Page 31

He really did try to save her. He came back for us like he said he would. Had the ships not left early, he would have made it back in time to save her.

Arlo touches his neck, right where I’m looking. “Yeah, I tried donating vials first but gave up and went for live feeding. Apparently my veins are shit from dehydration,” he tells me.

“You came back,” I admit, and he tugs me closer.

“I told you I would. I just needed to get Angie home. She hadn’t had her medication. I tried to gather as many coins as I could, then I turned back to go to the blood bank. I knew the auctions finished late.”

I nod as my feet move automatically. There’s a heavy silence between us as he pulls me along, and when we get to the truck, my whole body stiffens. It doesn’t feel right leaving without Sable.

Sensing my hesitation, he says, “We’ll find her, I promise. First thing in the morning, we’ll come back to see if we can find a record of which ship she was on and where it was headed, then we can catch the next one there. Even if it means I have to offer myself to the leeches at the blood bank daily to come up with the money. Surely a ticket to one of the other islands won’t cost too much.”

“Mr. Crawly will be furious. Sable isn’t your responsibility. I never should have . . .” I now feel so guilty for even expecting him to get on his knees for that asshole. He never would have asked that of me, not even to save Angie. I still would have done it, but he never would have asked. That wasn’t fair of me to place that on him. “I’m sorry, I put you in that position . . .”

Arlo tilts my face up, forcing me to look at him. His eyes are darker than usual, stormy but steady, like he’s holding himself together by sheer will.

“Don’t,” he says quietly.

I swallow, my throat tight with guilt. I have lost everything. I can’t handle losing him too. “Arlo, I—”

“I said don’t.” His thumb brushes beneath my eye, wiping away a tear. “Don’t apologize for wanting your sister back. Don’t apologize for being brave enough to ask someone for help when you’ve been carrying the weight of the world on your back since you were a child.”

My lips part, but no words come out. Because . . . no one ever speaks to me like this . . . like I’m allowed to need and want things.

He steps closer, and I want to crawl into his warm arms and stay there, but I can’t bring myself to let him hold me that way. The vampire’s fingers left marks I can’t see in the mirror—phantom grips on my wrists, the memory of warm breath against my throat. Arlo’s warmth would feel like lying. Like pretending I wasn’t touched by something else first.

“Mr. Crawly will be furious,” I whisper, forcing the words out. “He’s going to punish you.”

Arlo’s mouth twitches, but it isn’t a smile.

“Let him,” he says.

My brows pinch. “Arlo—”

“I’m not scared of him or the consequences. Have I not proven that?” his voice drops to a growl. “The only thing I’m scared of right now is losing you.”

The words slam into me so hard I forget how to breathe.

My chest rises sharply, my body reacting as I crush myself against him. The memory hits me like a wave—the vampire’s warm hands, the way he looked at me like I was something to be consumed. I can still feel the phantom pressure of his grip on my wrist. Arlo would see it as betrayal, or worse. He’d look at me differently. He can never know. Guilt floods me even more over the vampire from the blood bank. Arlo can never know. I never want to hurt him like that.

His arms wrap around me, and I peer up at him. His attention drifts to my mouth, just a flicker of want he doesn’t act on. Even now, he’s still careful with me, holding himself back.

“You always feel guilty when someone chooses you.”

I stiffen because he’s right, but that isn’t why I feel guilty.

“I know you’re scared to love me,” he whispers. “But fear will never stop me from loving you. It’s worth every beating.”

“I won’t put you at risk with Crawly,” I whisper, voice cracking. “Not when I’ve seen what loving me costs you.”

He cups my face, firm enough that I can’t look away, his calloused thumb sweeping slowly over my cheek as if he’s wiping away every excuse I’ve ever used to push him back.

“You don’t get to decide what I’m willing to bleed for.”

A shiver crawls up my spine. “Arlo . . . You can’t say things like that. You shouldn’t have to risk your life to love me . . .”

He studies my face like he’s memorizing it, like he’s afraid one day he won’t get to. Then he leans in, voice so low it feels like it belongs only to me.

“I can’t say that I love you?” he asks. “But I do. I love you, Alessia Raveena.”