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The way she chews on her bottom lip—maybe from habit, maybe from pain—sends thoughts it shouldn’t through me. She has no fucking clue what we could have been. What we would have been. It’s hard to even visualize it now. I don’t want to.

Sumner looks down, noting the spread of scarlet soaking through the cloth. “It’s still bleeding.”

“It’s a deep cut,” I respond, observing her carefully.

Sumner’s eyes flash back to mine, and she loosens her hold on the small towel, letting it fall to the floor. The scent of metallic disperses through the air, making my mouth water at the thought of another taste. But it’s too quiet. We’re too still.

“Counter. Third drawer down. You’ll find a jar of salve,” I tell her, swallowing back the temptation of bringing her hand into me again. “Put some on before you go to bed.” I turn to leave, ready to make my way to my room and away from her, only making it a few steps when I remember it isn’t my room tonight.

Instead, I shower, washing her temptation off me. None of this is right. Sumner is the enemy. I hate her. I need to hate her.

When I finally exit the bathroom, I find the open part of the house lacking. She’s gone to bed now, sleeping in a bed she was never meant to crawl into.

I wonder how different things would have been. Would I care for Sumner? Would she still piss me off just to get a rise out of me?

I guess it doesn’t matter, since I don’t and she absolutely still would.

After an hour or so of scrolling mindlessly through my link, the battery dies and the room goes dark. Letting out a sigh, I sit up. My intention is to plug it in and try to force sleep. My charger, however, is in my bedroom.

Light falls through the narrowly cracked door, casting a yellow glow that wraps into the hallway. A low hum whirls in a gentle rhythm from the fan. There’s no shifting or rustling of sheets. The house is as silent as ever.

I stand on the other side of the threshold, unsure if I should knock. I’m hesitant to see her. It is my room though, and I need my charger.

I tap lightly, waiting, listening. When a response doesn’t come, I let myself in, moving slowly to not startle her. My eyes trail over the bed, seeing the girl resting peacefully beneath the blankets. Her long hair fans over the pillow. She has one arm folded across her chest, the other relaxed at her side.

She looks so delicate while she sleeps. Vulnerable. It’s almost hard to grasp the idea of detesting her the way I do when I see her like this. For a moment, she isn’t the girl who ripped my life away. I’m not the one who’s taking hers as payment. There’s no hate. No anger.

For a moment.

Grabbing my charging disk, I turn off the lamp and advance for the living room. The floor creaks beneath me as I reach the door, and an inhale catches in her breath, loud enough to stop me. I look back. She’s still asleep. Her eyes are closed, but her brows are pinched together, face contorting like she’s in pain. A low whine falls from her lips, and she begins to move her head from side to side.

“No,” Sumner whimpers. Her breathing picks up, legs moving under the blanket. “Please.”

I walk closer to the bed, seeing actual tears sliding down her cheeks.

“I don’t like this game.” She gets the words out through a hiccup.

Game? What the hell is she dreaming about?

“Vix?” I call her. She continues to move sleepily, almost like she’s trying to fight someone off. I climb onto the bed beside her, running my hand up and down her arm. “There’s no one here, Vix.” At my touch, her breathing slows and her body stills. The pounding in her chest begins to find its normal rhythm.

I watch her, brushing the hair from her face. Sumner curls into me, forcing the sweet aroma of her shampoo, mixed with the heavenly scented metallic of her blood, to fill my nose. The urge to pull her closer comes over me. To hold this fragile creature in my arms. Bury my fingers through her hair. Feel her warmth against mine.

This girl is a bigger problem for me than I’d realized.

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

SUMNER

The drowsiness of sleep still clings to my senses. I blink my eyes open, momentarily disoriented by the unfamiliar surroundings. It takes several seconds for my mind to catch up, to remember that I’m staying at his house, in his room.

Stretching my arms above my head, I slip out of the bed, my bare feet padding over the hardwood floor. As I make my way to the door, I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror hanging on the wall. My focus settles on my eyes. No red rims, no dark stains. There’s no visual proof of my nightly visitor at all. I feel genuinely rested. Had I actually slept through the night? That hasn’t happened since…well, ever.

The house is still as I make my way through it. Quiet, like even the walls haven’t woken up yet.

It’s in the kitchen where I find Rhenn, a cup of steaming coffee cradled in his hands. His gaze is fixed on the window, lost in thought. I’ve often wondered where it is he goes. Somewhere deep in his mind, replaying all the things that have already happened? Or out there, to the world of things yet to come?

The floor creaks as I approach, and his attention shifts toward me. I sit at the seat opposite of him, glancing at the coffee pot.