Page 66 of Tears of Revenge

“And now you’re going to finish it to prove a point.”

“It has me in a chokehold,” Varos chuckled and leaned over the table, putting a stray piece into its correct pile.

“Would you like some help?”

“I would enjoy that very much.”

“Do you have a picture of what it’s supposed to look like?”

He pointed at his desk, where she saw a picture of a beautiful landscape. When she turned back, her heart melted. Varos was already long lost in the pieces before him. She chose the seat directly across from him and started to help him search for the edges.

“Marcus won’t tell me how old he is. But would you be open to share some of your past?”

“What would you like to know, sweet dove?”

“Maybe how you grew up? Or how you turned?”

“I was a bastard,” Varos offered freely. “A child born out of wedlock. My father was of royal blood, so my mother hid me for fear that I would be killed. She was a whore, but it kept us alive and fed. Once I was of age, I found work with a farmer and left her. The cities were crowded and with the fear my mother seeded in me, I left and never looked back.”

Varos spoke almost clinically, leaving out smaller details—like who “us” was—but she didn’t pry. When Lysander had opened up, he’d seemed upset. Maybe this was Varos sharing with her but not enough to open old wounds.

“Life was hard then, sicknesses not easily cured and living conditions terrible, but the people looked out for each other more than nowadays—at least in my village. One day, I was sent back to the big city to sell our harvest. On my way there, I met my maker. He didn’t think I would survive but when I did he thought it was amusing to keep me in the dark on what he’d done to me. I fed and killed, losing myself in the blood rush. When I came down from the high and saw the carnage I left behind, it nearly killed me—mentally, as it was. I denied myself blood and kept myself weak. That’s how the lycans caught me. I hadn’t known about them but they kept me from killing, so I willingly let them imprison me.”

She stared at him, the puzzle long forgotten.

“I never had any desire to go back. Even after Lysander freed us. I couldn’t face what I had done, couldn’t confirm my suspicions.” His eyes met hers, pooling with red as a single bloody tear ran down his cheek. “I would never let that happen to you. I would never let you give into your urges, never put you in a position to lose your humanity unwillingly. Though, if you ever choose to do it willingly, I promise with my life that I will remain by your side.”

Twenty-Three

Varos

He wasn’t sure for how long, but Avalon had fallen silent. Silent and unbelievably still. She looked like a statue, her human motions forgotten. No heartbeat, no breathing. Not a single muscle twitched. She didn’t even blink. He didn’t regret saving her life—not one bit. But in that moment, he mourned her human body. He missed the way she blushed under their praise, the soft whoosh of her lungs filling with air and the scent of her blood rushing just beneath the skin.

Of their own accord, his feet carried him around the table. Avalon tracked his movements, sitting stone still with her lips parted to utter words she couldn’t find. He came to a stop in front of her, brushing his thumb over her cheek and feeling his lips curl into a smile.

“You are doing so well, little dove,” he praised. And she was. She battled her excruciating thirst every second of the day, executing more and more control every time she fed from Lysander. “You mesmerise me every day with your impeccable strength.”

“I…”

He silenced her with his lips on her forehead.

“I don’t understand. If you lost yourself after you turned then how am I…” She trailed off, seemingly unable to form her thoughts into words.

“Because you’re self aware. You do not give into temptation. You have been given the time and space to adjust to your new body without giving into the thirst.” His lips brushed against her skin as he spoke. “You are strong and determined not to hurt anyone.”

“So, if you brought a human in here I wouldn’t be this calm.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“What about Lysander?”

“Lysander might taste good, but he is not fully human. His blood is nothing compared to a pure human’s essence.”

Avalon shuddered, almost as intrigued by the thought as she was terrified. Then she reached up, curling her hand around his neck and pulling herself to her toes. Her mouth claimed his, her body guiding him back until he slammed into the wall. He willingly gave up control, giving her what she needed as his shirt was ripped from his body. Avalon expertly worked open his belt, shoving his trousers to the floor as her tongue breached his mouth.

He worked at her clothes, calculated yet efficient. Once she was bare from her waist down he lifted her into his arms, her legs finding their spot around his waist. His cock wept, aching for her touch. Avalon effortlessly positioned the head at her entrance, and he swallowed a groan as she sank onto his length slow and steady. He turned and shoved her against the wall, pulling a moan from her chest.

Avalon wound her fingers in his hair, clenching hard and wrenching his head to the side to expose his neck. Seemingly forcing herself to go just as slow as he was, she teased her nose along his jawline. “I don’t deserve you,” she whispered.