THERE’S SOMETHING ABOUT THE PAINTING in Henry’s—my—bedroom. It’s a huge, nearly floor-to-ceiling masterpiece of a village with a river that runs through it. A still life, I suppose, a landscape? There are no people in it. Just the buildings, old, ancient. There’s a small boat tied to the side of the canal. But it isn’t the lack of life in the painting that’s bothering me.
It’s how it seems off. Not quite set right on the wall. Like it’s just barely angled away from it on the left side.
When I woke in the morning, I did feel better. But I just laid in my bed long after the sun came up, just being. Not really thinking. Not really feeling. Just existing.
I hadn’t really realized my eyes were fixed on the painting until I started to feel annoyed with it. And eventually I realized it wasn’t the painting itself that I was annoyed with.
Climbing out of bed, I pad over the wooden floors to it. Preparing myself for the heaviness it must weigh, I grab either side of the frame to straighten it.
But the second I touch that left side, it swings just slightly toward me.
All the blood in my body falls to my feet as a cold draft wafts out from behind the painting.
I pull on the left side, swinging the door wide open.
Behind the painting lies the opening of a narrow passageway.
The walls are lined with old wood and stone. There’s no light to lead the way, but what little spills in from my bedroom shows that it cuts sharply to the left and then drops.
The discovery of a hidden passageway is amazing. It’s every little kid’s dream. But I know the history of this house and what lurks in the dark in this town. I’m both fascinated and petrified about where this passage leads to.
I grab my cell phone and turn the flash on for a light. With the cold air licking over my body, I start into the dark.
It does indeed cut immediately to my left. This wall is an outside one, with windows looking out over the river just to the side of it. It’s impressive there’s room enough to house the passage. It runs for two yards, and immediately drops down into a set of steep stairs.
Down, down, down I go. The darkness makes the stairway seem longer than I think it actually is. The air grows cooler, the moisture in the walls thicker.
I level out into a tunnel.
Dirt walls, dirt floor, and dirt ceiling make me fairly sure that I’m underground. Wooden beams brace the tunnel every ten feet or so, but they don’t look particularly stable, like they’re beginning to rot out.
When I suddenly step in a shallow puddle, I understand why.
I’m probably ten feet underground. This secret tunnel is not far from the river at all. I’d bet it floods in the winter and spring when the rains raise the level of the river.
I walk and walk. It feels like forever. A mile? Two? Maybe it’s only been a hundred yards, but in the dark, knowing how unstable this tunnel is, it feels ominous and unending.
And then I see another set of stairs, leading up, and a sliver of light.
A small wooden door covers the entrance. I have to push and shove. The sound of branches and leaves scrape from the other side, before I finally burst out and into the thorny shrubbery that waits for me.
The doorway is well hidden between two ancient and huge trees with thick underbrush growing around it. I tumble out, scraping my arm on a branch.
Climbing to my feet, I brush myself off and look around at where I am.
The fence, which serves as the border of the Conrath property, is directly behind the trees I climbed out from beneath. The tunnel leads directly from the Estate, which I can barely make out in the distance, to just outside the property line.
There’s an empty field dotted with trees between where I am and where I can see the next houses, closer to downtown, and me.
I look back down at the entryway and something carved into the still open door catches my eye.
Elijah Conrath. March 3, 1651—October 13, 1875.
Finally, rest in peace, my brother.
Beneath the words is the shape of a raven.
I trace my fingers over the roughly carved letters. It’s a reverent motion. On hallowed ground.
This is how Henry escaped the night the town tried to kill him. He probably would have been killed if he hadn’t had this escape route. From here, he’d gone into town, maybe tried to save his brother, only to find him dead and hanging from a tree.
At some point, he’d carved this into the old and weathered wood.
I can feel him here. Henry. My father. At some point, he’d been here, too. Alone. Scared. Angry. Feeling like the world is unfair.
“I wish you were here with me,” I say quietly into the morning light.
THE NEXT WEEK IS ONE without news or pressure from the House. Which is a relief. It allows me to get myself together. If I’m going to conquer my fear of vampires, I need to understand everything about them. I grill Rath.
