22. Couples’ “Therapy”
Chapter twenty-two
Couples’ “Therapy”
Julian
I stepped out of the bathroom, toweling my hair, only to find Nicolette already propped up in bed like a general preparing for war.
Two laptops—hers and her mother’s—were open in front of her, with a stack of scientific journals fanned across the duvet, and an expression on her face that said she meant business.
She hadn’t calmed since dinner. Truth be told, neither had I.
My worst fear was that Delia and Wallace knew Nicolette had the laptop—and what might be on it. They certainly knew something. The night was far too contrived, their questions far too deliberate. And Delia’s sudden interest in Wallace was far too convenient.
It made me wonder what else Wallace had told Delia.
I would be having a little chat with Nicolette’s father about keeping his mouth shut, as he’d promised he would. Did the man have any idea of the danger he was placing his daughter in? Or himself? My world didn’t take kindly to our secrets being shared.
“You should get some rest,” I encouraged her. It was late, and it had been a long, unsettling night.
Nicolette looked up, and I dropped my towel. For a moment, I forgot we were battling several fronts. All I could see was her—hair swept to one side, nightshirt slipping off her shoulder, the faint tug of her lips as her gaze lingered on my bare chest.
“You should put a shirt on. I don’t have time to be distracted by your chiseled chest. As much as I would like to.”
She tore her eyes away, cheeks tinged pink.
I slipped into bed beside her and pressed a kiss to her exposed shoulder, needing—selfishly—a moment of distraction. The rise of her skin beneath my lips did the trick.
“I don’t have time for that either,” she whispered, though she inched closer all the same.
Against my better judgment, I let my lips skim her skin again. “I apologize, but I can’t help myself. Perhaps you can wait to save the world until tomorrow.”
She turned toward me, brow furrowing. “I can’t. We need to find out what’s on my mother’s computer. Something isn’t right. They know something. Whatever is on my mother’s laptop is important, and we need to find it first.”
She had no idea what her words did to me. The way she said we . She honored me with her trust—offered it freely, without hesitation. It was intoxicating. More potent than any blood could ever be.
I cupped her cheek and pressed my lips to hers. When she didn’t pull away, when she leaned into me instead, something inside me uncoiled. Her laptop and journal slid to the side as she shifted closer, her lips parting in a soft invitation I could never refuse.
I deepened the kiss, letting my mouth move with hers in a slow, deliberate rhythm.
A dance without urgency, without fear—just the two of us meeting in the middle.
Not long ago, this would have been the moment she’d lose herself, begging me to take more than I ever should.
It had always been my signal to stop, to pull back before I crossed a line I could never uncross.
But now . . . she let the moment linger.
She let me linger.
Her fingers curled into my hair, and I felt her melt against me, not from compulsion or instinct, but from choice. From want. From trust.
And so, I allowed myself to drown in her—carefully, reverently—knowing she was still fully herself beneath my touch.
“Julian,” she breathed out.
“Yes,” I groaned, my tongue skimming her swollen lips.
“If we don’t stop now,” she stammered out between kisses, “I won’t want to.”
Those words were enough to snap me back to our reality. The one where making love to my wife was a danger we couldn’t risk.
I leaned my forehead against hers, breathing her in and lamenting the barrier between us, trying to quell the need to know every part of her. It was going nowhere.
“Julian, I’ve been thinking about your mutation .”
“That’s romantic,” I teased.
She giggled.
I was coming to love that sound more and more.
“After tonight, I was thinking it’s more important than ever that we find a cure.”
“And I was thinking I need to stay what I am to protect you,” I countered.
She sighed and rested her warm hand on my cheek. I pressed her flesh against my cool skin, longing to feel warm again.
“I love that you want to protect me. But we need something more. A second line of defense against whoever it is that wants to hurt me. Look how many times he’s gotten past your family.
And after tonight, I’m not even sure I can trust your family or mine.
My mother knew something about my blood. We have to figure out what it is.”
