Page 59 of All the Devils are Here

“Fate.” Moreau sighs. “She has plenty planned for all of us, I think.”

I do not ask what she has planned for Moreau. I do not dare. That is like asking it of the Huntsman; I would never do that, either.

“What happened after he kissed you?”

“He said he has been in love with me for fifteen years.”

“And you panicked and didn’t reply?”

“Um. Yes.”

Moreau snorts softly, and it does not feel as though he is laughing at me, despite the fact that I know every other memberof the Hunt believes I am far less emotionally mature than they are.

“Tell him you love him back, Vlad,” Moreau says. “It really is that simple.”

“I know.” I do. I just need… perspective. An outside thought. “Thank you.”

“I’d say anytime, but I don’t know where I’ll be next week, so maybe wait a while before you call again.”

“Do you need any assistance?”

“Here? No. Have you completed your job?”

“We have the name he asked for.”

“And now?”

“He is not here to stop the fae. That is our job. We serve the Hunt.”

“That we do. Speak to you soon, Vlad.”

“Of course.”

He hangs up and I set my phone gently down on the bed.Tell him you love him back. He is not wrong about it being simple. The shower shuts off in the bathroom and I lean forward, resting my elbows on my thighs.

I do not doubt Grant meant what he said. I do not doubt the depth of my feelings for him. Doubting his… That is unfair of me. Unkind. He is the last person I would wish to be unkind to.

I hear him move around, then silence, which endures for a few lingering minutes before the lock clicks and Grant tentatively opens the bathroom door. He angles his body around to get a look at me, apprehension written clearly on his face.

“Are you… You should get ready, right? We need to talk to Asher and Quinn about what we’re gonna do tonight.”

“They will be indisposed until sundown, I assume.”

Grant flushes red, and that does nothing to help me. I want to rest my hands on his cheeks and feel the warmth from them.

“Come here,” I say instead, and he swallows hard before he pads across the carpet to stand before me.

He is not wearing a provocative outfit. We do not know if we will go to the club tonight. Instead, he is in the same kind of clothes he would wear at home—pale linen shorts that fall just above his knee and a teal shirt of the same fabric, collar gaping open down to his chest.

He is summer personified. The sun I must orbit, his gravity drawing me in, just as it did that first night I met him. I want his warmth, want to sip the sunbeams from his mouth and give him every opportunity to shine as brightly as that star ever has.

I do not know how to say all of that, so instead I reach out and take his left hand in my right, gratified when he does not pull away. “I am sorry I made you feel bad about what you said before. It was not my intention.”

“No, it’s—It’s okay. I’m rushing things. I mean, we just kissed and I shouldn’tsaythings like that. That’s not fair on you or me—”

“I like that you said it,” I interrupt and hold his gaze when his eyes go wide. “Do not doubt that. I do not believe anyone has ever said something that has made me feel…”

I trail off and Grant shifts his weight subtly. His pulse flutters in his throat. “Vlad.”