Page 29

Ronan

I fucking hate this.

She’s perched at the edge of my bed, lacing up her chunky black boots. She has an early shift tomorrow. I can’t blame her for wanting clean clothes and some sleep. Honestly, not being next to a half-dead human might be in her best interest.

So I lie.

It’s easier than having her worry about me.

“I’m fine, baby,” I say, voice low and rough.

I know I’m not, though. Something changed when I lit that candle last night. There’s this heavy weight suffocating me. Like something dark has its claws in me and doesn’t want to let go.

But I don’t mention it.

She glances back at me, eyes wary and guarded, like she doesn’t know whether she should believe me or slap me.

Smart girl.

“You look like shit,” she says, so softly I barely catch it.

Brat.

But she’s not wrong.

“Better than this morning, I swear.”

She responds with the mmff, like she can see through every layer of bullshit I’m throwing at her. I smile at her-or at least I think I do. It might pass as one if she squints hard enough.

“It’s probably just something I ate. In a couple of hours I’ll be fine,” I lie. “But you have that early shift tomorrow morning, so you need to get going now, or you're gonna be up too late tonight and be running on nothing but coffee and a bad temper tomorrow.”

Her lips press into a tight line, thinking it over.

“Fine. But I’m coming over as soon as I’m off work tomorrow,” she says. “And you better be alive.”

I let out a soft chuckle. “You can’t get rid of me that easily, baby girl.”

She lingers for a second longer before reaching down and placing her hand on my cheek. I can feel it. She wants to stay but knows she can’t.

She places a soft kiss on my forehead before waving goodbye.

Then she’s gone.

I hear the front door click shut behind her, leaving me with nothing except the silence.

The sound of my phone buzzing drags me out of sleep.

Fuck. I didn’t mean to sleep this long.

I drag myself out of bed, my muscles stiff and protesting.

I still feel like shit but it's not as bad now. It feels like the back of my neck is on fire, like something is holding it there and won’t let go. But, hey, I can move without wanting to throw up, so I’d call that a win.

I grab my black hoodie, keys, and combat boots before heading for the door.

I need to see her.

I have to make sure she’s okay.

The Potion Press isn’t far, I remind myself. It only takes me about ten minutes before I’m hauling myself through the door, like another one of their coffee addicted zombie customers.

The bell chimes overhead, signaling my arrival .

I look around the cafe. All the normal things catch my eye. Display cases full of pastries, an assortment of crystals, tinctures, candles lining the wall, and the half-crooked sign that says We Serve Potions & Coffee, Pick Your Poison.

Except she’s not here.

She should be here.

She had the early shift.

She’s supposed to be here .

My hands curl into fists at my side.

Where the fuck is she?