Chapter Eleven
Gerall lay in bed, the pain in his chest refusing to subside. The tightness and shortness of breath made him unable to get comfortable. A gentle knock on the door pulled his attention.
“Come in.”
The door opened, and Eloa stood in a clean, fresh dress he’d remembered Snow wearing before. He smiled at her, and she smiled in return.
“Hi.”
“Hello.” She stood in the doorway as though not sure if she should enter.
Gerall waved her in, and she stepped inside, closing the door behind her. She took in the room as if unsure of what to do next.
“Do you want to sit—” Before he could offer her a chair, she joined him on the edge of his bed. The scent of the soap lingered on her skin, making him itch to pull her closer and hold her tight.
“How are you feeling?”
He pushed his glasses up his nose. “Better, thank you.”
Eloa took him in, and he realized that he wore no tunic. His sheets lay low across his torso, and for a moment, he fought the desire to make himself more presentable.
“Do you mind if I look?” she asked, motioning to his stomach.
Gerall nodded, and she scooted closer to him. She pulled down the sheets and duvet, revealing his stomach and hips. She ran her slender fingers over the angry red scar on his belly.
“Does that hurt?”
He shook his head, but his throat dried at her touch. “My chest is tight, and it’s a bit hard to breathe, but I think I’m good.”
“I’ve never tried to heal someone that extensively before.”
“I can’t imagine you’ve used your magick much since you live among humans.”
She inspected her fingernails. “I’ve been using it quite a lot in the last months, to be honest.”
“Really?”
Her cheeks flushed with a beautiful pink blush. “I... I’ve been using my magick on my baked goods. I didn’t mean any harm,” she said quickly. “We’d just been barely scraping by for so long that I thought if I just used a little magick to enhance my goods, maybe we would get more customers. Enough to possibly afford a bit more. Not a lot mind you, just... something.”
Her gaze dropped to her hands again, and Gerall couldn’t help but smile. He tipped her chin up with his fingers.
“If magick is what makes your food taste so exceptional, then you can use it all you want.”
Her expression relaxed. “Will you tell me something?”
“Anything.”
“You are human.”
“Yes.” A chill ran over him as he knew where her questioning would lead.
“But... you are friends with a werewolf and you know the queen of Ville DeFee. How is that possible?”
“It’s a rather long tale.”
She pulled her legs under herself and folded her hands in her lap. “I’m not going anywhere tonight.”
Gerall nodded. Where did he start? “After my parents died, a woman— we don’t know who— placed a mantle upon my brothers and I. It had to do with the Fairelle prophecies. She made us vampire hunters.”
“Vampire hunters?” Her eyes rounded in surprise.
“We hunted them and kept them out of Westfall. They live in Tanah Darah, north of Wolvenglen forest.”
She looked to the side as if remembering something. “Scarlet said you go to Tanah Darah when you need some time to yourself.”
He nodded. “Yes. Our sister, Snow, is married to the King of Tanah Darah, Sageren.”
“So, he’s a vampire? But you just said you kill vampires.”
“It’s... complicated. But yes, we do. Ones that hunt humans.”
“You know fae, vampires, and werewolves?”
“Daemons and a werebear and dragons as well. A mage too, as it turns out.”
She sat silently digested the information. “So those do all exist.”
Gerall lifted his hand and touched her cheek. “Believe it or not, most of them are good people, just like us. And if you’ll let me, I’ll protect you from the rest.”
Her gaze met his, and his heart hammered.
“Are... are you asking me to marry you?” she stammered.
Was he? They’d only been getting to know each other for the past week. But he’d honestly never felt anything for a woman before. She intrigued him and made him laugh and challenged him. Yes, he decided. He wanted to be with her.
“I... suppose I am.”
She blinked several times.
“You don’t have to answer me now,” he said. “But I want you to know my intentions. This isn’t just a passing fancy for me. The way I feel about you—”
“I feel the same.”
