Page 39 of Curiosity Killed The Vampire

I turned toward him fully, searching his face. “What are you talking about?”

He met my gaze, the gold in his eyes dimming to something softer, almost human. “Since Raven shared her magic,” he said quietly. “You’ve been different. Distant.”

I blinked. “Distant?”

He nodded once, slow. “You’re here with me, but part of you isn’t. I can feel it.” His hand tightened slightly on the hilt of his blade, as if the admission itself cost him something. “You keep reaching further into the magic, letting it take more of you each time. And I…” He paused, exhaled. “I can’t stop it.”

I stared at him, trying to find the right words. The magic, the pull of the artifact, of the power humming through me since the temple—had been growing louder, stronger. It whispered even now, a hum at the edge of my consciousness. I’d been ignoring it, pretending I was fine. Pretending it hadn’t changed something in me.

But Con could always see through pretense.

“Con,” I started, but he shook his head, the movement quick but controlled.

“I know you’re stronger than anyone I’ve ever known,” he said. “But this… whatever it’s doing, it’s not strength. It’s hunger. It’s taking from you, Cass. And I’m afraid one day it’s going to take too much.”

For a moment, neither of us spoke. The whistling of the gust beyond filled the silence between us.

I looked down at my hands, at the shimmer of energy that still clung to my skin, the residue of magic that hadn’t faded since the temple. He wasn’t wrong. I could feel the drain, the ache where power had left scars invisible to the eye.

But losing control had never been an option.

“I’m not going anywhere,” I said finally. “You can’t lose me, Con. Not to this.”

He studied me for a long moment, his gaze searching, almost desperate in its restraint. “You say that now,” he murmured, “but I’ve seen what obsession does. I’ve watched power eat people alive.”

“I’m not them.”

“I know.” His voice softened, almost breaking on the words. “That’s why I’m afraid.”

I swallowed hard, the weight of his admission sinking deep. There it was—not anger, not command, but fear. Constantine Vonhof, the man who faced armies without blinking, was afraid for me.

The realization sank through me like heat—dangerous, undeniable, wanted.

I reached out without thinking, my hand finding his where it rested on his knee. His skin was cool, roughened by centuries of battle, but the grip he returned was careful, almost hesitant.

His fingers curled around mine with a reverence that made my breath catch.

“You won’t lose me,” I said quietly. “Not to this. Not ever.”

He looked at me for a long time, as if memorizing the lines of my face, the sound of my voice, the promise I’d just made. The tension in his shoulders eased—barely—but it was enough.

Outside, the last light of day slipped away, leaving only darkness and the first glimmer of stars above the ridge.

Con’s thumb brushed absently over the back of my hand, a silent acknowledgment, a fragile truce against a truth we couldn’t control.

His touch lingered, warm, too intimate for denial.

“Half an hour,” he said at last, voice low. “Then we move.”

I nodded, but neither of us let go.

The cave had gone completely dark now, save for the gleam of his eyes. I could feel the pulse of the artifact beneath my ribs, as steady as a second heartbeat—reminding me, and perhaps him, that time wasn’t ours to keep.

But for that moment, pressed close in the dark with his hand over mine, it almost felt like it was.

It almost felt like we weren’t running from death, but toward something unspoken between us.

I pushed myself up from the cold stone, the movement jerky and slow as exhaustion and adrenaline tussled in my limbs. The cavern smelled of dust and old iron, the last of the daylight bleeding thinly through the mouth. Con’s hand tightened around mine for a heartbeat as I rose, an anchor I hadn’t realized I still needed.