“You heard correctly,” she said even though he hadn’t asked. “It’s hard to get with child outside of a bond, but it happens. And lucky me…” She grabbed the items he’d chopped and dumped them in to sauté. “Actually, while I wouldn’t call it luck, it was a turning point. She was stillborn at seven months along. They weren’t going to let me hold her, but I insisted on being the one to lay her in the sun.”
She shuffled the food around with a spatula harder than she’d intended to. But as her first verbal recounting of her past, she wasn’t flinging hot grease and meat all over the kitchen. So there was that.
“When she was…you know, gone, I’d already gone through the mental shift. My parents were going to die. The male using me was going to die. And they went to their final resting place the same way my little girl did.” Ashes. All of them.
Bastian gently pried the spatula from her hand and set the lid on the pan. “What was her name.”
His voice was a caress, but not sexual. Again, just what she needed.
“I never named her.” One of the many failings Ophelia chalked up to her past. Who didn’t name their child?
“Just because she didn’t have a name doesn’t mean she wasn’t real. I think you can name her whenever you’re ready.”
Ophelia took comfort from his words even though she didn’t deserve them. “It’s been ninety-four years. I think I passed ready.”
“How many of those years did you shove the memories into your mental stronghold and ignore them? Antonia showing up on your doorstep, nearly experiencing the same thing. Searching for Quentin, who might be in a similar situation. It’s all forced you to confront your past. And she’s not just in your past. She was your daughter.”
“She didn’t have a chance to be anything. If she had survived, her life might have been just as dismal.”
“Not with you as a mother.”
Ophelia spun. Didn’t he get it? “It was because I was her mother that she was conceived and died. I would’ve failed her if she’d lived.”
Compassion filled his gaze and it should make her angry, but she clung to it. “Would you tell that to Antonia? It was her fault she almost bonded a demon? What about Quentin? Is it his fault Lora seduced him?”
“Of course not.”
“Give your young self the same latitude.”
Her lips thinned. He was right, dammit. Why couldn’t she just agree with him?
“It won’t come instantly,” he said and pulled the pan off the stove. “You’ve been blaming yourself for a long time. Each time you want to pile the blame at your feet, think about what you’d say to Antonia or Quentin. Over time, you may change how you talk to yourself.”
She rested her hands on her hips. Her hair was drying and if she didn’t comb and contain it, it’d have to wrestled into submission. The savory aroma from their meal filled the kitchen. Her stomach came alive.
The talk with Bastian brought her appetite back to life. A quiet meal with him sounded…nice. She could use some nice in her life.
“You do that a lot,” she said. “You say what people need to hear.”
He lifted a shoulder. “My parents loved to talk to the campers. Since we were night owls, we usually caught them after a few drinks and a long day. They let their guards down, revealed things about their personal joys and struggles. My mother grew attached to humans.”
“Like they were puppies?”
He laughed. “No. She liked puppies just fine. But she thought with their short life span that they should revel in what they have, not waste precious time trapped in conflict of their own making.”
That certainly described Bastian. “And your father?”
His grin was unrepentant. “He wanted to make Mom happy.”
She giggled. Her hand flew to her mouth. Had that carefree sound come from her?
Bastian’s smile grew wider. “Where are your plates?”
She should be embarrassed. She should admonish herself for letting her walls down so far around him. Later. She’d build her defenses back up, but she was too raw right now, and Bastian was the perfect balm.
***
Bastian was on the bottom again. His pants had been shed and lay by the couch, along with Ophelia’s robe. She’d untied it and let it flutter to the ground after they’d eaten.
He didn’t remember what they’d consumed. He’d spent the entire meal wanting to keep that light look on her face. She’d smiled easier, and her eyes weren’t closed off, or worse, haunted.
She’d asked for stories about the campers his parents would talk to. He had the feeling she was connecting the desolate cabin she owned with the lively campground that had been located closer to the lake.
Flyaway hair surrounded her delicate face and she closed her eyes. He was content to watch her. The sinuous way her body moved was a work of art. The stroke of her sex against his shaft was as real as it got.
As good as this felt, there was still something…distant…about it.
She swiveled her hips and his worries were whisked away. It was just them. She stretched around him, her movements uninhibited and free. He’d have to be content with that for now, but he would get to the real her, the part of her that she’d shared while she cooked chicken over a stove.
She went taut as her climax hit, and he couldn’t hold back anymore. As she relaxed into her orgasm, he pulled her to him. Their mouths smashed together. He swallowed her cries, and she took his as they crested together.
Their kiss lingered. He massaged her back as she rocked gently against him.
“We need to get some rest if we’re to hunt for Quentin tomorrow.” His breath tickled her ear. “Want me to tuck you in?”
She didn’t shiver. A sign her defenses had gone back up. “I’ve never been tucked in.” She pushed herself off him. He mourned the loss of her heat. “I don’t think tonight’s the night to start.”
She grabbed his clothing and her robe from the floor. Tossing his pants at him with one hand, she swung her robe over her shoulder with the other.
He always knew the right thing to say. Wasn’t that what Ophelia had claimed?
What did he say now? “We’re not done, are we?”
