Chapter 10

10

GAbrIEL

I t had been a very long time since I'd gone camping. As the age of indoor plumbing dawned, my preference for cities had grown stronger. I enjoyed the bustle of them, the knowledge that all those lives were packed in together, bumping into each other in clumsy and incredible ways. The forest flanked Eldoria, so whenever I felt the need to get away for a while, it was easy enough to do so and still be home in time to sleep in my own bed.

Generally, that wasn't an issue. It did, however, mean I had absolutely no camping supplies. In a panic, I went out and bought a possibly excessive amount of top-of-the-line camping equipment, most of which was imbued with some form of magic or another. I packed all of it into a hideously expensive enchanted backpack the store owner had assured me would shrink down anything I put into it to fit. The backpack seemed larger than was strictly necessary, and was also an unfortunately fecal shade of brown, but he'd insisted it was their highest-quality offering.

I set out some of my more outdoorsy clothing to wear the next day. The backpack sat next to them, its hulking, utilitarian brown shape out of place among the decadent jewel tones of the rest of my bedroom. I felt twitchy, filled with a strange nervous energy I couldn't seem to shake off no matter how hard I tried.

Tomorrow, I would be spending more time with Evangeline than I ever had before. Just a scant few days ago, it had been nearly unthinkable to see her vulnerable, and now I would be sleeping next to her. No, I corrected myself forcefully. Not next to her, just… nearby. Thinking about sleeping next to her was a far more dangerous idea.

Still, I would see her late at night, lit by the campfire and the stars. I would see her first thing in the morning, sleepy and rumpled. I'd never looked forward to seeing someone's bedhead so much before. It baffled me.

A distraction—that was what I needed. Some casual fun to take my mind off things. My lack of interest in Gwendoline the night before had been a fluke, I was sure, and finding someone to let off some steam with was probably exactly what I needed.

I swapped out my Mulberry jacquard shirt for something more appropriate for the evening—a burgundy damask shirt in a slimmer fit. It accentuated the lines of my shoulders nicely, and I'd been told that it did wonderful things for my eyes.

I went down the hall to my housemate Theo's suite and rapped my knuckles on the frame of the open door. They were sprawled in an armchair, fiddling with something, but they looked up when I knocked.

"I don't suppose you'd be interested in a night out?" I asked.

"I mean, I was doing some important work on my Animal Crossing island," they said, setting aside the brightly colored device they'd been toying with, "But I think I could be persuaded. Where did you want to go? Ichor? The Apothecary? Ghost Light?"

"Definitely not Ghost Light," I said. "Not until they stop doing exclusively Hamlet-themed cocktails and absinthe."

Theo nodded. "And most of the cocktails are pretty much just absinthe, anyway."

"I was thinking The Wellspring," I told them, and they perked up.

"That sounds perfect," they said. "Boys' night? I can let Vic and Nathan know."

"Boys' night," I agreed, putting as much gravitas as I could into it, since Theo found it bafflingly funny when I took things too seriously.

I was on a dark street, staring up at a window. Blustery wind swept around me, sending fallen leaves skittering across the pavement. There was a window above me, and it was incredibly important. I had to get inside. There was something in my hand—a pebble, maybe? It didn't matter. I tossed it at the window, and it hit the glass with a faint clack. I threw another, and then another.

The window opened, and suddenly I realized why it was so important for me to be there. Evangeline leaned out. Her hair fell in waves around her face, painted gold by the streetlight. I must have woken her, because her face was soft and sleepy in a way I'd never seen on her before. My chest felt tight. She looked like a Pre-Raphaelite painting of an angel.

"Gabriel?" She spoke softly, but I could hear her as clearly as if she was right next to me.

"Evangeline," I breathed. "I'm sorry, I know it's late. I needed to see you."

"Is everything okay?" she asked. She was starting to blink the sleep from her eyes, and I knew instinctively that if there was something wrong, she would throw herself into fixing it with me.

