28

Casimir

I'm not sure if I've ever felt anything quite so satisfying as tending to Ophelia.

She leans against me, relaxed and trusting in the heat of the shower and the morning light streaming in through the bathroom's high window.

Earlier this morning, I ordered in breakfast for us both, and we enjoyed it in bed after sleeping late.

And now, she lets me wash her hair and run a washcloth over her arms and legs and back, exploring the expanse of her lean muscles and soft skin. It gives me far too many ideas about just where I'd like to mark that skin, but I hold myself back and keep my fangs tucked safely away.

Even when her breath catches and she moans low in her throat. Even when she leans into the press of my lips at her neck when I can't stop myself from bending down for a kiss. Even when she twines her fingers into my hair and pulls me closer.

If either of us is going to be responsible for setting some limits, it should be me. I've had centuries to master my self-control, and I'm more than capable of exercising it now.

However, that control is immediately tested when Ophelia turns to face me, resting her shoulders against the shower's tiled wall with a slow, provocative smile breaking over her face.

I can do nothing to stop my eyes roving over her in naked admiration.

The long, graceful lines of her arms and legs, the divots of her collarbones flecked with droplets of water, the gentle slope of her stomach.

And the fresh bite mark right above her cunt.

Standing out in sharp red relief from the rest of her, my eyes find that mark immediately, throat tightening with thirst.

Gods, what did I tell Ophelia? That it would make her wild?

I can certainly eat those words, because as wild as it might have made her when I gave it to her, it's surely nothing compared to what the sight of it does to me now.

Entirely unable to help myself, I cup her damp mound, reveling in her gasp of pleasure and the little whimper of need that escapes the back of her throat when I press my palm more firmly against the mark and tease two fingers around her entrance.

"Not fair," Ophelia groans, even as she presses closer and grinds her hips into my touch. "You don't have any super-sensitive marks I can take advantage of."

The comment is innocent enough, offered in teasing protest even as she continues to move on me, seeking more friction.

The mental alleyways it sends me down, however, are anything but.

Back to all those doors best left closed and locked, slightly ajar now, though I'd be hard pressed to determine when exactly they cracked open.

The thought of Ophelia leaving a mark on me makes arousal spike hard and heavy, my cock growing even stiffer where it's pressed to her stomach.

If the two of us were to bond…

I stop the thought right there. Not only is it far too soon to consider such a thing, but do I even want to?

Nothing much has changed in the last seven years, nothing that would make me any more eager to tie myself to a bloodbound.

Nothing but the last few weeks and the woman before me, the slow revelation of all she is and all we might be together, the stirring of wants and hopes and dreams I thought had long gone dormant.

All bigger, more overwhelming questions than I should be considering here, now, still lost in the intoxicating heat and scent and pleasure of her.

Instead of examining it all any more closely, I reach out and turn Ophelia so she's facing the shower wall, then hook a hand under one of her knees and draw it up so her foot rests on the shower's bench seat. I wrap one hand in a gentle collar around her throat and turn her face toward mine, and lower the other back to her cunt—palm covering my mark, fingers delving into her slick folds to tease against her clit.

"When have I ever claimed to play fair, sweet Ophelia?" I murmur into the skin of her neck, fangs already seeking their point of entry.

A taste, just a taste. Something to tide me over until I have her in my bed again.

Because despite those looming, unanswerable questions, I already know I will have Ophelia in my bed as long as she's here in Boston. Damn the recklessness of it, damn whatever consequences might wait for us when this case inevitably ends. I could no sooner give her up now than I could stop myself from breathing.

"Fuck," Ophelia curses as I notch myself at her entrance and push just inside. "Fuck, Cas. Please, I—"

Her words cut off on a low, fractured scream as I thrust into her, bury my fangs in her throat, press my fingers hard against her clit.

And then we both lose ourselves.

To the steam and the cascade, to the unimaginable pleasure of bodies and blood and the pulsing, undeniable magick between us.

Despite the bliss of the morning, it doesn't take long for reality to intrude on our brief moment of sanctuary and peace.

We've just emerged from the bathroom when the sound of a phone vibrating cuts through the silence.

Across the room, Ophelia checks her cell and frowns.

It's on the tip of my tongue to ask her what the message is, if it has anything to do with the case, but after last night, I'm not sure if I have any right.

"I believe I owe you an apology."

Ophelia looks up from her phone. "For what?"

"For what Philippe said yesterday, regarding the two of us speaking. I want to apologize for not including you in that meeting. I should have."

"It's really none of my business what you—"

"It is," I tell her firmly. "When it comes to the case, it is your business."

Ophelia nods slowly. "Apology accepted, then. What did the two of you talk about?"

"Ancient history and our differing views of our place in the present. Nothing much helpful." I give her a brief rundown of the conversation.

Ophelia nods again, thinking. "He made it seem like he has information on the other two supposed victims. Information that would tie them back to the Haverstad campaign."

"He might be bluffing," I point out.

"He might be, but…" She trails off, crossing the room to sit down on the edge of the bed, lost in thought.

I meet her there, one hand braced on the wooden frame to keep myself from doing something foolish and distracting like burying that hand into her damp hair and kissing her again.

"But?"

"But… I don't know. You know him better than I do. Do you think he's bluffing?"

"I'm not sure." I lose my battle for restraint, at least partially, cupping her jaw and tilting her face up toward mine. "But after last night, I don't particularly care to see him again. At least any time this century."

