Shaking off my surprise, I muse sarcastically, “This is so romantic.”
“I’ll be very romantic after I get cleaned up,” Nolan promises, sliding out from beneath the covers. “Might want to shift over a bit so you don’t roll into the wet spot.”
“You’re both gross!” I shout, but only after I appreciate Nolan’s naked form walking past me. He’s equally as beautiful, but in the way of dancers, his lean form moving with natural grace. Oh, and there’s that birthmark on his hip again.
I roll over to the far side of the bed. The monster is the size of two kings, so it keeps me well away from the wet spot. Snuggling underneath the blankets, I wait for the guys to return, my eyelids getting heavy.
Donovan is the first to return, dressed in his boxer briefs. Without much ceremony, he lifts the blankets and crawls over to my right side, slipping his left arm underneath the pillow I’m using.
“Goodnight, Angel,” he murmurs, kissing my cheek, and then lies on his back. Within moments, he’s sound asleep.
How does he do that? It takes forever for me to fall asleep. Well, except when watching movies, but that’s the movie’s fault for being white noise in the dark.
As Nolan walks out of the bathroom with a towel wrapped around his waist, he chuckles quietly when he sees my surprised expression. He shrugs and heads into his closet, returning a few minutes later in sleep shorts. He fiddles with the thermostat that sits next to his giant television on the wall, and cool air starts filling the overheated room.
“Much better.” Nolan sighs, sliding into bed on my left side. A content smile pulls at his lips. “Now, I believe I promised you romance.”
He brushes some of my hair back to stroke my cheek, his hand gloriously warm. For a long moment, we simply stare at each other, his gaze gentle and eyes clear. The boy I know has returned, and my heart is so full it hurts.
I think of how close I was to losing him tonight, and before I can stop them, the words are out of my mouth in a remorseful whisper. “I’m sorry I didn’t help you sooner.”
The soft smile drops from his lips, and his hand cups my face. Leaning across the pillow, he gives me a tender kiss. “What did I say about apologizing for things that aren’t your fault?”
“But if you’d been feeding from me this whole time, maybe you wouldn’t have gotten this sick,” I counter with a sniff, running my fingers along the sharp edge of his jaw.
“It’s not like you didn’t offer,” he reasons, turning his head so he can kiss my palm. Against my skin, he continues, “I was the one who said no.”
“Why did you do that? I know it was my idea first, but that was before us,” I question. My voice quivers under the weight of how much it hurts that he chose to become sick rather than feed from me. “Is it because of what I did that night?”
“Love, no, I promise it wasn’t that,” he insists in a harsh whisper. He pulls me flush against him, my head tucked under his chin. “I meant what I said. I wanted to go slow with us. I’ve never felt about anyone the way I feel about you, and I just… I wanted to savor that for a little while.” He sighs, one of his hands trailing up and down my spine. Like ripples in a pond, happy tingles flow from the path of his fingers. “As you can tell from tonight, when I feed, I tend to think more with my dick.”
“Why does it have to be one or the other?” I ask, snuggling into his warm embrace, one arm wrapped around his waist while the other is pinned between us. “Even though we’ve been more intimate before, that doesn’t mean we have to be that way all the time. Sometimes cuddling on the couch and making out can just be that.”
He releases a silent laugh, his exhale fluttering strands of my hair, and then his voice grows thick with emotion when he murmurs, “I love you so much.”
“I love you too,” I reply with a smile. My heart soars every time he says it.
“There’s something else,” he admits, shame lacing his words. He squeezes me tighter, as if he’s afraid that I’ll bolt as soon as I know the truth. “This whole time, I’ve kept saying I was worried about you being addicted to the bite.” He swallows heavily before continuing, his whisper so soft that his words are almost lost to the ambient noise of rain and breathing. “I’m the addict. Sometimes I’m so desperate for your blood that it’s all I can think about.”
Part of me aches over the guilt and shame he feels, while the other part wants to smack him over the head for keeping this to himself. I take a deep breath, hold it for a moment to gather my calm, then release it.
“You’re telling me that you, a vampire that is literally starving to death due to needing more magic rich blood, is overly fixated on the only blood supply that makes you feel like yourself again?” I reply tersely through gritted teeth.
“It’s more than that,” he insists in a bitter tone, while his hands splay wide on my back. “Even before I got like this, from the very first time I tasted you, I immediately wanted more.”
“And you’ve been under this curse for how long exactly?” I chime in, not budging an inch on this. I refuse to allow him to feel guilty for desiring the one thing that is keeping him alive.
“Damn it, it’s not the curse!” he exclaims loudly enough that Donovan shifts in his sleep.
We freeze, holding our breaths as we listen to Donovan’s grumbling sleepy sounds. He mutters something unintelligible, scratches at his chest, and rolls onto his side facing us. A moment later, he’s snoring.
“For a future demon hunter, he sleeps pretty soundly,” I comment as I return to breathing normally.
“He knows he’s safe here,” Nolan replies with a shrug.
I attempt to pull back enough to see his face, but mostly get a view of his chin. “What do you mean by that?”
He shifts until we’re nose to nose, his warm breath feathering against my skin. “When we were younger, he’d wake up to even the hint of movement, assuming the nightmares didn’t get to him first.” His left hand reaches out to lightly brush along Donovan’s forearm. “Those sleepovers were for more than just eating junk food, watching movies, and playing video games.”
