Carver offered Lavinia one of the guest rooms for the day and, though she put up a resistance, she was too tired to refuse. After which Lucian, Carver, and I had a long, heated argument about whether to take her advice and get out.

I was firmly against it. Still am. But it was two against one. I should be happy to have two wonderful men who think my safety is more important than anything, even this. But all I can think about is what Lucian said earlier. I’m not a failure till I give up. But damn if this doesn’t feel like giving up.

I crashed out for a while, exhaustion from the trip finally catching up with me, and woke up around sunset. After a shower, wrapped in a silk robe, I sit at the patio table on the balcony and watch the sun slowly vanish behind the horizon in wide streaks of red and orange, like an impressionist painting. I drag a comb through my wet hair, thoughts far away, returning again and again to the empty tomb. I knew Lavinia was probably right, but I couldn't accept it. There has to be a way to finish this. I don’t want to fail, not when I’ve finally got a chance to make something meaningful out of my life.

My thoughts scatter at a tap on the balcony door and I turn to see Lucian standing in the doorway. The red and gold light of the sunset shines on his dark hair, highlighting the curve of his angular jaw. He looks even more beautiful and out of reach than ever. The empty tomb hadn't been my only recent disappointment. Not a failure my ass.

"May I join you?" he asks, smiling, and I nod, still distracted.

He steps past me to the balcony railing, leaning against it, looking out at the sunset. I watch the muscles of his back shift under his shirt, wishing I could stop torturing myself with the idea of being with him. However much I might like him, however much he might like me, however much Carver might try to encourage it, we both knew it couldn't happen. Lucian was too old fashioned, and too much of a good person, to just abandon his fiancé at the first sign of a pretty girl. Even if a prophecy and the fate of the Kresova was at stake, I can’t blame him. And I didn't want to be the kind of person that would encourage him to go against his morals.

He shifts a little to look back at me, the sunset illuminating the curve of his cheek and turning his brown eyes golden. He glances my way for only a moment, then looks away again.

"I spoke to Erica."

I frown, the name not ringing a bell. "You spoke to who?"

He clears his throat, shifts his weight from one foot to another and I realize that, for all his stoic silences, he might actually be pretty shy. Warmth spreads in my chest at the realization and I smile softly at him.

"My fiancé," he says at last, and it feels like being unexpectedly stung. A needle pin prick, too familiar to be very painful, but an unpleasant surprise all the same.

"Oh." I don't have the willpower for other words.

Lucian folds his hands on the railing, watching his own fidgeting fingers.

"I usually speak to her once a week," he says. "On Sundays. But with the peril of our situation I thought it was important to let her know I was still alive, and going into hiding. She's not aware of the details of our activities of course, but I didn't believe it was fair to her to possibly get myself killed without at least giving her a heads up."

"Yeah, I get that," I say, nodding, though I really don't want to hear this. Something about the quaint, reliable intimacy of a regular Sunday phone call, of thinking about him thinking of her, makes that pin prick from before jab deeper. "I mean, I'd probably be pretty pissed if my fiancé went off and died without telling me." With another woman. He’s fated to be with. No biggie.

He's quiet for a moment, watching the sunset, or his own hands, but never me. He twists the gold engagement band on his right ring finger absentmindedly.

"For the past several calls," he goes on, "I could tell something was bothering her. Something she wasn't telling me. I didn't press the issue. I don't feel I have the right to demand to know her secrets. Ours has always been an engagement of convenience."

That's news to me, and Lucian sees my raised eyebrows, and turs to face me fully.

"Our sires introduced us," he explains. "It was a political maneuver among our families. These sort of marriages are a common way of consolidating power among the vampire courts. Still, neither Erica nor I were opposed. We were both turned during a time when such things were commonplace among humans, and both more interested in our own endeavors than in dating at the time. Erica is a historian, you know? She's currently up to her eyeballs in vampire genealogy. Who sired who, who went on to marry into which family, etc. etc."