The Born love blood, but they are not ruled by uncontrollable bloodlust like the Bitten, who drink blood out of obsession. Without regular drinking, the Bitten will wither and age at a much faster rate. The Born don’t need more than one feeding a week. But every so often, they can snap in bloodlust.
They both eat normal food.
All vampires need sleep. The Bitten sleep just the same as humans, just usually during the day since their eyes cannot handle the light. The Born suffer from a form of “insomnia,” as Rath put it. A Born’s senses are extremely heightened. Their vision, their hearing, smell, touch, everything. As is their brain activity. So letting themselves relax enough to sleep is often difficult.
Vampires are predators, specifically nocturnal ones. I guess this is where the bat legend comes from. There’s a lot of speculation that the King used something from them in his creation. Vampires eyes are designed, like night creatures, to dilate fully so they can see better at night. And like a bat, their enhanced sense of sound helps them see at night. But their eyes stay dilated all the time, causing them extreme discomfort and pain in too much light.
Thus, they all prefer the night.
The Born are better than the Bitten in every way. They’re stronger, have better senses. Not to mention the immortal versus the aging problem. Bitten also suffer from the Debt.
When a human is bitten by a vampire and turned, a sire bond of sorts is formed. The newly Bitten feels a sense of loyalty toward the vampire who created them. They’ll do just about anything for them and never once question a request.
Eventually, the Debt wears off. The length of time is never consistent. Sometimes it’s only a month, sometimes it lasts for years.
The Bitten can create other Bitten vampires.
In the world, there are probably more Bitten than Born. It is easy to create more Bitten, so long as you have the right amount of self-control. But conception of the Born doesn’t happen very often.
Still, the Born rule over and dominate the Bitten because they are in control of themselves. They are clear minded. And they hold the power.
And the Bitten often hate the Born.
It’s something that fascinates me. I cannot help but feel sorry for the Bitten. I imagine many didn’t ask for this life. They’re changed, cursed in craving the blood of what they once were. They have to say goodbye to the sun. And then they are so often enslaved.
It sounds like a civil war waiting to happen to me.
The physiology of a vampire is not much different than a human’s. They bleed. Their hearts still beat. But they all have retractable fangs, much like a cat’s retractable claws. And they all produce that toxin that numbs, erases memory, and possibly turns.
I’m learning. This will be my life someday. And I must educate myself.
I stare at the painting of my father in the library, turning the key around my neck over and over.
I still haven’t discovered what it opens.
Henry Conrath’s eyes are dark and deep. They’re the kind of eyes that lock things away, but reflect the darkness of their contents. I’ve asked Rath many times how old he was, but his answers are always vague. From Jasmine’s story, though, I know he was at least two hundred years old. Probably older. Elijah was born in 1651, Henry could be far older or far younger.
I try to imagine someone breaking into the Estate. They crept through the halls of the house with a stake, maybe crossbow, in hand. They found my father that morning, trying to fall asleep. Henry should have felt safe in his own home in a town where everyone feared him.
But someone drove a stake through his heart. And to make it so much worse, they drug his body out into the sun to make his anguish all the more intense.
I just can’t bring myself to believe the story.
Because this man that I’m looking at, he is immortal. This is a man who survived a brutal attack by dozens of people. A fire. This man killed dozens of people in less than an hour.
I can’t imagine him being dead.
Even though I’ve never once met him.
But Rath says he is, and the sadness in his eyes tells me it’s true.
Loyalty runs deeper than blood, and Rath was loyal to my father. I will never question that.
“One thing you should know about daddy dearest is that no one knew a damn thing about him.” Ian had told me that early on, and it’s inexplicably true.
“Who are you?” I whisper to him.
I’m about to turn away when something I’d never noticed before catches my eye. The form of a raven is painted subtly into the black of his suit jacket.
I hold the key head up, comparing them. It’s the exact same raven, wings folded up, about to beat down in flight. Claws outstretched as if to grab something. Every detail is the same.
The raven is the symbol of the house of Conrath. That evidence is everywhere throughout the very house.
