet to the gaping V at her breasts. Infinitesimally, he stiffened a degree more. When his eyes lifted to hers, they glinted with the dark life that lived in his soul.

Taran twisted away from her touch. “I killed people, Solène. In the days after your death, I couldn’t control my sire’s poison. That vile hunger still lingers.”

Undaunted, she followed his short trajectory into the shop, careful to step over the broken glass. “It’s always been part of you, Taran. You’ve fought it from the first rabbit brought to your dinner table centuries ago. Why should it make a difference now?”

“Why?” He let out a bitter scoff. “Are you so naïve that you believe I would not take your life again?” His back to her, he curled one hand into a tight fist at his side and lifted it to his waist. Tension rippled all the way to his shoulder. Frustration and anger gave his voice a sharp edge. “I cannot control this curse.”

Solène’s heart twisted at the physical evidence of the war that waged within his soul. He’d fought what he was, the poison of his incubus father’s blood, since his very birth. At times it was all Taran could do to drag himself from the house to fetch a loaf of bread, it possessed him so. Together, they had discovered a means of tempering his malevolent side. Magic helped. Writing down the ancient phrases of power, crafting rituals that others could use, and in so doing, spending the tidal force of energy that roiled inside him by channeling it into words on a sheaf of parchment.

What torture these last hundred years must have been.

Her gaze traveled over his broad shoulders, down the tapering length of his back. He had been this way the night they met—one knotted up mass of pain and tension despite his charming smile. Inadvertently she unveiled another means of quieting his dark spirit. A manner of feeding that demonic blood exactly what it wanted.

She tugged at the belt to her robe and shrugged her shoulders. The satin puddled at her feet. Cool October air filtered through the drafty walls to envelope her body. Ignoring the chill that crept up her spine, she lowered her voice. “Then don’t attempt to control it, Taran.”

He whipped around, his expression as disbelieving as if she’d just proclaimed him an angel. But when his gaze locked on her, the objection that parted his lips silenced. His jaw snapped shut. Predatory hunger filled his silvery stare as he dragged it across her exposed flesh.

She didn’t know exactly what to expect—the aggressive man who had dominated her awareness hours earlier, or the playful, gentle lover who surprised her the night of their first meeting. Nor did Solène care which side of Taran appeared. She craved the feel of his hands, the weight of his mouth, the tickle of his long black hair as it swept across her skin.

“I’ve missed you,” she whispered.

Taran stood stock still for an indefinable passing of time. She watched the full affect of his own yearning shift through his expression. Surprise morphed into harsh angles as he combated something fierce that she’d never fully understood but accepted as part of him. Then, those sharp planes and shadowed crevices smoothed with the hidden tenderness that lived in his heart. That softness, that brief glimpse of the love he felt for her, stole Solène’s breath away.

When he took a step forward, he had settled into the confident, self-assured man who knew exactly what he wanted and how to take it, while simultaneously tapping into needs she’d never known.

Another shiver slid down her spine, this one filled with the promise that burned behind Taran’s quiet stare.

He stopped before her and drew a hand through her long hair. “I’ve never deserved you.”

“We are not so very different.” She chuckled as she tipped her cheek into his hand. “I am no good fairy.”

“No,” he murmured. “No you are not, my little witch.” His lips feathered across the crown of her head. “We share the same dark urges.”

As if he had come to terms with her acceptance of him, he curved his fingers against the base of her skull and settled his mouth on hers. She opened to him willingly, delighting in the velvety stroke of his tongue. And though he took care with his perusal, she felt the greed, the hunger that vied for control in the slow deliberation of his kiss. A quiet moan wrenched its way through the back of her throat, and she stepped into the inviting heat of his body.

Taran drew back with a shuddering intake of air. “I have missed you too,” he whispered as he pressed his cheek to hers. “So very much.”

Solène slipped her hand into his, gave his fingers a squeeze. She turned to the stairs, leading him up the creaking wood, to the room that had been theirs. He stopped abruptly in the doorway. His attention jerked to the bed. The last place they had known together. A grimace stole across his face.

“Don’t,” she murmured as she turned into his arms. Rising to tiptoe, she brushed her lips across his. “Don’t revisit what can’t be changed. This is still our serenity.”

Before he could become entangled in self-loathing, she nipped his lower lip. His full attention returned to her, and with a grunt of satisfaction, he yielded to the insistence of her mouth. Strong fingers gripped her waist, lifting her off her feet. He walked forward into the room, taking her not to the bed, but to the oversized chaise longue instead and set her on the sand-colored damask. Solène stretched onto her side, her elbow propped on the cylindrical pillow, her back pressed against the sleigh-style back, and watched as he unfastened the buttons on his shirt.

As loose cotton gave way to corded muscles and smooth, taut skin, anticipation launched through her body. Her womb clamped in on itself; her very flesh prickled with the awareness of what would come. A year she had survived, never able to acknowledge him, enslaved by Drandar’s will. Yet her body recalled Taran like a mere day separated them.

Taran reached for the waistband of his black jeans, and her breath caught. His gaze burned into her as he slowly stripped away his clothing. She felt the sear of his touch long before he set a knee onto the chaise and dragged her to the center, even as she shifted to make room for him.

His long wealth of hair fell over his shoulders, secluding them away. When he spoke, his breath caressed her cheek. “Not a day has passed that I don’t think of you. You’ve haunted me. Even in dreams.” He dipped his head and his lips grazed her temple. “I have no words, save that I have always loved you.”

Consumed by emotion that threatened to choke her, Solène wound her arms around Taran’s waist. As she turned her head in search of his mouth, she arched her body into his. He lowered his hips, compressing her into the horsehair cushions. His soft groan blended with her murmur of satisfaction.

“You feel heavenly.”

Taran shook his head as he grazed his teeth along the side of her jaw. “You cannot imagine.”

No, she supposed she couldn’t. A year had been entirely too long. She couldn’t fathom what it must be like to have survived over one hundred without knowing this perfection. She parted her knees to accommodate the press of his arousal against her thigh. As he fitted neatly against her center, Taran’s body trembled.

He ignored the fierce grip of desire and lifted once more to his hands, his mouth working a slow, torturous path to her breast. She squirmed against the scrape of his warm breath, curled her nails into the small of his back. When his tongue flicked across her nipple, heat infused her veins, and Solène whimpered. “Taran, it’s been too long. I can’t—”

Her protest gave way to a sharp keen as his lips closed, and his mouth pulled on her flesh. The ache in her belly spread need through her veins. She closed her eyes to the torment, intent on holding onto her senses, knowing she never would. Taran would break her resilience long before he was ready to take pleasure of his own.

When she felt certain she was on the verge of shattering to pieces, Taran released her breast. She gasped for air, grateful for the brief moment to regain the thoughts that rapidly spiraled beyond her control. But before sense could crack through the haze of arousal, his lips encircled her opposite nipple. Barely aware of her own actions, Solène tangled a hand in his hair and let out a throaty moan. Her body arched against his. In so doing, her feminine flesh brushed his thick erection. Bliss hit her like a shockwave, and she shuddered beneath the force of it.

Sensing her in the way only Taran could, he shifted his weight to one hand. The other slipped down her abdomen to the needy flesh below. The sweep of his fingers left her writhing. The press of the ball of his hand against her most sensitive spot sent her flying over the edge.

She latched onto his shoulders, bracing against the storm of sensation, and bit down on her lower lip as climax took her. Trapped in the sheltering warmth of his body, her thoughts teetered on the edge of nothingness. Blissful disassociation claimed her. Lost to it all, to the enormity of everything a century had thrust upon them, Solène cried out his name.