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In truth, Baron doesn’t owe me anything—he saved me that night in the snowstorm, and I saved him this morning.
Technically, we’re even.
But he didn’t put up a fight when I insisted on a week of dates as payment for life-saving services rendered. Maybe he was too traumatized by his near-death experience to think clearly. Maybe, by this evening, he’ll have realized he doesn’t owe me a damned thing and back out of the deal.
Or maybe he’s secretly glad to have an excuse to give in to the pull between us. He seemed to have as hard a time stopping what we’d started as I did—probably more, since he wasn’t fighting the urge to toss his cookies.
The thought makes my acid-filled stomach roil and a fresh wave of nausea wash through my mid-section. Luckily, there’s a crumpled five-dollar bill in the pocket of my borrowed coat.
On the next block, I duck into the bakery for a plain vanilla scone, the one breakfast food that seems to calm the morning sickness beast no matter how sickly I feel. Back outside, I slow my pace, nibbling on my scone as I walk, wanting to finish it before I get home.
I don’t want to offend Kitty by eating outside pastry, and now that the danger’s passed, I can’t help letting my thoughts drift back to the feel of Baron’s hands on my waist as he pressed me back against the wall in the catacombs. The memory sends heat rushing across my skin and makes me keenly aware of how damp my thighs still are.
Normally, I’d be tempted to retreat to my room for something more scandalous than a morning binge-read. But not even the new, nearly silent vibrator I picked up at Sally’s “toy sale” party a few weeks ago can tempt me as much as the volume digging into my hip as I ease inside the quiet house.
It's so early that everyone is still asleep aside from Kitty, who’s thankfully too busy in the kitchen to notice as I ditch my snow boots and pad softly up the stairs.
Once in my room, I shed my borrowed coat and crawl under the covers with the book, opening it with a racing heart and a scone-sized lump in my throat. By the time I turn the last page a few hours later, my cheeks are wet with tears and my heart is so full that it takes all my self-control to keep from racing back across town to wrap my arms around Baron.
He’s been through so much, endured things no human being or vampire should be forced to endure.
And somehow, he’s concluded he’s to blame for all of it.
It’s heartbreaking. And so very wrong.
But maybe it’s like when I was a kid and positive that if I were just a little sweeter or brought up my grade in science, our mother wouldn’t leave us alone anymore. The only thing scarier than waking up to find her gone and ice crusted on the plates she’d left in the kitchen sink was admitting I couldn’t prevent the abandonment that caused my sisters and I so much pain.
Better to be responsible for my own suffering than to admit that I was powerless against it.
But as I’ve aged, I’ve learned there’s a third path, the path of peace. I’ve made peace with my pain and my past and so can Baron.
“But probably not in seven days,” I mutter as I set the book on my nightstand and tug the covers up to my chin. I gnaw on my knuckle as my thoughts race, but my gut insists there’s no way I’ll be able to convince Baron to give me more than a week of his time. Heck, I’ll be lucky if he doesn’t back out of the bargain.
No, I’ll simply have to make the most of every hour of every night…
Tossing off the covers, I drop to the floor beside the bed and pull out my new duffle bag, the magical one Blaire assured me would hold three times as much as a normal bag that size and never weigh more than five pounds.
Ignoring the voice in my head that insists this plan is doomed, I start packing, adding jeans, underwear, and sweaters until I have enough for an entire week of sleepovers, deciding to worry about how I’m going to convince Baron to let me crash on his couch later…
Chapter 11
Baron
All day long—in between playing ball with Laura in the stacks and dusting the neglected sections of the catacombs as a “thank you” to Sophie for the food she brings down not long after sunrise—I try to think of an honorable way to back out of my agreement with Annie.
But a promise is a promise.
My word is my bond, so I set about shoring up my inner defenses instead.
I remind myself of all the reasons I can’t give in to the pull I feel whenever I’m with her. I remind myself that she’s far too good for the likes of me and vow to hold her at a distance. For the next week, I’m obligated to come when she calls, but that’s it.
I don’t have to smile at her or speak to her, and I sure as hell don’t have to touch her.
I can’t touch her. Not ever again.
I repeat the maxim at least a thousand times, hammering it into my brain. But when Annie shows up at the east exit just after sundown, the first thing I do is reach out to take her hand, steadying her on the uneven stones outside the door.
Then I stand there, staring into her bottomless eyes, so lost I don’t realize we’re not alone until a familiar voice calls out behind her, “The coast is clear, Baron. Tell Laura it’s safe to come out.”
