Page 93 of Bonds of Starfall

"And you didn’t stop her?"

"No," he replied. "I tried, but she has a mind of her own."

"Oh, I know that. Very well, Dr. Quenlan," Sabine said. "It looks like you’ll have more time while she’s away. Perfect for the newest batch of Aetherborns we have procured from Lunar City. Come to the lab at Blackfall Industries tomorrow morning. I have a job for you."

With that, she hung up.

In the silence, Lucien let his head fall on the steering wheel. "Damn it," he cursed. "Goddamn it!" He slammed his hands on the wheel, relishing the pain.

He stared at the Academy gates.

"For Vesperin. This is for her. To keep her safe. I can do this."

On the drive back to his apartment, Lucien realized Sabine had never asked where Vesperin was going.

"You smelllike you’ve just been fucked," Cyrus purred.

The door just clicked shut behind Vesperin as she entered her bedroom, and she stilled at his words.

Cyrus didn’t try to hide his smile, loving to tease her.

Her cherry scent was ripe and dripping—enough to make his mouth water. He hadn’t lied. She did smell like she’d just been fucked, the faint trace of cologne clinging to her.

Vesperin ran a hand through her hair. "And if I was?" she asked, turning the lock on the door as she turned to face him fully.

Her lips were red and swollen, pale cheeks flushed with a healthy, rosy glow. She smelled like sin.

Cyrus sat up from where he had been reclining on her bed, trying to sleep. His dark shirt hung on by two buttons, falling off his shoulder as he braced a hand on the mattress.

"Then I’d have to congratulate the lucky bastard—or try and steal a kiss to taste you on his lips," he added. "Was it your doctor? I told you he wanted you. How was it?" His smirk grew wider when she stuttered out a strangled sound and went to her dresser, opening the top drawer and pulling out the last few things she needed for their trip.

Lunar City—ruled by criminals, shrouded in a haze. Cyrus had never been. He would get chopped up and sold in a heartbeat, not knowing which would come first.

"Do you think someone would rather buy me whole, or would I fetch a higher price in little pieces?" Cyrus mused aloud, rubbing his chin.

Vesperin stiffened, glancing over her shoulder, a pair of delicate pink shorts dangling from her fingertips. "Are all incubi this twisted? Or is that just you?"

He merely hummed in reply, watching as she dropped the shorts in her black bag sitting by the door. It was next to his own—the same bag he had smuggled with him on the ship.

Cyrus shoved away from the bed, standing and raising his arms high above him with a stretch, feeling his back crack. "I hate it when you leave me for so long." He pouted. "It makes me feel like a mistreated pet." He walked to her, chest brushing her back as he hooked his chin over her head. He breathed her in, nosing along her crown. "You smell so good. Are you sure I can’t have a little taste?"

Her elbow dug into his stomach, but he didn’t release her. "No," she asserted, stepping under his arm to free herself.

In the drawer, he glimpsed stacks of lace panties and bralettes, fingers tracing over the tiny black mesh. The soft sound of a zipper made him turn, forgetting all about her pretty underthings as she bent over his bag.

"Do you need any more clothes? We can stop and get some essentials." Vesperin’s white hair hung in her face as she dug around in his bag.

In a flash, Cyrus had his bag in his hands, bundling it to his chest. "Don’t look."

"Sorry." She raised her hands.

Cyrus rezipped the bag. Maybe he should have let her find it. He would never give the gift to her at this rate. "I didn’t tell youthat you could look, doll. I have something in here for you. A… gift." He held the bag back out to her, smiling impishly. "You can look. I changed my mind."

As she took the bag, befuddled, he sat back down on her bed, running his hands over her comforter. He was so tired. And hungry. But he had promised her he wouldn’t feed from her—and he sure as fuck wasn’t going to sneak out. Cyrus had resigned himself to siphon what he could, but it was thin and empty. Tiny tendrils taken from underneath the door from the one who tasted of bitter lies, Xara, and grander sips from the one with the joking voice, Keir.

It would have to do. Save for one—or three—slip-ups, he hadn’t fed off of any emotions from his Ves. He would rather starve than break her trust. That was, if he had any of her trust to break.

Slowly, she unzipped the bagagain, her pale grey eyes holding his as she riffled through it. "I don’t know—oh," she gasped, and he knew she had found it. She tugged free a tiny, velvet box, different from the clothes stuffed inside. "Do you want me to open it?"