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CALLI

My eyes track Daemon across my bedroom floor, and my brows pinch when I find him wearing a white t-shirt instead of his usual black.

But I don’t question it. I’m too relieved that he’s here to question anything right now.

Although, as I watch him for a few more seconds, I realise his intentions and my heart jumps into my throat.

“They’re locked,” I say, my voice barely above a whimper with how dry my throat is.

He stills, his entire body going rigid as if he’s not expecting to hear my voice before he lowers his head.

“You’re meant to be asleep.”

“Come here,” I demand. “Don’t run from me. Not again.”

The pain that’s still lingering in my chest collides with hope from finding him here, and I reach for him, desperate to feel his touch, his warmth, to breathe in his scent.

“I can’t,” he says, his voice deep and haunting.

He cuts across the room toward the stairs.

“I shouldn’t be here. I just…”

“Please, Nikolas. I need you. I—”

“I’m not what you need, Angel. I’m not worthy of you. I never have been, and I was foolish to believe that I could be even for a second. Spend more time with Jerome. He’d be good for you. He could be what you need.”

I suck in a gasp as he disappears from my sight, and when my eyes fly open, I find I’m sitting in the middle of my room, looking toward where he was just standing. Or at least where I thought he was standing.

The reality is that he’s not here. Nor has he been.

“Fuck,” I breathe, falling back onto my bed as shame rolls through me.

Just for a minute, I really thought that—

Despite the pounding in my head and the rolling of my stomach, I sit back up and look down at myself.

I’m wearing a vest. A vest I don’t remember putting on.

My eyes scan the room, searching for evidence that there was some reality to my dream, but I don’t find anything. It looks exactly the same as I remember.

“Shit.” It was just a dream.

But it felt so real.

Reaching over, I find my phone on the side, exactly where I left it, and I wince when I light the screen up to find that it’s almost lunchtime. I’ve got a whole stream of messages from Stella and Emmie asking how last night went, wanting to know if I gave Jerome my V-card, and at what point I’m going to wake the fuck up so we can go to our spa appointments for this evening’s party.

The bright, colourful lights damn near burn holes in my eyes as I attempt to reply, but my brain and fingers don’t seem to be on the same wavelength.

I send them something half legible before finding my conversation with Jerome.

Calli: What happened last night? The last thing I remember was dancing…

I hesitate to send it. What if something did happen? What if he was the one to change me and put me to bed? The last thing he would want to read this morning is evidence that I’ve forgotten all of it.

My message shows as read almost immediately and my stomach knots. I really don’t want him to reply, reminding me about him putting me to bed and me doing something I’m going to regret.

Jerome: My head hurts too much to think. What did you give me, arsenic?