Chapter 22 - Olivia

I'm pacing back and forth in the living room, waiting for Byron to come out of the bathroom. The others left just ten minutes ago, Zane being the last one out the door.

"Hey," he'd said, his voice low, "tell By to call me, okay?"

"Okay," I'd said, still feeling a little guilty that I called him at all. When Byron started having the attack, I was so afraid that it was serious, that something bad would happen to him. I thought he might want the chance to see his brother, despite whatever grievances they hold toward one another.

Veronica said that while he didn't have a heart attack, it doesn't look like his heart is in awesome shape, and she wants to do more tests in the morning. I put my fist to my lips and come close to the bathroom door, raising my fist to knock just as it swings open.

"Gods, Olivia," Byron laughs, his hand coming to his chest. "Are you trying to give me a heart attack?"

"Not funny," I say, shaking my head at him. "You're taking the bed."

"What? No."

"I am not making you sleep on the couch when you just had a medical emergency!"

"It wasn't a medical emergency," he mutters, "I've always been this way."

I stare at him, heart thumping. How could I have known him this long and not known about it? How could he know and still drink those drinks?

Before he can stop me, I turn and walk back toward the couch.

"No! Olivia," he says, following closely on my heels, and we end up smushing onto the couch at the same time. We grab for the pillow, tugging it back and forth.

Being this close to him is torture, need already curling low in my belly for him, my body heating up at his presence. Even after I've just watched him nearly die in my arms, all my body wants is to have him.

"I am not letting you sleep on the couch," he says quietly, and then our hands touch, fingers curl together, and we sit on the pillow. We're turned toward each other, both breathing hard.

"Byron—"

"Listen, Liv," he says, sighing and running his hand through his hair. "Seeing all that stuff through your eyes—I just—"

I can't bear to hear what he's going to say next—probably apologizing for how he hurt me, but holding firm that we can't be together. So, I open my mouth, blurting something out to keep him from finishing that statement.

"I could try drawing him."

He blinks, shaking his head a bit.

"What?"

I clear my throat, shifting, unaware that our hands are still linked together. I want nothing more than to pull him into me, but I don't.

"I could try…drawing the man. That I saw. Maybe that would work."

"Liv," Byron says, mercifully dropping the previous topic. "You're a shit artist."

"Hey!"

"Remember when we were drawing with Araya and Kaila? I saw what you did—"

"I didn't want to make them feel bad—"

"Oh, they felt bad, for sure. Bad for you."

"Okay, but I could try—"

"Let's just try this again," Byron says, squeezing my hands in his. "Try projecting an image of the guy to me."

"Byron," I laugh, "it nearly killed you."

"It did not ," he says, his grin infectious. "That's pretty normal for me."

"I don't—"

" Liv. " He says, and when his eyes meet mine, it's like looking into the sun. I have to blink and look away. "I trust you. Come on."

Taking a deep breath, I nod and close my eyes.

You ready?

Yes, captain .

I bite my tongue, think back to that night, picture that little old man again. Focus on that mustache, the wrinkled, weathered skin, how the apples of his cheeks were red, like he had just been in the sun. I think about his scent, how there was something slightly off about it, something not unlike Zane's—

"Holy fuck!" Byron says, yanking his hands back away from me and scrambling off the couch, his eyes wide, his hands slapping to the wall behind him to steady him and keep him from falling. "Liv! Oh, Gods!"

"What?" I ask, scrambling up after him, fear coursing through my body. Is he having another attack? When I reach him, I put my hands on his chest, feeling over him like I might be able to sense whether or not he's well.

Then, all at once, I feel his heartbeat like it's my own. Strong and steady, a little fast, but not erratic.

"Liv," he says, his voice lowering, his hands coming to my cheeks. I look up into his eyes, breathing, feeling everything at once. "You are a genius ."

And then he's kissing me. And I'm kissing him back.

