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He sighed. “I know.”

“And I do love you.” I really hoped that was enough for him. Really, really hoped.

He sighed. “But not enough to stop trying to get yourself killed.”

Before I could think of what to say to that, he pushed himself to standing and left the bedroom.

I lay in the bed, staring up at the ceiling, tears running down the sides of my face and into my pointed ears. I tried punching the bed, but it was both weak and ineffective, so it only made me feel worse.

Taavi came back in maybe ten or fifteen minutes later, and my heart ached when I saw he was carrying two steaming mugs. Hot cocoa. He must have picked it up from Ward—the warlock insisted that the thing that cured all types of upset, from nightmares to injuries to stress to relationship drama, was hot chocolate, specifically with marshmallows.

Taavi set both mugs on the nightstand beside the bed, then gently helped me sit up. I took advantage of it to lean into his body, holding on to him as tightly as I dared.

I felt him relax a little in my arms, his hands shifting from helping to holding.

I drew in a breath, but he spoke first.

“Val, of course I love you. If I didn’t, this wouldn’t hurt so much.”

“I—”

“I know.” He pulled back, but his hands traced around my features, brushing through my hair, then running one finger over the tracery of scars on the left side of my face. They were still new enough to be pink, but as they faded I knew they’d all but disappear into my snow-white skin. “But I also know that it’s part ofwhyI love you.”

“What is?”

“Your tendency to jump first and look second.”

“I don’t—”

“I watched you literally jump into a dumpster without looking first,” he admonished me, and the slight hint of warmth in his voice told me that I’d once again managed not to totally fuck up this relationship. It would be okay. We’d be okay.

God, I fucking loved him so much.

I swallowed. “I looked,” I objected.

“Not very hard.”

“I looked,” I insisted. “I just jumped anyway.”

He let out a soft huff, and the sound was practically like music. He passed me one of the mugs of hot cocoa. “Drink your chocolate, then get some sleep.”

I sipped at the hot beverage. It was made Taavi-style, with cocoa and milk and not much sugar, but he’d scrounged up marshmallows from somewhere in my mom’s pantry. “Taavi?”

He sighed across the top of his own mug. “Sí”?

I wasn’t sure how to say what I wanted to say. What Ineededto say.

Taavi put his mug down, took mine and set it on the night stand, then took my hands. “Val, I love you because you care what happens to people.” His lips quirked. “Even though you pretend you don’t.” He sighed, dropping his mismatched gaze to our hands. “I thought a lot, during those six months, about whether or not I was willing to date a cop.”

I swallowed, but didn’t say anything. This was something he’d never said to me before, and I had the feeling it was pretty damn important.

“I didn’t love you yet, but I knew I easily could. I wanted to. But I kept wondering if I could do what my father did—living every day and not knowing if today would be the day that the person I love might die.” He shrugged. “It was different for Papá, of course, because my mother was inMéxico. But I think he always feared that she would be killed because she was alone and unprotected.”

I still had no idea what to say, but that seemed to be okay, since he kept going.

“It scared me, the possibility that if I let myself fall in love with you, I might end up losing you.” His fingers tightened on mine. “But it scared me more that I might miss out on the chance to love you.”

I could feel the emotion welling up in the back of my throat, choking off my ability to speak—not that I could think of anything to say.