Chapter 30
From the helm, I watch Hayden pace the boat deck below me as he speaks to Delia on the phone.
Behind him, the still-smoking silhouette of Crimson Bluff shrinks slowly on the horizon.
The warm flutter tucked against my chest shifts, and Winston’s bat-like ears pop out of my sweater. Little yellow eyes blink up at me.
“You just ate,” I whisper, already digging out another piece of boiled chicken from my pocket. “So spoiled.” Winston’s purrs get deafening as he clasps the meat between his paws and munches.
I watch Hayden turn and walk the length of the deck again. His limp is gone. Took a few hours to go, even with my blood. I’m still feeling light-headed. But not just from blood loss. The exquisite feeling of finally having Hayden drink from me is still echoing through my veins.
“She’ll file the missing person reports now.” I startle a little as Hayden steps into the small cabin. “In a few days, a crime scene will be discovered in Julian’s apartment. Thankfully he lived alone.”
“How did they find us?” I ask.
Hayden purses his lips. “We were looking out for Julian, but we had no idea about Bianca and Chris. It’s possible one of them tracked us.”
“Poor Bianca,” I whisper, resolutely avoiding looking at the stern side of the deck. Hayden does, though. He slips an arm around me. He’s quiet a long moment. I know that he’s looking at three still figures beneath white sheets. “At least her family won’t be left wondering.”
Hayden just holds me tighter.
—
Delia, Hayden, and I hold our breath for two weeks. They flank me to every class. At Bianca’s funeral. Delia at one shoulder, Hayden at the other. Every shadow has their fangs shooting out. Every sudden movement, every startling sound.
When Winston knocks an empty Vanilla Coke can off my desk, the racket has Hayden nearly taking our door off its hinges.
“What is wrong with you?” he growls at the kitten. Winston yawns, his little pink tongue curling.
“Please don’t yell at the baby,” I sniff, patting my mattress. Winston trots over to me, sniffing for food.
“Sure, that’s a baby,” Delia grumbles. “A baby demon.” She eases out of her predatory crouch, her nerves just as frayed.
“Could it be,” I say slowly, “that, perhaps, the curse really is—”
“Don’t jinx it, Rose,” Hayden says, leaning back against the door. He looks, even for a vampire, exhausted.
On the third week, Delia stares out our dorm window for a long time, watching a group of other freshman girls have a snowball fight.
“Hayden,” she says quietly.
“What?” Hayden says. But he sounds so tired. Delia crosses the small room and puts her hand on his shoulder.
“I’m gonna say it. Rose is solidly nineteen.” She looks over at me, her eyes glistening. “I think it’s time we plan your birthday party. Finally get you a cake.”
“Yeah?” I lift Winston from my lap and set him on the mattress. His lavender collar tinkles when he shakes. I look at Hayden, whose eyes are swimming.
“Yeah. Don’t you think, Hay?” Delia asks gently. Hopefully.
Hayden lets out a long, shaky exhale. Finally, he whispers, “Okay.”
I run to him, and he pulls me so close and tight, burying his face in my hair.
“God.” He cradles the back of my skull, and his breath hitches. “God, Rose, I…”
Delia throws her arms around us, and we all dissolve into tears. Behind us, Winston’s bell tinkles and I hear something clatter to the floor. I cry harder, laughing, pulling Delia and Hayden close.
—
For the first time in this life, I wake up before Hayden.
I think I’m just excited. Tonight, I’m spending the night at Delia’s new place.
Tomorrow, I’m having my very first birthday party in this life, my very first nineteenth birthday party in all my lives.
And then next week, Hayden, Delia, Winston, and I are flying to meet my parents at a cabin in the Rocky Mountains to spend Christmas vacation.
I pinch myself once more, because all of this is too perfect. Too blissful. I feel the tiny sting of pain, but I don’t wake up. This is real. I’m here, in bed with Hayden Caldwell.
After we realized that the curse truly, truly had been broken, Hayden’s ravenous need returned with a vengeance. He had refused to let his guard down before. But now? Now it feels like he’s trying to make up for lost time.
God, ever since we first shared a bed, I have wanted to see him soft with sleep. Vampires don’t often doze off, so it’s rare. But sometimes, if they’re feeling safe enough to let their guard down, they let themselves. Ever since he first told me that, I’ve wanted to catch him.
I’ve wanted to see what that perfect face looks like so still.
I’ve wanted to see his brow, for once, smooth and unbothered.
I’ve wanted to see if he had moles or freckles or acne scars.
I’ve wanted to see every little atom of him and confirm what I already know to be true: that Hayden is empirically, objectively, undeniably flawless.