But this is more than just marking your possessions with a symbol—this is an obsession.
I loop the chain around my neck once again and let the key fall to my chest.
My father wanted me to have this key, and there was a reason for that. I don’t know if this is a test or a puzzle, but I will figure it out.
My eyes shift from the portrait to the shelf just to the left of it.
There are four glass jars sitting there, filled with some kind of gray dust. I trace my fingers down one slowly.
And realize that it’s not dust, and these aren’t jars.
They’re urns.
“And who were you four?” I breathe.
There are so many mysteries to my father and this house. I wonder if I’ll ever unlock them all.
I walk out onto the back veranda and watch as the sun makes its way toward the horizon. The day is hot, humid in the worst way. My clothes stick to my body.
I need some stress relief, and no one is around. The staff has gone back home for the night. Rath is taking care of business, which he always seems to be doing, even though I have no idea what his business actually is.
I have the Estate to myself.
I strip my clothes off and throw them into one of the many rocking chairs on the veranda. I stand with my toes on the edge of the pool and dive in.
The water is cool and soothing. Bubbles rise out of my nose as I propel myself through the water. I break through the surface and fold my arms over the side of the pool, looking out over the river.
I’ve walked the riverbank several times. It smells like nature down there, but there is something frightening about it. So wide, deep, and old. Just like everything else around here.
There are houses across the river, small in the distance. It’s a whole different State over there. I’ve never even been in Louisiana, and I see it every day.
I’ve seen so little of the world.
“Nice view, huh?”
I nearly drown myself as I whip around in the water. My grip on the side of the pool slips and my head half dunks under the water.
Ian stands there in the doorway into the house. His hands half in his pockets, his feet spread wide, relaxed as can be, with a coy smile on his lips.
I swear as I clasp my hands around my breasts because there they are, and the water isn’t going to hide much. “Seriously, Ian?” I scream. “I thought all you males here were supposed to be Southern gentlemen.”
“I never made that claim,” he says shaking his head, and still smiling with pride.
I swim to the other side of the pool, using just my legs. Finally out of his view, I hurl as much water as I can at him.
“Damn, Liv,” he says with a laugh and mild annoyance in his voice. He’s half soaked. It was a good wave I sent his way. “Now look what you’ve done.”
“Serves you right, asshole,” I growl at him, even though a smile is fighting its way onto my face. “Just standing there and gawking like an Neanderthal.”
“How could I not?” he teases me with that wicked smile. He grabs the hem of his soaked tank and pulls it up and over his head. My face heats, and I turn my eyes away, but not before catching the sight of his sculpted chest, the rock hard stomach.
“What are you doing?” I hiss at him, fighting off a smile.
“It’s hot,” he says, and I can hear the smile in his voice. “You got me all wet, and I thought I’d join you in that very refreshing water.”
“Like hell you’re getting in here!” I protest. But really, the thought has my insides doing all kinds of acrobatics. I just stare at the tree on the edge of the river.
Ian is quiet for a minute. And suddenly something drops in the water right next to me.
My bra and panties.
“Better?” I look up at Ian who’s raising an eyebrow at me. He’s wearing only his boxer briefs and a smile.
I snatch my underthings in the water and glare at him.
It only takes me a minute to get them back on, and I only feel slightly less turned-on-embarrassed once I’m covered in all the important places. The second I give him the okay, Ian cannonballs into the water.
He surfaces, flicking his hair out of his face. He needs a haircut, but it suits him. Not entirely put together—free and wild.
“You really should quit staring, Liv,” he says as he swims over to me. “You’re going to give me all these wild thoughts that you want something from me.”
“In your dreams,” I breathe, trying to tease him off and totally failing.
“Many, many times since the day I met you,” he confesses with no shame. He’s stopped only a foot and a half away from me. He treads water with ease, and his eyes are intense on me. “You blew me off on Sunday. And haven’t answered any of my calls all week. You avoiding me?”
Water droplets cling to his lashes. His lips are wet and oh so close. Ian shifts in the water and without thinking, I move with him.
