“Then sleep.” I shift my touch from her arm to the strands of pale purple hair splayed out between us. Such an odd color, for a member of the Watchers. I tangle my fingers in it without a second thought. It’s still the tiniest bit damp from her shower, and hints of my scented soap drift from her with each shift she makes. My nostrils flare, taking it all in—the smell of her desire mixing with it in the air.
Fuck, I’m still so hard. But the time for my release is not now. Soon, perhaps, but not now. Now, all that matters is her. That she feels safe, given the circumstances. And feels as if she can trust me.
I feel her body quiver as she tries to suppress the tears that are falling. She’s buried her face in her hands, curled in on herself so tight that no part of the outside world can get in. I stand guard for her while she crumbles, letting my fingers roam her body, offering a reassuring touch.
I’ll be here for her. For as long as it takes, until she’s ready, I’ll be here for her.
We lie like that for what feels like hours. The tears come and go, her body fighting hard with the exhaustion I’m sure is ravaging her. I press kisses to the top of her head and the shell of her ear. I envision the truth she’s hiding in her heart. Envision what she could be like, with us. And when I'm finally sure she’s fully asleep, I slip out from behind her and disappear into the bathroom, desperate to ease the tension wound so tightly within me.
It takes almost nothing. One, two, three strokes and I’m already coming. Hard. To the thought of her coming undone with Quinn between her legs. To the sound of her breathy moans. To the feel of her grip on me as she finally let go.
I ease the door shut behind me, making sure to soften the click of the latch so it doesn’t wake Evangeline. I forcemyself to walk away, because every fiber of my being wants to creep back into that room, back into that bed beside her.
But I know I have to control myself. Even with finding release in the bathroom, with her on the other side of the door and the taste of her skin still heavy on my tongue, I’m not sated. And as much as I want to turn back and devour her, she’s not ready for that.
I find Zeke sitting on the couch in the common area, ankle perched atop his knee and a book in his hands. The sight of him is calming, chasing away a bit of the dark urges. I stop at the entrance of the hallway, leaning against the wood panel wall and watching him for a moment.
I wish the others could see him as I do. I know our connection is different. We have a past the others couldn’t even begin to understand. We’ve been through every fucking level of hell and back. Together. And we, despite whatever issues lie between us now, made it out okay.
But the thought turns sour in my mind, the insecurities turning their attention on me and rushing to swallow the thought whole. I’m the farthest thing from okay. I’m here and, for the most part, whole. But okay? No. That, I will never be.
“What are you doing?” My head snaps forward as Quinn emerges from the opposite hallway. “You’re supposed to be watching the girl.”
“I was,” I scoff back. “I am. She’s sleeping.”
Quinn looks at me for a moment, then pushes past me down the hallway to check for himself.
“Asshole,” I murmur when he passes me after clicking the door shut with the same tender care I had two minutes ago.
Quinn scoffs but doesn’t retort immediately, smacking my ass as he walks by. “Just trying to make sure you haven’t lost your senses. You know, through that post-coital fog.”
Zeke stills, looking up from his book. “You fucked her already?” The question is posed towards both of us, but his eyes are on me.
“Depends on how you define the wordfuck,” Quinn calls out as he crosses over to the kitchen. He grabs three bags of blood from the fridge, tossing one to me as he reenters the common space. I catch it, grateful for the distraction.
Quinn drops the other in Zeke’s lap and keeps the third for himself, which he rips into without a second thought as he perches on the arm of the couch. Zeke takes his bag and sets it to the side, body rigid.
“Still no Aamon?” I ask Quinn, though my eyes glance over to Zeke, unable to ignore the jealousy twinging in the air between us.
Quinn swallows, licking his lips while he shakes his head. “Not yet. They’re still going at it in there, which doesn’t bode well for us.”
I nod as if I’m listening to anything he’s saying right now. But the truth is, Zeke has once again gotten into my head. With little more than a look and four words.
I don’t know how to describe what Zeke and I are to each other. Friends? The words doesn’t even begin to touch all we've gone through together. Lovers? At one point, yes. But it’s been months since he’s touched me in that way. We still sleep together, still entwined in each other’s embrace from time to time, but with each passing day it feels as if he’s forcing more and more distance between us.
He’s never been the jealous type. We’ve shared plenty of company with each other, have tasted passion both on our own as well as together more times than I can count. But this feels different. And I can’t help but wonder if perhaps I was wrong for thinking Evangeline would be for all of us.
Perhaps the others will be harder to convince than I thought.
“What in the seven hells are you thinking,” Andras growls, "bringing Raziel’s daughter here?”
I grit my teeth. I have no desire to have this conversation. I didn’t even want to bring her home in the first place. And if I had known she was the Alpha’s daughter? I would have left her in the street to rot away with the ghouls.
“I hadn’t the slightest clue who she was when I made the call to bring her here.” I try to keep my tone even. Andras is already riled up; there’s no need to provoke him further.
“You knew she was a Watcher!” Andras yells, throwing a hand out to point back towards the common area. He scrubs his other hand over his beard before grabbing a bottle of scotch and two tumblers from the drawer of his desk and pouring us each a finger. He nodsfor me to grab mine before taking his own and downing it in one go. I pick up the glass, but I have no desire to drink.
My ears haven’t stopped ringing since we returned home. Narrow vision, shortening temper—all signs I'm far overdue to feed. I had every intention of taking care of it when we got back, but things happened so quickly and now here we are. I can barely concentrate on what he’s saying, barely focus on anything aside from the need for blood that is quickly taking over my body.
