27

Ophelia

Cas stiffens beneath me, all that handsome, fucked-out, masculine satisfaction fading from his face in an instant.

I almost regret it. Mainly because I really, really like that look on him, and even more so knowing I'm the one who put it there.

But I also can't let what happened earlier tonight go.

I still need to know what the hell all of that was, what kind of danger I almost got into, why he reacted the way he did.

The need for those answers is already chasing away the afterglow. It has my stomach roiling with nerves and worry sitting heavy in the back of my throat.

If asking for the truth means ruining the moment, so be it.

Cas's hand tightens slightly where it rests on my shoulder. "Perhaps a conversation for another—"

"Nope. A conversation for right now."

Cas is undeterred. He brushes his fingers over his mark—which I'm honestly a little surprised he didn't reopen during… all of that—then lower, cupping my breast. His thumb teases against my nipple and I stifle a gasp at the instantaneous wave of renewed heat and pleasure that small touch ignites.

"Cas," I deadpan, swatting his hand away. "No distractions. I want to know why I almost witnessed a murder tonight."

The words sober him.

They bring a darkness to his eyes that sends a shiver down my spine, though some part of me knows that darkness isn't aimed at me.

"You're certain you want to know?" he asks, and I nod silently. Cas takes a deep, tired breath. "Very well. As you may have guessed, there's a long history between Philippe and I. Marcus, too, though he's always been one to follow Philippe's bidding."

I tuck my face against his chest, and he runs a hand over my bare back—a slow, idle touch that seems like it might be as much about soothing himself as soothing me.

"So tonight, when I realized you'd gone to him, when I arrived and saw how close he was to… Well, it wasn't just the heat of the moment that made me react, but centuries of animosity between us."

"He was using me to get to you," I guess.

Cas catches a finger under my chin, tipping my face up to his. Darkness still lingers in his eyes, but beneath it, an unexpected glimmer of humor.

"Perhaps not the only reason he would have wanted a taste. You really don't know how delectable you are, do you?"

A spark of warmth in my chest, but I shake my head. "But it was part of the reason, trying to get under your skin."

That humor fades a little, and Cas nods. "Most likely. And to further whatever game he's playing in all of this. Whatever he knows and whatever he hopes to gain from it, I'm sure he sees the both of us as no more than means to the ends he's pursuing."

"What did he mean?" I murmur, not knowing if I have the right to ask. "Philippe, when he said he's seen your darkness, and you've seen his. What did he mean?"

Cas pauses a moment before he answers. He looks away from me to the ceiling above, eyes lost in memory.

"Philippe, Marcus and I were all turned by the same vampire. An ancient, vile creature who cared not for the progeny he created, other than how they might serve him and bring him wealth or power or whatever other boon he had his mind set on."

"What was his name?"

"Antonius."

He says it like a curse, like poison on his tongue, and I nestle closer to him. Cas's arm tightens around me before he continues.

"Even now, I'm not sure how old he was, or where exactly his origins were, but a few hundred years ago he made it his mission to amass as much power as he could. Lands and fortunes and control over mortal affairs. To that end, he created many, many others like us to do his bidding, and exploited us to our full potential while we were in thrall."

I know at least a little about what he means. Samuel's talked about it occasionally, though he only ever has fondness in his voice for the vampire who turned him.

A freshly turned vampire has a strong tie to the one who made them, and in turn, that vampire can exert a certain amount of influence to control their thoughts and actions.

It's part of the reason I've never really entertained the idea of asking Samuel or another vampire to turn me. Though thrall isn't always exploited or treated with malice, it's something I'm deeply uncomfortable with.

Well, that, and the fact that a good percentage of vampires don't survive the turn at all.

If they do, they're caught in thrall for the first few decades of their new life. In the best sense, thrall can be respected and treated like the relationship of a parent to a child, in the worst…

"What happened to him? Antonius?"

"I killed him."

Cas says the words plainly, coldly, almost without any outward emotion, but… there. Just there. A tightening at the corners of his mouth, a furrow on his brow. Small, so small, small enough that even just a few weeks ago, I might have missed it. All those little tells beneath the mask he wears so well.