Gerall couldn’t hold back the smile that spread across his face. He pulled her gently until her lips met his. Her warm arms slid up his chest and her body pressed against his, making him light with desire.
He parted her lips with his, and their tongues swirled together. He pulled her closer, and her hips rested on his. The wound on his abdomen ached at the pressure of her weight, so he rolled her on her back. He stopped momentarily to make sure she still wanted to continue, but she pulled his mouth back to hers and wrapped her arms around his neck.
Gerall’s hand ran down the side of her dress to her leg. He kissed her cheek and then over to her ear. Her body arched against his, and he kissed up to the tip of her ear. Her nails dug into his shoulders, and he stopped.
“Am I hurting you?”
She shook her head, her breathing coming in and out in shallow bursts. “My- my ears are sensitive.”
Were they? He leaned in and breathed on her throat, licking her skin, tasting her sweet perfume. She smelled of spices and herbs. He kissed up to her ear again and then delicately ran his tongue along the edge of it to the short-pointed tip. She moaned into his chest, and her hands moved down his body to his rear. She clutched at him, making him harden and the need to be inside her spike.
He kissed down her throat to the tops of her firm breasts. He kissed over them gently as he slid his hand under the hem of her dress.
“Gerall,” she whispered his name.
“Do you want to stop?”
She shook her head, vehemently. “I want to be your wife.”
Happiness spread through him like brush fire. “If you want to wait, we can wait. We don’t have to do this now.”
She kissed him hard. “If we don’t do it now, I fear I might burst.” She kissed him again. “Make love to me.”
He looked deep into her emerald. “I- I need you to know. I’ve never... I mean, I’m not... I haven’t been with a woman before.”
“Neither have I.” She laughed. “I mean, with a man. Or a woman. I mean...” Her cheeks flushed a deep rose color.
He kissed her softly. “I know what you mean.”
He ran his hand up her thigh to the waistband of her pantaloons. Lifting himself off her, he slowly pulled them down and shoved them into the recesses of his blankets. He undid the buttons of her overdress, one by one, kissing his way down her torso. He wanted to savor every moment of this with her. Remember every detail of their first time. He pushed the overdress off of her and then slid her chemise up her body. Right before he revealed her breasts, she grabbed his hand, and he stopped.
“As I said, we can wait if you aren’t ready.”
She looked deep into his eyes. “I just... I don’t want you to change your mind.”
He caressed her cheek. Nothing he said would fully take away her fear. Sex, when not married, could ruin her. He knew that fear all too well for women in Fairelle. He breathed in, and his chest felt tighter than ever.
“Let’s wait. I can call my brother Erik to the house within the next day. He could be here and marry us, and then you wouldn’t have to worry.”
“Call him?”
“We have a magick mirror we use to communicate.”
She chuckled. “Of course you do.” Eloa moved his hand from her chemise and raised her chemise over her head and
flung it to the floor. “I don’t want to wait that long.”
He looked down at her beautiful body— flawless soft skin, slim waist that curved into slender hips. His body pulsed with need, and it took all of his restraint to keep things gentle.
Her slender fingers glided down to his pants, and she deftly undid the tie at his waist. Their eyes stayed locked on each other as she slid his pants down over his hips and then ran her palms over his backside. He dipped down and kissed her mouth, his body aching and hot.
“Eloa. I want you.”
Eloa’s body thrummed with need. She’d waited so many years to be in Gerall’s arms, and she could hardly believe she wasn’t dreaming. His hands and mouth caressed her body, making it tingle in ways she’d never experienced before. She ran her hands over the long scar on his abdomen, and his muscles quaked beneath her touch.
“Am I hurting you?” she asked.
“I’ve had far worse before.”
“If you want to wait until you have your strength back—”
“I have all I require.”
She wanted him, but a part of her still feared what might happen. If he changed his mind, she’d be both an outcast and used. She didn’t know if she could get past that. But she also knew him. He wasn’t like that. She knew that with him, she finally felt safe.
