Valley of Silence
Page 75

She leaned back. “Clever of you to try to turn this into a matter of my trust in your fighting skills instead of my lack of spine.”
“If you’d had less spine and more sense, you’d have gone when I told you to.”
“Bollocks. The time for running is well done, and I would never have left you. I love you. I should have taken him with the sword, quickly. Instead, I wavered, and tried to find a way to drive him off so I wouldn’t be the one to end him. That moment of weakness could have cost us both. Believe me when I tell you it’s burned out of me.”
“And the misplaced guilt that goes with it?”
“May take a bit longer, but it won’t get in the way. We have only two days left. Two days.” She looked toward the window. “It’s quiet. This time just before dawn is quiet. She killed a young boy, and came to love what she’d made of it.”
“Yes. It doesn’t make either of them less of a monster.”
“Two days,” she said again, almost in a whisper. Something inside her was already dying. “You’ll go when this is done, if we win, if we don’t, you’ll go back through the Dance. I’ll never see you again, or touch you, or wake to find you’ve watched over me in the dark.”
“I’ll go,” was all he said.
“Will you come, hold me now, before the sun comes?”
He rose, went to her. Sitting beside her, he drew her against him so her head lay on his shoulder.
“Tell me you love me.”
“As I’ve loved nothing else.” He met her lips when she turned them to his.
“Touch me. Taste me.” She shifted so she lay over him, trembling body, seeking lips. “Take from me.”
What choice did he have? She was surrounding him, saturating his senses, stoking his needs till they burned. Offering as much as demanding as she pressed his lips to her breast.
“Take more. More and more.”
Her mouth was hot and desperate as she pulled away clothes, her teeth nipping at his jaw in sharp, quick bites while her breath shuddered.
She was alive now, burning and alive, with everything inside her rising, aching. How could she step back from this? The love, the heat, the life.
If she was destined to die in battle, then she’d accept it. But how could she live—day after day, night after night—without her heart?
She straddled him, taking him in, hips whipping as she fought to feel more, to take more. To know more.
Her eyes gleamed, almost a madness, and stayed locked on his. Then she leaned to him, and her hair fell, curtaining them both, trapping him in its texture and fragrance.
“Love me.”
“I do.”
His fingers dug into her hips as she drove him toward the jagged edge of peak.
“Touch me, taste me, take me.” On a cry, she lowered her throat to his lips, pressed that soft flesh with its pounding blood against him. “Change me.”
It was beyond him to stop the flood, it gushed through him, hot, strong, turbulent—and through her, he knew, as her body bucked and quaked. And shuddering, she rubbed that throbbing pulse against his mouth.
“Make me what you are. Give me forever with you.”
“Stop.” As his body shook, he shoved her away with a force strong enough to nearly send her to the floor. “You’d use what I am against me?”
“Yes.” Her chest burned with the tears that streamed through her voice. “Anything, anyone. Why should we find this only to lose it? Two days, only two days left. I want more.”
“There’s no more to have.”
“There could be. Lilith loved what she’d made, I saw it. You love me now, and I love you. We wouldn’t stop with the change.”
“You know nothing of it.”
“I do.” She grabbed his hand as he rolled out of bed. “There’s nothing I haven’t read. How can we just turn away from each other, and go on? Why should I choose death on the field rather than by your hand? It’s not true death if you change me.”
He pulled his hand free, then seemed to sigh. With a gentleness she couldn’t see in his eyes, he framed her face. “Not for all the worlds.”
“If you loved me—”
“A poor female trick, that phrase. Not worthy of you. If I loved you less, I might do exactly what you ask. I have before.”
He moved to the window. Dawn was upon them, but there was no need to draw the drapes. Dawn had come with rain.
“I cared for a woman once, long ago. And she loved me, or loved what she believed I was. I changed her because I wanted to keep her.” He turned back to where Moira knelt on the bed, silently weeping. “She was beautiful and amusing and bright. We’d make interesting companions, I thought. And we were, for almost a decade until she ran afoul of a well-aimed torch.”
“It wouldn’t be that way.”
“She was twice the killer I was. She liked children best. She was beautiful and amusing and bright—and no less so for the change. Only once she was like me, she put those qualities to use luring toddlers.”
“I could never—”
“You could,” he said flatly. “And most certainly would. I won’t turn the brightest light of my life into a monster. No, I’d never see you like me.”
“I don’t see a monster when I look at you.”
“I would be, again, if I did this. It wouldn’t just be you who changed, Moira. Would you damn me all over again?”
She pressed her hands to her eyes. “No. No. Stay then.” She dropped her hands. “Stay with me, as we are. Or take me with you. Once Geall is safe, I can leave it in my uncle’s hands, or—”
“And what? Live in the shadows with me? I can’t give you children. I can’t give you any kind of true life. How will you feel in ten years, in twenty, when you age and I don’t? When you look in the mirror and see in your nature what you’ll never see in mine? We’ve already stolen these weeks. They’ll have to be enough for you.”
“Can they be for you?”
“They’re more than I ever had, or thought to. I can’t be a man, Moira, not even for you. But I can feel hurt, and you’re hurting me now.”
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I feel as if everything in me is being squeezed. My heart, my lungs. I had no right to ask you, I know it. I knew it even when I did. Knew it was selfish and wrong. And weak,” she added, “when I’d sworn not to be weak again. I know it can’t be. I know it can’t. What I don’t know is if you can forgive me.”