I bite my lower lip without thinking. My body is freaking out. “I had some thinking to do.”
“Hmm,” he says contemplatively. “So, you heard from your new friends since the ball?” he asks, whiplashing the moment.
It takes me a second to pull my thoughts from what’s happening in my lower belly to the question he posed.
“Uh, no,” I say. “It’s been a week, but there hasn’t been a single word. I’m guessing they’re all still trying to decide what to do with me.”
“They want to claim you,” Ian says.
“But they’re afraid of what will happen when the King comes,” I fill in.
“I’ve heard the stories,” Ian says as all the heat dies from his eyes, leaving me with a sense of longing. Like he waved the biggest box of chocolate in my face and then ripped it away, saying, just kidding. “He’s got this pretty sick sense of entertainment. He visits all the Houses from time to time. He gets bored easily after living for so long. Likes to play games.”
“Like what?” I ask, my brows furrowing.
“I heard he rounded up a dozen humans once,” he starts. “Whoever hunted down and fed on the most of them won a million dollars. Blood and money. Two of the King’s favorite things.”
“Why is everyone in the House here afraid of him, though?” I ask. “If he’s just brutal to the humans?”
“Because another time, he took two House members and told them whoever won that game could join his Court. It was a battle to the death, and they didn’t have any choice.”
“I get it,” I say, shaking my head. This guy sounds a bit like Markov, just with more money and more power.
“So, yeah,” Ian says. “I get why they’re taking so long to come to a decision on what to do with you. It’s a serious matter.”
I nod absent-mindedly.
“I still think you should have waited longer to out yourself,” Ian says quietly.
“They’d already found me,” I say, resisting the urge to start an argument. “I’d already met Jasmine, that day we went to town. She’s the one who gave me an invitation.”
Ian takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly when he looks away from me.
“I’m a tough, big girl, Ian,” I say. My insides are feeling complicated things. It’s been a long time since anyone looked out for me. “You don’t have to always try and protect me. You have no obligation to me.”
“Like I said,” Ian says as his eyes shift back to mine. “I can’t seem to help it.” He very slowly moves closer to me through the water. The small wave he sends rippling around my body makes all my nerve endings fizz to life. “You do things to me, Alivia Ryan.”
“What things?” I breathe, resisting the urge to close the small distance between us. Ian is only six inches from my face, but it feels like he’s miles away.
“Strange, unexplainable things.” His eyes shift down to my lips and the heat in the air doubles. “You’re a drug I can’t get off of. I know you’re going to be my worst enemy someday, but I think that’s part of the reason I want you so bad. I can’t have you.”
My own eyes are on his lips again, and I’m trying to remember what they taste like, and suddenly, I’m feeling forgetful and need a reminder.
“Are you two completely idiotic?”
We spring apart and whip around. Rath stands on the veranda, eyes livid and wild. His hands are clenched into fists, and his chest rises and falls.
“This boy is a sworn enemy of the House, and that House is watching your every move now, Alivia,” he hisses. “They know exactly where you live. They have eyes everywhere. And you two together puts everyone at risk.”
“I’m…I’m…” and I was about to say I’m sorry, when I remember I’m an adult and Rath is not my father. I don’t have to apologize to him.
“I don’t care what you two do with your hormones and feelings,” he spits, contradicting what he just said. “But you better do it in private where you won’t be seen and get anyone killed.”
“He’s right,” Ian admits quietly. He hoists himself out of the water and holds a hand out for me. “I know better.”
I meet his eyes as I stand, our bodies only inches apart, dripping water everywhere.
“Like I said, you do inexplicable things to me,” he says quietly as his eyes burn into mine.
“Get inside, it’s nearly dark,” Rath growls as he tosses two towels at us.
I wrap my towel around my chest, Ian around his waist, and we slip past Rath like two caught teenagers. And the second we break into the ballroom, we both burst out laughing.
“See, you didn’t even need Henry, you’ve got Rath,” Ian says as we slowly walk across the cold marble floor.
That stings a little more than it should, but still, I offer a small smile.
“I am sorry, though,” Ian says, the mood having already grown more serious. “I should have thought this through some more before just showing up at your house.”
