Page 82 of Let Sleeping Vampires Lie

“I never said I don’t care,” I shot back.

“You never say anything,” he said, not cruel, just honest. “You let me stay. You let me fight beside you. You let me put my body between you and whatever horror the day brings. But you never say I belong there.”

I stared at him.

He wasn’t wrong. That irritated me.

“You think I don’t want you?” I said.

“I know you do,” he answered, quiet and steady. “I feel it every time you look at me like you’re daring yourself not to move. Every time you pretend you’re immune to me and your pulse tells a different story.”

“That’s a little arrogant,” I muttered.

“It’s accurate,” he said.

We fell quiet again.

I became suddenly, painfully aware of how close he was. Of the way the mattress dipped under his weight. Of how his scent wrapped around me—clean soap, leather, the iron note of old blood that never fully left us no matter how often we washed it away.

“Cass,” he murmured, “As I told you at Shadow Thorn, I don’t want one night.”

I sucked in a breath.

He held my gaze, unflinching.

His hand tightened around mine.

“When I touch you now, I’m not walking away tomorrow and pretending it meant nothing. I won’t pretend you’re just another mission.”

Every word slid under my skin.

I remembered my own voice from what felt like a lifetime ago, asking him for just one night, one moment, something I could tuck away like a stolen luxury before Valerian took everything.

I wasn’t that woman anymore.

She was still a piece of me; scarred, furious, desperate. But there was more now. This house. This clan. Raven. Rene.

Con. What happened between us at Shadown Thorn.

I looked at him, really looked, and let myself imagine it. Not just the heat and the relief and the way he made my body feel like it belonged to something other than war. But the mornings after. The arguments. The fights with blades and words. The way he’d stand at my back in every council hall, in every battlefield, in every horrible, beautiful, mundane moment between.

He must have seen some of that cross my face because his expression shifted.

His voice softened. “Tell me to stop, and I will. I mean that, I’ll give you more time to adjust. I’ll sit back and watch you sleep and pretend my heart isn’t trying to claw its way out of my chest. But I can’t keep sitting beside you like this, pretending I don’t want more, that we aren’t more.”

My heart hammered.

“Con,” I said, “I don’t know if I can promise you… anything. Not with Valerian. Not with the pieces. Not with everything breaking.”

“I’m not asking for a promise,” he replied. “I’m asking for a choice.”

He leaned in just enough that I could feel his breath on my cheek.

“Choose me,” he whispered. “Not as a distraction. Not as a fleeting moment. Not as a last night before you die. Choose me because you want a future where we both survive this.”

The word future made something crack open inside me.

We never talked about the future in this house. We talked about missions. Threats. Contingencies.