But this… maybe I was crazy, and this was some kind of trick, but I didn’t think so. I felt his pain, his regret, his anger at himself. Felt the cost, the fracture in the family that never should have happened, another piece lost instead of one restored.

Felt genuine remorse, and didn’t know what to do with it.

But I guess my heart did, because it flooded the bond with so much emotion that it shocked me, and caused Mircea to suck in his breath. There was love there, and relief, and forgiveness, with part of me so happy, so joyful, to heal at least some of the breech between us. I had missed him, more than I’d allowed myself to realize, because it was less painful to shove it away, to not think at all, to not feel.

So, when I finally could, it was overwhelming.

But there was conflict, too, so much that it almost drowned out the other. Wariness, fear, hurt, distrust—because I guessed all that didn’t just go away because of an apology, did it? No matter how heartfelt. But louder than all of those was worry—because I had a lover, one who had never betrayed me, and the depth of my feelings for him was a deep thrum along the bond.

I think it surprised Mircea, how strong my feelings for Pritkin were. I felt shock, dismay, possessiveness, anger—his immediate reaction. And then confusion, sadness, regret, competitiveness, and—weirdly—a strange kind of joy. He was happy that I was happy, I realized, but there was a slew of other emotions that went along with that, which he didn’t seem to know how to handle any more than I had.

It made me feel slightly better, that someone five hundred years old hadn’t figured out human relationships, either.

But joy was there, nonetheless, and happiness that we were together again, if only for a moment. I decided to focus on that instead of the rest while I could. And I guessed Mircea agreed.

Because one of his hands found my breast, pulling me up, pulling me back against him. Another cupped me down below, capturing my body, helping his thrusts find their mark. I felt orgasm shiver over me, time and again, felt his breath warm against my flesh, felt his tongue licking the remaining blood off my neck. My hand went up, cupping his cheek, even as my breath sped up, as if it hadn’t already been fast enough. Almost there—God—almost there!

And yet nothing.

Release remained elusive, as it had with Pritkin, which made no sense at all!