Three's a Spell

The Shared Breath

[Elora]

I didn't mean to fall asleep in the vampires’ sitting room. One moment I was sipping warm blackberry mead, the next I was jolting upright, heart pounding, blinking at the softened glow of the fireplace. As I sat upright, the softest blanket I have ever felt cascaded down from my shoulders and pooled around my waist.

"I wasn’t sleeping," I said quickly, even as I felt my neck creak with betrayal. I scanned the room to reevaluate my surroundings. Vernon and Sylas were not where they were moments ago and the glasses from the table were gone, replaced by tea mugs that appeared to have already begun to cool. Is that mint I smell?

"You were definitely snoring," Vernon said from the nearby armchair. His grin was lazy and devastating. He was sprawled like a panther in a tree, one leg slung over the side of the seat, black shirt slightly unbuttoned at the collar with his tie loose and hanging like a necklace.

"I do not snore."

Sylas, who had just materialized on her other side (as vampires apparently do), murmured, "You make a small, adorable wheezing noise. It’s... endearing."

I blinked between them, caught in the narrowing space between their words, their eyes, the heat. Was the fire suddenly hotter? Or is that just my face?

"I should go," I said, my voice too high, too thin.

"You could go," Vernon said, unfolding from the chair with slow, predator-smooth grace. "Or you could stay a little longer. Let us walk you through one of our favorite vampire traditions."

She stood cautiously. "I’m afraid to ask."

Sylas raised a brow. "Blanket forts."

That... was not what I expected.

Vernon was already pulling down thick, embroidered throws from the back of the chaise. "We used to build them in castle cellars. We found there to be something oddly precious about being in a space made entirely of softness and secrets."

My voice came out too fast. "I’m not sleeping in your vampire fort."

Sylas stepped in close—too close—and adjusted the lace collar of my dress with an achingly slow touch. His knuckles grazed the hollow of my throat, sending an electric tingle down my spine. "Who said anything about sleeping?"

My breath hitched. Their gazes were locked on me. I can’t say that I haven't been intrigued by the thoughts of experiencing the unimaginable intimacy that these two men shared. My body responded to their combined allure without permission – a blush creeping up my neck, a curious warmth unfurling in my chest. This was new, exhilarating, but frankly, terrifyingly fast.

I felt a sudden weight rain over my body as Vernon dropped a velvet blanket over Sylas and me.

"Oh, for stars’ sake," I groaned from beneath the fabric.

Vernon’s deep laughter vibrated against my back as he pulled the blanket into a proper canopy and clipped the corners into the retractable clips he pulled down from the ceiling.

Do they really have permanent fixtures in this room for making blanket forts?

Vernon slithered in to join us under the private cover after draping an impossibly-large red lace veil over the top that draped down to create walls on either side, and another along the front and back. The soft glow of the now-purple fire framed his silhouette as he approached. They were close now. The flicker of firelight filtered through the veil, casting us all in soft shadows and warm pinks.

"You really know how to trap a witch," I said, peeking up at Vernon through my lashes, attempting not to give in to the lure of an even more magical ending to this seemingly perfect evening.

Vernon leaned in, the tease in his voice suddenly edged with something warmer, heavier. "We haven’t even tried yet."

Sylas shifted behind me, a slow deliberate movement that pressed his thigh against mine. His fingers brushed the back of my hand, just barely—testing. Waiting.

I didn’t move. Didn’t pull away. Sylas’ words from dinner re-entered my mind. Does he really believe that? That I am somehow fated to be here with them tonight? Or forever? Don’t get me wrong, I am 100% on board with having some fun tonight, but is that all this is? Vernon’s eyes reflect the hunger I feel brewing in my core. But Sylas? He looks at me with a different kind of longing.

"Why are you doing this?" I asked softly. "I mean, I get the whole dangerous-seductive-vampire aesthetic, but this... this feels like more."

Vernon’s smile dimmed into something quieter. "Because it is."

Sylas added, "We’re not trying to seduce you, Elora. Not unless you want us to."

Vernon leaned closer, his breath brushing my ear. "But we are very good at it."

My cheeks burned and my heart began thudding so loud I was certain they could hear it. My skin had become a livewire under every accidental touch, every glance. I should have said something—should have broken this spell before it had a chance to wrap any tighter around me.

Instead, I whispered, "I think that’s what scares me."

Vernon’s hand found mine. His touch is a steady anchor, a quiet, almost ancient warmth that settles around my hand. His fingers are long and cool, but their pressure is so firm and reassuring, conveying a profound sense of calm in me. He suddenly feels like the solid earth beneath my feet. His touch offers a grounding, undeniable comfort, reflecting his reserved yet deeply certain nature.

Sylas’ hand grazed down my forearm until his fingers intertwined with mine. His touch, on the other hand, feels like a spark of playful fire, a vibrant, almost electric current. His grip might be a touch more playful, with his thumb tracing a light, teasing circle on my skin. His fingers interlace mine with a hint of possessive charm. It carries a more restless energy, a lively warmth that both excites and challenges, reflecting his flamboyant and dynamic spirit. He feels like a subtle reminder of a thrilling new adventure unfolding.

Feeling them both together has created a unique duality. It is a tangible expression of the very harmony I have observed between them, pulling me into their shared world with both deep security and exhilarating anticipation.

Vernon’s gaze never left my face.

"And yet," Sylas murmured, "you haven’t run."

I looked between them—one playful and smoldering, the other watchful and intense. The air was thick with want. Unspoken, unanswered—for now.

"Don’t tempt me," she breathed, voice low and ragged.

Vernon’s smile turned slow and dangerous. "Witch, temptation is half the fun."

I released Vernon’s hand and firmly gripped the back of his neck. As I pulled him down, his hand grabbed a handful of hair at the base of my head and our lips crashed together. His kiss was deep, like sinking into warm, still water. His lips were firm and steady, a gentle yet utterly profound pressure that resonated with every cell in my being. There was a subtle, grounding sweetness to him, a clean scent like rain on fresh earth.

He tilted my head to the side as we kissed. I felt Sylas’ lips meet the spot between my neck and clavicle. During a second, more open-mouth kiss I felt his teeth graze against my skin before his lips met. In perfect unison they each released me. Each of them supported my body through a spin before I could understand what was happening.

Vernon, with one hand on the front of my shoulder and one hand on the front of my hip, pulled my back to rest against his hard body. One of Sylas’ hands found its way to the back of my neck while his other arm found the small empty space between the dip in my back and the hard lower abs of his partner on the other side.

He pulled his body into mine and I found myself yearning only for a moment before his lips found mine. It was like being caught in a gale of exhilaration, a whirlwind of soft, demanding pressure that swept me off my feet. His lips were supple and cool, yet they conveyed a hungry, almost theatrical passion, demanding a response. I could taste a hint of dark chocolate, perhaps, and the intoxicating scent of ancient longing.