Chapter 19 Chapter Nineteen
When Nikolai left the room, Sylvan took in a deep breath. His heart felt heavy in his chest. Every beat thumped against his ribcage in anticipation. Every instinct within him was telling him to crawl into bed with his fated mate. The personification of those instincts paced eagerly in his mind awaiting that moment. He held onto the logical side, his human side, the side that heard Nikolai and wanted to listen. Isla tried to readjust herself on the bed and whimpered when her movement pulled open more of her skin. The sound was enough to move his feet without his brain commanding them.
Sylvan placed his palms on the bed and crawled over her. The heat from her skin soaked through the fabric of his shirt and he groaned as his body reacted in a way that was contrary to the situation at hand. He wanted to sink into her in every way possible. He wanted to bury himself in her scent, her body, her soul. His teeth lengthened in a painful way. For the first time in his life, he tasted the bitter sweetness of his own venom on his tongue.
Every fiber in his being was telling him to follow the laws of nature, to take what was his, to claim, to mark, to master. Isla sighed in her sleep, as if sensing he was close to tipping over the precipice and not fighting it as she would if she were awake. He lifted one hand to move her hair away from her neck. Sylvan’s arms shook with his weight and his restraint as he bent down and pressed his lips to the skin he’d just exposed. His teeth scraped against her neck, aching in a way that he knew would only dissipate if he did what was meant to be done. His breath came out in a shuttering exhale.
Sylvan’s eyesight sharpened as his wolf came forward, not breaking any barriers or crossing any lines for fear that his master may lock him behind his walls again, only enough to be able to see his mate with better clarity. Her skin was perfection: soft, freckled from being raised on the water. Her hair was light, as if the sun had soaked into each and every fiber and bestowed its own energy within. Even the heat on her skin seemed to be nothing more than a vessel for the star that shone light down upon the world each day.
Sylvan sat back on his knees and straddled her thighs so he could move aside the ripped pieces of her dress. His wolf growled in his mind at the thought of another man putting his hands on what belonged to them. Defiling her dress, her body, in such a way that would leave marks when the only man who should be leaving marks was the one wishing to take them away.
There were over twenty lashes marring her skin. Several were layered on top of each other, resulting in the depth of the cuts. Sylvan took her hand and lengthened his teeth so he could puncture the skin of her palm. Isla barely twitched as the pain caused by his teeth paled to the pain radiating off her back. He then bit into his own palm and sealed their hands together. His fingers constricted as their bloods mingled in a way that was not like the first time their bloods mixed. Rather than pleasure and surprise, this union was tainted with pain, distrust, fear. He closed his eyes as he saw blurred images play out behind his lids. He could not quite make out what he was seeing but he could feel the emotion elicited by them. Dreams? Was she… dreaming? Could their bond be this strong with something as common as a blood binding?
Once he felt the connection had strengthened, he opened his eyes and took her hand from his. He lowered his lips and flicked his tongue across the small puncture marks. He then studied the small indentions, now pink and scarred. Then he looked down at her back. Only mates could heal each other. Only fated mates could heal each other before marking and cementing their bond by tethering their souls. These were all things they were taught as children, but seeing it happen in real time… Being able to take care of someone in a way only he could?
Sylvan lowered his head and ran his tongue up a thin strip where the whip had barely broken the skin. He tasted the copper of her blood mixed with her seaside essence. He watched, mesmerized as the skin closed together, healing at a rate she would never be able to accomplish on her own. He couldn’t mark her, he couldn’t claim her in the way she deserved, the way she was destined. He knew that, Nikolai knew that, even the fae who bound her knew that. She could never be more than a woman who warmed his bed, but at least, in this way, he could help her. Sylvan dropped his head again and continued his work.
It took over an hour to cover her back and heal her in the way he was able. The deeper parts would take more time, possibly some of the medicine Delilah was throwing together, but his own role was played. He sighed and rolled over, ready to test out the next part of Delilah’s theory, simply being with her. The moment his back hit the bed, her body instinctively moved toward him. Isla awake would fight him, push against their connection whether she understood or not. While she was sleeping it was her body in control and her body knew its other half. Her face still contorted in pain as she readjusted herself, but the lines between her brows faded as she laid her head against his chest and placed her curled hand over his heart. As her fingers loosened and her palm settled over the beating muscle in question, something cracked open within his chest.
Just tonight, he thought to himself. Then he would have to push her away again. At arms length. She would not need to go back to the servants’ quarters. It clearly wasn’t safe for her there. She could stay here, in his wing. She was his personal maid, that wouldn’t strike anyone as odd… would it? Did he care? At least here, he could keep an eye on her. Make sure no one was trying to hurt her, manipulate her, take her from him. He could live that way, her scent taunting him amid his sheets, her presence like a ghost in the walls. He could…
“Highness,” she whispered in her sleep, her tone one of concern, as she settled her cheek more fully against his skin. She must have felt the acceleration of his heart as his thoughts spiraled.
Sylvan cleared his throat. “Sylvan,” he whispered back, his voice a croak as it was forced through his swollen windpipe. “Call me Sylvan, Isla.”
“Highness,” she said on an exhale before her face relaxed back in sleep.
The door to the room opened and Sylvan fought against the urge to shield her. It was merely Delilah.
“How did it go?” she whispered.
“It seems to have worked, but there is still damage to contend with,” he informed her.
Delilah nodded and lifted the basket in her hand. “I can come back later.”
“No,” he said, reaching his hand out to stop her as she put the basket down on the table beside the door. He swallowed hard. “No, I think it’s best I leave her and allow you to do… whatever it is you want to do.”
Delilah nodded in answer and turned her back, allowing him a modicum of privacy while he extricated himself from Isla’s grasp. Before he pulled away, he bent down and allowed himself one final delve into her scent. The aroma seemed to put his wolf in a daze long enough for Sylvan to step away from the bed. Then his wolf began ramming against his cage, set on stopping Sylvan from doing what was best for both of them.
“Make sure you do everything you can,” Sylvan ordered, his voice gruff.
“Of course, I always do, Your Highness,” Delilah said, curtsying slightly.
“Don’t call me that,” he told her.
She gave him a quizzical look but didn’t ask questions. Sylvan cast one last lingering glance of longing to his mate before stepping out of the room. He leaned back against the door and sighed before shoving off of it and heading for his own room. The scent of her still lingered from when she’d cleaned it. He pulled back the curtains of his bed, laid down and allowed himself to drown in her scent as if the ocean itself was pulling him into its depths.