Eloa reached down and stroked his length, making him shudder. He eased her legs further apart with his thighs and then swirled his palm against her sensitive opening. She moaned and pushed closer to his hand as she stroked him long and soft.
He rubbed against her over and over, sending sensations and shockwaves through her body. Slowly he pressed his fingers against her opening and slid them inside her. Her body clenched around him at the strange and pleasurable feel. She moved his body closer to hers. He removed his fingers, kissing her as he guided himself against her. She kissed him hard and held onto his hips as he pressed inside slowly. Once their bodies joined, he kissed her and lay still for a moment allowing her to adjust. He brushed her hair with his fingers and kissed all over her face.
“You are so beautiful, Eloa.”
“So are you.” She wanted to sound loving and sincere, but she felt silly, having said it.
He chuckled.
He pulled his hips back, and the friction between their bodies made her skin pebble with goosebumps.
He bent and kissed her breasts in turn. Licking her nipples and making them pinch tight. She grabbed his hips and guided him deeper. He picked up a rhythm, and soon their bodies joined in a soft, love-filled blending.
His thrusts grew faster, and she found herself pulling him into her harder, wanting to feel all of him. His eyes closed, and his head drew back. A pained expression crossed his face, and before she could ask him if he was all right, his breathing quickened, and he called her name. She hung onto him, rocking him through his climax. His lean muscles pulled tight, and he gasped as his body arched, and then he gasped again and again like he couldn’t catch his breath.
“Gerall?”
He tried to breathe in as a look of panic crossed on his face.
She rolled him on his back, unlocking their bodies. “Gerall?”
He sucked in a breath and coughed. The coughing spasmed, and he grabbed his chest.
“Gerall!” Panic swept over her.
He coughed again, and blood splattered her face.
“Gerall!” Eloa screamed and knelt by his side. Her face swam in and out of view as he fought to stay conscious.
The coughing ripped at his insides like shards of glass. He hacked and fought to breathe. Eloa rolled him on his side and whacked him on the back.
“Gerall. Gerall?”
He couldn’t answer as he tried to suck air into his lungs, but fluid filled his throat and mouth as if he were drowning. The coughing turned to choking.
Eloa’s eyes widened in alarm. “You’re bleeding.” She grabbed her chemise and yanked it on, racing for the door she screamed for help as every muscle in Gerall’s chest tightened and pounding resonated in his head. Blood spewed out of his mouth once more.
“Help!” Eloa screamed. “Zelle!”
She ran back to the bed and covered him with a sheet.
Footsteps ran toward the door, and Zelle pushed into the room and headed straight for Gerall. He opened his mouth and closed it again, trying to tell her how he felt, but only blood bubbled out of his mouth.
“What the—” Scarlet stood in the doorway. “Oh my.”
“Go to the window,” ordered Zelle. “Yell for Flint. Go!”
Scarlet waddled out of the room.
“You.” Zelle turned to Eloa. “Help me.”
Eloa knelt by Gerall, her face pale and strained. His vision began to blur, and darkness tinged the edges of his sight. He tried to keep awake as his chest tightened like his horse had decided to use him as a footstool.
“Is all this blood his? Where is he bleeding from?” Zelle looked him over.
Eloa’s cheeks flushed. “Most of it’s... mine.”
Zelle scanned them both, assessing the situation, and nodded.
“You missed something when you healed him,” said Zelle. “You need to find it and fix it.”
“I- I- I don’t know what to do. I- I’ve never done this before.” The fear in Eloa’s voice made Gerall want to comfort her.
Please, gods, do not let him die. Not now. Not when he’d finally found the one he wanted to be with. If he died, she would never forgive herself.
“You can do this.” Zelle’s voice softened. “Here.”
Eloa’s palms touched Gerall’s stomach. The darkness crept closer and closer, blotting out her beautiful face.