"Good."

My answer startles a rough laugh from the back of his throat. "Good? Sweet Ophelia, I wouldn't have expected such bloodthirstiness from you. I must say, it suits you well."

He trails his fingertips over my cheek and runs his thumb along my bottom lip. I catch it between my teeth, and he chuckles softly.

"Do you want any of the details? Or perhaps to run from this room and never speak to me again?"

I think for a moment. "He sounds like an evil fucking bastard who deserved it."

"That he was," Cas murmurs.

"And I assume you haven't made it a habit? Killing people, I mean."

"I have not."

"Then I… I don't think I do. Not right now. Unless talking about it would make you feel any better?"

I soothe my hand over the furrow in his brow and a flash of surprise breaks across his expression, like no one's ever looked at him closely enough to see his tells.

"No, I don't think it would."

He falls silent, nothing more than the darkness of the room and the rise and fall of our shared breath between us.

In that silence, I reach down to twine my fingers in his and raise our bound hands to rest against his chest, lips brushing gently over the back of his hand.

Cas goes still for a few heartbeats before relaxing into me. When he speaks again, his voice is a little tighter, rougher, but he keeps his hand clasped firmly in mine.

"It could have been mine for the taking, Antonius's power. I could have picked up right where I finished him off, seeking power for myself and creating my own army of thralls."

"But you didn't."

"No. Philippe tried, but whether because he never quite descended to those same levels of abject cruelty, or because he wasn't the vampire who ended Antonius and could claim his power by right, I'm not certain."

"So what did you do… after?"

A hard, humorless smile tugs at the corners of Cas's lips.

"I lived entirely for myself. I've always had a gift for persuasion, and for knowing how to spot and test others' weaknesses. It's what allowed me to get close enough to Antonius to strike the blow that killed him, and what allowed me to build my network of trade and information, leveraging both to gain whatever fortune I could and make my own way through the world. As hollow and selfish as it may have been."

"I don't think that's completely true."

Cas glances down at me, another flash of surprise breaking through his bitter confession. "No?"

I shake my head. "No. Or else you wouldn't be helping Blair and Cleo and the Bureau. And I'm sure there are other ways you've put those skills to use that haven't been entirely self-serving."

"You think too highly of me."

"Agree to disagree."

A low rumble of dissatisfaction breaks from his chest, and I suppose I'm meant to take it as a warning. But I've never been too good at listening to Cas's warnings, so I prop myself up and say what I need to while looking him directly in the eye.

"I can't even begin to fathom the amount of life you've lived, or the things you've seen and endured, but I… I trust you, Cas. I do." I flatten my hand just over his heart. "And I know you've got a whole lot of good in here."

Whatever effect I thought that soft declaration might have, it wasn't the absolute devastation I see break across Cas's face. Before I can fully process it, he pushes me gently off of him, rolling onto his side and moving like he's going to climb out of bed and leave me here alone again.

"Stop," I call after him, and he halts just at the edge of the mattress.

He sits with his shoulders slumped, feet resting on the floor, head bowed. I push myself up and crawl toward him, stopping just short of touching him.

"I'm sorry," I croak, throat tight. "I didn't mean to… I was only trying to…"

His shoulders rise, then fall, and when he glances back at me, all those shadows still haunt his handsome face.

"There's no need to apologize. I overreacted, and I'm sorry, sweet Ophelia."

Sweet Ophelia.

He's called me that ever since that night seven years ago at the Raven, but never quite like this. Never quite so reverent, so broken.

I press myself to his back, one arm draped across his chest and the other curled around his jaw so I can turn his head enough for me to lean forward and catch his lips with mine.

The kiss starts soft and searching, tentative, barely more than a brush of our lips together.

It doesn't stay that way.

With a growl-edged groan, Cas shifts and reaches for me, tugging me forward until I'm sprawled across his lap. He fists a hand in my hair and deepens the kiss, claiming every inch of my mouth in rough, tender possession.

