Betrayal's Gift

Chapter Seven

When Varagon rose that evening, he was alone. That was normal for him. He wasn't. He felt different inside...at peace...settled, the violence within was somewhat calmed. Excitement grew inside him at his discovery. What had he done last night to cause this? He searched his memory only to come up against a foggy haze. He cursed at the familiarity of this blockage.

Couldn't he ever remember anything? He found out when he moved his head into the pillow, the scent of rum reaching his sensitive nose. He groaned as he sank his head back into the pillow, the scent of the rum overpowering the undeniable scent of Delilah that was clinging to both the bed and him. Why did he do that to himself?

At least this memory loss could be explained, he thought with a half laugh. He shoved himself up and dressed. He still had to find food before he went to the arena and he was eager to see Delilah. He found himself smiling at the mere thought of her. She was good for him. Before her, he never truly smiled never laughed yet now he never seemed to stop doing either.

When he reached the arena he found himself interrupting an argument. Razor and Delilah had a bag held between them and neither one was letting go.

"Delilah quit being stubborn. I don't need your help. I can do it by myself." Razor insisted as he tried to get the bag away from her. Stopping, Varagon watched the struggle smiling.

"Oh but I insist," Delilah said playfully, unconsciously echoing his words from the night before. She stopped and glanced nervously towards Varagon, who slowly stood from where he was leaning. With that look, he knew.

No. Oh, gods no. What had he done to her? With a single look, a thousand silent messages were sent and received.

Did I hurt you?

No, I'm fine.

Were you willing at least? A slight hesitation that made him uneasy.

Yes.

We need to talk.

Varagon felt the acceptance in her mind before she lowered her gaze.

Varagon reached their room and paced within the confines restlessly. Delilah released the bag and started toward their room with nerves building in her stomach.

Razor looked after her worriedly, holding the bag. What was going on?

Delilah was trying to formulate what she was going to say to Varagon, which is why she almost walked past Kenneth Rosetti.

"What do you want, Kenneth? I'm kind of in a hurry."

"Then I won't take up your time. I was just going to give you a copy of your updated contract." He handed her a stack of papers and sauntered off. Delilah was distracted enough not to pay any attention to his pleasant tone and just kept going. She opened the door and entered the room, tossing the papers down. Varagon stopped pacing long enough to shut the door and lock it behind her. He ran his hands over her arms and gripped her shoulders.

"What happened last night?" he demanded, his heart pounding, but he could already smell his scent on her, in her. How far did it go? Even as the thought went through his head, Varagon knew that he had claimed her in every sense.

She was his. He couldn't stop the satisfaction he felt but he didn't have to like it. The animal in him was filled with smug satisfaction.

That should have given it away sooner, he thought wryly.

"We slept together," Delilah responded haltingly. "But Varagon I..."

"I was drunk, wasn't I? Did I hurt you?" he asked searching her eyes and mind for the truth. He knew that he couldn't bear that one thing on his conscious. If he had hurt her, then he would know that he would seek the dawn the following morning. He couldn't live with her on his conscience.