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She winced. How was that going to work? She’d have no choice but to complete the art, since she’d already spent a large chunk of his deposit. And why wouldn’t she want that? Doing the work would make her more money.
Christian’s fingers moved slowly over her body, softly caressing her while slowing her heart rate and breathing. Truth be told, she liked having a man’s arms around her. The novel experience made her feel safe and protected. Of course, Christian was the one she needed protection from, so it wasn’t very sound logic, but it was still gratifying.
Would he let her stay long enough to finish the job when they visited her shop? Their agreement was a visit, but visits could be of various lengths. Maybe they could stay at her place for a while—she frowned—because what captive doesn’t want to play host to their captor?
Stressed, she closed her eyes and rolled to her back. Lacing her fingers in Christian’s, she lifted his hand to her lips without thinking and breathed in his familiar, calming scent.
Realizing what she was doing, her eyes opened. The duality of the situation wasn’t lost on her. She was developing feelings for him.
You have Stockholm’s.
The truth was there, an always present, intrusive thought that taunted her since the moment she accepted his negotiation terms that morning. The problem with Stockholm syndrome, she was coming to find out, was that she really didn’t care if she was developing feelings for him or not. He made her feel good when so many other circumstances felt bad. Of course, those circumstances were his doing, so she was pretty much losing her mind.
Christian was a comfort as much as he was a complication. Stockholm’s. She inwardly groaned. All right! Fine! So what? Neutrality was easier than being at each other’s throats constantly.
Their peaceful truce should have made it easier to sleep, but it severely complicated matters, and little worries like emotional attachment, desire, forgiveness, acceptance, and resentment kept her up. None of those worries were actually small, but thinking of them as such made her panic easier to manage.
Two weeks. She could return home in two weeks. In the coming days, she’d learn the ins and outs of this immortal stuff and then she could branch off on her own and get back to her life.
The thought should have motivated her, but it only made her anxious. What about Christian? She couldn’t explain the dread that overcame her at the mere thought of separating from him, possibly saying goodbye forever. Did it have to be forever?
Would they still see each other if she left? He could visit on occasion—like a booty call. No rules or strings. That way they could each have the life they wanted without sacrificing too much.
Yes, something casual and sporadic sounded perfect. Perfectly awful.
She shifted and punched the pillow, trying to find a more comfortable position. Without the distraction of sound, her mind continued to wander. Thoughts of work and the life she abandoned intruded, but it was mostly her concerns about Christian that kept her awake.
How could she be this tired and unable to sleep? She didn’t think it was normal for immortals to feel this lethargic. Or maybe it was. She was still trying to sort the facts from fiction and figure out how this whole super-human species thing worked.
The longer she lay in silence the more pronounced the hollow ache inside of her became. Her stomach was full, but her body still wasn’t satisfied. She knew what it needed, but she wasn’t willing to go there. She shifted again, dislodging the blankets and upsetting the whole bed.
“Delilah.”
“Sorry.” She huffed. “I can’t sleep.”
“Would you like me to help you?”
“No.” She didn’t like when he did that glamour thing to her because it took away her control. Shouldn’t she be able to do things like that to herself? What good was this new body if she couldn’t control it? “Is it normal to feel this weak?”
He pulled her body back to him, once again holding her tightly in his arms. “No.” He didn’t go into detail because there was no need.
They both knew she needed blood, but he’d promised to let her decide when she would feed. The thought still repulsed her enough that any sense of appetite disappeared. It was more like a hankering.
It made Delilah think of one of her clients who got pregnant and said she started craving dirt. Actual dirt. Turned out, eating dirt was a symptom of a nutrient deficiency and that was her body’s way of obtaining the minerals the baby needed.
But why did it have to be blood? Dirt she could eat.
She must have exhausted herself because she bolted out of sleep, startled awake by something. A sharp knock had her jackknifing out of bed. She scanned the room with bleary eyes.