“We don’t have to be.” She sauntered to her room.
Was that an invitation? She might welcome him into her bed, but it’d be for more emotionless sex.
He put his pants on and located his shirt. Once that and his boots were on, he filled a glass of water and carried it back to her room.
She declined getting tucked in, but he could see her to bed like a gentleman.
The view that greeted him made him stumble. Water sloshed in the cup. Ophelia had put on a tight dark purple tee and shorts that hugged her body like he wanted to. The three-inch gap between her waistband and the hem of her tee played a sexy peek-a-boo with her hard stomach.
She was power and femininity in one small bundle.
He held up the glass before setting it on her end table. The covers were rumpled from their earlier tryst. The memory threatened to send blood rushing to his cock again, but he clamped off the vision.
He left her room and gathered his tactical gear with a swoop of his arm. Leaving her apartment, he smiled to himself. It was the best way to leave her. Respectfully, with his wishes for more made known, but not outstaying his welcome until she thought the only reason he was there was to use her.
Laughter carried down the hall. He turned one of the many corners inside the maze of the compound and slowed. A group had gathered outside the door of an apartment. Antonia sat on the floor outside of another door that had a burly guard standing post.
The male’s name was Scurn. Bastian had met him the first night when Calli had loaned him Demetrius’s clothing. She’d said he was the personal guard for Demetrius’s sister Isabelle, but she hadn’t said why Isabelle would need one.
Calli stood by the entrance to her own place, her arms folded but her stance relaxed. H
er smile stayed when she saw Bastian. Surprise lit her gaze.
Damn, he must smell like sex and Ophelia. What would Antonia think?
Antonia was too busy laughing with someone behind a crack in the door. Even stern Scurn looked amused.
A pale face peeked out. An ethereal beauty with light emerald eyes assessed him. Those ancient eyes didn’t belong on such a youthful face. “She thinks she can choose, but she cannot. I get to choose.”
“What’s that mean?” Antonia asked.
The girl glanced away from him to Scurn. “I get to choose.”
“Sure you do,” Scurn said. Isabelle scowled and jerked back. The door slammed shut.
Antonia bit her lip and glanced from Scurn to Calli.
Calli held out a hand to help her up. “That’s the way Isabelle usually says goodbye. Especially if Scurn talks to her.”
“What’d she mean?” Antonia brushed herself off. The look she shot Bastian was full of question.
“Only Isabelle knows what she means, but it’s never nonsense.” Calli smiled but didn’t elaborate. “Have a good sleep, everyone. I’m up way too late.” She disappeared into her room.
Bastian nodded at Scurn, then turned to Antonia. “You’re up a bit late.”
“I couldn’t sleep and it’s not fair to Fyra to babysit me day and night. Calli offered to entertain me for a while but Isabelle distracted us.”
Leading Antonia back to their apartments, he asked, “What did she say?”
She frowned. “Nothing that made sense at first. She said the beneath comes up and the up goes down and that’s not going to change. Calli got her talking in more than riddles. She’s… different. Nice. I like her.”
“Good.” They wandered in silence. Isabelle’s words could very well mean the underworld. Before they reached their destination, he turned to her. “How are you really doing?”
Tears welled in her eyes. “All the same thoughts are going through my head. They circle around. Fyra can stall them for a while, but they’re always there. Waiting.” She stopped in front of her door. “Has Father tried to get ahold of me?”
“I don’t know,” he said quietly. In a way, Bastian hoped Master Gaston had. Then Antonia would think he gave a shit. But if he had, it’d be for his own gains and not out of concern for his daughter.
“I know it’s best I don’t know if Father’s trying to get to me, but…”
“I know.”
Tears threatened to spill, but she nodded and dragged in a shuddering breath.
He couldn’t leave her like this. “When’s the last time you had a decent cup of tea?”
She laughed. “Not in like, forever. Fyra insists on heating the water with her touch, but I don’t have the heart to tell her it makes it taste like sulfur.”
“Go on in. Get ready for bed and I’ll make some tea.”
“Sweet, thanks.” She darted inside. “Oh, and don’t think I don’t want to hear all about you and Ophelia.”
He’d give her the PG version. She hadn’t asked about Quentin yet and if she couldn’t sleep earlier…
Chapter Ten
Ophelia sent a text to Demetrius before she finished gathering her supplies for the day. She only had ten minutes before she had to meet Bastian and she couldn’t find her inner peace or enjoy her mocha. Her belly flipped.
Gah! That male. He was burrowing his way into her heart. She’d shared her darkest nightmare with him, and it was her biggest mental struggle to close him off again. Only he was like a warped door. Once opened, she couldn’t fully close him out again.
The major problem was that she didn’t want to. Just like her malfunction with Nadair, she was getting sucked into the temptation to indulge in a relationship. To ponder what trusting a person could be like. To share her life with another.
Being alone sucked. She wasn’t so emotionally damaged that she’d delude herself about that.
There was a knock on her door. “Sorry, I’m early. I couldn’t sleep,” Bastian called from the other side.
She deliberately set her drink down. Loneliness might stink, but she’d wanted the next nine minutes to fortify herself against the endearing and sexy male on the other side.