And when he pulls back—face half lit in the faint streetlight shining in through the windows, and half caught in the room's deep shadows—he looks at me with something in his eyes I can't quite read. Something like awe, or disbelief, or desperation, or some combination of all three.

"You're extraordinary, Ophelia. I hope you know that."

I'm not, not really, not any more so than any other person, certainly not more than him, but I don't say that. I just kiss him again, pouring as much want and need and acceptance into the kiss as I can.

Before long, Cas has me sprawled out on the bed, sinking into the plush duvet, and he pauses a moment just to look at me. All of me. Cast in those same streetlights and shadows, I'm laid entirely bare for him.

Cas prowls up the length of me, taking his slow, decadent time and savoring every inch. With his pale blond hair falling messily over his forehead, red eyes burning in the low light, and lip curled back in a satisfied smirk to display a gleaming white fang, he's otherworldly handsome.

And I'm a complete fucking goner.

It's overwhelming, the strength and the power of him. All the long, elegant lines of his body, the hard, beautiful angles of his face. The force of him, the magick of him, entirely focused on me.

He settles into the cradle of my body, giving me more of his weight before hooking one of his muscled thighs under mine and pressing up. It spreads me wide beneath him, stretches me so deliciously that a strangled gasp catches in my throat.

The sharp points of his fangs ghost over my collarbone, my neck, my jaw, before he takes my mouth in a deep, inexorable kiss.

It kicks up a renewed wave of heat and hunger. Spreading through my veins like slow fire, making my throat ache and my pussy throb.

I tangle a hand in his hair and tug until he leaves my mouth, then direct him lower to the bared expanse of my throat, arched back and open for him. It's shameless, demanding, but I'm so far beyond caring right now.

"I've taken enough from you for tonight," Cas murmurs, even as he skims his fangs along my hot, over-sensitized skin, finding his mark.

Unable to suppress my moan, I arch further into him, grip his hair tighter in a wordless command.

"Ophelia." His voice is rough, thick, strained with whatever scrap of restraint he's using to hold himself back.

"I'm sure a little more isn't going to kill me." I try for a joke, but my voice is too raspy, too breathless, and he groans.

"I don't want it to influence you. I shouldn't have done it before, either. All those times we've mixed a bite with your pleasure. I ought not to have—"

"Cas." I take his face between my hands. "If you'll remember, I asked for it. Both times. And I'm asking for it now."

The hunger in his eyes sends a pang of pure need through me, a clawing desperation to have him in me again.

His fangs. His cock. Either. Both.

I don't really care. I just need him now .

He leans in, but not quite close enough. "Tell me again, then. Tell me you want my bite. Tell me how you ache for it."

"I want it, Cas. I want it so fucking bad it hurts. I want you to bite me, feed from me, devour me. I want—" My words break off in a startled gasp as he lunges closer.

Cas flips our position in one smooth move, then shifts up the bed so his back is against the headboard. He brings me with him, keeping his strong arms banded around me as he settles me in his lap.

Faces just a few inches apart, torsos and hips pressed together, his arms tighten to draw me even closer. It traps his hard, thick cock against my stomach, and I snake a hand down between our bodies to wrap my fist around his length.

Cas hisses through his teeth. "Ophelia."

God, I like it when he says my name like that.

There's something about having a man desperate and begging for it that's such a fucking power trip. I'm no sadist, and I try not to be too cruel, but goddamn does it do things to me.

And with this man? This vampire?

Take that feeling and multiply it by a hundred. A thousand.

I raise to my knees—one on each side of his hips as I straddle him—and keep one hand on his shoulder for balance, the other in a firm grip on his cock. Instead of sinking down onto him right away, I slide against him, wetting the length of him with my arousal and his come. Once, twice, again, I pause at the top of each stroke to tease my clit with the broad head of his cock, at least until he's decided he's had enough.

"Ophelia." Cas squeezes my hips in an unmistakable warning. "Cruel, beautiful, sweet Ophelia. Give me mercy."

