Page 98 of Red Rooster

“What?” she asked.

“What if this doesn’t work?” he asked, and sounded like he wanted, badly, for her to have a backup plan in effect.

She’d wondered how things had gone in the Expedition on the drive up. She and Nikita had been largely silent, the radio set to a scratchy alt-rock station, exhaustion tugging at her eyelids the entire time. She’d glanced in the rearview mirror over and over, unable to tell much from the glimpses of Lanny behind the wheel, Jamie seated beside him in the passenger seat. It had probably been a terrible idea to allow two young vamps and Alexei to all ride together, but they’d been grinning and laughing with each other when they all climbed out at the diner.

Maybe, Trina thought with something like hope, Lanny was starting to care about the others. A good thing, given he was now set to live forever and everyone else in his life was very much mortal.

She slammed the door onthatquick.

“I don’t know,” she admitted. “I think it will, though.”

“Trina.” His frown deepened.

She reached up to pat his chest; he still felt the same beneath her hand, hard and solid as ever. “We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it.”

He snorted. “Well that makes me feel better.”

She winked at him. “Good.” Started to move away.

He caught her around the waist. His movement was so quick she didn’t see it. His arm was just there, his hand splayed across her ribs, holding her fast. Held against him like this, she could feel the hard press of his hipbone, the tension in his thighs and abs. Her hands had come up automatically, both braced on his chest, and she felt his ribs expand as he took a deep breath.

Oh, she thought, all her nerves sparking with renewed awareness.

Things between them had been strained since his turning. She’d ignored it, shoved all thoughts of it aside. Every time she started to ache with longing, she switched mental course. There had been too much to do; she hadn’t known if she could trust his new cravings and instinct, his new strength. Whatever lay between them beyond friend- and partnership had been put on hold. The fragile, budding closeness born of his confession had been shattered. There had been no kisses, no lover’s touches.

A part of her had wondered if he would even still want her, now that he knew he was healed. A man who lived forever had options. Maybe he’d only wanted her because he thought he was dying and had needed her comfort. And that was alright, she’d told herself, because she wasn’t the sort of woman who’d pine away or throw herself at toxic, doomed love.

But now. Pressed together. It all came flooding back: the heat, the tension, the wanting.

Oh, she was so fucked.

“Lanny,” she murmured, stomach alive with butterflies, voice trembling.

Did he notice? Yeah, he noticed; he smirked. And then the smirk widened into a smile, genuine and delighted, eyes crinkling up at the corners.

“What?” she asked.

“Just making sure I’m still your favorite.”

She rolled her eyes.

He chuckled, seeing right through her. He patted her ribs and turned her loose. “A séance, huh?”

“Ugh, fuck you,” she muttered, and he laughed again. She stepped back and smoothed her hair, the now-rumpled front of her shirt. “Yes, a séance.”

He was still staring at her, eyes sparkling.

“Stop looking at me like that,” she hissed.

“Like what?”

“I’m walking away now.”

“I like it when you get all out of sorts.”

She gave him the middle finger and turned her back on him.

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep, sweetheart.”