“Come in.” She never locked her apartment. It was an intentional fuck you to the deep-seated fear that a stranger might enter her bedroom and force himself on her.
If she couldn’t trust her team, there was nowhere else for her and she needed to know ASAP. So far, none of her team had really stopped to visit her. She hadn’t spent much time under this roof, but it was growing on her.
He entered, and she resisted drinking him in. But the scent of a freshly showered Bastian was still hard to tolerate without stripping down naked and coming on to him.
“Is that coffee?”
“Want some?” She’d made extra. After he’d left a plain-ass glass of water by her bed—a considerate gesture—she’d lain awake thinking about what an epically bad decision sleeping with him had been.
“Do you mind? I can’t stomach the tea I’ve served for thirty years. I might as well brew the grass clippings for what it tastes like.”
She gestured to the coffeepot. Her milk and chocolate shavings had already been put away, but he could find what he needed. “I don’t mind tea, but it doesn’t have the kick I’m looking for in a beverage.”
He grabbed a to-go mug and filled it. She watched him work, telling herself to look away the entire time.
Had he laundered his clothing? And cleaned his weapons? The guy really couldn’t quit moving.
“Why couldn’t you sleep?” Why had she asked? She’d poured her heart out and kicked him out. Was he here to guilt-trip her?
“Antonia was still awake. She’s having a hard time, so I stayed with her until she went to bed.” He smiled grimly. “Then I stayed until I thought she’d fallen asleep.”
“Is she worried about her friend?” So he hadn’t lost sleep over her. She decided not to dwell on that, lest she discover she was disappointed. Too much power. She was giving him too much power.
“Yeah, we got around to Tiny.” He heaved a heavy breath. “Quentin.”
Now she could see it. The fatigue lining his face, the hunch in his shoulders, and the heavy burden of caring for someone.
She was so damn selfish, wanting him to have all kinds of angst over her aloofness, when kids were suffering. Antonia had been through a mental hell, and Quentin…
“We’d better go.” She ditched her cup and went to her room to toss her gear on. After all these years, it only took thirty seconds to suit up.
By the time she was out, Bastian held a second to-go mug. He handed it to her as they walked out the door.
He was so damn thoughtful. And it bothered her way too much. He’d do it for anyone.
God, that didn’t make it better. The fact that he looked after all those he was around made it too easy to convince herself he was a good guy. Good guys were dangerous. Because she didn’t know any. They were like unicorns.
She worked with several quality males, but they all had their faults. Demetrius had deceived their new government to protect Calli. Rourke had lied about his origins for years. And Bishop. The dude had kept his icy secret until the force that was Fyra made it impossible to hide. They still shone compared to what Stryke had done to Zoey. But he was a demon, so it was kinda expected. Creed had denounced his family and their ways, but not before he’d been an active participant. His parents’ fate had been left up to the Synod and they were likely going to get ashed. The only delay was whether they were going to throw others under the bus with any confessions.
But they all had honor and put the innocent above themselves, even if they hadn’t always. And Ophelia fit in among them. Zoey, too. They fought and they killed to make a better world for their people.
Bastian was one of the people they worked to help. Just because he joined her on this mission didn’t make him one of them. What would he do if he
saw Ophelia in action? In her experience, a petite, fuckable female was hot until she bared her fangs and ripped someone limb from limb. Previous partners had had issues with that.
Nadair hadn’t liked to hear her talk shop. He especially detested when she’d come back close to dawn covered in blood. You can’t step foot in this house until that blood is off you. She’d hung outside until the sun burned the stains to ash and her skin heated dangerously close to blistering.
He hadn’t been impressed. He’d been jealous of her sun tolerance—and her fighting skills.
Bastian was a good guy. And he could go on about a connection between them that meant they were true mates, but he was destined for someone else. Someone of pure heart and sound mind. Someone more like him.
They didn’t talk as they walked to the garage bay. Bastian would have something to say soon enough.
Demetrius was standing by the car she’d planned on taking. When he saw them, he climbed into the back seat.
“He’s coming with us?” Bastian muttered.
“Sure is. If we find Lora, we’ll have to handle her, save Quentin without getting him hurt, and fight a second-tier demon, one that Fyra said was telekinetic. I prefer to work alone, but I’m not stupid.”
“And I’m a butler, not a fighter?”
She shrugged. “Can you bash a fist into Lora’s face without flinching?”
He didn’t reply.
“I can. Demetrius can.”
Bastian’s gaze flicked to where Demetrius waited in the car. “Fair enough.”
The sun was close to setting, but behind the vehicle’s glass, Bastian shouldn’t get burned. And she’d get to see one of her favorite views.
As she drove out, her mood soured. It was cloudy. No damn sunset.
Bastian peered outside, rubbing his arm. His skin must be tingling under the weak rays. “I was hoping to see a view like what’s in your artwork.”
Was he a motherfucking mind reader? Sunsets and sunrises were her thing. Most vampires thought it was like hanging a portrait of a stake on their wall. It made brandishing them as paintings in her home all the more satisfying. Then why was she disappointed that she couldn’t share a sunset with Bastian?
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