32. Roan
Roan
I hear Aria’s footsteps on the staircase and there’s an instant lift in my chest—like she’s carrying sunshine with her.
A vampire carrying sunshine—imagine that, eh? A small laugh falls off my lips.
By the time the door cracks open, my heart’s already pounding in anticipation, and I must look ridiculous beaming at her like a puppy. But I don’t care. She’s here.
She balances a plate of roasted meat and a tankard of ale, nudging the door shut with her hip.
“Brought you dinner,” she announces, breezing into the room. Her voice is light, playful, but there’s an edge in her eyes that I almost miss.
I push myself up on the bed, ignoring the faint lightheadedness lingering from our…adventure. Totally worth it , I think, a pleased hum escaping my throat.
“You spoil me, Mouse,” I tease, extending a hand for the plate.
She snorts, setting both plate and ale on the bedside table. “Well, I owe you after that.”
Her cheeks color at the memory—I can almost see the moments replaying in her head, the press of her mouth at my neck, the jolt of warmth that followed. And then everything else. A pleasant shiver runs through me at the thought.
“Feels like I’m the one who owes you,” I reply, patting the space beside me.
She ducks her head, but not before I catch the flicker of hesitation in her eyes. It’s fast—so fast I almost miss it—but I know her better than that now. Still, she offers me a small smile, and even with that ghost of something behind her eyes, she walks over and perches on the edge of the bed. Close enough that her warmth radiates through my shirt.
I glance at the food and let out a low groan as my stomach growls. “So, are you actually gonna let me eat, or just make me stare at a perfectly good roast?”
“By all means,” Aria says, scooting closer. “Dig in, mercenary .”
There’s a gentle tease in her voice, and I grin, exaggerated, playing along. “Careful or I’ll withhold all future cuddles,” I warn, waving a piece of meat dramatically in her face.
She smothers a laugh, but it’s tight around the edges. “You wouldn’t dare.”
“Want to test me?” I raise a brow, then take a huge bite of the roast. The flavor hits my tongue like a revelation. “By the gods, that’s delicious.”
“Good?” She leans in, bracing one hand on the mattress. Her other reaches up to graze the spot on my neck where she bit me. “Still no pain?”
I shake my head, licking grease from my thumb. “Just a bit of a tingle.” I wash it down with a swig of ale. “Trust me, I’ve had worse.”
A lopsided smile tugs at her lips, but there’s something off in her expression. Her gaze keeps drifting, like she’s trying to hide a shadow in her eyes.
“Glad to hear it,” she says, but her voice wavers just a hair.
I set the food down, appetite fading as unease prickles along the back of my neck. She’s too quiet. Too still.
Something’s wrong.
I reach out, fingers brushing against her jaw, and gently tilt her face up to mine. “Hey.” My voice drops low, steady. “You okay?”
Her eyes flick away for half a second—just long enough to make my chest ache.
Gods, please don’t let it be what I think it is.
My heart tightens with a sick twist. Is that it? Does she regret it—feeding from me, or worse… the sex?
Because if she does, if that’s what’s weighing down her shoulders right now, it might just shatter me.
Her eyes dart away, and when she answers, it’s too fast. Too smooth. Too practiced. “Fine,” she says, even though I can feel the lie vibrating under her skin.
She lifts a finger, presses it gently to my lips before I can call her out.
“Really, I’m fine. Just…tired. Post-meal high.” Her smile is faint, forced. “Speaking of, you should finish your meal.”
I don’t let her deflect. Not this time.
I catch her hand in mine, curling my fingers around hers. My heart hammers as I ask the thing clawing at my insides. “Do you regret it?”
Her brow furrows, confused.
“The blood,” I clarify. My voice is quieter now, almost afraid of the answer. “Or… the sex. Or both.”
She blinks. Her breath catches. And then she’s moving, leaning in, her palm cupping my cheek like I’m something precious.
“No,” she murmurs, so soft it melts into the space between us. “I don’t regret any of it.”
Before I can respond, her lips brush mine—slow and sure, the kind of kiss that silences doubt. Her fingers stay threaded in mine, grounding me as the tension starts to ease from my chest.
When she pulls back, her gaze holds mine. Clear. Steady. “Not even a little.”
A breath I didn’t realize I was holding slips out of me, slow and shaky.
Not regret.
Thank the gods.
I close my eyes for a second, pressing my forehead to hers. That soft admission—it takes some of the weight off my chest. Something’s bothering her. I know it. But at least it’s not that . Not what we shared.
I slide my hand along her jaw, my thumb brushing just beneath her cheekbone. “Okay,” I murmur, voice a little rough. “Okay.”
She leans into the touch, but her eyes flick away again—only for a moment, but I don’t miss it. Whatever it is she’s carrying, she’s not ready to name it yet.
That’s fine. I can wait. I’ve waited longer for less.
But gods, I hope she lets me in soon.
For now, I let it go.
I pick the roast back up, shoving the rest of it into my mouth in a few wolfish bites. The ale goes down smoothly, warmth spreading in my chest. Between the feeding and the food, my body’s caught somewhere between drowsy contentment and an uneasy flutter that’s purely about Aria.