I kiss him, biting at his bottom lip and swallowing his moan.

And, because I'm such a nice person, I heed that plea for mercy.

I take him slowly, one delicious inch at a time, savoring the stretch. When I'm fully seated on him, Cas finally gives me what I want.

His fangs pierce my skin and sink deep, ratcheting up everything else I'm feeling in a wave of pain and pleasure and oblivion. I move on him, rolling my hips against his, arching into his hold and his bite.

Impossible to withstand, all this sensation. The deep, aching stretch of his cock, the fire coursing through my veins. The heady power of taking control, riding him, keeping him pinned in place with my hips as I writhe and grind and take my pleasure just how I want it.

My climax twists and tightens in my belly, urgent and undeniable, and though I do my damnedest to hold it off as long as I can, it breaks over me with a force that wrenches a hoarse scream from the back of my throat. Stronger, harder, more all-encompassing than the other orgasms Cas gave me tonight, it leaves me limp in his arms, helpless to do anything but lose myself in it.

Cas pulls his fangs from my neck and seals the wound with one last long draw and a flick of his tongue over the marks. He takes my arms and settles them more firmly on his shoulders, then leans in to murmur into the skin just below my ear.

"Can you hold on to me?"

"Yeah," I pant. "Yeah. I can do that."

"Good. I think I like it when you're this agreeable."

"Don't get used to it."

With a deep chuckle, he takes my hips in his hands, grasping firmly. He lifts me almost all the way off his cock before guiding me back down, moving me just how he wants.

Somehow, impossibly, another pulse of deep, fluttering pleasure stirs in the bottom of my belly—another orgasm building, maybe, or a continuation of the one he just gave me. It's really, really hard to tell at this point. Whatever it is, I lose myself in a delicious sort of helplessness as he takes control.

So much trust, in losing myself like this. Held by him, surrendered to him, I bury my face in his neck and breathe in the damp salt and sharp spice of his skin.

I cry out again as his muscles tense and strain, as his rhythm builds to a breaking point.

And then we both shatter. Cas spills into me with a shout, re-piercing his mark and drawing deep. His low, broken groan of satisfaction echoes from that mark and all the way through me.

After a few long minutes, we slump back to the bed in a tangle of limbs and groans and soft caresses.

Cas carefully tends to the wound he made, taking what I strongly suspect is longer than he strictly needs to. He leans over and lights a couple of candles on the bedside table, eyes half-hooded and appreciative as he turns back to look at me in their flickering glow. His gaze is warm, appraising, oh-so-satisfied as he places his hand gently around my neck, thumb brushing over the marks.

"Perfect."

That single word makes me feel like a puddle of a person, sinking into the luxury of the bed and drawing him down beside me.

I haven't stayed the night in his house since he kidnapped me out of my van, but tonight it just feels… right. To be here, with him, feels so incredibly natural.

I glance around the room, only half-seeing it in my hazy, fucked-out stupor.

"You brought me back to the guest room." The words are lazy, inane, distracted, but Cas tenses beneath me the moment I say them. "What?"

He doesn't answer right away. I prop myself up on an elbow to look at him, and his eyes are fixed upward, staring at the intricately carved panels on the ceiling.

"Cas." I grab his chin and turn his face toward me. "What is it?"

"This is…" He runs a hand distractedly through the tousle of his hair. "My room."

"Oh."

We're both silent for a few weighted seconds before Cas awkwardly clears his throat.

"I can… stay elsewhere, if this is not what you… if it's—"

"Don't you dare," I say with a laugh, sprawling myself across his chest.

Cas cradles me to him with one arm on my back, his other hand stroking softly through my hair.

"Very well. I'll stay."

"Good. I think I like it when you're this agreeable."

He huffs a laugh, the sound echoing deep where the side of my face is pressed to his chest. I rise and fall with the steady pattern of his breath, settle into his warmth, and before long, I'm drifting off.

The very last conscious thought I have before falling asleep is how nice it might be if we could always be agreeable like this, right here, together.