Chapter 2 The Cool Side of the Pillow
Chapter Two
The Cool Side of the Pillow
— Sunday —
I haven’t stopped smiling since we made it back to our room. My fingers keep seeking them out—just to feel the reassurance of their presence. Grayson is the only one still awake with me. The night took its toll on all of us, but I don’t feel tired. I feel renewed.
“Mmm, just five more minutes,” I whisper, nuzzling deeper into Grayson’s side. He chuckles softly, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on my bare shoulder.
“You’ve been saying that for the past hour,” he murmurs, his voice a low rumble against my ear, sending a flight of butterflies through me. I love this vampire. I’m good at labeling feelings and what I feel for him is humbling in its purity and depth.
I groan playfully, burying my face against his chest and squeezing him tighter. “Can’t a girl just enjoy her pillow?”
“Is that what you’re doing?” Amusement colors his tone, and I grin, peeking up at him with one eye.
“Yup. You’re the cool side of the pillow—every girl’s dream.”
He raises an eyebrow, “Is that so?”
I wriggle closer, savoring the solid comfort of him. “Like a human-shaped ice pack. Perfect for hot summer nights.”
Grayson chuckles, his arm tightening around me. “You’re ridiculous.”
I snuggle in even closer, feeling his laughter vibrate through me. And then it hits me—the depth of what we have. Even as the incomplete blood bond hums between us, laying bare every unspoken emotion, my wonder and gratitude reflect back to me, amplified tenfold. Each of his lifetimes seems to have deepened his appreciation for me—I’m a shallow stream beside the vastness of an endless ocean.
“But you love me anyway,” I murmur, pressing a kiss to his chest and fighting the sudden sting of tears. This soul-deep connection aches sometimes, a sweetness almost too much to bear.
He sighs contentedly, his fingers carding gently through my hair. “More than you know.”
I close my eyes, savoring the moment—the way Shadow is curled up in a blanket-burrito under Ben’s arm, and Tomas’ wolf yips softly in his sleep.
We’re safe. We’re together. Nothing will break us apart again.
Hiding my smile against Gray’s ribs, I revel in the comforting rhythm of his fingers winding a strand of my hair, letting it coil and fall, soothing me with each gentle motion.
Warm, humid air drifts in from the sea, a whisper sliding across my skin. I soak it all in—the quiet murmurs of sleep, the feeling of being surrounded by them. A little slice of heaven. A moment of peace that feels like it’s been a lifetime coming. But Lord, it was worth every bit of the fight.
“Come with me, Lover?” Grayson’s voice breaks the stillness softly, pulling me from my wool-gathering. He disentangles himself from the knot of sheets and limbs, offering his hand. There’s no hesitation—I take it, letting him pull me to my feet.
Lover . He’s never called me that before. It was the name Alexander whispered during those stolen moments in his dreams. Gratitude. Hope. Trepidation . A storm churns inside me. Does he remember me as I was then—the woman who loved him before time and circumstance twisted his fate?
I don’t exactly miss Alexander. Not really. Grayson is the fuller, more complete version of the same soul. Alexander was just a snapshot, a fragment of a grand design—a dream.
Grayson has been shaped by centuries, forged under the weight of his immortal life. He’s cautious, calculating, his edges honed by two thousand years of navigating a world that still sees him as a monster. And yes, he is a bit controlling—like a rooster in a henhouse.
But that whispered word feeds a spark of hope in my chest. Maybe a piece of Alexander still lingers within him, tempered by time. And to be honest, a bit more of Alexander’s enthusiastic, ego-stroking affection wouldn’t go amiss in the bedroom either.
Grayson holds out a short silk robe. I turn, letting him slide it over my shoulders. His fingers knot the sash loosely around my waist before guiding me through the darkened suite. His hand rests lightly on my back, and instinctively, my arm slips around his waist.
The door closes softly behind us, and we step into the empty hallway. It feels natural—like we’ve been walking like this for years. A familiarity we haven’t earned. A closeness we shouldn’t share. And yet, it’s there—with all of them. Too fast, yet undeniably right.
He inhales deeply, nostrils flaring. “Rurik was out here… very recently.”
“Probably just checkin’ on us.”
Grayson’s eyes narrow, his expression darkening. “Well, I do hope he comes back… in twenty minutes or so.”
