Page 87 of Dark Night of the Soul

I was on my fourth—fifth?—glass with a lovely buzz humming under my skin.

And I thought about how the distance between us seemed like an ocean. That the only time we touched was when I was trying to learn my triggers. When he wrapped his arm around my shoulders and held me there. I didn’t want him to let go, but I said it, anyway.

He sat next to me. Close but not close enough. And a tingling took up residence in the pit of my stomach.

I blamed the whiskey.

“Can I—” I stopped, pressed my lips together.

“Can you what?” Seriously, he sounded totally sober, and that was so not fair.

I couldn’t bring myself to say it. I reached out a hand, not looking at him. He took it without question. Wrapping his fingers around mine. But I think he understood this was not me activating the anchor. This was me activating… something else.

“I wanted to know if I could,” I whispered.

“You always can.”

A surge of heat flooded me. I drank again—one gulp. He refilled again.

“I do think you’re trying to get me drunk,” I said.

“Is it working?”

I giggled. “No.” I drank again. Held it out. He refilled. “Fine. A little.”

The bottle was over half gone now. I hadn’t seen him drain his glass. In fact, it was still two fingers, neat.

“Sir, I think you’re behind.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll catch up.”

No, he wouldn’t. He was lying to me and that was okay because I wanted him to be the sober one here. Not that we needed a designated driver or anything. But one of us needed to be levelheaded. It certainly wasn’t me.

My eyes were heavy. I leaned against him. My head on his shoulder and inhaled his scent. No matter where we were, or whatever foreign city we were in, he always smelled like sandalwood with a hint of patchouli. Some ancient, earthy scent that was ingrained underneath his skin. Because he’d walked the earth for two thousand years.

Between that and the whiskey, I was drowsy.

And I thought it was time for me to find my way to bed.

Except tonight, I didn’t want to go alone.

And that seemed awfully forward, though I didn’t know why.

As if he sensed what I was thinking, he took the glass from my hand, pulled me to my feet. He walked me to the bedroom. When I sat on the edge, he turned away.

“You can stay,” I said.

He hesitated.

“I want you to say,” I added.

He stilled, his back to me while I kicked off my boots. I was sure I had a nightshirt, but I was too tired to find it, so I pulled back the covers and slipped inside, still fully clothed.

He climbed in beside me, staying on his side, giving me space. But in the dark, I reached for him, placing my hand on his upper arm. Curving around the thick biceps. Feeling the strength of him. Connected. Safe.

Since this whole nightmare began, I felt like myself. Changed. Scarred. Dangerous. But myself.

Chapter 28 | Anna