“Are you really an actual enemy of the House?” I ask.
Ian lets out a loud breath. “Yeah. I mean, I’ve hated vampires pretty much my entire life. I’ve killed at least half of the Bitten they’ve created over the last eight or so years. They know me well and everything I do and stand for. It wouldn’t be good for you if they knew about…us.”
“Us, huh?” I tease him as I turn into the kitchen. “I didn’t know that was a thing.”
“I’m not one to adhere to labels and definitions too often,” he says with that smile. “I just let the cards play as they land.”
“You sure know how to win a lady over, Ian Ward,” I say as I open the pantry.
“What are you doing?” he asks.
I dig through the bins and shelves. The pantry in this house is bigger than my bedroom back in Colorado. “I’m hungry, and do you know how long it’s been since I baked anything?”
“Right,” Ian says, taking the flour and sugar canisters I hand him. “You’re Martha Stewart.”
I snort at that. “Don’t ever call me that again.”
“Deal. I’d never want to do the things I want to do to you with Martha Stewart.”
“You’re bad,” I chuckle as I cross to the kitchen and grab eggs from the gigantic fridge. Seriously, why do we need so much food and so much room when it’s just me and Rath they’re feeding? “Are you this forward with all the women you come in contact with?”
“Not exactly,” Ian says as he sets the ingredients on the gigantic granite bar. “I haven’t been on a ‘date,’” he air quotes, “in about two years.”
“Too busy slaying vamps?” I tease him as I start digging around for a mixing bowl. I find one and a stash of measuring cups.
“Something like that,” he says as his eyes follow me around the kitchen.
I give him a little side smile. I double-check all my ingredients, sure I’ve got everything.
“There’s just one thing missing,” I realize. “Hang on a sec.”
Except, in this giant house, running to my bedroom doesn’t take just a second. I have to run through the dining room, loop around through the foyer, up the staircase, down the hall of the north wing, and finally burst into my bedroom. I snatch it off of my dresser and dart back down the stairs and skid around back into the kitchen. I have to tuck my towel back in to keep it from falling.
“How old is that thing?” Ian asks with a laugh.
I plug my old school iPod into my portable speakers on the counter. “I’ve had it since I was a sophomore in high school, probably,” I say as I click it on and scroll through playlists. I click on the one that says “RISE THE ROOF.” An old rock song starts blaring through the speakers. “I brought it with me to work every day back home. I’d put my headphones on and just…”
“Get in the zone,” Ian says in a half teasing tone.
“I guess,” I chuckle as I start measuring out my dry ingredients and mixing them in a bowl. “I think it started ‘cause my mom always listened to music when she was cooking in the kitchen.”
“You don’t talk about her much,” Ian says. He slides the sugar toward me when I point for it. “How’d she die?”
That familiar feeling of sadness sinks in my stomach as I remember the police call. “She was walking home from work one night. Her car was having problems and she really wasn’t that far from the diner where she worked. The girl was on her phone texting, the cops said. She didn’t even see mom crossing the road—or the red light.”
“I’m sorry,” Ian says. His voice is quiet and low and I can tell he means it. “That’s pretty horrible.”
I nod and crack an egg. “It was. I mean, I was nineteen. I was living on my own, so I’m sure if I’d still been at home, it would have been a whole lot worse. But still.”
“Of course,” he says. And I realize that Ian is one of the only people who can know what it felt like. Our parents died in different ways, but they’re both dead.
“I guess we’re both orphans, huh?” I say, trying to make a small smile.
Ian shrugs. “I do have Lula. What about your grandparents?”
I shake my head and tip in the vanilla. “They were pretty old when they had my mom. Grandpa died when I was like six, and Grandma died only a year later. I don’t really even remember them all that much. They lived in Levan, that’s where my mom grew up.”
“I didn’t know that,” Ian says. I pass the bowl to him and the whisk. He sets to mixing all the liquids together.
I nod as I pull out a baking sheet and the parchment paper. “Yep, my mom grew up there. She got a summer job here in Silent Bend after she graduated high school. She was only here for three months, but I guess that’s when she met Henry.”
