Chapter 5 #3
I cleared my throat. “Okay, I might let you bite me. But only if there are no other options. And only if you ask for permission first. No sneaky, neck-grabby, ‘surprise vampire snack’ nonsense.”
Before I could even blink, he was at my side. One second he was across the room, the next a whisper at my ear. His presence carried heat, something dense and deliberate. My pulse stuttered.
His voice dropped into a tone that shouldn’t have been legal.
“I’d know the exact moment you’d want me to.”
The words weren’t a tease. They were a promise.
His warm breath brushed my temple. I could feel the outline of control in every syllable, like he wanted me to understand that he could move faster, get closer, do anything—and still chose not to.
My entire nervous system glitched. He smelled of smoke and stone, and it infuriated me that it made me feel safe.
“Jesus Christ,” I breathed, pulse hammering, though I wasn’t sure if it was panic or something far more dangerous.
I needed to cool my shit.
Yes, he was stupidly attractive. And yes, my brain was already picturing things it shouldn’t.
But I had a long, messy history of mistaking intensity for intimacy.
Historically speaking, I was not good at this.
The moment someone really saw me—the messy parts, the noisy parts, all the parts I was still learning to like—they always decided I was too much.
I was working on being okay with that. I was working on loving myself enough that I didn’t need someone else’s interest to feel worth the space I took up.
So, I took a slow, therapeutic breath.
This was fine. I could handle one vampire roommate. One confusing, centuries-old, emotionally controlled, devastatingly hot man who smelled like temptation and restraint.
He didn’t move back right away. He stayed there, a quiet threat wrapped in patience, letting me feel how easily he could undo me if he wanted to.
And somehow, that restraint was worse.
Just like before, my pulse steadied. The tether hummed, like something ancient had been appeased. My body wanted to lean toward him. My brain screamed bad fucking idea, bitch.
He stepped back. Instantly, my chest tightened again. I rolled my eyes at myself. “Oh, for fuck’s sake.”
He tilted his head. “Again, with that phrase.”
Then he stepped close once more, fingers brushing my wrist before I could retreat.
His hand wrapped gently around it, warm and solid, and my anxiety smoothed out like a sheet pulled taut.
I’d always assumed vampires would be cold, like marble or night air.
But his skin radiated heat, steady and grounding.
I blinked up at him. “What are you doing?”
“Steadying you.”
“Okay, but if you need physical contact to steady me,” I said, pulling my hand back, “you ask. This is the twenty-first century, and I am a feminist.”
He blinked, processing. “A… feminist.”
“Yes. Someone who believes women shouldn’t be manhandled by immortal men without consent.”
He stared at me, face blank. So, I picked up the marker and wrote on the whiteboard: If you need contact to steady me, you fucking ask.
Cristian read it, expression serious. “Understood. I fucking ask.”
“Good.”
I exhaled, then started writing again. “Rule three: Don’t watch me sleep like some super creepy vampires I’ve read about. Rule four: Don’t be a creep in general. Rule five: Don’t flirt with me.”
His brow arched. “Flirt?”
“You know. Say things that make my brain stop working.”
“I… see.”
“And rule six,” I continued, ignoring him, “Don’t ask me a million questions when I’m watching TV, eating, or reading. Basically, don’t bug me. This summer was supposed to be about me finding myself again. Or liking myself again, maybe. I didn’t sign up for… this.”
He nodded once, too politely. “Understood.”
“Really?”
He inclined his head. “I shall do my best.”
I didn’t believe him.
Then his eyes shifted to something behind me. I turned, following his gaze. My plate of French toast sat untouched on the counter.
He looked back at me. “I understand,” he said, voice even. “Sit. Eat.”
It wasn’t a command, exactly. More like… an instinct he’d voiced out loud. I sat without meaning to. Fork in hand, I took a bite. It was still warm, and tasted sweet and normal, which, under the circumstances, felt miraculous.
After two bites, my brain started to wander. “I should clean up. Or—”
Cristian moved before I could stand. Just a quiet shift, his hand settling on the edge of the table near mine. He shook his head once. The movement was small, controlled. Then he pointed to the plate.
Eat.
He didn’t speak, but I felt it in his gaze.
Something in his posture made resistance feel impossible. I sank back into the chair. He didn’t touch me. He didn’t have to. He just stood there, half-draped in the blanket, expression unreadable, and watched me eat like he was waiting to see if I’d disappear.
By the time I finished, the silence between us had thickened. It wasn’t uncomfortable exactly. Just… full.
He looked almost uncertain. Like he didn’t know whether this counted as peace or surrender.
Maybe both.
Somewhere between the sticky notes, the French toast, and the absurd vampire etiquette seminar, my chest loosened for real. The tether hummed in quiet approval.
“Happy?” I said, pushing my empty plate away. “But you’re doing dishes.”
He inclined his head. “As you wish.”
I had the very inconvenient thought that if he kept talking like that, I was doomed.