It's gentle, exploratory, his lips soft and sure against mine, his hands cupping either side of my face, his thumbs brushing the sensitive spot right next to my ears. When I step forward, pressing my hips to his, he sucks in a breath, and I feel his heart start to speed up.

"Olivia," he says, walking me backward to the couch. My heart is in my throat, and my entire body feels like warm clay, ready to mold to him. "Do you want to do this?"

" Yes ," I say, and his hands are at the waistband of my sweats, pushing them down. He reaches down to each heel, grabbing them and slipping them away from my body. Every place he brushes against my skin is like fire, sparks, heat.

I feel feverish, thinking about that time in the woods nonstop. Thinking about what it will be like to have him here, alone.

He lowers me down onto the couch, and I grasp at his boxers, gasping when his lips land on the tender skin of my neck, kissing up and down my throat, trailing over my cheeks, peppering me with kisses everywhere he can reach.

"You are making this so hard," I laugh, finally managing to get my thumbs around his waistband so I can tug his boxers down.

"You're making me so hard," he breathes, and I start to laugh again, but it dies in my throat when I get my hand around him. I close my eyes, every part of my body thrumming in anticipation of what will happen.

When his fingers slip inside me, I arch up off the couch, and he uses it as an opportunity to get his lips on my breast, closing over my nipple and sucking so hard I see stars.

"Gods, Byron," I mutter, and he groans against my chest, sending the rumbles through my body.

"Say that again."

"Gods?"

"My name."

I do, and then, he's slipping inside me, slowly at first, and I settle my hands on his hips, trying to take him deeper. He holds back, teasing me, his arms shaking with the effort. When I wrap my legs around his waist and pull him down, he gives in, burying inside me deeply, and my body shakes with the pleasure of it.

"Olivia," he breathes, "you—do you—"

"Yeah," I say, the word almost coming out as a whimper. I know what he's saying, what he's asking—does it feel like this for me, too?

The answer is yes. That the sex we had before the blood bond was amazing, earth-shattering, even. But this is something different. This is like jumping into a live volcano. Like ripping my soul from my body and putting it in his hand. It's like nothing I've ever experienced before.

Maybe that's why people do it.

My hands move everywhere—grazing over his shoulders, running down his chest, scraping down his back. His eyes are dark, boring into me, and he lifts a hand from the couch, brushing an errant piece of hair away from my face as I breathe hard, stars starting to spark in my eyes.

"Fuck, Byron," I cry, and he reaches his hand down between us, rising up a bit to give him room, rubbing my clit in fast, rhythmic circles.

I come undone, arching up off the couch, pressing my breasts into his chest, crying out his name, screaming at the intensity of the pleasure that's rolling through me. It's so good, it's almost unbearable. Tears come to my eyes, my body shaking uncontrollably, my legs wrapped around him like a vice.

Seeing me must be enough for him, because he gasps, pulling his hand away from my clit and planting them on my hips, thrusting into me once more before his body shakes, and I feel him come inside me.

My eyes fly up to his face, but his eyes are closed, his face the picture of pure ecstasy, something like peace settling in as he relaxes, his breathing slowing.

"Olivia," he murmurs, leaning down and kissing my shoulders, pushing my hair back from my chest, skimming his lips over my nipples and stomach and biceps. It's like he can't get enough of me.

"Are you okay?" I ask, tentatively thinking about back in the woods, when I told him I was on the pill. It was true then. Less true now. All I can think about is the fact that he just came inside me, despite being clear that he wanted to avoid this particular scenario. Everything happened so quickly, that I didn't have time to think it through.

"Byron, I have—"

"Shit!" he says, his body going rigid again, before he starts laughing, pulling up off the couch. He holds out a hand to me, and I look at it, disbelieving. "We have to go!"

"What?"

"We can take a shower quick, if we hurry, but we'll have to call an emergency meeting."

" What ?"

"Olivia, you did it," he laughs, his eyes sparkling. "And I know exactly who it was who cursed you."