It’s depressing, thinking that there was no love between them, no deep meaning, just one night—and they made me.
“I’m sorry you never got to meet him,” Ian says as he passes the bowl back to me. “I hate vampires, but he’s the only one that I ever respected. Didn’t know much of anything about him, but sometimes you can just tell when someone wants to be a good person. Henry never wanted to hurt anyone. He just wanted to be left alone.”
I nod. Maybe that’s what my mom felt when she was around him, that he wanted to be a good person. Maybe that’s why she spent a night with him and later left, not knowing what she carried.
Sometimes the past repeats itself.
“She left Mississippi at the end of the summer and headed to Colorado for school,” I continue the story, trying to push away the complicated feelings I have when it comes to my father. “She wanted to be a vet and they have this amazing school. It was nearly half way through the first semester before she’d admit that she was pregnant. She quit going to school after only one semester there so she could support me.”
“She sounds like a good woman,” Ian says quietly.
“She was.” I pour the wet and the dry together and mix in the coconut and the chocolate chunks.
“You’re lucky.” That tone in his voice carries a lot of weight.
“I’m sorry your parents fought so much,” I say. “I can only imagine.”
“It was ugly,” he says. He hoists himself up onto the counter and crosses his ankles. “I think Mom had all these big dreams of what she’d do with her life. She wanted to be somebody. But then she met my dad, fell enough in love with him, married him, and got pregnant right away with me. She knew she had to take care of me and Dad, and I think she kind of resented that.”
“That’s awful,” I say as I roll the dough into little balls. “Couldn’t she do both? Follow her dreams and have a family?”
“I guess she didn’t feel that way,” Ian says with a shrug. “I don’t think they planned on having more kids, but then Elle came along.”
“I guess we’re both a little broken, huh?” I say as I slide the baking sheet into the oven.
“What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger, right?” he says with a sad smile.
“You’re a strong person, Ian,” I tell him quietly and seriously.
“So are you, Liv.” I look up into his eyes and there’s depth and sincerity there. There’s also a tiredness that’s come from always being what I just told him he was.
He slips off the counter, his thigh sliding down mine in the movement, catching my towel and dropping it to the floor. But Ian’s eyes don’t dip, don’t search my body. They stay locked on my eyes.
Slowly, his hands rise to softly rest on my cheeks. He brushes his left thumb over my cheek. I don’t think he realizes he’s doing it.
“It’s all very tragic, you and I,” he breathes quietly. His gaze is intense and deep. “I’m the enemy of a House you won’t be able to run from. I stand for what I stand for, and we can’t deny what you will become one day.”
I hadn’t thought of it that way, but suddenly there’s a sharp pain in my chest. “It’d be easier to walk away now, wouldn’t it? Before this goes any further. Just call it done.”
“There’d be nothing easy about it,” Ian counters, shaking his head. I realize he’s taken a step forward, pushing me back toward the bar. “It’d be extremely painful. But it’s what should happen.”
“But…” I whisper. My eyes are locked on his lips. My nerve endings are sizzling to life. There’s an electric storm in my lower belly.
“But I just can’t.”
I don’t know if it is him or me that closes the distance between our lips, but instantly it’s gone. They’re fierce, and demanding, and frantic. There’s no distance between our bodies and my back is being pressed against the bar. Ian’s center is pressed against mine and I’m sure I’m going to loose my ever-loving mind into blissful obliteration.
Skin to skin. It’s a maddening, beautiful thing.
Ian’s hands clamp around my hips and he hoists me up onto the counter, wedging himself between my knees.
There’s no walking away from this.
Ian’s lips trail from my mouth down to my neck. My head falls back with a sigh as I expose more territory for him to claim.
“We should stay away from each other,” Ian growls into my skin, even as his right hand trails from my neck, down my arm, over my thigh. He wraps his fingers around my ankle.
“We’re going to be enemies someday,” I manage through my quickened breathing.
Ian kisses his way across my throat and then back up to my lips. “But damn, there’s no time like the present.”
