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- 25
Why so often did standing on the precipice of discovery feel so daunting? Especially now.
A large man with sharp eyes lounged before her. If he was in any way shocked that she had entered what she had once thought to be an empty tomb, he didn't show it beyond a slight raise of a singular, rigid brow. Curious. Soft, warm black waves fell in short tufts that brushed his forehead, tapering further down. His frame, lean and broad-shouldered, had the makings of something intimidating even with the deep red silk that adorned his bronzed flesh - opened at the chest and spread open to show nearly every inch from his bare neck, pronounced collar bones, and rippling pectorals sprinkled with hair. The hair traveled down, down, down before disappearing behind the red fabric tied absently at his abdomen.
That surely wasn't the proper way one wears a robe.
Swallowing hard and pushing her glasses back up her nose, she tried not to imagine the rest.
"Who are you?" She asked, her voice thankfully even. "What are you doing here?"
"Who... Am I?" His voice, deep and full, made her want to step forward. Like it was wrapping around her and pulling. Beckoning. The urge was damn near overwhelming, but she managed to stay put... Albeit reluctantly. Just then, the man pushed himself up with the kind of grace she associated with a panther. When he was standing at his full height, heat flooded her. Giant. And the robe he wore was very much not. The hem ended a couple inches above the knee. He titled his head just slightly. "This is my tomb, love. The better question is, who are you?"
The Tomb of Sylas.
She opened her mouth to speak, but goodness, was it dry as a bone. If this was his tomb, touché, but that made about as much sense as, well... all of this. It would make him- jeez. It would make him centuries old. That was simply beyond the realm of possibility, but the pesky logical side of her brain seemed a bit stunted at the moment.
"Cat got your tongue?" He asked, moving forward so languidly it nearly went unnoticed.
"Quite." The woman managed, a nervous chuckle leaving her. She tucked curly brown strands behind her ear as she tried - and failed - to avert her gaze. They just kept landing on his. A light hazel, she thought at first, but as he got closer she realized just how gold they were. Molten gold pools that almost seemed to churn around his iris. How utterly fascinating that was. Something she should definitely be asking questions about. She couldn't, though. Not when he stopped less than a meter away. Heat pooled in her cheeks. "Honestly, I'm not sure what's happened to me- I, I seem to be- oh dear."
A pleased smile - too pleased, too perfect - pulled at his full lips while the tiniest hint of his canines, porcelain and sharp, prodded his lower lip. He moved forward again, not stopping until he was close enough to see the light dusting of freckles along her nose. Her breath caught, and though she willed her feet to move, they were concrete slabs attached to her legs, anchoring her to the same spot.
"Don't be embarrassed, love," God, his words were practically a purr. An indecent ache throbbed lower on her body than she wanted to admit. "It's kind of my whole thing."
"What's-" The word came out strained and far away, so she stopped, swallowed thickly, and tried once again with more success. "What's your 'whole thing'."
He chuckled, deep and low. Something that she consciously felt the vibrations of.
"You'll learn."
"Wha-"
A hand, large and calloused, came up to her cheek. Despite the desire to stay put, she instinctively jerked her head back, finally breaking eye contact. Who the hell did this guy think he was? But then he merely captured her chin between his dexterous middle and index fingers. Capturing her eyes once again, dragging her back into the pools of molten gold. They seemed brighter now, swirling around hypnotically. His other hand came up to her face and slipping her glasses from her.
The strangest thing was that she didn't care.
"What you said earlier-" Gulp. "About this being your tomb. Are you actually implying you're Sylas? Like the Sylas?"
A smirk graced his lips now. Pleased. "No. Not implying."
"I am Sylas, love."
"But that's-" She started, but his thumb silenced her instead.
"Impossible?" He cocked his head to the side, golden eyes flicking back and forth between hers. He let his thumb swipe her lower lip. "Hardly."
"That would make you ancient," She argued, brow furrowing as she felt pulled in two completely different directions. A curling heat pooling low in her belly - so indecent and completely unprofessional, she was here as a scholar, after all - while her mind was working a mile a minute trying to wrap her fogged brain around all of this impossibility standing right in front of her. Something a rational person wouldn't believe in a million years, and yet something in those eyes of his told her he wasn't lying. "You definitely don't look it."
"I'm flattered." 'Sylas' smiled, a hint of unmistakable cockiness dancing across his angular face. "Think about it, love. Use that beautiful brain of yours. Who is Sylas? What do the supposed experts suspect him to be?"
"Some kind of glorified gigolo?" She deadpanned, and he nearly barked a laugh, taken aback.
"Is that what they call me?" Sylas said through a laugh, his hand sliding along the soft curve of her face to cup her cheek. Against her better judgement, she actually leaned into the touch. It was something about those amber eyes that narrowed her entire world to the very man in front of her. "I suppose it has been a few decades since I've caught up on those studies. They used to think me a Zburător, a Perelesnyk."
"A... what?"
His eyes glimmered knowingly down at her, but he didn't elaborate. Instead, his other hand came up, stopping just at the waistband of her shorts. She should've been more than offended by this intrusion, but as his fingers slipped to the first knuckle behind the band, she didn't find herself caring in the slightest. With a simple, graceful tug, he pulled her to him. Nearly flush. Close enough she smelled honeysuckle and pine.
