Page 91 of Bleed the Shadows

I shifted and Maeve looked up and scanned the shadows before her gaze landed on me.

“Hey,” she said. “What are you doing up?”

I caught the flicker of anxiety in her face and hated myself for it. She was like that with me, because of me. Because the last time we’d met in the kitchen late at night I’d treated her like shit instead of like the most important thing to ever happen to me.

I pushed off the wall and walked toward her. “Can’t sleep. What’s your excuse?”

“Same,” she said. “But I have a lot of cooking to do anyway. Although I will admit it’s hard to leave my new cuddle buddy.”

I felt a flare of jealousy until I realized she was referring to Ray.

“How’s he doing?”

She smiled. “Good. He’s asleep in my bed.”

Lucky Ray.

I looked at the cake. “You don’t have to work so hard for us, you know. We don’t need anything fancy.”

She smiled. “I enjoy it. And honestly, I want to give you you guys a fancy Christmas dinner.”

“Why?” It was an honest question. Maybe Remy and Poe deserved nice things, but it was hard to put myself in their company.

“Everyone deserves a nice Christmas dinner.”

“Even me?” The question was out before I could stop it.

Her expression softened. “Especially you, Bram.”

Hearing my name in her mouth made me feel all gooey inside, like the cinnamon filling in one of Marv’s maple bars after I’d put it in the microwave for twenty seconds.

I pulled my gaze away from her face by force, afraid of what I might say or do next. “That’s some cake.”

“It’s Black Forest,” she said. “Have you ever had it?”

“I don’t think so.”

She smiled. “You have a sweet tooth and you’ve never had Black Forest cake?”

I grinned. “I never claimed to be high-brow.”

She hesitated, then reached into one of the drawers to pull out a knife and a triangle-shaped serving utensil I didn’t even know we owned.

I watched as she walked to the cupboard to pull out a plate.

She lifted the knife to cut into the cake.

“Wait!” She looked up. “You can’t cut that now if it’s for Christmas.”

“I can do whatever I want. It’s my cake.”

I wanted to stop her, but it seemed like a bad idea. Our last kitchen altercation loomed large in my mind: the pumpkin cupcakes, Maeve shoving a whole one into her mouth until I had moved on her like a wolf, fucking her until she’d shoved me away when I’d refused to kiss her.

I stopped a few feet away as she sliced cleanly into the cake. She cut a piece, then lifted it out with the triangle-shaped server and set it on the plate.

My mouth watered. The chocolate cake looked rich and dark, red cherries spilling from the middle along with what looked like more of the whipped cream that topped the cake.

She took out a fork and pressed it into the cake, then held out the bite. “Taste it.”