A smile crosses my lips as they are consumed again. Ian slides me back on the counter. My butt catches something and the mixing bowl with the rest of the cookie dough goes flying to the ground. Ian places a knee on the counter, hoisting himself up, pressing my body back onto the countertop. I hit something else, and the open container of sugar crashes to the floor.
Ian places a hand next to my head to support himself and smashes an egg. But neither of us cares too much, apparently, because our lips never part. My hand is exploring the wonderland of Ian’s torso, and his other hand is snaking its way around my bare back.
It’s been a long, long time since I’ve been with a man. I’ve been on only a few dates since my mom died. I’m far out of practice and I’m pretty sure I shouldn’t be any good at this anymore.
But Ian and I together…we are magic.
I’ve crossed a line before, though, and there was a price to be paid.
“Ian,” I say against every instinct in my body. “I…I want to be careful.”
Ian backs away from me just slightly so he can look down in my face. “I don’t exactly want to stop this, cause damn,” he chuckles, and I can feel all the ways his body is reacting. “But I’m not the kind of guy to just take a girl on the kitchen counter for his first time.”
A little chuckle makes its way out of my chest. “There’s no way you’re a virgin,” I say before I can think to stop it.
“And why the hell not?” he demands, his brows furrowing in offense.
“Because,” I say. I can’t help the smile on my face, he’s totally joking. “You’re you. You’re all cocky and presumptuous and you say the stuff you say without thinking twice about it. There’s just no way.”
“Well,” he says, his eyes softening. He runs the back of his fingers over my cheek. “It’s true. I’ve been too busy taking care of my family and trying to keep the streets of Silent Bend clean to form much of a relationship. And honestly, it’s hard to bond with anyone with a normal life, when mine has been so…un-normal.”
His eyes are soft and open. And I can see it there, that it’s true.
“I’m sorry,” I say, placing my hand over his and trapping his hand on my cheek. “I just—”
“It’s okay,” he interrupts. “But I take it that you’re not a virgin, too.”
I shrug, trying to be casual, but really, I’m ashamed. “Just once, the summer after high school. I’d just broken up with my high school boyfriend. You could say it was a rebound or revenge. Whatever it was, it was a mistake.”
“That sounds super romantic,” Ian says as he climbs off of me and back to the floor.
“Yeah, it was about as much as it sounds.” He gives me a hand so I can slip to the edge of the counter. There’s sugar caked on my entire back and everywhere in my hair. “You’ve got egg all over both of us.”
“Now I’m delicious and smoking hot,” he says with a wink. The timer goes off and I pull out some perfect cookies. I grab one and hand another to Ian. They’re scalding hot, but I have baker’s hands after all those years in the kitchen.
Ian takes a huge bite out of his cookie, no doubt burning his tongue. “Come on, let’s go get cleaned up.” He reaches out for me, and hand in hand, snacking on cookies made in the dark, we walk back toward the stairs.
We find Ian’s and my clothes folded and placed on my bed. I blush at that. Did Rath really make those assumptions? But Ian takes his clothes and heads for one of the guest bathrooms while I shower in my own.
I pull on some cotton shorts and a tank when I get out and braid my hair over my shoulder. A minute later, Ian saunters back into my room and leans with his shoulder in the doorway.
“Well, I guess I’d better get back home,” he says. He studies me, but it isn’t demanding, or provocative. He’s just seeing…me.
“You don’t have to,” I confess quietly. Because for the first time since moving here and living in this house, I haven’t felt alone.
Neither of us says anything for a long time. We stare at each other, and there are a lot of thoughts going on. We know this can’t end in a good way. He has his place in life and I have mine, whether I want it or not.
But we’re here. And there’s no question that we are something cosmic when we’re together.
“Okay,” he finally says quietly.
He flicks the light switch off. I turn off the light in the bathroom. We both climb into the gigantic bed, and I tuck myself into Ian’s side. He presses a light kiss to my forehead, wrapping his arms around me.
Here. Here I am safe. Here I am understood.
And that’s it.
We listen to each other breathe for a long while. And eventually, we sleep.