Page 49

GWYN

When Roman pulled the blanket over me in the middle of the night, I feigned sleep. When Zuul padded down the hallway behind him, I laid there. When the elevator doors opened, I didn’t move.

Because he left.

Because I knew he would leave, and a desperate part of me had hoped he wouldn’t.

I stared at the ceiling for quite some time, wondering about the significance of his fingertip’s caress on my shoulder.

As the sun rose, the weak winter light cast an icy glow in the room, and Roman’s empty spot beside me became glaring.

I’d willed myself back to sleep then, regretting it the moment I was transported back to the barren lava fields of Iceland, this time uncovering Roman’s body instead of mine as I dug through the ash.

It’s a nightmare I can’t escape. The heart clasped in his hands doesn’t beat, and the urge to save him isn’t there like it was with me.

An intense grief settles between my veins and climbs up my bones, and I want to crawl into the hole beside him.

There’s an awareness this time, knowing none of this is real, but the emotions are consuming either way.

When I’m startled awake, I’m grateful. It’s bright now, but the winter clouds shield the exact time from me. I roll over, confused about what woke me, and I nearly jump out of my skin when I find Hale’s hazel eyes peering down into mine from where he sits on the edge of the bed.

“A blacklight hates to see you coming,” he says, making a face. “Did you two leave no surface unfucked?”

I say nothing, rolling away from Hale. I’m naked beneath the thin sheet, and I’m sure I smell like sex and regret.

Not regret.

Disappointment over Roman leaving? Acceptance because it was good and it was final, and that’s more than I deserve anyway? Either way, it’s not regret.

The bed shifts, and Hale leans over to play with my hair. He’s gentle, and it means he knows now that this was self destruction. Hale has never been able to fully understand my depression or the stupid shit it makes me do, but he sees me, and it makes me want to cry.

I hope he leaves sooner rather than later. I just want to turn my brain back off and slip into unconsciousness once more. Even if it means cryptic nightmares that certainly have nothing to do with my vampire father I need to kill to find closure.

“He didn’t hurt you, did he?”

“No.”

“Do you have whatever answers you need when it comes to him?”

Irritated, I sit up, wrapping the sheet around myself. My leg brushes against the bottle of lube, bumping it into my vibrator, and I’m grateful it’s under the blanket with me and not visible evidence of last night’s debauchery. “Doesn’t matter. What’s up? How did Last Drop go?”

“I mean, I didn’t kill anyone,” he says.

He looks as if he’s done his own walk of shame.

His hair is a tangled mess, and his eyeliner is smudged.

“Nico says he needs at least a week to make sure I’m okay to go, but I think he’s just saying that because he doesn’t want me to leave.

” He looks out the window, not meeting my eyes.

and I want to ask him about it. But I also want to not be naked and sticky and marinating in my own sexual self hatred. I table it for later.

“How much more practice do you think you need?” I ask, a little surprised he’s taken longer to master control than I did. I suppose he wasn’t born half-vampire, but still.

“I think tonight will be enough,” he says, starting to explain what he wants to work on, but I cut him off.

“We’ll leave in the morning then.”

He blinks, gives a shake of his head to recalibrate, and doesn’t ask for more information from me than he knows I’m willing to give. Hale is the best friend I’ve ever had.

“Are we going where he was spotted last?”

“There’s a pattern,” I say. “I only just realized it. I thought it was tied to me at first, but I’ve never been to Colorado.

Cynthia lived there though before she met my Dad.

He’s going to all the places she’s ever lived.

I don’t think he believed me when I said she was dead, and he’s trying to find her. ”

“So, where to?”

“She lived in San Diego for most of her childhood. We’ll go there and let Agnarr come to us.”

“Hell yeah. I love San Diego,” Hale responds, but his excitement dims when he sees the look I give him. “Sorry, yes, no sightseeing. No enjoying the lovely weather or the authentic Mexican food or all the human rights.”

I snort despite myself. “So, one last hoorah with Nico at Last Drop?” I ask, feeling like a bad friend for not prying about whatever is going on between them. But I can’t do it—not right now.

He nods. “Sounds like a plan.”

