Page 22 of Curiosity Killed The Vampire

His jaw tightened, and I saw the pulse in his throat, the effort it took for him to stay still. “You think I don’t know what I’m doing?” he said finally, his tone quiet but fierce. “You think I don’t know the line I’m walking every time I touch you?”

I swallowed hard. “Then why keep doing it?”

“Because I can’t stop.”

The words hit harder than they should have. They echoed in the hollow between us, in the space where the kiss still lingered, hot and dangerous.

I turned away first, my hands trembling despite myself. “You should have.”

He exhaled slowly, the sound a mix of frustration and something that almost sounded like regret. “Maybe.”

I didn’t look back as I walked past him, but I could feel his gaze on me—burning, steady, a gravity I couldn’t seem to escape no matter how far I moved.

Once I reached the stairs, my pulse still hadn’t slowed. The taste of him was still on my lips, and the echo of that moment—his mouth, his voice, the quiet fury in his restraint—would not fade.

And as much as I hated myself for it, I already knew this wouldn’t be the last time I let him cross that line.

My phone buzzed, the vibration muffled against the leather of my jacket. I pulled it free, thumb brushing across the screen to reveal a message from Julian.

Found something strange in the Quebec archives. Need to FaceTime. You’ll want to see this.

I frowned, the hum of curiosity cutting through the lingering heat from my argument with Con. I looked up to find him still watching me, arms folded, his expression unreadable, but the tension between us palpable—like a thread pulled too tight, one wrong move from snapping.

“Julian,” I said, holding up the phone. “He wants to FaceTime. Says it’s important.”

Con’s brow lifted slightly. “Then we should take it somewhere private.”

I nodded. “Let’s head up to my suite. Yours will be right beside mine.”

He followed as I turned down the hall, our footsteps echoing softly against the marble. The east wing of Shadow Thorn had always been quieter—reserved for the elders, the founders, and those who needed distance from the restless energy of the younger clansmen. The corridor curved upward into a landing framed by tall windows, moonlight spilling across the floor like silver water.

My suite was at the end of the hall.

When we stepped inside, the familiar warmth of the space wrapped around me like a breath of memory. It was exactly as I’d left it—dimly lit by the amber glow of wall sconces, the scent of cedar and old parchment lingering in the air. A fire burned low in the hearth, its crackle the only sound in the room.

The main chamber opened into a sitting area draped in deep-crimson and black velvet, books stacked on low tables beside crystal decanters of aged blood. The walls were lined with paintings—Luke’s work, mostly. I’d chosen each one carefully, their brushstrokes capturing the eerie beauty of the northern landscape—dark forests, frozen rivers, the shimmer of auroras stretching across cold skies.

Con stepped in behind me, his gaze moving across the space, taking in the heavy drapery and the small touches that made this room mine—the blades mounted above the hearth, the worn leather chair by the window, the stack of journals beside the bed.

His eyes lingered there—the bed.

Large, carved from dark wood, draped in black satin that caught the flicker of firelight. It wasn’t ostentatious, but it was undeniably intimate. The kind of space meant for rest… or something far more dangerous.

I felt his gaze before I saw it, the weight of it sliding over the room, then settling on the bed once more. My pulse stumbled, a flicker of heat curling low in my stomach.

“This will do,” he said quietly, though his voice was lower than usual, his tone rougher.

I turned away, pretending to check the signal on my phone, even as I felt my heartbeat quicken. “You have the room next door,” I said, hoping my voice didn’t betray me. “It’s nearly identical except for the decor.”

“I’m sure it is,” he murmured, and when I glanced back, the corner of his mouth had curved into something knowing.

The silence that followed wasn’t uncomfortable—but it was charged, the kind that made the air feel thicker, like the walls themselves were listening. I crossed to the small table near the hearth, setting my phone down and opening the FaceTime window.

Julian’s name flashed across the screen, his voice coming through before the image stabilized. “Cass? You there?”

I nodded, forcing myself to focus. “We’re here.”

Con stepped beside me, his shoulder brushing mine as he leaned in to see the screen. The touch sent a current through me—immediate, impossible to ignore.