I nod because I don't trust myself not to respond with sarcasm. Oh, who’s her sire? I’d love to send him a box of chocolates for this shit storm situation. Truly, can’t thank him enough. I don't really want to know what Erica's hobbies are. Knowing that Lucian wasn't marrying her for love should make this less painful, but instead it just makes it feel all the more impenetrable. And makes me feel more stabby.

"Anyway," Lucian looks down at his hands again, at the ring he's still twisting on his finger. "She told me today, the secret she's been keeping."

"What was it?" I ask, frowning, both hope and despair twisting through my gut.

Lucian smiles faintly, gathering himself. "She's fallen in love with someone else."

My eyes just about pop out of my head and he laughs a little under his breath.

"Some mortal grad student she's been collaborating with on her research," Lucian continues. "She says she never looked for love, but it found her anyway, perfect and completely unexpected. I know how she feels."

He glances up at me again, and slides the ring off of his finger, setting it on the patio table beside me.

"She's calling off the engagement."

I feel suddenly light headed, like I could float off the balcony like a soap bubble and drift into the sunset. I put a hand to my spinning head, trying not to get my hopes up.

"I'm sorry, Lucian," I say, not sure what else to say. Outloud at least. "What are you going to do?" Celebrate? Light your ring on fire? Perhaps dance in glee?

"We'll keep up appearances until we can find a way to end the engagement in the most mutually beneficial fashion," he says. "But, in the meantime..."

He reaches for my hand and kneels before me so that he can look more easily into my eyes. His touch is delicate, as though he thinks I'm a butterfly who might be accidentally crushed or fly away. "It does make this easier."

"Make what easier?" I ask. I need him to be as clear as possible before I let myself get excited. I really don't want to get my heart broken right now.

"Us," he says, covering my hand with his own, and I feel all the hopes I was trying to hold down flying away. "Unless I've badly misread the situation."

"You haven't," I say quickly. "You really haven't." Like for reals, how about we celebrate together. Horizontally in bed.

I see the smile growing on his face, all the more lovely for how rarely he shows his feelings.

"Then, you're interested in... courting me?" he asks.

I laugh, and answer him by kissing him hard.

For a moment, caught off guard, his lips are stiff against mine. Then he softens, a hand sliding into my hair, and kisses back. Undead as we are, he's warm, and kissing him is as different from kissing Carver as the two men themselves are. Lucian is slow, sweet, careful. He kisses as much with his hands as his lips. His fingers brush my cheek, stroke the column of my throat, drag across the sensitive skin of my scalp, constantly keeping all of him engaged with all of me. There's a sense of intense focus, as though nothing else in the world matters to him more in this moment.

His lips part as my hands clench in his shirt, keeping him close. The first warm sweep of his tongue is tentative, asking permission, and my nerves light up with excitement. I deepen the kiss with maybe more enthusiasm than he was expecting, throwing my arms around his neck and sliding out of my chair, wrapping my legs around his waist. He catches me, almost falling over backwards, and I feel him laugh without breaking the kiss, smiling against my mouth. The next thing I know he's rising to his feet, lifting me with him as easily and as delicately as if I were made of spun sugar. The only thing not delicate about his grip is the way his hands clench on my ass.

He carries me back into my room, leaving the balcony doors open to fill the room with cool evening air. Or perhaps he just forgot them, too busy kissing me breathless. He lays me on the bed and I feel a thrill of excitement run down my spine to burn like an ember between my thighs.

He breaks the kiss at last, meeting my hazy, flustered stare.

"Is this alright?" he asks, and I can hear that he's as breathless as I am. "I don't want to rush you."

"I want this," I tell him with absolute certainty. "I want you. All of you.” I lean up and kiss him again, quickly and full of passion. “Right now.”

