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Thirty-Seven

ALEC

I hear her before I smell her, and I smell her before I see her, and I felt her even before she touched the door. She saves me from the conversation I’ve been having on the small electronic device I despise so much.

Cedric

Find her?

Me

Yes. With her family’s coven.

Cedric

Are you remaining in Banff?

Me

For the time being.

Cedric

YOU’RE going to stay around the coven?

Me

Yes.

Cedric

Why not give this up? Get her home? Do what you always intended.

Me

I told you why. Why are you acting strange?

Cedric

I hope you understand what you’re doing.

Cedric isn’t so involved in my plans usually, and I wish that was the strangest thing about his behaviour.

After a moment of restraint, Harlow’s standing at the bottom of the wooden staircase, her weak eyes scanning the dim, windowless basement until finding me seated on the ground.

Conversation with Cedric forgotten, I’m quick to my feet and even quicker to her side, the magnetizing sensation sucking me into her realm. “Oh, how the tables have turned.” My chest presses close as I loom over her, craving any inch of her skin she’s willing to give.

“What do you mean?” She rocks towards me, her scent filled with everything I desire.

“Once, it was I who visited you in the cells, and now I’m the one locked up.”

“Don’t see it like that. Morgan’s doing us a favour.”

Us. What an interesting way of looking at this.

“I’m aware.” My voice vibrates against her back, and I lower my head to speak into her neck, my breath warming her skin where my bite marks remain visible. Knowing she’s about to leave the house and see an old friend named Jasper makes me only more eager to remind her again whom she belongs to.

The scent of her prods at my hunger, my gums aching for what I wanted last night after my journey.

“They’re lucky they obviously care a lot about you. I wouldn’t be sitting in just any witch’s home.”

She twists away, putting herself a foot away, which simply won’t do for long. Her eyes sweep the unlit basement. “You’re okay down here?”

“You care?”

“I mean…”

“It’s cozy,” I say dryly. “So cozy it got you to visit.” I tug her away from the stairs to keep her to myself as long as I’m able.

Her skin flushes the most delicious shade of red as I lift her onto the washing machine, stepping between her legs.

“You came down of your own will.”

As her eyes adjust to the low light, they scan me, and slowly—agonizingly slow—she reaches up, caressing her fingertips along my cheek and up to my eyes. Her touch feels fucking amazing, and my hands press into the washing machine beside hers, letting her retain control for now. When her thumb passes again, the metal cries beneath the pressure, forming indents.

“You look tired, and I never thought I’d say that about a vampire.”

“I expended a lot of energy travelling. I was in a rush.”

She frowns. “You didn’t stop for a snack?”

“Like I said before, mated pairs don’t feed from another, whether it’s a vampire, human, or animal. You’re my sustenance.”

Her tongue sweeps her bottom lip and, whether she realizes it or not, she leans towards me. My fingers dig into the machine harder.

“And if you don’t?”

“After a few decades of starvation, of no other blood being enough, I’ll fall into a coma, more or less. If you want me gone from your life, you can starve me. Otherwise, from here on out, my life is literally in your palm.”

Her lips form a small O. “Sounds painful.”

“Not that I have experience, but I’d imagine so.”

She chews on the inside of her mouth before ending in a sigh, her head dipping until hair falls into her face and restricts my view. The machine gains a reprieve when I reach for her, tucking her hair behind her ear. With my brief touch, she holds her breath, the usual rise and fall of her chest non-existent.

“Can’t have you die after convincing Morgan to save you.” She lifts her wrist towards my mouth.

Her offer means she cares, at least a little bit.

Holding her gaze, I part my lips, and my fangs lengthen from my gums. Her pupils constrict, and her fingers flash white when she begins curling them into the machine, inches from where my indents lie.

Bringing her wrist closer, I continue holding her attention as my fangs pierce her skin. She flinches a little before the flash of pain transforms into a sweeter scent of longing, and her lids flutter shut.

I won’t point out her reaction, not willing to give her more reason to be defensive over something she’s slowly coming around to.

Her blood—fire and ash—ignites on my tongue, and what begins as a gentle sip quickly grows as my other hand comes up to hold her hip steady. Her lips roll together by my third gulp, and by my fourth, the slightest moan slips out.

I drink enough to hold me off for a day or so but not enough to make her weak before unhooking my fangs and laving my tongue over the injury, healing it.

Thank you, I push into her head.

She’s about to reply and I cling to it, until a loud voice from upstairs calls her name, making Harlow stiffen in my arms.

“I have to go.” She nudges my chest and, even being reluctant to release her, I lift her off the machine. “Coming!” she hollers, reaching the steps.

She disappears upstairs, leaving me grinning.

My witch came to see me because she wanted to.

She just won’t admit it to herself.