shouldn't be so powerful.
Mircea didn't notice. His eyes were wide open and brighter than I'd ever seen them, the rush from combat still humming behind them like electricity. He was utterly concentrated and strangely young-looking, and when he finally raised his head to tell me he was through, I grabbed him by the shirt and kissed him, hard.
It wasn't a great effort. I got the angle a little off and our teeth clicked together and we both tasted like adrenaline. I didn't care. My fists clenched in his shirt, crushing the heavy silk, and I couldn't seem to make them let go. And I needed them to because I couldn't hit him until they did and I really, really wanted to hit him. I was furious suddenly, completely livid. Because he'd almost died, damn it, and I hadn't been able to do anything, and he'd almost died.
Mircea didn't object, didn't try to pull away; instead he drew me closer, close enough to hear his heart beat, close enough to feel him breathe. He took charge of the kiss, slowing it down, until it was all warmth and sweetness and inevitability. His hands glided up my back and into my hair, combing through my curls and making me shiver. I'd never known that anyone could kiss in English, kiss in apologies, but apparently he could. I wasn't sure what he was apologizing for, but it felt right. Like he should be sorry for scaring me like that.
He didn't kiss fair, and he didn't kiss all at once; he kept giving it up and taking it away until I thought I'd die of frustration. I felt like screaming, but didn't have the breath to waste, and when I thought I would go completely insane he finally made a quiet, hungry sound and met me in the middle. And it was suddenly all panting, groaning need rising between us like steam.
I could feel the geis react, faint tremors humming just beneath the skin, symptoms of an imminent explosion. And I didn't care. I had somehow never noticed the tensile strength of his body, of those hands, lean and strong and achingly gentle. A flash of what it would feel like, pressed down beneath his weight, sent heat spiraling through me. I wanted that. Wanted everything.
And then he broke away, looking shocked and a little wild, like he hadn't during the fight, when it would have made sense. I looked at him, with the rumpled hair and the dirty face, and wanted to kiss him again. Not because of a compulsion, but because he already tasted familiar, because I wanted more of the warmth that seemed to bubble up through my skin whenever we touched.
But I couldn't. This Mircea was two weeks behind the times, so to speak. For him, the geis had just woken up. But the more contact we had, the faster it was going to grow. Putting my Mircea through even more hell.
I jerked away, and he let me go. But his puzzled gaze shifted from me to Fran莽oise and Radella. "Is there something you wish to tell me, dulceata??"
I glanced at Fran莽oise, but she gave me one of those French shrugs that I've never been able to interpret. Great. I looked back at Mircea and swallowed. "I don't feel well," I told him honestly. "Can we talk a little later?"
After an almost imperceptible pause, Mircea nodded. He stood up, still staring at me while issuing orders, sending the vamps who had shown up far too late scurrying around like frightened ants. I sat on the ground and watched them, wondering what they were doing until I saw that one of them had some kind of industrial vacuum. He started sucking up the remains of the mages who'd been hit by the Lot's Wife spell. Another followed him, tossing shoes and other non-sand-like bits into a large-size garbage bag.
I no longer hurt anywhere, but I still felt exhausted and slightly removed from everything. Mircea must have hit me with a suggestion, the vamp equivalent of an all-night bender. I didn't think it would be a good idea to try to shift again just yet.
Another vamp had started breaking apart the two withered corpses. They were so old that their bones snapped easily, brittle like dried sticks. They made a crunching sound as he shoved them into a garbage bag. I watched them, the shiny gloss of the suggestion dulling my reaction. I knew they must have been killed by a spell