He swallows hard, meeting my gaze, and then kisses me again, more passionately, but still with such delicate care. His kisses trail from my lips down my jaw to my throat and I don't bother to hide my moan of approval, especially as his teeth scrape the tender place where my neck meets my shoulder. I dig my hands in his hair, my nails scraping his scalp before I tug my robe open, inviting him lower. He catches on quickly, his hands finding my breasts at the same time as his mouth. I rise into his touch, biting my lip, as he kneads the sensitive flesh, scattering kisses and love bites.

When his kisses slip even lower my heart hammers with hope that he's planning what I think he is.

“Lucian.” I sigh his name and I feel his lips smile against my sensitive flesh.

His hands follow his kisses, counting my ribs, brushing over my belly, squeezing at my hips. I spread my legs and he kisses my thighs, the soft tender place behind my knee, making me giggle, down all the way to the curve of my ankle. He worships every part of me, except the part I most want him to.

Just when I'm about to give up and beg him, he relents. I cover my mouth with my hands to stop a shout as his tongue runs through my folds, one hand spreading me open like a flower. His hands squeeze my thighs, slide under me to grip my ass, and lift me up to his lips like a bowl he could drink from.

He knows where to focus his attention and the relentless roll of his tongue against my clit soon has my toes curling and my voice rising. The hand over my mouth forgotten as I grip a fist full of his hair in one hand, and a fist full of the comforter below me. He keeps going even as I shake, until I'm digging my heels into the mattress and trying not to pull his hair out of his scalp.

“So sweet on my tongue.” He whispers the words softly, so softly I almost didn’t hear him, and I think I'll lose my mind before he finally stops, showering my thighs and stomach with kisses as I slump into the sheets, trembling with my need to come.

My eyes closed, I hear him unzipping his slacks, the fabric rustling as he removes them. A moment later he leans over me again, kisses my throat, whispers in my ear.

"May I?"

"Fuck yes," I answer immediately, and groan low as he presses his thick cock into me. The slow stretch of the first stroke is always sweetest and I hold my breath through it, relishing the sensation. For a moment he's fully within me and I squeeze, trying to keep him there.

“You wrap around me like a vise.” He curses softly and I can't help smiling.

I quickly forget my pride however as he begins to move. I wrap my arms around his shoulders as he rocks his hips, rolling deep within me for a moment. His hands wander from my hips to my thighs, stroking, squeezing, and guiding me into his thrusts as they grow longer, harder, but always careful, slow and steady. I press a kiss to his temple and whisper in his ear. “I won’t break, Lucian.” I bite his ear. “Fuck me like I know you want to.”

He raises my hips higher and my breath catches as he hits deeper within me, each stroke leaving me shaking. “Don’t rush me, baby. I want to enjoy every second of this.” His hands grip my hips, hard enough to leave marks that won’t last longer than five minutes.

“Lucian, please.” I wiggle my hips under him, and nip my way up his neck, twirling my tongue in circles.

He growls low in his throat and speeds up his pace, each thrust of his hips against mine hitting my clit and sending a jolt of ecstasy through me. I could burn away to nothing like this and die happy.

He picks up speed, urgency rising, and leans over me as he strives to bury himself as deep as he can. He nips at my neck, and I can feel my climax coming and I put my arms around him.

“Lucian. I’m close.”

“I know, baby. I can fell you fluttering around my cock.” He pounds into me, hard. Locking his gaze with mine.

I look into his eyes as pleasure roars through us both. I tumble over the edge to completion. There’s something in his eyes that frightens me as much as it thrills me in that moment. A possessive hunger he’s holding back, and a deep adoration that radiates from him like a small sun. I had no idea he felt this strongly, that he’s been hiding so much raw emotion from me.

For a moment we lose each other as pleasure overwhelms us. My heart beats as fast as the speed of light as I try to catch my breath, coming down from the peak of pleasure slowly. I become aware of myself again with his forehead pressed to mine. We look into each other’s dazed eyes and there’s no more wildness there now, just cautious confidence. I make a mental note to make him lose as much control as he can next time. My instincts telling me to rile him as much as I can.

He holds me close, smiling against my skin, and for a moment at least all my worries have dissolved like sugar into a warm cup of coffee.