“Get into the bed, darling,” he quietly instructs, his breath barely a whisper in the echoing room.
This time I don’t rebut, and force my feet to walk past him and to the bed. I want to lift my hand to my chest, as if I can suppress the heavy beating I know he’s listening to, but I force my shoulders to stay back and my head high.
I slide beneath the silk sheets and one by one, the candles are blown out around the room in a quick sweep. By the time I feel the other side of the bed dip with his weight, the room is dim and hushed, with the exception of our breaths. It should feel colder and empty in a room without light or sound, but it doesn’t. If anything, I somehow feel closer to him, aware of our nearness in a way that makes my breath hitch as he moves closer.
His hand finds me without hesitation, curling around my waist and drawing me to his side like I was always meant to rest against him. My body goes willingly, instinctively pressing into his chest.
It isn’t strange or sudden. It justis, like this moment is inevitable.
We lie there quietly as his hand traces circles on my lower back. My lashes lower as I melt into the space between awareness and surrender, not because I’m tired, but because a part of me feels at peace.
Then, low and abrupt, his stomach growls.
I blink, startled by the sound that doesn’t belong to me this time.
“Are you hungry?” I murmur, feeling the difference in the weight of the question when it’s directed at him and not me.
There’s a long pause.
“You have no idea,” he finally says, the soft words laced with an edge roughness, like he’s forcing them out. “I’ve been on a bit of a…cleanse since meeting you.”
My heart skips once, then flutters.
Has he…no, surely not.
I shift to glance up at him, but he’s already pulling me tighter, his large hand splayed partially along the curve of my ass now, anchoring me to this exact position.
“What does that mean?” I ask, breath catching as my voice slips into the hush.
He doesn’t answer, but the silence is all I need for confirmation…he hasn’t fed from anyone since meeting me.
He lowers his head, his breath brushing the top of mine as he exhales.
“Sleep, darling.”
His words settle over me like a command wrapped in a caress, and as my eyes drift shut, one final thought unfurls with a quiet, achingcertainty.
If this is what it feels like to be claimed, I’m not sure I ever want to be free.
Chapter 24
Wren
The morning is soft and gray, the kind that blurs my sense of time and makes the city feel like it never really slept. We walk side by side down a narrow brick alley that spills into a broader street, the stones still slick from last night’s rain. The Quarter feels haunted in the most beautiful way, and I can't tell if it’s the buildings or the air that carries the energy, but I’m glad that I didn’t let him speed us through the nest this morning.
I take in a deep breath and soak it up. This is what I need–to walk through their world one step at a time to understand it.
“I still can’t believe I slept so well,” I murmur, breaking the easy quiet we fell into. “I didn’t wake up once to toss or turn.”
He hums low in his throat, too delighted with himself. “I told you I knew what you needed.”
The warmth that rushes to my cheeks is immediate, but I don’t look at him. There’s always a subtle innuendo in everything he says that makes my toes curl and stomach tighten.
“Breakfast was perfect,” I say instead, switching the subject before he teases me into going back and staying at the mansion all day. “Please thank your chef.”
“I made the omelet. He merely coached me through it.”
There’s a smirk at the corner of his mouth that says he knows exactly how that makes me feel. I’m sure my traitorous heart rate alerted him.
