Magia Posthuma ✓

Twenty Four

Rendered powerless by such an onslaught, Irina fell back against the door as if she'd been struck by a gale gusting out of nowhere; Vlad's touch a cool caress against her skin, tearing into her hair and tugging at her clothes. It was a punishing kiss, meant to silence and to smother any breath of argument left in her lungs, and after a moment – after every muscle in her body had tightened, ready to stand strong and fight it – she let go and finally allowed herself to be swept away by it.

When he suddenly pulled back, she chased his lips.

Vlad frowned as he held her face. "...Forgive me," he whispered, pressing his forehead against hers.

Irina's eyes flashed upwards; she had a feeling that he rarely spoke such words.

"...For everything," he added, his gaze nervously meeting hers.

Irina's lips curled. "...I thought you didn't come to apologise," she reminded him. "I'm almost disappointed."

Vlad groaned softly and rolled his blue eyes. "You seem to draw good manners out of me whether I like it or not," he replied, his thumbs tracing soft circles over her freckles. "...And yet, I'm never more eager to forget them than when I'm around you."

Her gaze flashed curiously – flitting between the soft halo of wrinkles around his eyes to his lips.

Vlad hesitated. "It's... unnerving," he added, awkwardly swallowing down the taste of the words as soon as he'd said them.

"...You made me forget my manners first," Irina reminded him with a smirk.

Vlad chuckled softly, enjoying the spark of mischief in her eyes. "So I did."

She held his gaze. "...You say you don't know who you are anymore," she said as she reached up and held onto his wrists, "but I do. I know you, just as well as you know me. And I'm not going to let you forget who you are."

Vlad eyed her intensely – his hands dropping to her waist, fisting the thin wisps of silk and cotton shrouding her body. "...We know each other," he corrected with a nod.

Irina smiled as she rose up to taste his lips again. "...You draw the darkness out of me," she realised out loud, "just as I draw out the dawn lurking inside you."

At her words Vlad stooped and caught her lips, kissing her as if she'd disappear into thin air if he didn't. The doors shuddered on their hinges as he pressed her back into them – trapping her, holding her there. And yet, he worried that she'd evaporate beneath his fingertips without warning if he blinked or let go; so his hands roamed covetously – slipping under her dressing gown and smoothing over her body from her backside to her shoulder blades – desperate to memorise every curve.

When he grabbed a fistful of her tumbling curls and tugged downwards – baring her throat – Irina gasped and opened her eyes to him.

"...No running this time," Vlad warned her, his breath hot against her skin.

When his lips grazed her skin, Irina sighed. As if I could, she thought to herself, shuddering as he kissed a slow path down her neck and lapped at her clavicles. As if she wanted to; she needed him – needed this. The memory of their brief moment together all those years ago burned brightly in the back of her mind. She was desperate to fully savour what she'd sampled; she was wet and aching and he'd barely touched her.

And yet, when he pulled her body close her mind still frantically fished around for some excuse to push him away. But to her own surprise – for the first time – she came up empty. Where was she going to run to? To Prince Lupesci? To Vienna? She had nothing to protect anymore – no one to answer to, only herself. With all those nagging doubts and concerns finally silenced, Irina realised that she could finally give in to herself – give in to who she was and what she wanted most. And when Vlad smoothed his palms under the silk lapels of her dressing gown – sweeping it over her shoulders and down her arms – Irina felt the part of herself that she'd locked away fluttering under her ribs, like an impatient prisoner testing the bars of a cell – a butterfly splitting from its chrysalis, tearing to get out.