The even measure of his breathing told Catherine that Vincent had fallen asleep, the effort of their exertions together apparently having overwhelmed him with exhaustion. Catherine smiled to herself as she held his body cradled against hers. After a moment, she carefully rolled him to his side, the weight of him having crossed from deliciously intimate to just a little too heavy for her to continue.
In the process of rolling them over, he slipped out of her body, and she sighed at that loss of contact. Thankfully, she had been ready for his size ahead of time, or she might have betrayed a flicker of concern that she could accommodate him after forgoing such intimacies for so long. But Vincent had been the perfect gentleman in their lovemaking, despite his inexperience, and nothing more than a few moments of discomfort had marred their experience.
She could not help but smile as she studied his face, thinking about how peaceful he looked in sleep. And even though he was not aware, he unconsciously kept his arms around her, his fingers tightening as she shifted slightly to a more comfortable position.
They had made love, she thought to herself with elation.
Finally, after two and half years, after so much fear and regret and angst, they had achieved what she had once thought impossible. And just as she had always known, Vincent had not hurt her. Never once did it even seem he might come close to losing himself, even at the height of passion. Fear had never entered her mind, nor had any notion of the distaste she knew he harbored so deeply within.
It had been, in a word, perfect...
With Vincent asleep, Catherine allowed herself the personal indulgence of looking over his entire nude body. The candles they had lit when they arrived at the chamber still burned bright enough for her to see everything clearly, although softened in the amber glow. His legs, as powerful and muscled as his arms, were also covered in a dense layer of fur, just as she had suspected. But nothing else differed from that of a 'normal' man.
No tail.
She added the last observation with a healthy sprinkling of humor, the thought never really having crossed her mind before. But now in the aftermath of their joining, she felt comfortable enough to joke about his unique physiology, at least in her own mind.
I should wash, Catherine decided, remembering that Rebecca had mentioned a nearby bathing chamber.
The coolness of the chamber touched her skin as Catherine slipped out of the bed, but she shrugged off the temperature. What she needed to do would only take a few minutes and then she could return to the warmth of her lover's bed.
Pulling on her tunnel gown for modesty, Catherine grabbed up the rest of her clothing and a candle for light. She located the bathing chamber a short distance down the tunnel, the facilities primitive but comfortable enough to demonstrate years of use. Half-burned candles had been placed in several alcoves in the walls, and Catherine lit a few to give her enough light to negotiate the unfamiliar room. After finding the appropriate spot to relieve her most immediate needs, she located a small bathing pool on the far side of the chamber.
Dipping a toe in, Catherine noted that while the temperature was a far cry from anything so heated as luke-warm, it was at least not icy cold. Bracing herself for worse, she removed the gown and lowered herself into the pool. It proved deeper than she anticipated, but her feet found solid rock before her head went under.
The coolness caressed her skin, but Catherine instantly wished for other hands on her. Her mind brought her back to the earlier experience with Vincent, and part of her hated to wash away the evidence of their lovemaking. But for him, sex still had a magical quality, and she was loathed to take that from him yet. Instead, she could deal with sticky, messy realities for a while longer.
"I see you have finally ensnared him with your charming qualities, my dear. Congratulations."
The voice startled her, and Catherine looked up in shock even as her mind identified it in the darkness. But the man who spoke stepped further into the chamber, a nearby candle finally illuminating his face. The light flickered like fire off the gold half-mask he wore, and Catherine started.
"Paracelsus."
Fear ran through her as she realized she had no weapon, no way of defending herself should he attack. With only the cover of water to hide her nakedness, Catherine knew instantly that she would need to abandon modesty in order to defend herself.
"Oh, don't worry," he said assuringly, his tone congenial and laced with an attempt at truth. "I only wanted to speak with you for a moment."
"I have nothing to say to you."
He made a tsking noise, a quiet but no less frightening sound considering its source.
"You may think you have tamed the beast, but you may one day find you are sorely mistaken."
The comment stirred anger within her, and Catherine shot back, "He doesn't need to be tamed. And he isn't what you say."
"Oh, isn't he?" Paracelsus raised an eyebrow. "The same creature you have taken to your bed has ripped apart a dozen men with his bare hands."
"To save me."
"Ah, yes. That's always the rub, isn't it?"
The insinuation infuriated her, but Catherine could sense something from the man which frightened her. With Vincent just down the corridor, still asleep, she could call for him through the bond in an instant. Paracelsus knew the game he played cut close to the edge, and she had begun to suspect she understood his motives.
"Why did you try to convince him he had hurt me?" she asked in turn, stepping out of the pool without bothering to cover herself.
He regarded her with sharp, appraising eyes, and Catherine knew her nakedness was of no consequence to him. Still, she reached for one of the towels sitting on a stack nearby and deliberately began to dry off.
"Proving you wrong was easy," she added, her nude form a testament to his lies.
"But was I truly wrong?" Paracelsus posed. "Vincent believed what he was told, at least in the beginning. And that means he knows his own capabilities. His own frailties. The fact that he could be misguided demonstrates that he knows he could have been guilty of such things."
