Chapter 14 #2
I didn’t. I couldn’t. I tilted my head slightly, exposing my neck. He hesitated just long enough for me to feel his hands trembling at my waist, then his mouth was on my skin.
The bite was quick, deep enough to make me gasp. The sting gave way to something else. Heat spread through every nerve, every cell, every inch of my skin. My body went liquid. My fingers twisted in his shirt.
“Cristian,” I breathed.
When my knees threatened to give out, he steadied me, one hand firm at my back, the other sliding up to cradle my jaw. His strength didn’t startle me anymore; it grounded me.
His tongue flicked over the wound, sealing it, his breath warm against my throat. But he didn’t stop there. His lips found the line of my jaw, then the corner of my mouth, and when he finally kissed me, it was like every ounce of control he’d been clinging to snapped.
The kiss started slow, nothing more than curiosity.
Then it deepened, turned raw and consuming.
He kissed like a man starving for warmth after centuries of cold, and I kissed back like I might be the one to thaw him.
His hands moved over me, memorizing my shape: my waist, my ribs, the arch of my spine.
Instinctively, I reached for him, fingers sliding through his hair, pulling him closer, closer even as he lifted me.
My body made the decision before my brain could interfere.
I wrapped my legs around him. The counter dug into my hips, but I didn’t care. He pressed against me, every line of him solid and deliberate. Each exhale from his mouth hit my skin like a spark. I wanted more—needed more.
His mouth parted from mine just long enough for him to look at me. The bond pulsed so sharply it almost hurt. His eyes—those impossible eyes—were darker now, dilated and unsteady. Something wild was there, something that scared me only because I wanted it too.
He kissed me again, rougher this time, and I thought maybe we’d crossed the point of no return.
And then—he stopped.
Just stopped.
He drew back as if someone had yanked him by the spine. His chest heaved, eyes darting over my face like he was memorizing it for later, for a time when he could let himself be reckless again. His pupils were still blown, his lips red from mine.
I could feel his restraint like static in the air. He looked wrecked and furious with himself all at once.
“Cristian?” I whispered, but he didn’t answer.
He set me down, then took one step back. Then another. The distance between us hurt more than his fangs ever could.
He looked at me like I was dangerous, like I was something he shouldn’t want.
Without a word, he turned and left the room.
I stood there, pulse racing, lips swollen, brain trying to reboot.
He’d kissed me like I was the only thing keeping him alive, then walked away like I was the thing that might kill him.
I pressed a hand to my chest, trying to steady my breath. I wasn’t sure if it was my ego or my soul that was bruised. Either way, I wanted to scream. Or cry. Or both.
Instead, I reached for the ranch and finished my salad.
I whispered a line from my notebook. “You can stay grounded even when the ground feels like it’s crumbling.
” I set the sandwich down and made myself practice some coping mechanisms. I took five slow breaths.
By the last one, my pulse had stopped racing.
I lay flat on my bed, arms spread, staring at the ceiling like it owed me answers.
My hair was a wreck. My lips still felt swollen. My brain kept playing back every single second of the kiss—his mouth moving against mine, the sound he made, that low noise that came from somewhere too deep to be civilized.
Before it ended. Just—ended.
“What the hell happened?” I whispered to the ceiling.
My brain, in its infinite cruelty, replayed it again. And again.
Why did he stop? Was it me? Was I too much? Not enough? Too eager? Not… vampire-y enough?
Maybe he preferred someone colder. Older. Someone who didn’t blush every time he looked at her like she was sunlight wrapped in bad decisions.
I grabbed a pillow and groaned into it until I ran out of air.
Maybe he was disgusted. Maybe I was some weird mortal experiment—an inconvenient side effect of his curse.
But then my brain betrayed me again, replaying the kiss. The way he’d said tell me to stop, but looked like stopping might kill him.
“I gave him everything,” I muttered into the comforter. “Neck, lips, legs wrapped around his undead hips. What else did he want?”
My voice echoed in the empty room. I flipped over and yelled into the pillow. “I am a catch, damn it!”
That helped for about five seconds.
Then I grabbed my phone and texted Lena.
Me: You’re not gonna believe what just happened. Vampire-related. Hot. Confusing. Possibly humiliating.
Waited.
Nothing.
I frowned, scrolling up. The message I’d sent this morning still hadn’t been read. Weird. She was glued to her phone—usually texting me about some chaotic ER patient or a hot paramedic.
I checked Instagram. No new stories. No new posts. The last one was the two of us with fresh manicures—me with wine, her with soda—posted right before she found the Ouija board.
A small twist of dread started in my stomach.
I tried calling her. Voicemail.
I tried again. And again.
Okay. Okay. Maybe her phone died. Maybe she was working a double. Maybe she dropped it in a bucket of medical sanitizer again.
Except… Lena was never offline.
I opened Facebook. Nothing. Twitter—sorry, X—nothing.
Now the dread had its claws in.
I dialed the hospital. Tried to sound normal. “Hi, I’m calling to check if Nurse Lena Craft is working today?”
The receptionist was polite but clipped. “She didn’t report for her shift. Do you have a callback number for her?”
My stomach dropped. I barely managed to say thank you before hanging up.
I stared at my phone, heart hammering.
Then Cristian was just there. He filled the doorway, quiet but sharp-eyed, like he’d followed the pulse of my panic straight to me.
“What’s happened?” he asked, voice low. He extended a hand, palm up, offering contact.
After a second’s hesitation, I took it. Warmth spread instantly, steadying the shaking in my chest.
He stepped closer but didn’t crowd me. “Why has your energy changed?”
I looked up at him, throat tight. “Lena’s missing.”
His easy arrogance fell away, and his entire body went still, like a soldier hearing the first sound of a storm. “Are you certain?”
I nodded. “She didn’t go to work. She’s not answering calls or texts. She hasn’t posted anything since she left here the other night. That’s not her.”
“When was the last time you spoke with her? Was it when she left your girls’ night?” he asked quietly.
I swallowed hard. “Yes. She was called into work right after midnight, remember? That was the last time.”
He was silent for a beat. Then, very softly, “We need to find her.”
The bond between us tightened in agreement.
For once, I didn’t argue.