Chapter 428: Under the Lotus
With Penelope so close and her hand over his, a wild fear fluttered to life in Zagan’s chest. He had no idea what to do now. For perhaps the first time, every plan he had conceived had crumbled before his feet and he could not see a way forward through this—not in the next moment, not in the next day, and not beyond that.
He was afraid to feel this, whatever this was, and he was afraid to lose it. There was never a time when he had to fear like this. He was always the most powerful creature in any situation. He was always in control. He never had anything to lose, because he couldn’t even lose his own existence in any kind of death. But here he was with something living in front of him—something fragile and precious and breakable. What if something happened to her? What if he was the one responsible for it?
"You do look afraid," she said, her fingers playing over his.
"I wasn’t expecting this," he told her. "I wasn’t expecting you. I want you in a way that I can’t understand."
Penelope’s bottom lip trembled, and he reached up to feel it with his thumb. The tremble of life was so peculiar, so fragile. And he wanted to feel it. She closed her eyes as a surge of the want he was describing rose within her as well, and his fingers paused on her cheek.
Zagan watched as—with her eyes closed—her chest rose and fell more deeply, the air she was taking into her lungs seemingly richer somehow. And then her fingers curled around the hand that he still held against his chest, and just that small union and its reassurance sparked the fire of want deep within his core.
His fingers entwined in her hair again, but he remained there—a breath away from her, unsure of what to do. He wanted to kiss her, to taste her flesh in that delicate way rather than with the violence that usually consumed him, but he didn’t know how to do even that much without hurting her.
Sensing his hesitation, Penelope’s eyes fluttered open to find him so close, his gaze on her lips with the same intensity of emotion that she had seen there before. She was causing the unliving, undead creature to feel. She could see it so clearly in his eyes.
"Kiss me," she whispered, the warmth of her life fanning across his face and threatening to thaw it.
"I don’t know... how to... without hurting you," he admitted slowly, his gaze rising to her eyes.
"You vowed you wouldn’t hurt me," she reminded him, her fingers curling around the hand on his chest again in reassurance and in unspoken... companionship.
"That is precisely why I cannot do it," he whispered back, his eyebrows cleaving with the impossibility of this situation. He wanted something he could not have. Just as he had wanted death and could never reach it, he wanted to consume Penelope without hurting her. It made no sense.
"There is a way to do it without hurting me. You have to trust yourself," she told him, her other hand finding his that remained on her cheek and entwined in her hair.
He sighed in defeat, the chill of his breath cooling her face. When he was about to give up and let her go—the want for her sinking back into the black void of his being—her speeding heart caught his attention and then she was pulling him down herself, taking matters into her own hands. And before he could arrest his surprise long enough to stop her, her warm lips were against his.
Penelope was kissing him, and it was blinding. Her warmth was blinding, lighting brilliantly behind his eyes.
Something unknown and unfelt before now began moving inside of him, uncoiling as he felt Penelope rise to meet him, shedding her own fear. His arms wound around her in response, and she was against him, her hands on his chest.
"Open your mouth," she whispered, breaking away from him in order to utter those words, and he urged her to come back to him, but she remained paused there, looking at his lips.
"It is dangerous," he grimaced, imagining the fangs that could so easily tear her delicate flesh.
"Life is dangerous, Zagan," she breathed against him, and he felt that uncoiling thrash within him at the sound of her voice speaking his name. He wanted her to say it again, and he must have spoken that desire out loud because she did.
"Zagan," she whispered, kissing his stubborn lips that remained closed to her, keeping their threat hidden.
"Zagan," she whispered again and repeated the action, teasing the beast that stirred within him. "Open your mouth," she repeated and nipped at his lips with her own dull teeth, causing him to groan at the want that was uncoiling larger.
"I vowed not to hurt you, Penelope," he groaned, not understanding how he could keep that vow and do what she was asking.