When I glance at her, she’s watching me.
Half-leaning against the headboard, eyes soft but brow creased like she’s trying to puzzle something out. Her fingers toy with the edge of the blanket, nervous energy rolling off her in quiet waves. When I glance her way, she doesn’t look away.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” she asks, voice careful, like she’s afraid of the answer. Her eyes flick to the spot where she fed from me—not even bleeding anymore, barely a twinge—but I see it clear as day…
So that’s what’s bothering her.
She thinks she hurt me.
The realization lands heavy in my chest, and I can’t help the crooked smile that tugs at my mouth. Gods, this woman. I raise a brow and wave my hand lazily through the air.
“Mouse, I’ve lost more blood stubbing my toe.”
Her eyes widen, then she scoffs, but it’s faint—like a laugh pressed into a sigh. “That’s not even anatomically possible.”
“Sure it is,” I say, settling back against the pillows. “You’ve never seen me walk into a table corner at full speed. Gruesome stuff.”
She rolls her eyes, but a reluctant smile flickers at the edges of her lips.
“You’re ridiculous,” she mutters.
“And yet here you are,” I reply, shifting closer until our legs brush, “voluntarily sharing a bed with me. Makes you questionable by association.”
That gets a real laugh—soft, but genuine—and it eases something tight in my chest. She’s still carrying whatever’s weighing her down, I can feel it, but at least the silence between us doesn’t feel like a wall anymore. Just a pause. A breath.
“I’m fine,” I say, quieter now. I catch her gaze and hold it. “Really. You didn’t take too much. I’d tell you if you did.”
She studies me, long enough that I feel it in my bones, then finally gives a small nod.
I take her hand, lifting it, and press a kiss to her knuckles, slow and deliberate. “You won’t break me, Mouse.”
She doesn’t say anything, but she doesn’t pull away either.
I scoot closer, setting the empty plate on the nightstand. “You sure you’re okay?” I ask again, this time quieter, wary.
She nods. “Come here.”
I crawl up beside her without protest, slipping under the blanket. She slides down next to me, her body stiff for half a second before she lets herself soften into my side. Her back molds to my front, the crown of her head fitting perfectly beneath my chin. I drape an arm over her waist and feel her exhale. My breath catches a little when she relaxes into it.
This— this I could do every night for the rest of my life.
The hush of the room settles over us, broken only by the faint clatter of dishes downstairs and our quiet breathing. My eyelids grow heavier as the day’s fatigue creeps in, but I fight it off.
Her fingers drift to mine, intertwining like it’s second nature. I feel her press closer. But her breathing is uneven, and I can feel something tight in her frame. She’s not at ease. Not really.
“Aria,” I murmur, not even sure what I want to say next.
Maybe I just want to hear her voice again. Maybe I just want her to remind me this is real.
She doesn’t answer. But she threads our fingers tighter.
I lean in, kiss the side of her head. “You don’t have to say anything. But…”
Her shoulders tense slightly. It’s the smallest thing. If I weren’t holding her, I might have missed it.
I swallow. Then say it anyway. “I think I’m falling for you, Mouse.”
There’s a pause—long enough for my heart to trip over itself. The air between us goes taut, like a bowstring pulled too tight. I half expect her to go still, to pull away. But instead, she lifts my hand—our fingers still laced—and presses a soft kiss to my knuckles. Her lips are warm, reverent, almost apologetic.
Then, quietly, she whispers against my skin, “Don’t say ridiculous things.”
I blink. For a heartbeat, it stings. Not because I expected her to say it back, but because something in her tone sounds like she wants to believe it—and doesn’t think she can.
I shift, pressing closer to her back, resting my chin near the curve of her shoulder. “It’s not ridiculous,” I murmur. “I do. I am. I…I love you.”
She exhales sharply, like the words knocked the wind from her. Her thumb strokes over my hand in slow circles, but she doesn’t speak.
“I know I’m not great at saying what I feel,” I add, voice barely above a whisper, “but it’s not some passing thing. I love you, Aria. Every damn piece of you. Fangs and all.”
Still, she stays quiet. But I feel it—the tremble in her breath, the way she presses her body tighter against mine like she’s scared I’ll disappear.
And maybe she doesn’t say it back.
But she doesn’t let go either.
Then, softly, barely more than breath, “You make it hard not to feel safe with you.”
The words are quiet but sincere, and something in my chest gives—like a rope finally slackening after being pulled too tight. It’s not I love you , not quite. But it’s something real. Something earned.
“Good,” I whisper, brushing my nose against the curve of her neck. “You deserve safe.”
She hums a low, content sound, and I feel her lips press gently to my fingers again before they settle back between us.
The warmth of her, the steadiness of her breathing, the softness of the bed—it's a lullaby I can’t resist. I fight to stay awake just a little longer, to hold on to this fragile, perfect moment, but it’s already slipping.
The last thing I feel before sleep takes me is Aria’s fingers tightening around mine.
And for once, I don’t fight the darkness. I sink into it willingly, with her warmth curled against me and the echo of her voice still soft in my ear.