She huffs a short laugh. "Agreed."

"So then, where will we find our next lead?"

Ophelia hesitates, a bit of uncertainty in her eyes as she glances back toward where she left her phone on the dresser.

"Apologies for the presumption. You don't have to answer that. I…" I trail off, a bit of shame creeping up the back of my neck. I drop my hand from her face. "After everything that happened last night, I don't want to presume that we're still…"

I can't make myself finish the sentence, but Ophelia fills in the blanks.

"That we're still working this case together?"

I nod, and Ophelia thinks for a moment. "I'm still alright working this with you, if you don't have any objection?"

"None."

Her lips turn up in a small, wry smile. "But maybe we shouldn't, uh, lay out all the details for the Bureau? I know Blair's not there anymore, and I feel like shit for keeping things from Cleo, but…"

I shrug. "I'm not on the Bureau's payroll, so I hardly think it's a human resources concern."

"You're not?"

"No. Blair always went through the formality of offering compensation, but I've always declined."

"Huh," Ophelia murmurs. "So we're… good, then?"

"We're wonderful. If you meant what you said about trusting me last night, then I'll let you know I feel the same. I trust you, Ophelia, and I want to see this case through together."

"Of course I meant it. And I want to see the case through with you, too."

She stands as she speaks, offering me her hand. A handshake—after all we shared last night—seems woefully inadequate for the weight of the trust settling between us.

Still, she offered, so I grasp her hand tightly in mine and use it as leverage to tug her closer. I breathe in her rich, sweet scent, reveling in the warmth of her.

"Deal."

I rest my forehead against hers, and we stay that way for a few long moments. At least until her phone vibrates with another incoming message.

Ophelia glances over at it. "Well then, in that spirit, want to come with me today to meet with Audra? She's got some more information on Devin."

We meet with the journalist in a hole-in-the-wall bar on the south side of downtown Boston.

At barely past eleven, there are only a couple of other patrons in the place, and none of them pay us any mind as we find Audra in a booth near the back.

"The infamous friend with fangs," she says as we approach, looking me up and down. "Glad you could join us."

Ophelia takes a seat in the booth, and I slide in after her. A bored-looking server stops by the table, barely glancing at us as we ask for a couple of sodas before he shuffles away.

"Part of the charm of this place," Audra says lightly as he goes. "No one looks too close."

That certainly seems to be the case. After the same server drops off our sodas a minute later, we're left entirely undisturbed.

"So," Ophelia says quietly. "You said you had some news?"

Audra nods. "I spoke to Devin. He's interested in talking on the record."

"I feel like there's a but in there somewhere," Ophelia says.

" But he's involved in all of this because Haverstad's campaign manager paid him off. Enough money to cover his tuition, apparently."

"It will be paid," I interject.

Both Audra and Ophelia shoot me a look.

I just shrug. "A small price, all things considered."

Ophelia shifts a little uncomfortably in her seat. "I doubt the Bureau would be able to finance that kind of—"

"I'll pay it personally."

A few seconds of incredulous silence pass as they both continue to stare at me.

"Really?" Audra asks. "Why?"

"I gave my word to Blair that I would do all in my power to help with this case, and paying one young man's college tuition is certainly within my power."

"Blair's not at the Bureau anymore," Audra points out.

"My promise still stands. And regardless, it also seems a small price to pay if it means getting Devin on record against Haverstad."

Beneath the table, Ophelia's fingers tighten slightly where they're resting on my thigh. I'm not sure what to make of the touch, or of the soft, searching look she gives me when I glance over at her. It only lasts a moment before she turns her attention back to Audra.

"You'll let Devin know?"

Audra nods. "I will. Anything else notable happening on your end?"

We give her a brief rundown about both our conversations with Philippe, skipping some of the more salacious details, but including his staunch unwillingness to help and his insinuation that he knows something about the other two alleged victims.

Audra's brow furrows. "I haven't gotten very far with either, other than a hunch that one of them works for the advertising firm the campaign keeps on retainer. The other's a mystery."

"We'll keep working on it," Ophelia assures her.

After a few more minutes of hushed conversation and promises to keep each other updated on any new developments in the case, we go our separate ways.

Standing on the sidewalk outside the bar, I catch Ophelia's hand in mine. She doesn't pull away or seem to question it at all, squeezing back as she glances up and down the street.

"Now what?" she asks, body already radiating energy, eyes bright with that boundless drive she possesses.

"Now," I say, drawing her closer. "We could go home and wait until we hear from Audra about Devin. I believe there are a few more secret places I could—"

"Cas." Ophelia rolls her eyes, obviously not impressed with the suggestion.

I'm about to kiss the irritated little frown right off her lips when an idea seems to strike her.

"Did Audra mention the name of the advertising company the campaign's working with?"

"I don't believe she did."

Dropping my hand, Ophelia pulls her phone out of her pocket and fires off a text. The reply comes just a few moments later, and she grins.

"Come on," she says, taking my hand again. "I did a job a few weeks back that involved an executive at that same firm, and have a contact who might be able to help us."

Part of me still wants to protest, to tease and tempt and cajole her until she agrees to take one short day away from the case. But I stop myself, enjoying the simple pleasure of seeing that spark in her eye as she sinks into her element, and I'm more than happy to let her lead me away from the bar.

As much as I'd like to have her back in my bed, and fully plan to later tonight, I can't deny this is wonderful, too. The two of us, working together, trusting one another, setting off for the first time as true partners on the case.