"And so you won’t," she answered, cupping his head in her hands and grazing his cold skin with her thumbs. "Open yourself to me, Zagan," she tried one more time, and as if those were the words he was waiting to hear that he could not argue with, his bottom lip dropped open, trembling a bit as it did.
She noticed this—this tremble that was so uncharacteristic of him—and she glanced back up at his unsure gray eyes before taking the invitation. She captured that trembling bottom lip between her teeth and felt his arms around her go rigid, his fingers curling softly into her flesh. He was retraining himself from something, but he was open to what she was seeking, and she took advantage of that moment, for it may not ever come again.
After tugging gently on his bottom lip and feeling the intensity of his restraint again curl against her, she tilted his head and plunged into his mouth. He groaned feeling the soft, persistent warmth of her tongue seeking his own and then when she found it, it was as if a choreographed dance began that was written into his very being, and he followed it—he allowed it to lead.
He slid against her there in that warm united space between them as his hands came up, cupping her face, one hand then dropping to press her body against his. She fit perfectly against him everywhere. Her mouth against his and her body against his, and her... life against his undefinable existence.
"Goddess help me, I want you," she whispered, a sob tearing from her mouth as she admitted it to herself and to the universe around them. "I want you, Zagan. Please," she tugged at him, but he didn’t understand what she was asking.
"You have me," he whispered back, nudging her forehead with his own before he reconnected with her mouth, wanting more of her—not wishing to lose that warmth that she offered that he had never felt before.
"There’s more," she muttered against him, her hands pulling his shirt free and tracing the skin of his chest. "There’s more to this."
He groaned at the feeling this created, her hands on his skin, exploring the muscular ridges of this body he inhabited that had never felt sensations like this in all of its time existing. The fear of hurting her started to recede like she was tucking it away and coaxing something dangerous out of him.
"Penelope," he breathed, trying to arrest her hands before whatever coiled creature within him was fully unleashed. He could feel it. He could feel this unknown part of himself growing larger in its desire for her, and he didn’t know where it would lead.
"It’s okay," she reassured him, tracing her hands up until one of them was at the nape of his neck, caressing him there. "It’s okay to want me. Please, please let yourself want me."
Her voice sounded so desperate at the end as if she was terrified that he would deny her, and yet—that’s all she was asking of him? To let himself want her?
He dipped to find her mouth again and when her sweet tongue was against his, he lifted her, carrying her the rest of the way into the lotus before laying her down on a bed next to the reflection pool. With how enamored she seemed with the lotus, he imagined she would love this part of it—the pool of clear water that reflected the sky and its perfect white clouds while the glass windows cast rainbows all around the space—but she didn’t even glance at their surroundings. She was lost in him, her mouth that seemed to want to devour his own and her hands that were exploring his skin.
Zagan held himself above her on his forearms, continuing to indulge in this warmth of hers that his tongue seemed to instinctually know. It was so much better than anything he had ever tasted—her taste and her warmth and her passion that was so freely giving of itself to him.
"You are so beautiful," she whispered, having broken the kiss to take a breath and then allowing herself to appreciate the light that had made its way into his eyes as he gazed down at her.
"I am?" His eyebrows pinched together, and she giggled under him.
"Yes, you are the most beautiful male I have ever seen," she said, her fingers tracing the lines of his face and nose and jaw. He was warmer than before—or perhaps it was just that she was used to his temperature now.
"Thank you," his throat bobbed.
He didn’t know how to reply. He had heard people—humans, mostly—whisper about how he was good-looking, but their opinions were irrelevant. Appearances were a natural way of drawing in prey, but Penelope wasn’t that.
"Tell me what you are thinking," she whispered, running her fingers along his forehead again and then into his hair. Her eyes were seeking something from him, but he wasn’t sure what. He only knew he wished to give it to her.
"You are delicious," he said, dropping his eyes to her lips.
"Am I?" She giggled again, the laughter lighting up her whole face and causing him to smile in return.
"The most delicious thing I have ever tasted," he told her. "And I don’t want to lose you."