“Why?” The moment the word leaves my lips, I realize Grayson Marchese is making a sex joke.
I shake my head, but a small knot forms in my chest. Does he think…? The urge to explain rises, though I’m not sure why.
“Nothing happened between me and Rurik. I just want you to know that.”
“It wouldn’t change anything if it had.” His voice is steady—too steady—but I feel the tension coiling beneath it.
I think it would change things quite a lot, but I keep that thought to myself.
“Good.”
We stop in front of another door, and I hesitate, biting my lip. “Because I should probably tell you… if anything happens to me, I gave him permission to turn me.”
His jaw clenches, a muscle ticking in his cheek. He doesn’t respond. The silence stretches, heavy and uncomfortable, so I rush to fill it. “I’d prefer Valentine, but she’s too young, and so is Stefan. Aiden offered, but he’s such a dick…”
What I don’t say is that I’d really prefer him. But rules are rules.
Grayson nods, his expression unreadable, his emotions flattened, and turns the knob sharply. The lock snaps with a soft crack as he pushes the door open, holding it for me without a word.
“Whose suite is this?” I ask, peering into the darkness. Before I can make out much, Grayson turns on a floor lamp, the light pooling softly into the corners of the room. He slides the chain lock into place behind us, the metal clicking quietly.
I step further in, taking in the details. It’s smaller, a bit outdated, with dust gathering in the nooks and crannies. Nothing like the suite we’re in now—this one is less luxurious, almost forgotten.
“Xavier and I stayed here once.” His voice carries a wistful edge. “The bed is easy to make light-tight, and…” He moves to a pile of odd-looking cushions on the floor. “These fit over the windows.” He picks up a rectangular piece of black foam and demonstrates, pressing it neatly into the closest window. “I wanted to spend some time with you before dawn, and I’m done sleeping in borrowed pods or Roxana’s quarters.”
I nod. C an’t say I blame him.
The bed is tucked into an alcove, heavy curtains flanking the opening. The pale blue plastered walls and ceiling lend it a quiet, cocooned feel—secluded and serene, like a retreat from the rest of the world.
“So,” I ask, wiggling my eyebrows. “Is this where the magic happened?”
Grayson arches a brow, his mismatched eyes—one hazel-brown, the other a startling aquamarine—glinting with amusement.
“There, and the couch… that chair…” He points to every piece of furniture he’s defiled with my jaguar—our jaguar. His smirk deepens, full lips curving at one corner. Dim light catches in his hair, blond threaded with reddish gold, subtle curls brushing the nape of his neck. He’s six-foot-four of solid, sculpted arrogance—high cheekbones, Roman nose, the kind of features that belong on a marble bust or at the head of an empire.
“Are you jealous, Sunday?” His voice dips low. “Or maybe feeling a bit possessive?”
“I’m not jealous or possessive about Shadow. When they showed up in Hibernia, it was obvious something had happened between you, and I was— I am —delighted.”
He’s standing mere inches away now, smirking in that infuriatingly sexy way that only he can, looking down at me so that I have to crane my neck just to meet his gaze. “Is that right, Lover? Were you delighted by the thought of being shared between us, or were you imagining yourself more of a voyeur?”
“Uh,” I respond intelligently, wiping the drool from my bottom lip. “I wasn’t not imagining watching.”
He nods, his lips quirking upward, and runs his hands down my arms before intertwining our fingers. His gaze holds that same expression—somewhere between patient indulgence and overwhelming affection. It’s the unguarded softness, the vulnerability beneath the surface, that takes my breath away. The same gaze Alexander used to have. I can’t help but see it now.
I hesitate, catching a glimmer of something else in his eyes—uncertainty, as though he’s waiting for reassurance. And then it hits me; maybe he needs more than just the physical connection.
“I bet you have a lot of questions,” I say softly.
The tightness in his expression eases as he nods. “I do.” He takes a step back, his hand still holding mine, pulling me with him. “But more than answers, I need this…”
“Oh.” I blink, then warmth spreads through me as understanding dawns. “Oh, of course. You must be starving.” A smile curls across my face, heat rising in my cheeks. God, I missed feeding him. A shiver of anticipation runs through me—fuck, even my mouth is watering.
He keeps pulling me until the back of his knees hit the bed. His hands tangle in my hair, and everything else falls away.