Page 23 of Bloodbane
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
A Game of Tug-of-War
{ R U B Y }
“Shit.” The curse fogs the cold night air as I pinch the bridge of my nose and will the fog inside my head to clear. Forethought has become the latest casualty of my current condition, put to rest right alongside my sense of shame in a shallow grave. “Would this be a bad time to tell you that the offer of free lodgings now requires a trek to said lodgings?” My gut twists realizing how this must look to Grayson. As if kissing him and practically begging him to stay isn’t bad enough, I’m now forcing him on a moonlit stroll. “This wasn’t premeditated, I swear. It’s just when I loaned Thayne my truck to get back to his place, I wasn’t thinking about getting back to mine. But it’s not far, literally five minutes in that general direction.” I jerk my head to the right of the station.
Whatever thoughts run through Grayson’s mind at the new turn of events make no impact on his face, remaining impassive as he scans our surroundings.
“We should make haste while we still have visibility.”
The antiquated turn of phrase has me smiling as Grayson wraps an arm around my waist and urges me down the steps. That amusement fades when his long strides have me hustling to keep pace. The effort to push my aching body against the whipping wind, through the snow, is exhausting. It doesn’t help that—for reasons I can’t quite comprehend—our moonlight stroll has suddenly become a moonlight dash. I don’t waste energy complaining, I can’t—I’m using every drop attempting to keep up with Grayson.
Seeking a distraction from my burning muscles, I turn my face skyward, squinting against the wind. The moon, almost full now, winks in and out of view behind shifting clouds, and the steady curtain of white falling around us dances into sharp focus under the soft halo of the street lamps. But the beauty of the picturesque surroundings can’t hold a candle to the man pressing against me.
I risk a furtive glance at Grayson’s flawless profile. Small snowflakes cling to his hair and long lashes, and his eyes shine silver in the moonlight. The unusual hue somehow perfectly suits the man they belong to. From his alabaster skin to the strands of snowy hair, it’s almost as if someone turned the saturation down, and yet, there’s an intensity about him that makes me want to look away—like staring at the sun. He doesn’t look human, more like an exquisite marble statue brought to life.
Lust strikes me in the chest so hard that my lungs constrict, forcing my breath out in a puff of heat. All at once, I’m eternally grateful that everyone else seems to have the good sense to be bundled up indoors and out of the weather. The last thing I need is people judging me for swooning on Main Street. Though at this rate, I’m more likely to drop from being utterly spent rather than stupidly smitten.
My lungs burn as my legs churn, still trying to match Grayson’s pace as the strong arm around my waist drives me ever forward. Grayson is injured—there’s a hitch to his gait that I can feel in each step—but the shin-deep snow breaks around his legs easily, like waves crashing on the shore. I don’t know how he can seem so unaffected. Sweat is gluing my pullover to my lower back as I struggle forward. My aching body is heavy and clumsy with fatigue, hemorrhaging energy with every step until finally, exhaustion brings me to a standstill.
“Sorry,” I pant as Grayson stops beside me. “I just… need… a minute.”
Bending, I press my hands to my thighs and duck my head down to suck in ragged gasps. Cold air lodges like frozen needles in the base of my throat.
I raise my head, attempting to fight off the sudden surge of lightheadedness. The dimmed lights of the cafe across the street greet my gaze. Was it only this morning that I’d been planning a date with Thayne? A picnic with muffins from that very bakery. And tonight I’m on my way home with Grayson.
How is it that in less than twenty-four hours, I’ve had more action than I have in the past three months? Phantom heat burns across my lips at the memories. Can a head injury result in a total personality shift? Or maybe I haven’t survived the attack at all—what if I died that morning in the clearing, and now I’m in Purgatory? Oddly, that possibility doesn’t seem as ridiculous as it ought to.
I haven’t spent time with two guys—in that way—in one day, ever. I can’t even remember the last time I was with two guys in a single month. My apple has always landed beside the quality over quantity tree, but that’s of little help now. I’m powerless to resist the twin tides pulling at me, even though they couldn’t be more different. Day and night, heaven and hell, fire and ice—both will consume me if I let them. And fuck, why do I want to let them?
“Evans?”
“I’m good,” I call above the wind, even though I feel anything but. It’s an enormous effort to fight the pull of gravity when all I want to do is to flop down into the snow. It looks so inviting… and maybe even cold enough to extinguish the embers of desire spreading through me, using every fiber of my body for kindling. I meet Grayson’s gaze and offer an apologetic shrug. “Sorry, it’s just been a really, really long day, and my spoons of energy became forks somewhere around lunchtime.”
