Page 93 of Inked & Bloodbound

I used to find it creepy, but I’m getting used to it. The alternative—whatever undefined threat Lazaro claims to be protecting me from—must be worse.

Most days, I open myself up to the dead beyond the window. It started as a test, to see if I could still do it without Cassini by my side, but the headaches came back fierce when I tried to ignore the ability completely. Besides, I like helping them find peace. Mrs. Schwartz from down the street visited last week, worried about her grandson who’d been acting out since her death. A young man called Tony who died in a car accident needed me to tell his girlfriend he was sorry for the fight they’d had before he left that night.

Simple things. Human things. Nothing that involves vampire politics or blood oaths or ancient grudges.

I haven’t tried to contact my mother again, even though I’m desperate to find out about her connection to Lazaro. His name sits heavy in my mouth whenever I think about reaching out, but I’mafraid of what I’ll learn if I open that door. Some truths are better left buried. For now, at least.

The worst part is that I miss Cass.

I know I was angry that day—furious at being dragged into his chaos, crushed by the revelation that he’d used my abilities for his own survival. But lying here in the dark, staring at the ceiling during yet another sleepless night, I can’t deny the ache in my chest when I think about the way his lashes framed his beautiful eyes, or the way my name sounded in his mouth.

The pain will fade eventually. It has to. But right now, it still stings.

Something’s bubbling and simmering inside me tonight, a restless energy that won’t let me sleep. I’ve tried meditation, chamomile tea, even counting backward from a thousand. Nothing works. My skin feels too tight, like I’m about to crawl out of it.

I know that something is coming.

A loud crash from downstairs makes me bolt upright. My heart thumps against my chest as I grab the wooden stake Paloma insisted I keep on my nightstand, along with a tangle of thick silver chain she blessed for me. When I visited her a few weeks ago, she confirmed a few things for me.

Yes, I was in danger. Yes, other vampires would come for me. No, Cassini hadn’t been to visit her again.

She gave a knowing smile when my shoulders sagged. “You’ll have to forgive him eventually, mana. Otherwise it’s like drinking poison and hoping the other person dies.” Then she’d made me a few extra bolsitas to place around the house and thrust the weapons into my hands as I was leaving. “But if that motherfucker comes around and hurts you again, you can always use these, okay?”

The weight of the arsenal in my hands is oddly comforting as I tread barefoot down the stairs. In one hand a bottle of silver spray, in the other, a carved weapon of jagged wood.

I draw the stake up like a dagger. “Hello?” I call out, trying to sound braver than I feel. “Who’s there?”

Silence is all that greets me, but then I hear a soft mewing fromthe kitchen. When I flip on the light, I find El Gato perched guiltily on my counter. The ceramic vase that usually sits on the windowsill is in pieces on the floor, water and dying wildflowers scattered across the tiles.

“Really, buddy?” I sigh, setting down my weapons. “You couldn’t just scratch the door like a normal cat?”

He just blinks at me with those golden eyes, completely unrepentant.

I’m reaching for the paper towels when movement in the backyard catches my peripheral vision. A shadow by the oak tree that shouldn’t be there.

My breath catches in my throat.

It can’t be.

Cass?

The shadow freezes, then starts to retreat toward the back fence. Without thinking, I drop the paper towels and run for the back door, fumbling with the locks.

“Wait!” I call out, yanking the door open. “Don’t go.”

The figure stops but doesn’t turn around. Even in the darkness, I’d recognize those broad shoulders, the way he holds himself like he’s ready to fight or flee at any moment.

“Cassini.” His name comes out barely above a whisper.

He turns then, slowly, and the security light catches his face. He looks terrible—paler than I remember, shadows under his eyes that weren’t there before. But it’s definitely him.

“I’m sorry,” he says, taking a step back. “I shouldn’t be here. I was just?—”

“Were you watching me?”

He hesitates, then nods. “Someone has to. The others Lazaro sends… They’re too young, too inexperienced. If real danger came, they wouldn’t be able to protect you.”

“Others?” Something cold settles in my stomach. “How many times have you been here?”