"Can I come in?" I asked. I needed to be close to her. I needed to be able to touch her, to feel the warmth of her skin against mine.

"Of course, let me—" Evangeline said, ducking out of sight, but then I was moving through the window, the cold wind at my back. Her room was small but clearly well-loved, with a large bed made up with cream sheets and a tangle of mismatched blankets. The scent of her surrounded me, almost dizzying in its intensity. All of my reason had gone, leaving behind a creature made only of desperate longing.

"I can't stop thinking about you," I blurted out, and then, to my horror, I kept talking, pouring out my thoughts to her.

"What are you saying?" she asked when I finally paused. She took a step closer. The flimsy fabric of her robe didn't hide anything. It was a Herculean effort to keep my eyes on hers, but I'd already crossed so many lines in the past few minutes.

I opened my mouth to tell her I was sorry for intruding, and that I was going to leave, but the words wouldn't come out.

"You're intoxicating," I admitted instead. "I can't bring myself to want anyone but you, and I want you so desperately, I feel like I'm going to go mad with it. I'm tired of pretending." The confession was surprisingly difficult. It was too much to hope she might return my feelings, but there was a sinking pit of dread opening up in my stomach at the idea that she would decide our partnership wasn't worth it anymore.

Her face was turned up toward me, pale and lovely in the low light being cast into the room by the streetlights. I couldn't read her expression. I was struck by a sudden certainty that I had ruined this strange, fragile thing between us, and there would be no way for me to repair it.

But then Evangeline, as she so often did, surprised me. "Fuck it," she said, and then we were kissing, hot and frantic and desperate. She pulled away just long enough to yank my shirt off, and then we were falling into her bed, and I was undoing my belt, then holding myself steady for her to sink down onto…

I woke, blinking up at my bedroom ceiling, glaring upward at nothing in particular.

Of course, I thought. Of course my subconscious would decide to do this to me. My cock was achingly hard, with precum dripping onto my stomach. I sighed. The dream was still tantalizingly present in my mind, but I could feel it starting to fade like mist being burned away by the sun. I couldn't shake the image of Evangeline on top of me, her eyes dark with lust and lips kiss-bruised, her robe slipping off her shoulders to reveal her pert breasts.

I couldn't help myself. I reached down and took myself in hand, stifling a groan of relief at the sensation. It was too dry, but going to the effort of grabbing lube felt as though it would make this worse somehow. This wasn't something for me to luxuriate in. This was simply me dealing with an issue. I swiped up the precum from my stomach and used that instead, stroking myself quickly and just on the right side of too tight.

I thought of the unabashed lust I'd seen in the eyes of dream-Evangeline, and how she'd looked at me like I was something she had been craving. I thought of the sight of her bare, freckled chest, and nipples pebbled in the cold night air. She'd been sensitive, pushing into my hands when I touched her there. When she'd straddled me, her robe had parted over her legs, showing me a glimpse of neatly groomed chestnut hair between her legs.

My hand was moving faster now, twisting around the flushed head of my cock with each stroke. I thought of the hot, wet press of her cunt against me as she started to slide down onto me, as well as the velvety warmth of her, and my hips jerked up off the bed.

Would Evangeline approach sex the same way she approached everything else, with skill and determination? I was thrusting up into every stroke of my hand now, ragged gasps escaping me. Would she look up at me with that sharp, examining gaze, even as she went down on her knees and took me into her mouth? Would she smile to herself like she'd solved a mystery when she managed to make me fall apart?

I thrust up into my own tight grip one last time, letting out a broken moan. Pleasure tore through me ruthlessly. My grip slackened, and I closed my eyes, panting. I didn't need to, really, but breathing was a hard habit to break, even after centuries.

When I managed to resurface from the hazy, pleasure-drunk place I'd sunk into, I huffed out a breathless laugh of disbelief. Just from my own hand and the thought of Evangeline, I'd come so hard that some of it had nearly reached my collarbones.

"I think I may be in trouble."