Page 36 of Zomromcom

The good news: The salt from those tears added a necessary bit of extra seasoning to the starchy not-falafel. The bad news: More salt seemed to be arriving by the moment, and she was going to choke to death if she kept hiccupping as she chewed.

Silently, he handed her the pomegranate-lime juice box, which had apparently fallen to the floor with everything else. While she coughed and sputtered and tried to wash down her mouthful of food, he cautiously perched beside her on the sofa and circled a soothing hand between her shoulder blades.

She was too exhausted and dispirited to jerk away from him. Besides, the Beast-tormenting French jackass gave a good back rub.

After another minute, he scooted closer, then closer again, until he was pressed tightly to her side.

His arm wrapped around her shoulders. Then his other arm encircled her too, gently turning her to face him.

And then her can and fork were neatly set aside on a nearby table, she was on his lap, and he was tucking her against his chest, one broad palm stroking up and down her spine while the other cradled her head and urged her face into his bandaged neck.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured. “I’m sorry, my Edie.”

She sniffled and wiped her wet nose on his shoulder. “I didn’t do anything wrong.”

“I know you didn’t.” He paused. “Other than using my skin as your tissue just now.”

“You deserved that.” For good measure, she did it again.

“I suppose I did.” He kissed her hair. “Although, and I feel this must be noted—”

“No, it mustn’t. You can shove that note right up your bethonged ass.”

“—there are torn strips of exquisitely woven cotton literally an arm’s length away. Ones you could have used as a handkerchief. Both times.”

“Your fancy shirts can go fuck themselves for all I care,” she grumbled.

“That’s fair. Not to mention logically possible.”

Try as she might, she couldn’t entirely stifle her amused huff. His shoulders lowered a fraction at the sound of it, and—his mission achieved—he let the conversation end there.

He began carding his fingers sweetly through her hair, detangling it strand by strand. Her scalp tingled with each tiny, painless tug. She sniffled loudly at the tenderness of his touch, its patience and consideration, and he rocked her a little in response.

Eventually, she managed to stop crying again. Which was when he spoke quietly into her ear, as humble and solemn as she’d ever heard him.

“I was angry at myself, ma puce, not you.” Even once her hair slipped smoothly through his fingers, he kept playing with it.

“When we entered my house, I was inattentive and careless with our safety. Because of that carelessness, I put you in a position where you had to relive your worst memories and watch me get injured, and I put myself in a position where I had to extract a terrible promise from you. Thereby upsetting you to the point where your sweet face got blotchy and swollen and your pretty eyes turned red from crying. Then, to top it all off, I found out I was incapacitated when you needed food and protection, entirely due to my own stupidity.”

If he was trying to earn her forgiveness, the sincerity and self-deprecation and compliments were definitely helping. The reference to her tear-ravaged face? Not so much.

“And now I’ve upset you again,” he unwisely added. “So you’re even more blotchy and swollen, and you have full-on albino rabbit eyes.”

When she lifted her head to glower blearily at him, he backtracked. “You’re as lovely as ever, obviously. Albeit somewhat damper than usual.”

“ Hmph .” Another swipe of her runny nose against his neck relieved her feelings considerably. “Asswipe.”

His voice turned coaxing. “Albino rabbits are adorable, are they not?”

Yes. “Maybe.”

“Not so much because of the eyes, I must admit, but—”

“Oh my gods.” She began laughing helplessly. “Please tell me you’re doing this on purpose, dude , because if you aren’t…”

He didn’t actually need to tell her, though.

She knew. In part because she was beginning to understand how he dealt with emotion, both hers and his own.

But mostly because his entire body relaxed against hers when she laughed, all the terrible tension keeping his muscles taut and his posture stiff simply… vanishing. In an instant.

For such a condescending, infuriating vampire, he was really kind of a sweetheart.

Outside his house, the last traces of light would have already vanished from the horizon.

They weren’t going anywhere until morning, so there was no need to hurry.

In the wake of her emotional outburst and his uncharacteristic openness, they could hold each other until they both fully calmed, or as long as they damn well wanted.

Apparently as long as they damn well wanted meant a really fucking long time .

After countless minutes of cuddling, he murmured, “Edie, love, I don’t know how to ensure you survive this…” He sighed, somehow gathering her closer. “This cluster of unfortunateness.”

“Ensuring my survival isn’t your responsibility, Max.” She poked him in the shoulder. “Even if it were, there are no guarantees. Not ever. Not for anyone. Even immortals like you.”

He continued as if she hadn’t spoken. “Despite what your human stories told you, I can’t turn you into a vampire with a simple bite. If I could, I would’ve already done it. Without hesitation.”

It was a noble sentiment, she supposed, as well as an unmistakable marker of how deeply he actually cared for her. But also arrogant as hells, because—

“Who said I want to be a vampire?” she demanded with a frown.

He laughed at her. Actually laughed . With a sweeping gesture, he drew her attention to his impressive body and undeniably gorgeous face, then their luxurious surroundings.

“Oh, sweet Edie.” His expression mingled amusement with total incredulity. “Who wouldn’t want to be a vampire?”

She leaned back a few inches so he could watch her eyes roll to the ceiling, with all its ornate plaster medallions. “Do we need to move out into your living room? I’m worried you don’t have sufficient room in here for your ego. It must be feeling cramped.”

“Your concern is noted and appreciated, human,” he declared loftily, “but my ego is fine. Exemplary, in fact. The envy of all. Much like the rest of me.”

“Of course.” A mere two-word response couldn’t hold a sufficient amount of sarcasm, but she shoved as much in there as possible. With impressive results, if she did say so herself.

“Thank you for that entirely sincere and heartfelt acknowledgment.” His smirk slowly faded from his face, revealing the concern hidden underneath.

“Since I can’t turn you into a vampire, I keep searching for some other way to make you harder to kill.

Another means to keep you alive. Through our upcoming battle, but also indefinitely. Forever, if at all possible.”

“Sounds exhausting.” Or so she’d keep telling herself, since immortality wasn’t something she could achieve.

His face changed then, his brow crinkling in thought. “Huh.”

“What?” When he didn’t answer, she repeated, “ What? ”

He failed to explain himself. Instead, he simply rested his lips against her forehead—and when they curved into a slow smile, she could feel it.

“Well, this isn’t alarming. Not at all,” she muttered, and he only laughed again.

Sheesh. What a jerkface.

It was a real shame she was falling in love with said jerkface. Luckily, she probably wouldn’t survive long enough to suffer the consequences.

Hooray?