They never did make it to the drawing room.

Ryver escorted her through the house, leaving her agog at the richness of the decor, the exquisite workmanship of the hand-carved staircases, the antique tapestries and carefully appointed heirlooms.

Impressive as all that was, it all faded into insignificance when they reached Ryver's room on the top floor. He'd been a little embarrassed when he opened the door and gestured her inside, saying it wasn't much, but it was home.

Home.

What a thought that was.

She wasn't completely sure what that meant anymore. A home where she belonged was all she’d ever wanted. Her father knew that and look how that had turned out.

Ryver's eyes darkened as she thought of Asher, matching the shadows in his mind that she hoped would have dispersed when they left Friarsfield.

They hadn't.

There was anger in him that hadn't been there before. She was angry too; what Asher had subjected her to was not the physical torture Ryver had endured, but it still hurt. What Ryver felt was different. It wasn't rage, which under the circumstances, she could understand. No, what he felt wasn't brilliant red or full of fire and impulse. It was black as pitch, cold as ice and hard as stone. She searched that part of his soul she now carried and found something that terrified her. Much like that Osmium panel, that tiny spot was like a vacuum—devoid of everything. No anger, no love, no nothing. The connection with Ryver was so new, she had no idea what to do about it. But she knew she had to do something.

The huge four-poster bed dominating the room provided the inspiration she needed. If blood and sex could forge such a depth of connection, perhaps that was how she could reach the darkness in him.

* * *

Ria was getting better at shielding her thoughts. He could no longer hear absolutely everything, and he couldn't work out whether that was a good thing or not. Her eyes almost always gave her away though, and he watched her concern bleed into something quite different as her gaze flicked to the bed and back again.

Just in case he should be under any misapprehension as to her meaning, she reopened her mind to him, and his eyes flew wide as the heat of her desire washed through him. In the past few hours, he'd almost forgotten what it was to want something so much. He took a shaky breath as the fire within him burned away the numbness he hadn't even realised was there.

She reached for him, and his heart beat staccato under her hand. "Is this how it's supposed to be?" she asked, voice husky as she eyed the bed again.

What came out was more of a growl than actual words as he pulled her into him and claimed her mouth. Her hands found the nape of his neck as she kissed him back, fingers combing through his short hair. He backed toward the bed. When his legs hit the frame, he sat, hoping to bring her with him, but she broke the kiss and stood over him, a curious look in her eyes. He reached for her, but she batted his hand away.

For a moment panic rose in his throat, but the fiery glow that erupted in her eyes washed it away. She leant in and kissed him quickly before kneeling between his knees and untying the laces on his boots. He moved to help her, but she shot him a look and he stopped. The boots dispensed with, she ran her hands up his legs and moved to his belt and then his fly. Having dealt with both, she hooked her fingers into his waist band and tugged. He lifted his hips from the bed to help, and both his trousers and boxers were consigned to a heap on the floor.

Having not found a replacement shirt after he abandoned his other in that dungeon, he sat there as naked as the day he was born. His flesh goosepimpled as she appraised him, and he suddenly felt extremely exposed. His body was at odds with his mind though, his desire hot and heavy between his legs.

He yearned to touch her, to feel her against his skin. She heard him and smiled, then shook her head and stood up.

"Ria?" he murmured, speech encumbered by his elongated fangs.

"Ryver," she replied.

Her beautiful mouth lifted into a coquettish smile full of confidence he didn't know she possessed. She continued to smile at him as she slowly untucked her shirt and then undid her fly. Her trousers joined his in the pile on the floor, and as she stood up again, he got a tantalising glimpse of her knickers—simple black cotton and sexy as hell. His attention shifted with the movement of her hands, deft fingers unbuttoning her shirt. The garment slid from her shoulders exposing her matching black bra, the rounded lines of her stomach and hips.

She was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.

His body ached with the need to touch her, but he heard her command—and it was definitely a command—loud and clear. He was not to move. He'd lost the ability to form words but managed to nod his understanding.

That smile tugged at the corner of her mouth again as she reached behind to unfasten her bra. The straps at her shoulders slackened, but she made him wait just that little bit longer before letting the garment fall.

Ryver gulped. Holy Mother of Fae. He could do nothing but stare and she was happy to let him, running her hands down her body, skirting her voluptuous curves until she reached her hips. She ran her thumbs along the waistband of her knickers while the look she bestowed on him became more intense, a riot of sparkling caramel and burnished copper that seemed to scorch his skin.