"You've never been touched before, have you?"
The question left her stunned for a moment. Not that since she had walked into the room had her body been her own, but now the very breath had been swiped from her lungs.
"I've barely touched you and yet-" He said, voice dipping low and quiet. Almost a sinful whisper as he leaned closer to her, close enough for her to feel the warmth of his breath against her face. "You're completely soaked."
Any rational woman would have kicked this guy in the balls. She, however, stayed put as the large hand at the waistband of her pants dipped lower. Stopping just short of where she was realizing she wanted that hand more, as if he were testing the waters.
"How would you even know that?" She asked, feeling more than a little breathless now.
Inhaling deeply, Sylas' eyes rolled back and closed for a moment. A grin spread across lips as those now startlingly golden hues opened and met hers. Leaning down close enough his lips nearly grazed her ear, he whispered. "I can smell it on you, love."
If his scent and touch weren't so intoxicating, her cheeks would be burning out of embarrassment and not some wicked need. A need that kept seeming to build and build within her.
Then it hit her.
"Sylas-"
He pulled back to look at her, eyes churning that brilliant gold. "Oh, I love when you say my name darling. Sounds so lovely on your tongue."
"An incubus," She managed to ignore what he had just said, one of her own hands finally moving, pressing against his bare chest. Lean. Warm. "You're an incubus. That's what you are."
"Smart girl." Sylas grinned, sharp canines on full display. His fingers dipped lower - just shy of what she truly wanted. There was no denying that now. His other hand slipped down from her cheek, fingertips grazing her neck. "What gave it away?"
She glared at him, or the closest thing to it that she could muster. He knew exactly what gave it away.
Fondly amused, Sylas retrieved his hand from her shorts, resting it on her hip. She barely contained the whine of protest that act nearly elicited. Then, using his other hand, he grasped her hand at his chest. Instead of removing it like she halfway thought he would, he simply began guiding it down. A lump formed in her throat, her entire body heating to the point she felt she may spontaneously combust. Her eyes dropped from his, watching his hand guide hers lower and lower. He stopped her hand just over the tie.
As though possessed by the slick heat between her thighs, she instinctively - and perhaps too eagerly - went to pull it free. Surprisingly, his hand stopped her.
"If you wish to give me such a treasure, the only thing I can offer you in return are lessons in the flesh." Sylas murmured, his half-lidded gaze never leaving hers.
She blinked up at him, hungry for another kind of knowledge, and after a beat-
Pulled the tie of his robe loose.
A large man with sharp eyes lounged before her. If he was in any way shocked that she had entered what she had once thought to be an empty tomb, he didn't show it beyond a slight raise of a singular, rigid brow. Curious. Soft, warm black waves fell in short tufts that brushed his forehead, tapering further down. His frame, lean and broad-shouldered, had the makings of something intimidating even with the deep red silk that adorned his bronzed flesh - opened at the chest and spread open to show nearly every inch from his bare neck, pronounced collar bones, and rippling pectorals sprinkled with hair. The hair traveled down, down, down before disappearing behind the red fabric tied absently at his abdomen.
That surely wasn't the proper way one wears a robe.
Swallowing hard and pushing her glasses back up her nose, she tried not to imagine the rest.
"Who are you?" She asked, her voice thankfully even. "What are you doing here?"
"Who... Am I?" His voice, deep and full, made her want to step forward. Like it was wrapping around her and pulling. Beckoning. The urge was damn near overwhelming, but she managed to stay put... Albeit reluctantly. Just then, the man pushed himself up with the kind of grace she associated with a panther. When he was standing at his full height, heat flooded her. Giant. And the robe he wore was very much not. The hem ended a couple inches above the knee. He titled his head just slightly. "This is my tomb, love. The better question is, who are you?"
The Tomb of Sylas.
She opened her mouth to speak, but goodness, was it dry as a bone. If this was his tomb, touché, but that made about as much sense as, well... all of this. It would make him- jeez. It would make him centuries old. That was simply beyond the realm of possibility, but the pesky logical side of her brain seemed a bit stunted at the moment.
"Cat got your tongue?" He asked, moving forward so languidly it nearly went unnoticed.
"Quite." The woman managed, a nervous chuckle leaving her. She tucked curly brown strands behind her ear as she tried - and failed - to avert her gaze. They just kept landing on his. A light hazel, she thought at first, but as he got closer she realized just how gold they were. Molten gold pools that almost seemed to churn around his iris. How utterly fascinating that was. Something she should definitely be asking questions about. She couldn't, though. Not when he stopped less than a meter away. Heat pooled in her cheeks. "Honestly, I'm not sure what's happened to me- I, I seem to be- oh dear."
A pleased smile - too pleased, too perfect - pulled at his full lips while the tiniest hint of his canines, porcelain and sharp, prodded his lower lip. He moved forward again, not stopping until he was close enough to see the light dusting of freckles along her nose. Her breath caught, and though she willed her feet to move, they were concrete slabs attached to her legs, anchoring her to the same spot.