“Okay, now go away so I can shower or sleep or I don’t know, wallow in my post-life-altering-sex self degradation pit of despair.”

He stares for a minute, debating on venturing into the pit with me, but he must decide against it.

“I’ll text you,” he says, and I hope he forgets.

Ma petit kafard , I type into the translation tab of the search engine, certain it’s wrong but hoping the internet will fix it. And it does.

Ma petite cafarde. My little cockroach.

Well, that’s not very different from what he’s been calling me already. I guess there’s some possession in the phrase that isn’t there, but ultimately, it’s pretty similar. In French, it felt different.

When I toss my phone beside me and it slides off the bed, I don’t bother to get it. Instead, I pick up my useless gun instead. I open the tip-up barrel and close it. Over and over again. It’s something I can do with my hands, and it’s soothing in a strange way even without ammo.

I’m laying on the guest bed after my shower, unable to venture into the primary suite knowing what happened there, and all I can think about is Roman.

After hours of staring at the crown molding, I can see the shape burned into my retinas when I close my eyes.

Long, straight lines meet ceiling and burst against my eyelids.

My hair has dried in a tangled mass, and I’ve been debating what to do this entire time.

After last night, things changed. I’d laid it all bare, told Roman I never stopped loving him, and he’d told me he loved me too.

Well, he said loving me would kill him, but still.

And he left without a word anyway. I’m tempted to text him and call him an asshole, but that’s not fair.

Despite all my flaws, Roman had loved me, even if it was limited.

Even if he denied it in the cemetery, hurling barbed words to push me away.

He gave me tenderness and affection, and all I gave him back was pain.

To ask him to forgive me, to move past it? It’s too much.

I need to do him the favor of leaving him the fuck alone. It’s the least I can do.

The elevator opens, and I assume it’s Hale stopping in to snag my phone charger before he heads out to Last Drop.

He had texted about Nico borrowing mine since his broke and Hale’s won’t work on his device.

When I told Hale that Nico had better taste than him, he’d responded with a queasy emoji.

I don’t actually care about whichever phone model is better, but Hale does, and I like to tease him.

“Is Nico with you?” I ask, slipping off the bed to tug on a pair of leggings.

No response. Zuul wakes from a nap and sits up, ears straight and alert. I inhale, and I don’t know who I smell—but it isn’t Hale. Maybe Nico came for the charger himself.

“Stay,” I murmur, hoping Zuul will obey. He’s a big baby that is pretty fucking useless when it comes to defending me, so I want him safe—just in case.

“Hale?”

I grab my gun, knowing it’s fucking useless but hopeful that whoever the fuck is in the penthouse doesn’t know the difference.

Slowly, I edge away from the bed, trying to get a glimpse through the window to see into the living room.

Thanks to the layout of the balcony, I’m able to make out a tall, blond man inching closer to where I wait.

Agnarr has come to me, it seems. He’s cut his hair, but he’s unmistakable. Sharp jawed with piercing eyes, he looks much the same as the first night I saw him. His short hair is wavy, and he wears a suit, probably trying to fit in as he searches for my birth mom.

“Told you she was dead,” I call out, holding the gun in front of me. I’m so fucked. Even if it was loaded, who knows if a silver bullet will actually kill one of the original vampires?

“Don’t make this difficult, hybrid.”

His accent isn’t as thick as it was before, and I chalk it up to the fact he was asleep for who knows how long. Now, he’s fully awake. No drowsiness to contend with.

“What do you want?”

“You know what I want.”

“No, I really don’t think I do,” I say, trying to get to the bathroom on the other side of the bed before he’s close enough to figure out my shitty plan. I don’t see my phone on the floor, and my heart sinks. But it doesn’t matter, because who the fuck would I call?

“You should not exist, and you know this. It is not the natural order.”

Forget stealth, I decide, before I use my abilities to move as quickly as possible to the bathroom door, and I’m halfway across it to the other room by the time he’s caught up.

I understand now—why my father always encouraged short hair.

Long hair and ponytails make it particularly easy for an attacker to throw a woman to the ground, and Agnarr does just that.

Before he has a chance to get in a position over me though, I scramble to my feet, grabbing the lid off the toilet tank.