Grayson’s eyes dart around the empty street as if he’s searching for something. Or someone.
“You can relax, I don’t think Arlo is in any rush for round two. In fact, with the condition you left him in, unless he found immediate medical attention, I very much doubt he will be a problem to anyone ever again.”
“He’s not dead and he’s not done. He’ll be back.” Grayson looks torn—a human rope in a game of tug-of-war—divided desires raging across his face.
“You can go after him if you want to. You’re a free man, after all.” I can’t keep the resignation weighing down every word. If Arlo is responsible for the murders, that means he tried to kill Grayson, too. Revenge is a stronger draw than a hot shower. “I won’t try and stop you.” I offer a wan smile, ignoring the twinging in my gut at the thought of Grayson leaving. I expect all that’s left to be found of Arlo at this point is a corpse. I can only hope Grayson won’t meet the same fate in the storm. But I can’t control him or try to temper his desires. Hell, I can’t even suppress my own.
“I’m staying,” Grayson says finally, his voice grim. “But we need to get inside. Now.”
In one fluid motion, Grayson bends and slides his arms under my thighs and around my back, and scoops me off my feet. The squeak that escapes my throat is lost to the wind, disappearing behind us as Grayson cuts through the snow smoothly despite the extra weight. I should flail and make a fuss, or at the very least demand Grayson put me down. I should… but I don’t. Instead, I wrap my arms around his neck and bring my chest flush against his, erasing what little space exists between us.
“Which is your house?”
“End of the street. Red door,” I murmur, letting my eyes drift closed.
“Keys?”
“It’s unlocked.”
Grayson mutters something under his breath in response. But a moment later, the pressure on my back lifts, and the arctic wind gives way to still warmth as my stomach jolts, the sickly feeling of an elevator coming to a stop. The strange dizziness keeps my eyes squeezing shut as my feet are lowered gently to the floor. Strong hands remain around my waist, holding my weight, somehow knowing my knees are not yet up to the task.
Finally dragging my eyes open, my gaze drifts around the familiar room. We’re standing inside my house. My house that was a good ten-minute walk away ten seconds ago. A dull throbbing starts at the base of my skull.
“How…”
Grayson is mere inches away, pressing into my space, and for one incredible, heart-stopping moment, I think he’s about to kiss me again. A large hand lifts from my waist and moves upward, toward my face, and my lashes flutter closed expectantly. Anticipation shivers over my skin. I hold my breath and wait…
The loud clunk of the deadbolt sliding home, locking into place beside my ear startles my eyes open.
“Shower,” I croak.
Confusion draws Grayson’s dark brows together, but he doesn’t edge out of my space.
“I promised you a shower,” I elaborate. “It’s upstairs. At the end of the hall. In the bathroom. You can’t miss it,” I bite out. “There are fresh towels on the rack, and there’s a robe up there too. You can use that while your clothes are in the machine.”
“We need to talk. The shower can wait.”
“Oh, but it really can’t,” I say desperately. I retreat two steps from Grayson until my back collides with the front door. It takes every shred of willpower not to run back through it, into the storm. “Look, something’s going on with me. Something…” I run my hand through my hair, trying to wrangle my thoughts into line. “I don’t know. Milo would probably say I’m having a nervous breakdown, Coop would say my sexual appetite has been starved for so long that it’s going on a binge-bender to compensate. Personally, I think I’m just losing my mind,” I babble, unable to keep the note of hysteria from my voice. “But I need a minute to collect myself so I don’t beg you to carry me upstairs to see how filthy we can get in that shower before we get clean. So, if you could just…” I jerk my head toward the stairs. “ Please .”
My heart hammers painfully under my ribs as Grayson’s gaze drops to my lips, and his tongue darts out to moisten his own. A hint of white glints behind the pink as Grayson’s lips curl up, and a shiver trembles through me. The hairs on my arms arc up as lust-darkened eyes flick back to mine—piercing, knowing—and I’m laid bare, exposed and vulnerable. Prey in sight of a starving predator. My legs tremble as I take a step forward. I want him to take me. To devour me. But that razor-sharp jaw clenches tight, and he takes one step back and then another. His head jerks in a sharp nod before he turns on his heel and disappears up the stairs without a word.