"Don't be embarrassed, love," God, his words were practically a purr. An indecent ache throbbed lower on her body than she wanted to admit. "It's kind of my whole thing."
"What's-" The word came out strained and far away, so she stopped, swallowed thickly, and tried once again with more success. "What's your 'whole thing'."
He chuckled, deep and low. Something that she consciously felt the vibrations of.
"You'll learn."
"Wha-"
A hand, large and calloused, came up to her cheek. Despite the desire to stay put, she instinctively jerked her head back, finally breaking eye contact. Who the hell did this guy think he was? But then he merely captured her chin between his dexterous middle and index fingers. Capturing her eyes once again, dragging her back into the pools of molten gold. They seemed brighter now, swirling around hypnotically. His other hand came up to her face and slipping her glasses from her.
The strangest thing was that she didn't care.
"What you said earlier-" Gulp. "About this being your tomb. Are you actually implying you're Sylas? Like the Sylas?"
A smirk graced his lips now. Pleased. "No. Not implying."
"I am Sylas, love."
"But that's-" She started, but his thumb silenced her instead.
"Impossible?" He cocked his head to the side, golden eyes flicking back and forth between hers. He let his thumb swipe her lower lip. "Hardly."
"That would make you ancient," She argued, brow furrowing as she felt pulled in two completely different directions. A curling heat pooling low in her belly - so indecent and completely unprofessional, she was here as a scholar, after all - while her mind was working a mile a minute trying to wrap her fogged brain around all of this impossibility standing right in front of her. Something a rational person wouldn't believe in a million years, and yet something in those eyes of his told her he wasn't lying. "You definitely don't look it."
"I'm flattered." 'Sylas' smiled, a hint of unmistakable cockiness dancing across his angular face. "Think about it, love. Use that beautiful brain of yours. Who is Sylas? What do the supposed experts suspect him to be?"
"Some kind of glorified gigolo?" She deadpanned, and he nearly barked a laugh, taken aback.
"Is that what they call me?" Sylas said through a laugh, his hand sliding along the soft curve of her face to cup her cheek. Against her better judgement, she actually leaned into the touch. It was something about those amber eyes that narrowed her entire world to the very man in front of her. "I suppose it has been a few decades since I've caught up on those studies. They used to think me a Zburător, a Perelesnyk."
"A... what?"
His eyes glimmered knowingly down at her, but he didn't elaborate. Instead, his other hand came up, stopping just at the waistband of her shorts. She should've been more than offended by this intrusion, but as his fingers slipped to the first knuckle behind the band, she didn't find herself caring in the slightest. With a simple, graceful tug, he pulled her to him. Nearly flush. Close enough she smelled honeysuckle and pine.
"You've never been touched before, have you?"
The question left her stunned for a moment. Not that since she had walked into the room had her body been her own, but now the very breath had been swiped from her lungs.
"I've barely touched you and yet-" He said, voice dipping low and quiet. Almost a sinful whisper as he leaned closer to her, close enough for her to feel the warmth of his breath against her face. "You're completely soaked."
Any rational woman would have kicked this guy in the balls. She, however, stayed put as the large hand at the waistband of her pants dipped lower. Stopping just short of where she was realizing she wanted that hand more, as if he were testing the waters.
"How would you even know that?" She asked, feeling more than a little breathless now.
Inhaling deeply, Sylas' eyes rolled back and closed for a moment. A grin spread across lips as those now startlingly golden hues opened and met hers. Leaning down close enough his lips nearly grazed her ear, he whispered. "I can smell it on you, love."
If his scent and touch weren't so intoxicating, her cheeks would be burning out of embarrassment and not some wicked need. A need that kept seeming to build and build within her.
Then it hit her.
"Sylas-"
He pulled back to look at her, eyes churning that brilliant gold. "Oh, I love when you say my name darling. Sounds so lovely on your tongue."
"An incubus," She managed to ignore what he had just said, one of her own hands finally moving, pressing against his bare chest. Lean. Warm. "You're an incubus. That's what you are."
"Smart girl." Sylas grinned, sharp canines on full display. His fingers dipped lower - just shy of what she truly wanted. There was no denying that now. His other hand slipped down from her cheek, fingertips grazing her neck. "What gave it away?"
She glared at him, or the closest thing to it that she could muster. He knew exactly what gave it away.
Fondly amused, Sylas retrieved his hand from her shorts, resting it on her hip. She barely contained the whine of protest that act nearly elicited. Then, using his other hand, he grasped her hand at his chest. Instead of removing it like she halfway thought he would, he simply began guiding it down. A lump formed in her throat, her entire body heating to the point she felt she may spontaneously combust. Her eyes dropped from his, watching his hand guide hers lower and lower. He stopped her hand just over the tie.
As though possessed by the slick heat between her thighs, she instinctively - and perhaps too eagerly - went to pull it free. Surprisingly, his hand stopped her.
"If you wish to give me such a treasure, the only thing I can offer you in return are lessons in the flesh." Sylas murmured, his half-lidded gaze never leaving hers.
She blinked up at him, hungry for another kind of knowledge, and after a beat-
Pulled the tie of his robe loose.