Quiet as I can, I sit up, simply staring. He’s not wearing a shirt. It always comes off at some point in the night. I’m usually the one who yanks it off of him. We both usually end up without our clothes, slumped against each other in panting wonder.
Hayden’s hair is a glossy onyx in the gray morning light filtering through the window of his bedroom. His hair is a tangled mess. That’s my fault. It makes him go crazy when I bury my fingers in the roots and hold on for dear life.
Hayden’s lips look puffy this morning, slack in sleep. So, so beautiful. Have I seen his face so peaceful? There’s always something going on, isn’t there? Some hidden, lurking heat in those eyes, always unreadable.
But now, he looks…
Like a fallen angel.
Reaching out as slow and quiet as possible, I brush a lock of hair from his forehead with my pinky. I want to touch his eyebrows, feel how soft or wiry the hair is there. I want to touch him everywhere, but I don’t want to risk waking him.
Yet.
I slither down the bed carefully until I’m level with his bare knees.
Hayden’s a boxer-brief vampire. I had no idea I had a preference, but…yeah. Turns out I’m a boxer-brief girl. These are a gleaming black, silky and expensive.
“Would you ever like it if I kissed you awake?” I asked him a couple nights ago. Hayden was playing with my fingers, gazing at my pinky nail like he was appraising a diamond.
“Yes,” he simply said.
“Where?”
Hayden went still. Slowly, he brought my pinky to his mouth.
“Everywhere,” he said.
I keep that in mind and drop my mouth to plant a soft kiss on his knee. I glance up, holding my breath. Hayden is still. Smiling to myself, I kiss up the outside of his thigh.
How does he smell so good everywhere? Clean soap, but below that, the cinnamon-smoke smell. It’s gotten even more delicious ever since he drank my blood. Like he’s now especially only for me.
I’m to the middle of his thigh. I kiss once, and Hayden’s leg stirs. I freeze, glancing up at Hayden. He’s still. Unmoving.
I slide my hands up the fronts of his thighs. God. He’s so perfect.
I realize, desperately, suddenly, I want to taste Hayden.
I finally believe it when Hayden tells me he’s never loved me more than he does now. I don’t feel as much of a stab of insecurity when he talks about our past, even when he admitted he thought I was especially charming with an Australian accent.
That might have a lot to do with one of his more recent confessions.
In the heat of the moment last week, when we were too impatient to make it out of the kitchen, my back against the closed fridge door, his hands at my hips, his tongue had gone loose, saying all kinds of hot, dirty things against my ear.
“You’ve never been this insatiable,” he groaned. “You’re the insatiable one. How the fuck am I so lucky?”
It shot right through me, and I shattered around him in a surge of pride and hunger.
With the memory of his pained groan echoing in my ear, I slip my thumb beneath the silk of his boxers. I swallow a gasp when I brush a wiry tuft of hair.
A hand snatches my wrist before my thumb can go any farther.
“What have we here?” Hayden’s voice is low and rough with sleep. It makes me ache with want, clench my thighs together. He pulls me up his body so our faces are level. His eyes fall serious. “You don’t have to do that, you know,” he says quietly. “I don’t expect that.”
“I don’t care what you expect.” I writhe against him, already short of breath. “I want to do that.”
“Do you?” he murmurs. Hayden shifts against me, flashing me his fangs, a knowing glint in his eye. When I feel him press against my bare thigh, feel how ready he is for me, I gasp.
“Later.” I yank off my sports bra and kick off my panties. “Right now, I want…” I wrap my fingers around him, and with a snarl, Hayden rolls me onto my back. His hand slips between my legs, and his eyes get huge. He swallows a few times.
“There’s no way this is just from you kissing my leg.” Hayden’s voice is brutally rough. He swirls his fingers against me, and I cover my eyes, my cheeks flaming. “This from last night too?”
“Both,” I say in a shaky pant. “I’m— Please, Hayden? Please, please…” Hayden’s fingers disappear, and I whine from the loss. But then Hayden shifts on top of me, his hands in my hair, and there he is, poised right where I want him.
We kiss as he moves carefully, trying not to break the headboard again.
He drops his mouth to my neck, and when I feel the points of his fangs graze my pulse, I suck in a sharp breath, tensing, pleasure ratcheting impossibly higher.
Hayden’s head jerks up, his pupil-filled eyes huge with lust and shock.
“Really?” he pants. “Already?”
“Maybe,” I pant. “Maybe you should slow down?”
“Absolutely not,” Hayden grates out. His hips move deeper, more dedicatedly. “Wanna feel you, Rose. You’re so incredible, so perfect. I love you, I love you.”
“Hayden,” I plead, the word shattering as I start to break apart.
“Marry me,” Hayden gasps. “Marry me, Rose.”