Catherine glared at him. "You think making him doubt himself is some sort of a victory?" she demanded. "He has lived with those doubts his entire life."
"Ah, but that is where we differ, my dear. I would have him embrace the side of himself you all make him keep hidden."
The side of himself which had almost killed the reporter Spirko. The side which, though strong physically, could shatter in an instant if confronted with his more violent side.
"You wanted him to kill someone in anger," Catherine stated. "Someone unthreatening. The reporter. Or you - disguised as Father. Or even me."
Paracelsus seemed haughty in his regard for her realization, waving a hand in the air.
"Oh, had he destroyed you, that would have been all the push towards darkness he would need," came his indifferent reply. "I think we both know by now that you are the key to his true nature."
"No." Shaking her head, Catherine stated openly, "I won't let that happen."
"But it is you he kills for," Parcelsus reminded her, making the observation off-handedly. "Because of you, his passion and power collide. And he can excuse his actions by 'saving' you."
His words brought to her mind a dozen memories, times when Vincent had defended her with his bare hands, using claws as deadly weapons even as his fangs flashed, a guttural cry of inhumane rage leaving his throat. He killed effectively, but not clearly. Blood and gore and broken bodies fell in his wake, a trail of death leading straight to her doorstep. Catherine shuddered deeply at the images her mind brought forth, more for his suffering in the aftermath than anything else.
And now Parcelsus has reminded her of a truth she already knew, one she had never spoken aloud before.
What he does, he does in my name.
"You feel it, don't you?" he goaded. "The sheer majesty of him when he is finally able to embrace his destiny."
With only a towel around her, Catherine felt very vulnerable. Even though Paracelsus appeared unassuming, an old man with a low-toned voice and disfigured face, she knew better. He hid knives about his person, one literally up his sleeve, and he could kill her with ease. But if she allowed her emotions to alert Vincent to the danger, what trap would she be bringing him into?
"That isn't his destiny," Catherine responded, not daring to move forward but also refusing to back down. "His destiny is love. To love and to be loved. Not more pain and death."
For a long moment, Paracelsus simply looked at her. For the first time, he let his eyes move from her face, and her skin crawled as he raked his gaze coarsely over her towel-covered body.
"Perhaps," he murmured. "And perhaps you will lead him to find his true self far more cleverly than I ever could."
Before she could argue, he was gone.
With her heart still beating unnaturally fast, Catherine hastily re-dressed and returned to the chamber where Vincent still lay sleeping, his dreams untainted by her encounter with Paracelsus in the bathing chamber. For a moment, she simply stood and watched over him, listening for any sign that Paracelsus might have followed her. But as she waited, she felt a calm settle over her. Even if the villain was gone, his words remained ringing in her ears.
You are the key to his true nature.
She could not deny that Paracelsus was right about one thing - Vincent had killed because of her. He had saved her life on numerous occasions, ending the existence of others in the process. And even if in defending her he had only done to them what they might have done to her, Catherine could not avoid the fact that every instance of blood on Vincent's hands began and ended with her.
Even with the outsiders which had threatened the tunnels a few months prior - Vincent did not confront them until they found her and would have cut her throat. Or worse. Even after those men had killed someone in the tunnels, he had not rushed to dispatch them.
No, Paracelsus was right. She was the key to unlocking the violence within him.
Catherine sighed to herself, thinking once more about the night Vincent had nearly thrown himself off the balcony. In that moment, he had treated himself the way he did every one of her attackers. Desperate to preserve her safety, her well-being, he had reacted suddenly and without regard for himself.
Selflessness was his true nature, she decided, stepping closer to the bed to study his features. Without a second thought, she removed her gown and crawled back into the bed beside him.
Nakedness suited him, she decided as he shifted slightly in sleep and the blanket which covered him moved to reveal an extra two inches of well-muscled shoulder. The skin there held only a light dusting of fur, the same light hue as the hairs on his face. Part of her longed to reach out and touch him, to confirm for herself the softness. But a much deeper voice inside her stayed her hand.
Things had to change, she knew. Never again could she put Vincent at risk. Never again could a threat to her safety force him to give up another piece of his soul. Her carelessness and negligence had been chipping away at his spirit, drowning him in blood each time he was called upon to defend her.
No more death, Catherine promised him silently. Only pleasure.
Only love. Only happiness.
Beside her, Vincent began to stir and she waited with tender anticipation for him to wake.
Groggily, he blinked open his eyes, and Catherine gazed into their clear, blue depths. Contentment filled them as she had never before seen.
"I'm sorry I fell asleep," Vincent said quietly, blinking quickly to clear his vision.
"It's alright," she assured him. "You needed the rest."
"And you?" he asked. "Did you sleep?"
She hesitated, wondering if she should mention the encounter with Parcelsus. If he was still close by, they might both be in danger. But at the same time, she felt distinctly aware of the promise she had made to herself only moments before.
