The Night Everything Fell Apart (The Nephilim Book 1)(49)

She’d made slow progress with her hair. Half of it was smooth, the other half remained a tangled mess. She looked up as he entered. “This is ridiculous. I should cut it.”

“Please don’t,” he said.

“It’d be a lot easier.”

There was no chair in the room, so he sat down on the bed, careful to keep some space between them. “I like it the way it is.”

She huffed. “You do it, then.” She held out the comb.

Against his better judgment, he took it. Scooting toward him, she turned and shook her damp hair down her back.

He passed the teeth of the comb through her hair, working up from the bottom. He could feel the damp heat of her skin though the thin cotton blouse. The faint scent of shampoo, the texture of the blond strands between his fingers, the sound of her breath hitching higher. The sensations spread like sparks across his awareness.

His hand began to shake. “I’m not sure this is such a good idea,” he muttered.

She glanced over her shoulder. Something in his expression must have given her pause, because she slowly drew back and took the comb from his hand.

“I’ll finish it,” she said, her eyes sliding away.

He watched her comb through the rest of the tangles, and then braid the lot of it into one thick rope. She hunted through her pack for a hair tie. As she was looping it on the end of the braid, she looked up and met his gaze.

“I wish we could make love,” she said.

He stood, abruptly, and put as much distance as he could between them without actually fleeing the room. Which was not, he thought grimly, nearly distance enough.

“Don’t you?” she persisted.

“Cybele. Don’t push.”

She grimaced and pulled the backpack closer, rooting through it for a clean pair of jeans. “Sorry.”

“So am I.”

She pulled on the pants and stood to zip and button them. “It’s just—I can’t stop thinking about last night. I’m still reeling. It was...” She blew out a breath. “I can’t wait to do it again.”

Neither could he, but... He grabbed her wet towel off the bed, shook it out, and draped it over the footboard. “How could you possibly want to do it again? You’re one big bruise.”

“A few bruises are nothing compared to that orgasm.”

“A couple broken bones won’t be worth it.” He grimaced. “Maybe I should sleep in the other room tonight.” Though that was the last thing he wanted to do. The thought of sleeping in that room jangled his nerves.

“So Mrs. Spencer can charge us another fifty pounds?” Cybele exclaimed. “No way. I didn’t bring unlimited cash.”

“We’ll sleep with our clothes on, then.”

She looked skeptical. “You really think that’ll make a difference?”

“It better,” he muttered.

Their gazes met. For a moment, they just stared at each other.

“Will it always be like this?” She hugged her torso. “Will we always want each other so badly?”

“Yes.” Arthur had no doubt. “At least, for me it will be. You’re the only woman I will ever want.”

“You can’t know that,” she said quietly. “And it’s not even likely. Nephilim don’t do monogamy.”

They didn’t, as a rule. But maybe if his parents had been lifebonded, if they hadn’t had other lovers, things would’ve turned out differently. But Tristan’s only goal had been to father a child of Merlin’s line. As for Alwen, she’d remained at T?’r Cythraul mainly because of Arthur. Still, no matter how unhappy his mother had been, she might have restricted herself to Druid and human lovers. How could she have gone so far as to sleep with a rival Nephil? Had she hated his father that much?

“We will stay together,” he said fiercely. “I won’t allow anything else.”

Her brows rose at that. “It’s not for you to allow or not allow. Unless you mean to enthrall me during my Ordeal.

He jerked as if struck. “What? No!” He was appalled she’d even think such a thing. In two strides he stood before her, gripping her shoulders. “I won’t control you, Cybele. Ever. If you don’t want to be with me, just say so.”

“Oh, Arthur. Of course I want to be with you. Only you. There could never be anyone else.”

He inhaled roughly. “In that case...” His eye fell on the faded photograph hanging on the wall. Releasing her shoulders, he grabbed it. The frame cracked in his hands. The thin glass shattered.

“Arthur. What are you—”

“This.” He stabbed a shard of glass into the center of his left palm. Blood oozed from the wound.

“Um...I have a knife, you know. Right here.” She slid it out of her boot. “There’s no need to go breaking things.”

He gave a terse shake of his head. “It’s done now. We can make our pledge.”

She tucked her blade back into its sheath. “You’re serious.”

“I am.” He swallowed. “Don’t you want to?”

“Yes.” Her chest rose and fell. “It’s just...Nephil lifebondings are so rare. And Mab’s forbidden them.”

“I don’t give a shit about Mab. Do you?”