Page 68 of His Retribution

I look it over again, the strange feeling of familiarity, the weight in my hand, the way my fingers close around the hilt. It's like I've done this before, not the whole using it to puncture my throat thing but I've had this dagger in my possession before. And if there is any truth to my dream, then I have. But that doesn't entirely make sense so it's probably nothing.

Or everything.

Slowly, I pad my way to the bed, the wood cold against my bare feet. Samson is curled into Havok's side, head resting on his shoulder, but he has to move. My good boy needs to find somewhere else to go while I do this because I have no idea what's going to happen and judging by how wet my panties are, how my pussy flutters when I think about Havok biting me, my pooch definitely should be anywhere else right now.

“Samson," I whisper. "Let's go potty."

He perks up, looks between me and Havok then gets to his feet. Samson looks between us again then gives my vampire a kiss, jumps down and trots over to the door in the kitchen. After I let him out, I lock that door, turn and lean against it for a beat.

My heart is hammering so hard against my chest I feel like it's going to jump through my ribs.

So I glance around the cabin to give myself a few seconds of calm.

It's basically a studio apartment, a large one made of stone and logs.

The huge four-post bed is centered on the far wall, a basic nightstand and lamp on either side. A fireplace sits in the corner, large but built into the stones so it angles the heat outward to fill the whole cabin. There is a large beat to hell looking trunk at the foot of the bed, one that looks like it's seen better days. Just beyond that is a recliner and couch, both oversized and plush. A solid coffee table sits in the middle of them with a MacBook, iPad, and remote for the TV mounted on the wall, all three objects in a perfect line. The TV is set in the center of a book shelf filled with books; some old, some new, all in various languages and spanning multiple genres.

The dining table and two chairs sit in the middle of the kitchen area complete with cupboards and counters, new appliances and a farmhouse style sink. In the corner, to the right, is a door to what I'm assuming is the bathroom and one to the left that must be a closet. There is one dresser along the wall opposite the front door, a desk next to it filled with stationary and lots of sealed letters. Tons of letters actually and the drawers that are partially open seem to be crammed full of them as well.

There are a total of five windows, all of which are framed in heavy curtains but I can see steel shutters on the inside that must be electric and probably open and close automatically based on the time of day.

Havok's cabin is simple, clean, basic.

It's perfect and it is so very him.

Him who is currently twisting and turning against his sheets.

My poor sweet man.

Vampire.

Mine.

The thought echoes in my head for a minute as if another voice spoke the word but it doesn't feel wrong, doesn't seem like a bad thing.

Of course it doesn't, the idea of Havok being mine, belonging to me feels more right than anything else. I'm just stupid enough to think it could be forever and not only about a week.

As he begins thrashing more intensely, I see sweat glisten on his body, something I'm sure he doesn't do often since he runs so cool. Which must mean fever.

Quickly I go to the sink, find another rag and a basin, fill it, then move to set it on the nightstand.

Hesitantly I sit on the side of his bed, take in the horrible bruises, the nasty lacerations on his beautiful skin. I dip the rag, wring it out then press it against his forehead, continue to his temples, his neck, throat. Repeat a few times before I realize this isn't doing a damn thing to help so I get up, take off his shoes and socks then go to undo his jeans only to find he isn't wearing anything underneath.

I didn't see much, definitely not enough to satisfy my curiosity but enough to know that I should not take his pants off, and Havok is all smooth skin and hairless everywhere but his head. Totally natural too. His gorgeous fair skin doesn't appear to have ever had hair on it.

Which is weird for two reasons.

One, the hair on his head, his goatee, eyelashes and brows are all super dark and thick and seem to grow very fast—and perfectly—so I'd assume that even if he didn't have chest hair he had hair in other places but he doesn't.

And two, my body is the same. Darkest hair, eyebrows, lashes, but nothing else. I don't have to shave, never have actually, and it's because I've never even had hair on my arms.

That will definitely be something I ask him about at some point because I’m starting to think we are connected in a way that goes deeper than a mutual attraction. Totally worth asking him about it.

But not now, not while he's writhing in pain, sweating while the fever fights the poison in his body.

And that means I need to get my act together and get him to feed.

Holding the dagger with a shaky hand, I climb onto the bed, scoot myself up against Havok and brush his hair out of his eyes that I desperately long to see. He immediately leans into my touch, rolls his body to face mine even though he cringes with each movement.