Perhaps Paracelsus had only appeared to her because he knew Catherine would call out to Vincent through the bond? He seemed intent upon leading Vincent to violence, to kill an otherwise 'innocent' person so as to alter Vincent's opinion of himself. If not herself or Father, Paraselsus might intend himself to be that victim, sacrificing his own life to the goal of pushing Vincent past what his fragile psyche could tolerate.
But Catherine refused to take part in the evil man's game.
Catherine shook her head. "I was enjoying watching you sleep," she expressed, her lips turned upward into a smile.
Vincent looked at her more closely as she spoke, and she hoped he would not notice the implicit lie of omission. But an ancillary concern seemed to overtake him.
"But you didn't…" he began, remembering back to their earlier interlude.
Confusion swept over her as Catherine took in his half-question. He looked at her for a moment, his eyes boring into hers as he searched her feelings through the bond. Knowing what he likely encountered there - a strange mixture of guilt and love, concern and protectiveness, Catherine focused on calming herself so he would not worry. But even as he traced a hand along the side of her face, Catherine realized that underlying it all was a distinctive lack of completion during their earlier act.
Having grown used to the ever-present companion, she had not even noticed the subtle hum of desire still clinging to her body. And as much as she had enjoyed their connection, Catherine had never expected to reach the same heights as him from that initial joining of their bodies.
"It's okay," she assured him as she understood his concern. "I usually don't, not from that. But it's not-"
Before she could say more, Vincent had rolled back over on top of her, placing his mouth on hers. He kissed her long and languidly, with one hand teasing and touching her breast. Catherine sighed contentedly at his attentions, delighted at his growing willingness to initiate such contact with her.
After a moment, he moved his hand further down, outlining the swell of her thigh until he found the triangle of curls where her legs met. Easing her legs apart, he very gently touched her with the palm of his hand, careful to keep his nails from her skin. Whatever he had already learned from bringing her to climax with his mouth he applied to this latest endeavor, and Catherine quickly felt herself responding to the pressure from his hand.
And yet, he continued to kiss her, exploring and loving in an unhurried but determined manner. Only when the passion he had stirred with his hand began to distract her did he break the kiss, and then Vincent focused entirely on stimulating her.
To Catherine, his touch felt perfect. He seemed to have a sixth sense about exactly how much pressure to apply and how to move his palm over her in a way guaranteed to bring a strong and fast orgasm. Belatedly, she realized that he likely listened to her responses through the bond in order to adjust himself accordingly, but even in that she marveled as her own emotions seemed a confusing jumble of happiness and exquisite pleasure. Her only complaint, if it could be termed such, was wishing Vincent felt confident enough penetrating her with one or two of his fingers. But with his claws, she understood the hesitation.
Might need to invest in some heavy nail clippers for next time, was her last thought before her body climaxed. She curled into him, grasping at his strong arms as he continued to make slow, firm circles with his palm, drawing out her orgasm so as to wring out every second of pleasure for her. Once it was over, Vincent settled against her, letting his hand move to simply drape across her belly.
Once she had recovered, Catherine turned to look at him. "Thank you," she said sincerely.
"What for?" he asked, confused.
Smiling, she answered, "For… this. All of this."
Belatedly, she realized that Vincent had surprised her. Upon realizing she had not reached climax with him, he had insisted upon seeing to her unmet needs. She could recollect no such thing having happened with the men she had been with before. Certainly, they had been attentive lovers, usually performing just enough foreplay to be counted as such before turning to the 'main event,' so to speak. But after intercourse, no man had ever turned to her, noted with concern her unmet desire, and made certain her needs were met.
While Catherine felt certain that the bond between them allowed Vincent to remain attuned to her, body and mind, there was also something about him which personified selflessness. All of their sexual experimentations had been for her sake, she knew, because Vincent never would have risked so much for himself alone.
"Catherine," he said with a sigh, closing his eyes as he laid back on the bed, "You have opened the world for me. Nothing can ever express my gratitude to you. And this… this has been the most incredible experience of all. It is I who owe you my thanks."
This time, Catherine reached out to place her head on his chest and to wrap her arm around his body, eager to maintain the contact between them. The position also allowed her to gently ruffle the fur on his chest before soothing it back down again. Absently, she made the motion over and over again, marveling at the softness of him.
"You really don't mind it, do you?" he asked after a while.
"This?" she asked, letting her fingers pet the heavy pelt on his chest. Smiling happily, she said, "No, I love it. I love you, and everything about you."
She felt him take in a deep breath and then expel it again before he said, "I can feel it in you. You are a wonder, Catherine. That so much love can exist in one person…"
"Because of you," she sighed.
Exhaustion had begun to take hold on her, and Catherine sat up just enough to look around the room for an extra blanket. The chill of the tunnels had been stayed by their exertions so far, but now she could feel it cooling her bare body.
"Here," Vincent said, standing up from the bed to retrieve a large quilt from a nearby chest. He spread it out over top of Catherine before telling her, "I'll be back in a moment. I want to… clean up a bit. There's a natural spring not far from here."
"I found it earlier," she said with a tired smile. "Be careful and hurry back."
But by the time he returned, she had already fallen asleep.
TBC