“Use your magick to find it. Feel inside him. Find the problem. You can do this.”
Warmth spread through Gerall’s belly as Eloa’s shaking palms ran over his skin. When she hit the spot where the sharp pain twisted inside him, he grabbed her arm.
“There,” said Zelle. “That has to be it.”
Darkness obscured his vision, and Gerall’s hand fell from Eloa’s arm as the pounding in his head and chest grew to the point of exploding. This is it. The moment I died. He hadn’t even gotten the chance to tell her he loved her.
Don’t die. Don’t die. Don’t die. Eloa’s hands shook, and she tried to concentrate her magick.
Heavy footsteps rushed into the room.
“What happened?” Flint ran to the bed. “Gerall. Gerall, wake up.” He shook Gerall’s shoulder. “By the gods where is all this blood from?”
Eloa refused to allow her mortification to break her concentration. It couldn’t be any more embarrassing if she hung the bloodied sheets out the window for every passerby to see what they’d done.
“Where’s he bleeding from?” Flint demanded. “We need to stop—”
“Stop!” Eloa shouted. “I’m trying to concentrate.”
“Flint,” Zelle whispered. “It’s not all his.” Eloa didn’t need to look at them to tell the silent conversation passing between them. But she had no time to even think about that.
“You can do this,” Zelle said soothingly. “You can find it.”
Eloa reached inside Gerall with her magick and pushed through his body, trying to locate the problem. She finally found it. A change in the feel of his body. A space where there shouldn’t be one. The left side of his chest caved in slightly. His lung. Something about his lung. She pushed at it with her magick, forcing the organ to mend.
Air. She had to get air into him. She wracked her mind for something to do and finally, desperately, leaned over him and tried to breathe into his mouth. Nothing happened.
“What are you doing?” Flint asked.
“He needs air, but I can’t get any into him.” She leaned back and felt inside him with her magick again. Everything inside felt wet and sticky. “He’s bleeding inside.” She pressed her hands to his lungs again. They’d filled up with blood. She pushed her magick into the blood in his abdomen and forced it to dry up. Tracing her h
ands up his chest, she pulled the blood from his body, forcing it out of his mouth. The dark liquid poured out of him onto the sheets, staining them further.
“Help me turn him.” She climbed off him, and Flint rolled Gerall onto his side. Jamen climbed on the bed next to her and moved behind Gerall, propping him up. More and more, she pushed the blood out of him, running her hands higher and higher until everything came out.
“Roll him back,” she said.
She climbed up, straddling his hips.
“What are you doing? Flint asked.
She looked up at him. “Back away. Everyone. You can’t be touching him.”
Concern crossed their features, but she had no time for it.
“Come away, Love.” Zelle pulled Flint away from Gerall. Jamen backed up off the bed.
“Please let this work. Please let this work,” she whispered. Eloa placed her hands directly over Gerall’s heart. She stared into his pale and waxy face. She needed him to wake. She needed him to be all right. She... needed him.
Drawing all the magick she had left in her, she focused it toward Gerall’s chest. She balled it in tighter and tighter, the energy building until she thought her hands might explode. They glowed bright white and then she pressed down on his chest at the same moment she let her magick go. The energy slammed into his chest, lifting him off the bed. His eyes flew wide, and he sucked in a gulping breath. He grabbed onto her legs and dropped back to the bed. Eloa wrapped her hands around his as his fingers dug deep into her skin. She laughed as tears flowed from her eyes. He lived.
His gaze connected with hers as he continued to suck air in.
Flint raced over. “Gerall? You all right?”
He looked to Flint and nodded.
“Is he really all right?” Flint asked her.
“I... I think so.”
“You think so?”
Zelle laid her hand on Flint’s arm. “She is doing her best. She isn’t a healer.”
“But she has magick.”
“Yes, magick, I am assuming she hasn’t been taught to use properly.”
Gerall's Festivus Bride Page 10
