In Which Severin Drowns in Aphrodite's Shadow

April 14, 1168

A year and four days now Alina had been dead, and Severin had yet to spend a night in the old bed without her. He knew well by now the dips and curves of each guest mattress, enough to know which he preferred and which he would now reserve for only the least welcome of visitors. He knew which rooms grew cold during the night's peak, and which were best suffered with the covers kicked to the side. He knew which floors creaked, which door-hinges screeched, which beds sat on uneven legs.

But he did not know this bed. He did not know this room. All those years and all he'd ever noticed was Alina.

Conscious not to tremble, he sat up and pulled himself off the bed. These past few nights, he'd tried to bring himself to spend a night in the bedroom, but it was still too soon. There were both too many memories and too few familiarities. Eerie was not a strong enough word.

The chilling silence was shattered by a knock at the door. Severin frowned as he glanced over his shoulder; he couldn't tell if this visitor was here to save him, or to intrude on something sacred. "Yes?"

"May I come in?" It was the oddest feeling; he knew that voice, yet he couldn't place it. It must have been someone he hadn't seen in years.

Wary, Severin stepped around the foot of the bed and faced the door. "All right..." Perhaps it had been foolish of him to welcome this caller. Who had the right to visit him in his bedroom, anyway? Some subconscious part of him must have thought they were a godsend.

And if that was the case, some subconscious part of him had been wrong. "You."

Geneva closed the door behind her, then took a few steps toward him. His head told him to retreat; his body disobeyed. "Severin."

What gave her the nerve? Did she actually think she was welcome? "What the hell are you doing here?"

"I wanted to tell you how sorry I am," she sighed, brushing past him as she made her way further into the room. "Alina and I weren't close, but I always did think highly of her."

I always did think highly of her... Clearly, not so highly as to avoid an unsolicited nighttime visit to Alina's widower in his bedchamber. How did this woman's self-centered mind manage to twist such situations? Perhaps he could pity her if he considered the possibility that she may have been ill.

"Who let you in here, anyway?" he demanded. "My children are in bed, and Falidor's gone home for the night; if I have to replace any guards, it would be nice to know which ones."

Geneva shrugged. "No one let me in. I'll let you ponder the mystery of how I got in on your own time; I'll have you know that I have an incredible talent for sneaking."

"I can imagine." He looked her over once more--her tangled hair, her peasant garb, her ample cleavage--then pointed toward the door. "Now, I appreciate your sympathies, but I believe it would be for the best if you were to leave."

She didn't budge; he felt his veins constrict as his blood began to boil. "Severin, why do you hate me so much? You forgave Dalston and Aldhein, didn't you? I must say, I would have never taken you for a misogynist."

"Your sex has nothing to do with it," he snarled, his mind blown at the fact that she actually needed to ask that question. "Dalston had proven to be capable of remorse, as has Aldhein; you, on the other hand, have yet to do so."

She didn't even bat an eyelash at his accusation. "I'm not a bad person, you know; I never meant to hurt Roderick or Celina. We all have things in our nature that compel us to unwittingly wrong others sometimes; I thought that you of all people would understand that."

His rage biding, Severin gnawed at the inside of his cheek; the metallic taste of blood breached his tongue as he caught a sizable chunk of flesh between his molars. "Are you implying something?"

She frowned--her piercing violet gaze remained unmoved. "Well, just having grown up with a father like yours--and with a brother like yours--and it isn't as if you yourself are any sort of angel..."

Her voice trailed, as if she wished for him to fill in the blanks on his own. Severin cringed; this woman had no right to barge in here and talk about his family like that. "I thought I asked you to leave."

"Then why won't you let go of me?"

Startled, he looked down to find his hand clasped tightly around her forearm. How had that happened? He did not remember grabbing her. The humiliation overcoming him, he tried to pry his fingers from her lukewarm skin, but no matter how he willed it, they would not release her; if anything, their grip strengthened.

"You're lonely, aren't you?" She looked into his eyes and offered what must have been meant as a sympathetic smile. He saw nothing but the smirk of a succubus. "You poor man. You feel like there's a part of you missing, don't you?"

Her presence had been magnified to the size of the room. He couldn't think. He couldn't breathe. Perhaps this was how it felt to be drowning, helpless and weak and overwhelmed by the aura of some Shadow Aphrodite. He dared not open his mouth to speak; he feared he would only drown faster.

And yet, she stared, waiting for his answer. He did not care to nod; he did not wish to admit that she was right, even if she already knew it. All he could offer was a non-committal shrug, but he knew she saw right through it. She'd always had the eyes of a goddess.

Unfazed by his resolute silence, she inched ever closer, until her face was mere inches from his own. If he'd had his wits about him, he might have backed away. "Oh, Severin... now you know how I feel all the time."

He could not take it anymore. The back of his hand flew to the base of her neck in some reflexive motion as he kissed her.

It had been so long since he had been in such proximity to any woman but Alina that he'd forgotten how automatic it was. His mind barely existed here; it was all instinct. He was all instinct. This was what it was to be an animal.

He pulled his tongue from between her lips and made his way toward her ear, nipping it as if to mark her. He let his lips dance back along her jawline as his hands worked their way downwards along her spine. His body was no longer his own. He hated her--her form, her presence, her very being. He hated her; and above all else, he hated himself.

She moaned in unmasked pleasure as he pressed himself against her, scowling as he sunk his teeth into her neck like some mythical leech. He did not know if he meant to harm her or arouse her. Both, perhaps; her noises seemed to betray that as the effect. He placed his tongue to her throat and lifted her as it slid downward to her breast; the loose neckline of her dress gave no resistance as he nudged it ever lower.

This was surreal. He almost felt as though he was watching himself from above, screaming curses at himself as he continued. He wanted to stop. He'd forgotten that he'd never learned to do so.

No... that was not quite true. There was one way to stop--one very obvious way. That was to see it through to the end.

Furious, he released her, then began to make his way toward the door.

"Where are you going?"

"You may follow if you wish," he snarled as he crossed the room's threshold. "I shall not have it said that anything that happens here occured against your discretion."

He opened the door and stepped into the foyer, her small blond form trailing after him. He led her down the corridor, up the stairwell, and into one of the guest chambers. He slammed the door behind them, then proceeded to her laces as she undid the buttons on his tunic. Watching as her naked form settled on the bed, he slipped off the rest of his clothing and locked himself between her thighs. As her legs snapped around his waist, he began to thrust. He would fuck her all night if he had to; he might even fuck her well into the morning if he cared. He'd explore her cunt with his mouth and he would take her from behind. He would do whatever it took to follow through; he would do any and every disgusting thing she was willing to do.

But damned if he took this woman in Alina's bed.

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