I closed my eyes and let out an elongated breath. “I never imagined my humanity would cost me so dearly. Gambling with your life was never part of my plan.”
“Julian, I think my life was being gambled with before you ever entered the picture. And I’m scared. And the only way I know not to be scared is to gain as much knowledge as I can.”
I brushed her lips with mine, wishing I could make this better for her. That I could whisk her away somewhere and keep her safe. Tell her she had nothing to fear.
She stilled and pressed her mouth to mine. Her emotions bled into me—asking me to trust her, to let her see this through, no matter the cost. But the cost was her.
“You know,” she murmured against my lips, “if you ever were to become human again, we could, uh . . . make love.”
Did that mean she wished to stay with me? That our bargain was off? As ridiculous as it felt, I was afraid to ask. It was laughable, really. After all my years, after all the women I’d been with, after every danger I’d faced, I couldn’t bear the thought of being rejected by her.
“Are you trying to persuade me, wife?” I groaned.
“I was just thinking it would be an incentive.”
“An incentive?” I laughed. “Nicolette, as much as I want you—desperately want you—I would never trade your life for sex.”
She said nothing, but I felt a tiny teardrop leak down her cheek and onto my hand. “What did I say to hurt you? Why are you crying?”
“You didn’t hurt me. I just didn’t expect you.”
“Nor I you.” I kissed her nose. “Now tell me this idea of yours that I’m sure I will abhor but agree to because you are turning me into a besotted fool.”
She leaned away and sat up straight, placed her computer back on her lap, and took several deep breaths to compose herself.
I felt as though I needed to right myself as well. Our feelings for each other, I feared, would be our downfall.
“You’re right—you’re not going to like this,” Nicolette pierced the silence. “But I think it would be beneficial if you were taking some—let’s say—immunotherapy.”
I tilted my head. “Immunotherapy? Is this something you developed in your sleep, darling?” I teased.
“Well, actually, it kind of is. It’s kind of something I produce twenty-four seven.”
I pinched the bridge of my nose. “No,” I stated simply. I bloody well wouldn’t be drinking her blood again.
She turned toward me, her eyes imploring me, her fingers tightening around the edge of her laptop.
“Julian, listen: This makes sense. It might buy us some time for me to develop a cure. It might help me find the protein that’s stabilizing your pathways.
This way I can track any changes in your gene expression and run longitudinal tests.
And if it works, it’ll let me map the mutation’s behavior over time.
It’s a reverse-engineering kind of thing.
Your body clearly responds to something in my blood, and if I can measure that response consistently, I can figure out what it’s regulating. ”
“It’s a recipe for disaster. What happens if the next time your blood doesn’t calm me? What if I end up craving you and lose control?”
“I don’t think that’s going to happen.”
“And this is based on what?” I challenged her.
She took my hand and pressed it to her fiercely beating heart.
“The fact that I’m in your bed now, and you know what I taste like, and yet your only thought is to protect me.
Just minutes ago, I offered you a possible pathway to my body, and you chose me over your desire.
You’re willing to give up a dream you’ve had for six hundred years for me. That’s how I know.”
Well, damn.
I let out a heavy breath and shook my head. “I was right. You’ve turned me into a besotted fool. But I refuse to sink my teeth into you.”
She dropped my hand, and I immediately felt the loss.
“Good, because I was thinking more along the lines of drawing my own blood so I can control the amount and variables.”
“And when do you wish to begin this?”
“As soon as possible.” She grinned, a spark of triumph lighting her eyes.
“As you wish, darling.” What else was there left to say? I was enchanted by her, and she held my heart in her hands. A heart I’d forgotten I had.
Satisfied, she turned back to her laptop and journals. “You should get to work too. The sooner we can get into my mother’s files, the better.”
I smiled and reached for the laptop. For a moment, I simply watched the beautiful, maddening creature in my bed—hair falling over her shoulder, brow furrowed in concentration, determination radiating from every inch of her.
And I realized that perhaps, after six hundred years, it was time for a new dream—Nicolette.