Page 23

HAZEL

I jolt awake with a gasp, feeling the heat of Derek’s gaze before I’ve fully opened my eyes. My neck cracks from where my head’s been lolled against the wooden chair, and I blink away the blur of sleep, trying to focus on him.

Because he’s alive. And awake.

Sitting up in the bed, one of his hands inches from mine, fingertips almost brushing, like he was reaching out to touch me before I woke and suddenly remembers he shouldn’t.

His hair is tousled, blood crusted around a cut on his forehead that’s already starting to heal, and his eyes are darker than midnight—but somehow soft, as if he’s seeing everything about me for the first time.

I meet his eyes.

“You’re awake,” I say, breathless and not just because I’ve been snoring in a chair all night.

“You stayed,” he replies, and somehow, those two words are more loaded than a curse.

“Yeah, well.” I look away, shuffle on the chair, fidgeting because the rawness of his stare makes me feel too exposed. “Someone had to keep you from smelling the roses forever. Or daisies. Or whatever vampires think is poetic.”

He lets out a huff that could be a laugh, if he were capable of it. “You did that. Apparently.”

“Me?” I snort. “Pretty sure I just panicked and tried to magic you back to life because that’s literally all I know how to do: throw magic at things until they either work or explode. Either way, the problem goes away.”

Derek leans forward, his bare chest brushing against the sheets. “You stopped the curse,” he says, his voice gravelly and low. “You saved everyone.”

“Yeah, with your help,” I counter. “Which reminds me, what the hell were you thinking, jumping in front of magic like that? I had it under control!”

Derek’s eyes narrow. “Did you?”

“No, but you didn’t know that, and—” I stop, feelings tripping over each other, horror and anger and something deeper I don’t want to name all getting tangled on my tongue.

“Every time. Every single time I’m in danger—or think I’m in danger—you’re there, Derek.

Throwing yourself into whatever shit I’ve accidentally summoned because I sneezed wrong. ”

“Hazel.”

I don’t let him talk.

Well, I try not to. His voice is always like melted war drums, luring me in with that growl. But I’m on a roll and if I let him get a word in, I’ll lose my nerve.

“I never asked you to, okay? I never asked you to save me. To die for me. That’s not fair to you, and it’s no one’s job but mine to make sure I don’t ruin everything with my stupid magic or reckless ideas, and?—"

“Hazel.”

This time, his voice is a command.

Not the harsh kind. Gentle, but edged with iron, and I shut my mouth like his word cast a spell of silence on me.

“Come here,” he says.

“Why?”

“Because I thought of a better way to shut you up than arguing.”

He holds out one hand, palm up.

Inviting me.

Challenging me.

I stare at it like it’s a viper.

But really, it’s Derek’s wrist, sprinkled with black hairs and scars and all him , and all I can think is that this is the hand that held me back from the Veil. The hand that gripped a sword and fought and bled and nearly broke, all for me .

All because of me.

“You have a better way to shut me up?” I ask, because defiance is my default.

His lip curls. “Don’t I always?”

Damn if he’s not right. I usually shut up when he’s around because my words get tangled, or all that vampire broodiness muffles my thoughts.

But not this time.

This time is different.

Because he’s looking at me with those eyes, and we almost ended because of my magic, and I’m so tired of fighting and running and losing everything.

“Fine,” I say, and I stand, wobbling from being hunched in that chair forever, trying not to think about how thin his sheets are and how very shirtless he is, my heart thumping wild in my chest.

But when I take his hand, he doesn’t yank me forward.

No.

He tugs, yes, but carefully, gently, and in seconds, I’m sitting on the edge of the bed next to him.

Facing him.

He’s still got his hand in mine, our fingers laced, and he lifts his other to brush a strand of hair out of my face with a gentleness that churns my insides to molten lead.

“You’re the reason,” he says, and I blink, because those three words rock me to the core.

“For what?” I ask, even though I already know.

But I need to hear it.

Need to know it’s not some hyped-up, blood-loss hallucination or that I didn’t interpret it wrong in my sleep-deprived state.

“For this ,” he says, his voice rough. “For me being here, alive, and not buried in some forgotten paupers' grave because I’d given up. Because I realized there was nothing worth fighting for anymore.”

I open my mouth.

But before I can say anything, Derek’s other hand—the one that isn’t holding mine—cups my neck and pulls me toward him, until our foreheads are touching, his breath mingling with mine.

“You are everything ,” he says, and it sounds like a vow.

“Derek, I?—”

“I love you.”

Three words.

Still.

Quiet.

Like a truth so ancient and unbreakable that speaking it doesn’t make it more real, just more known .

My chest constricts, but not with panic.

With relief.

Like I’ve been holding my breath for years, and now I can finally exhale because the sky didn’t fall, and the world didn’t end, and he loves me, and I love him , and it’s not a spell or chaos or an accident.

It’s just us.

“I love you, too,” I whisper back, before I can overthink it or make a joke to dispel the weight of the moment.

A soft growl reverberates from him, and then his mouth is on mine, and we’re not kissing so much as he’s drinking me in or I’m setting fire to him or maybe we’re both just exploding into stardust and letting it burn.

It is everything.

It is not.

Then he pulls away, his thumb brushing my lower lip, his gaze searching mine.

“We have a lot to talk about,” he says, gravely.

We do, but I want to bask in this moment a little longer, because I know the second we start talking, it’s going to be warring over what should happen next, and the mess we’re in, and how he nearly died, and?—

“We do,” I agree, shifting closer, fingers curling against his chest. “But later.”

His brow lifts, but there’s a smirk hidden in the corner of his lips. “Later,” he agrees.

And then he pulls me back to him, one hand cupping the back of my neck again, and gods, there is no place in the world that feels safer than here, like the world could end all around us and within his arms I would still be whole.