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If I wasn’t fighting to keep my eyes open, I’d be ready for that. The combination of blood loss and daylight wasn’t doing great things for me. I was drifting in and out of sleep until evening came. Eli was asleep finally, so when I woke, I started to slip out of bed.
Eli, half-asleep, caught my hand. “If you need space, stay here in the guest room. I’ll go to my room.”
I paused. “I’m feeling better now. I could go h--”
“I want you here, Geneviève.” Eli met my gaze. “Will you stay with me?”
The way he said it didn’t feel like he meant just for the night, but that was all I could offer in the moment. No sharing a lover’s bed. No letting them stay in mine. It was frightening to stay, but I trusted Eli with my life regularly. Surely, I could trust him with my heart for a few weeks, too.
I crawled closer to him and nestled against his side.
“So, dating you involves sleep-overs?” I asked, voice as light as I could manage.
“I’d like it to,” Eli said. “I know it’s not your preference, but let me have today.”
“And tomorrow?” I asked.
Eli knew me well, which he proved by adding, “This is a guest bed, Geneviève. It’s notmybed. You are simply staying in my guest room. Say the word, and I’ll go to my bed. Alone.”
Maybe that wasn’t romantic for most people, but it made me want to swoon. Instead I kissed him. “I’ll stay.”
“I’ll get you breakfast,” he said.
Within moments, Eli held out a steaming coffee cup of vodka with a dash of grenadine and a couple cherries. Liquor was magical with my biology. Bring on the booze. It was a key part of what kept my biologically-irrational body running.
“You’re smarter than anyone that attractive ought to be,” I grumbled as I reached for the mug.
Eli laughed and helped me sit up. “A little fruit for the pain?”
“Yes.” I reached out further, but we could both see my arm shake. Fruit, unlike liquor, made me tipsy, but after my failed experiment, I could stand a little tipsy in my—. . . I glanced at the wall clock.
He steadied the cup as I wrapped my hands around it and drank.
“Do you know how worried I was, Geneviève?” Eli asked, voice heavy. Worse yet, he was using my real name instead of whatever pastry or dessert he chose to use as a term of endearment.
I’d rather be called food stuffs than my name—especially when it sounded so ominous. “I suggested I go out without you, so—"
“Endangering yourself alone is no better.” Eli walked away. He sounded increasingly calm as he added, “Beatrice sent word while you were recovering. Harold has ceased.”
“Ceased?”
“Existing,” Eli clarified. “She also sent a suggestion.”
“A suggestion?”
“For an elixir that might aid your recovery,” he said evasively. “I procured the supplies.”
Then he left, and I was too damn weak to pursue him. Honestly, I hadn’t intended to let some dead guy practice his subpar threshing skills on me. I hadn’t meant to get injured, but was it so bad that I took advantage of my bad luck to see if my healing had changed since my semi-murder earlier that year?
It reallywasn’tmy worst idea the last year.
“Eli?” I started, but it wasn’t Eli in the doorway this time.
Alice Chaddock stood there. “Good morning, grumpy!”
“Alice, why are you h--”
“Oh you poor thing!” She leaned down to fluff my pillows, giving me an awkward up-close look at her cleavage. “You look even worse than normal.”