He gulped, unable and unwilling to look away as those delicate hands pulled the black fabric down, inch by inch. Her rounded hips shimmied as she tugged one side and then the other, the rhythm nothing short of enchanting. When she bent forward to push the panties past her knees, Ryver thought he might have a heart attack. Her ample breasts hung down, rosy pink nipples taut as they peeked through the luscious hair tumbling over her shoulders. The underwear dropped to her ankles and she stepped out of them, straightening as she did.

Jesus fucking Christ.

Ryver might actually have whimpered. He wasn't sure. He wasn't even sure of his own name in that moment.

Ria giggled as she sashayed towards him. As much as he was enjoying the view, his need to touch her, to feel her curves against his flesh, had become almost painful.

She stood between his knees and dipped her head to kiss him, Ryver groaning into her mouth. His hands came up automatically, desperate to feel all of her—those breasts, her hips, her beautifully rounded arse. As her tongue danced with his, tasting and exploring, he thought he could lose himself in her forever. When she shifted position, placing one knee and then the other on either side of him, he decided there was no doubt.

She pushed him down onto the bed, breaking the kiss. Straddling him as she was, he could feel her sex against him and a shock of need pulsed through him.

"Ria," he growled. He didn't think he could stand much more of this. "I need you."

Those glowing eyes stared down at him. "I know," she replied as her hand snaked down his chest and over his stomach. She lifted herself off him as her hand travelled lower still and Ryver started to tremble. Her elegant fingers danced over his clock, which jumped in response. When she shifted position again, her sex dangerously close to his, he thought he might lose it there and then, but he hung on, teeth gritted, fists balled in the sheets.

Guiding him, she lowered herself, his hard length pressing against her most delicate of flesh. She was wet and slick, and the temptation to press on, to fill her to the hilt, was almost overwhelming. He didn't want to hurt her—she was so fucking tight—and the effort it took not to drive into her was huge.

She seemed to hover there for an eternity, the tip of him just inside her. Damn her. She knew exactly what she was doing.

Slowly, agonisingly so, she lowered herself. The feel of her, tight and slick, took his breath away. Her hands came down on his chest, short nails digging into the flesh. He looked up at her. If he got to see that look again, he'd happily let her rip his flesh from his bones. She maintained eye contact, watching him through hooded lids, her mouth open, breath hitching as she took every last inch of him.

His fingers speared through her long hair as he pulled her down and kissed her hard. She started to move and he broke the kiss, his head falling backwards as the rest of his body rose up to meet her. She set a fast pace, riding him hard as he hung on to her hips.

Her breath came hard as her mind reached for his, the bond between them crackling with desire and desperate need. "Touch me," she told him. "Feel me."

His hand moved from her hip, fingers caressing the thatch of dark curls at her apex before he slid his thumb between her delicate folds. She shuddered against him as he found her clit, her own movement adding pressure to the already sensitive nub. Wanting more, she quickened her pace, her muscles milking him, nails clawing at his pectorals as she tried to hold on.

He reached out with his mind, giving her the illusion of more hands, more caresses—touching her breasts, her taut nipples, her ample backside—and delighted in the moan that fell from her lips.

His own body felt tight as a drum, vibrating with the need to let go, to fall into the abyss and satisfy his all-consuming hunger, but he wouldn't go without her. When he felt Ria tighten around him, stars erupting in that place where their bond existed, he knew it was time.

As she started to fall apart above him, his name leaving her lips in a scream, he let go. She bucked against him as he came, both of them jumping into the abyss together.

* * *

Ria's mind flew through the glittering void as her body clung to his. Their bond felt deeper and stronger, and she found what she was looking for easily.

She struck at that nothingness within Ryver's soul with everything her body and mind had to give. The shadows were small, but darkness was always malignant. Untended, they would grow, like a vine, creeping forward until it strangled the life out of everything around it. She would not—could not—allow that. She was the reason that hollowness in him existed; she was sure of it. Her blood was still tainted when he drank from her. This was her fault. And she would be the one to fix it.

Her orgasm rolled through her like a blinding flash of light and she did all she could to usher that luminescence into the darkest recesses of his soul. A flame in the dark, it grew with the intensity of the feelings crashing down on her until it became as dazzling as the sun, burning through the shadows, blazing through the nothingness.

Her body spent, she could no longer hold on, and as she fell into his arms, the light faltered. For the briefest moment, she panicked that she hadn't done enough, but as his strong arms enveloped her, he whispered "One will save the other, but until darkness knows its true self, the light will continue to fade."

"I don't understand," she replied.

"Neither did I until just now." He kissed the top of her head. "Thank you."

The panic receded. The darkness had gone. Only light remained.