And that was when it happened. Down at his hips, his cock, which was a very nice size all flaccid and shit, began to thicken and get longer.
Devina bit her lower lip as a wellspring of pure, unadulterated lust blasted in between her legs.
“And who are you,” he demanded in an aristocratic, arrogant tone that was a surprise.
When she didn’t immediately answer, one of his brows arched up—as if he were used to being the best and the brightest in any situation, a special gift to the world, and everybody around him needed to justify their existence. On his frickin’ timeline.
Entitlement, thy name is Adonis, she thought.
Holy shit… he was exactly like her.
Devina smiled so wide her cheeks hurt. “Your one true love, that’s who I am.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
As Rahvyn regained consciousness, she wasn’t exactly sure where she was.
She was lying down on something very soft, and as she opened her eyes, she saw blank, windowless walls, and supply cabinets that had glass fronts, and silent machines with cords. There were a sink and cupboards in the corner. A rolling chair with a black seat. A smooth, speckled floor the color of porridge. A door that was closed.
She had no memory of how she had come to be here. No clue as to who had transported her thusly.
She recalled what she had done, however.
“Dearest Virgin Scribe, forgive me,” she whispered.
Overhead, there was a soft whistle of heat coming through venting, and out in what she presumed was the corridor she’d been waiting in, someone walked by on soft-soled shoes.
“You’re awake.”
At the sound of her dear cousin’s voice, she lifted her head. Sahvage was sitting on a chair pulled up to her opposite bedside, his elbows on his knees, his weight leaning forward as if he’d wanted to jump into her unconsciousness and pull her out of it.
His face was drawn in tight lines.
“He’s okay,” he said. “Nate.”
“I know.” Her voice was rough and she cleared her throat. “May I have something to—”
Her cousin jumped up, as if he’d been desperate to help, and he immediately produced a white cup like he’d been waiting to perform the rehydration function. He had to help her get the straw in between her lips, and he held everything in place. After a couple of sips, she settled back against the pillows.
Sahvage put the water aside on a tray that was as tall as the bed was high. Then he sat down again and stared at her.
“Yes,” she whispered, “that is what I did to you.”
“There was a lot of wind in that room. We tried to get in, but the door was barricaded.”
“It takes a lot of energy to get to the junction of creation.”
Sahvage stared down at his hands. “How did you know you could do that? I mean, I was aware that you had… power. But I had no idea…”
As he trailed off, she knew he was not solely considering her rejuvenation of him. He was thinking about what she had done at that castle. To the guards who had sought to keep her therein, and especially to the aristocrat who had so violently abused her body.
She had killed a dozen or more males that night.
And brutalized the one who had taken her virginity with force.
“Where did you go after you left that castle?” he asked absently, as if it was another inquiry he had pondered many times by himself over the centuries that had separated them.
“I was in time,” she murmured. “I told you.”
“I don’t even know what that means. I don’t understand any of this.”
Rahvyn sat up upon the bed. As she looked down at herself, she found that a blanket had been pulled over her. She was still in the same clothes—the black sweater, the jeans—and she brushed at the dried blood.
Even after she washed them, she was never going to put on this outfit again.
“I am sorry,” she said. Because it was easier than telling him she had to leave.
“I used to think this… immortality thing you gave me… was a curse.” He shook his head and spoke slowly. “But if you hadn’t given me this… new life, whatever it is, I wouldn’t have my Mae. I couldn’t have protected my Mae.”
Rahvyn wasn’t sure what to say to that.
“Anyway, thank you,” he said roughly. “I can’t… thank you enough.”
He took her hand, holding it gently in between his much larger palms. And then he lowered his forehead down and placed it on the clasp that joined them.
Reaching over, she stroked her cousin’s hair. Again, she found that she had nothing to say. Whether it was because of the amount of effort she had had to apply unto the saving of Nate or because—