Page 38 of Curiosity Killed The Vampire

“You should sleep,” he said quietly, his voice a low murmur that resonated through his chest and into my bones.

“I will,” I whispered, though neither of us believed it. “You should too.”

He huffed softly, his breath stirring the stray strands of my hair. “I don’t sleep when I’m on watch.”

Of course he didn’t. Even now, with the mountain silent and the world holding its breath—he stayed alert. His blade gleamed in the dim light, still resting in his other hand, the point angled toward the ground but ready. Always ready. But he still kept the other arm around me, a contradiction he never addressed and I never dared to speak of.

I turned my head slightly, catching a glimpse of his face. His eyes, gold in the half-dark, were fixed on the cave entrance. The softest light caught along his jaw, highlighting the small scar beneath his ear—the one I’d seen him earn centuries ago. He hadn’t changed. Not in that way.

“You never let your guard down,” I murmured.

His thumb paused for just a moment before moving again, the same slow, soothing pattern. “Someone has to keep it up.”

“You don’t trust me to?”

“I trust you with my life,” he said, quiet but absolute. “But not with rest.”

That made me laugh, a soft, tired sound that echoed through the cavern. “You’re impossible.”

“So you’ve told me,” he said.

I let my eyes close, the exhaustion finally winning out over my stubbornness. His hand stilled briefly, then settled at my shoulder, protective without trapping. His fingers lingered a breath longer than necessary, and I soaked in the warmth without pretending otherwise.

For a moment, the world outside—the artifact, the augmented soldiers, the endless war—felt far away. There was only the scrape of his thumb against my collarbone, and the silent promise that no harm would come to me while he was there.

I didn’t remember drifting off, only the last sensation of his voice rumbling softly above me. “Sleep, Cass. I’ll wake you when it’s time.”

The weight of his sword shifted slightly, the metallic sound of his grip tightening as he turned his gaze back toward the mouth of the cave. Even in that fragile, stolen moment of calm, Constantine Vonhof never let his guard down.

Not even for me.

But his hold never loosened, not for a heartbeat.

When I woke, the world was hushed, the air inside the cave heavy with that particular quiet that lived between day and night. The light filtering through the narrow mouth of the cavern had shifted to deep amber, painting the stone in streaks of fading gold. Dust motes hung in the air, slow and luminous, and somewhere near the entrance, a draft whispered through the cracks—cool, clean, alive with the promise of dusk.

For a moment, I didn’t move. My cheek rested against Con’s chest. I could feel the weight of his arm around me, solid and protective, the warmth of his hand resting at my shoulder. His scent—leather, cedar, and a trace of blood and smoke—clung to the air around us. It should have been comforting. And yet…

my pulse skittered, traitorous and painfully aware of the intimacy we kept pretending wasn’t intimacy at all.

When I tilted my head back, his eyes were already on me.

He hadn’t moved from his position, still sitting with his back against the stone wall, his blade resting across his knees. The glow of twilight caught in his eyes, turning them to molten gold, sharp even in the fading light. The way he watched me, quiet, steady, as if checking if I were still breathing—sent a flush through my chest.

“Is it almost dusk?” I asked softly, my voice rough from sleep.

He nodded, his expression unreadable. “Yes. We can leave in less than an hour.”

Something in his tone made me frown. The words were even, but the tension beneath them was unmistakable. His body was still, too still—the kind of stillness that only came when he was thinking too much or bracing for something he didn’t want to say.

I shifted slightly, sitting up but not pulling away. His arm fell from my shoulder and he placed it on his knee. “What is it?”

He didn’t answer right away. His gaze flicked to the mouth of the cave, to the slow bleed of light as the sun finally sank behind the peaks. The muscles in his jaw flexed once.

His hand twitched where it rested near me, as if resisting the urge to pull me back in.

When he finally spoke, his voice was low. “I’m afraid I’m losing you.”

The words landed like a blade sliding quietly between ribs—precise, unexpected, impossible to ignore.