Part 8 (2/2)

Her decision made, she stood, returning the vendor's empty cup. Paying little attention to her surroundings, trusting her feet to carry her home, she wrapped the noisy bundle in layer upon layer of blanketing memories, m.u.f.fling its cries until only silence remained.

Staying with Pan would be dangerous, probably even something she might regret one day, but the one thing she would not allow it to be was predictable.

Chapter 17: The Devil You Know.

In the late afternoon, Ysa sat on the edge of the bed, staring down at Pan. He lay so still, his skin so white he could have been carved from marble. A tawny lock rested on his forehead. Ysa tenderly brushed it aside, then pulled away with a gasp, the tips of her fingers numbed. Reaching out tentatively, she touched his arm. He was cold, so cold, and as she stared at his chest she realized it wasn't moving. He wasn't breathing!

He was dead. Gone, just when she had realized that everything she had ever wanted was here in this room. She flung her arms around him, whispering ”No, no.”

The last purple rays of sunset stained the curtains like blood, plunging the room into semi-darkness alleviated only by a fluttering candle flame, and then the sun disappeared beneath the horizon. Ysa froze as Pan took a deep, shuddering breath. ”Pan?”

His hands gripped her shoulders, raising her up to peer at him. ”Oh, Pan. I thought you were dead!”

He didn't answer, staring at her with a thinly veiled hunger that both frightened and excited her. ”Have you decided?”

In answer, she ran her hands down his chest, staring into his eyes as her fingers deftly loosened his breeches and tugged them down past his hips.

Pan licked his lips. ”Ysa --”

She pressed a finger against them to silence him. Climbing onto the bed, she gathered her skirts to her waist and straddled him, pressing swollen wet lips against his hardened member. She let the skirts drop, leaning close as she slid up until the tip of his c.o.c.k nestled between her slick folds.

Easing his thick shaft inside, she pressed another finger to his mouth when he again tried to speak, letting him see her excitement as she buried him within her. When he was sheathed completely, she looked down, shaking her head. ”You lied to me, Pan.”

He stiffened, his hand tightening where it rested on her shoulder. ”What do you mean?”

”I am already immortal.”

Anger, disappointment, then determination flashed in his eyes. He locked gazes with her, and she felt his mind reaching for hers.

”Don't.”

He stopped, eyes wide with incredulity.

Ysa spoke calmly as she pushed his s.h.i.+rt up, tickling his abdomen with the tips of her nails. He s.h.i.+vered. ”I spent quite some time today down at the docks, thinking.” She pressed her nails against his chest, drawing them down slowly, leaving red marks on the skin, watching desire -- and bafflement -- grow in wary eyes. ”You were trying to trick me, Pan. Trying to make me into something that cannot be with Vitale, weren't you?”

He surged abruptly, trying to rise, but she dug her nails into the s.p.a.ces between his ribs, until he winced in pain and subsided. ”Weren't you?”

Frustrated, angry, his voice rasped. ”Yes!”

Ysa smiled, relaxing her grip, allowing her fingers to travel down to toy with the golden curls at his groin. ”You're a very bad boy, Pan.”

In sudden surrender, he let his hands fall to the blankets and closed his eyes. His next words held nothing but weariness and despair. ”You are all I have ever wanted, Ysa, but... I will finally end it. I will let you go.”

She leaned forward, pressing into him. Her lips brushed his as she whispered. ”Oh, no, Pan. Don't become a good boy now. Not when I've finally realized that a bad boy is exactly what I've always needed.”

His eyelids opened abruptly, revealing hazel depths within which doubt warred against hope.

”Make me immortal, Pan.Your kind of immortal. And take me again. Make me yours in every way tonight.” She drew back and began to move, his cool shaft sliding in and out of her p.u.s.s.y. ”Forever.”

Pan shook his head in disbelief and confusion even as he reached out and tangled his hands in her hair. ”Why?” he whispered.

Ysa opened her mind to the touch that still trembled around its edges. ”I love you.”

His hands tightened painfully in her hair. For the s.p.a.ce of several heartbeats, he froze, his mind sifting through hers. What he found there slowly replaced the doubt on his face with a tender joy she had never before seen in him. ”You do,” he breathed.

Ysa nodded, and suddenly tears were creeping down her cheeks, which was stupid, because why should she cry when the man she loved looked at her with such devotion?

His hands trembled as he pushed her curls over one shoulder, tilting her head gently to one side, baring her neck. ”It will hurt, Ysa, but the pain will pa.s.s.” His voice shook.

She nodded wordlessly.

He opened his mouth wide, and fangs gleamed white in the candlelight. One moment his head was on the pillow, the next, excruciating pain took her breath away as twin points of fire sank into her neck.

She clutched his shoulders, fighting the urge to scream, afraid that if she did he would stop. Quickly, though, the pain at her neck became heat, a warm flush that curled throughout her body.

His throat worked, wet sounds accompanied by fierce sucking. The thrilling warmth reached the s.p.a.ce between her legs, unfurling into unbridled pa.s.sion. Ysa rocked, running her fingers up his arms, to curl in his hair and press his face tightly against her neck.

Pan moaned, grasping her tight, rolling over so that he was above her. Driving his shaft deep, again and again, he drained her life's blood.

Then he froze, his c.o.c.k throbbing as she convulsed around him, and it was as though a thousand icicles pierced her at once. Yet with the cold came a moment of pleasure so intense it blinded her. The white world shattered into a thousand pieces, and she was floating in a starless void. Invisible talons, harsh and painful, reached inside her. Rending, reaping, they grasped a bright spark deep within her and tore it from her body, and she was empty.

A sh.e.l.l, lost and frightened.

Whispers came, seeping in through her pores, speaking of power, magic... and an eternity with Pan. A great sadness swept through her momentarily, at the loss of something she could not name, yet which seemed priceless. And then the void was filled, and she could no longer remember what she had lost.

She woke in his arms, to find him watching her anxiously. ”Are you all right?”

No sooner had she nodded than a wave of nausea washed over her. Gasping, she curled up beside him, clutching her waist.

No longer white as alabaster, Pan's face gleamed golden in the flickering light, flushed with health, his eyes haunted. ”I'm sorry.”

Ysa shook her head and reached out, clinging to him as she had always done. The room spun frantically, and she was afraid she would lose consciousness again, but Pan was there, whispering in her ear that he loved her, had always loved her, and always would. Bile and dizziness receded. ”Water,” she croaked.

Pan helped her off the bed, guided her over to the wash basin. She splashed tepid water on her face, then looked in the mirror...

There was nothing there. Not her, not Pan. Only the candle, and shadows that bulked and faded as the flame flickered in a breeze from the open window.

She swayed briefly, thinkingWhat have we become? but Pan's hand at her back steadied her. She turned and embraced him, burying her face in his chest. ”I love you,” she whispered.

A shadow blocked the light of the moon, and they both raised their heads, turning as one toward the windows.

Vitale perched on the balcony, his jaw tight, eyes filled with pain. Pan took a step, but halted when Ysa placed her hand on his arm. She stepped forward. ”I'm sorry, Vitale. I didn't know my own heart, until today.”

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