I close my eyes, searching for something that matters. “The sound of the gates closing.”
She nods. “That’s a good one.”
“What about you?” I ask.
She doesn’t hesitate. “The flowers. There was a bush of them by the front steps the day I arrived. Pink and spiky and mean-looking, but alive.”
She watches me, waiting.
“I’ll buy you as many of those bushes as you want once we survive tonight,” I say.
She raises an eyebrow. “You think I’ll be alive still?”
“I know you will,” I say. “Because I’ll make sure of it.”
She holds my gaze, unblinking. “And what if I don’t want to be claimed? Is there another way?”
“Nope,” I say. “You’re mine.”
She doesn’t smile, but she doesn’t argue.
She sits on the bed, dress pooled around her, and looks at the wall again.
“Do you ever wish you could start over?” she asks.
“No,” I say. “I like knowing how the story ends.”
She laughs, just once. “You’re a psycho, Colton.”
“Never denied it.”
She lies down, hair fanned out, eyes fixed on the ceiling. “Will you stay with me until the moon starts to rise?”
I climb in beside her and pull her into me.
She rests her head on my chest, breathing slow. “Don’t let me go,” she says.
“Never,” I promise.
We lie like that, quiet, while the world outside gets ready to tear us apart.
She falls asleep slowly. I watch her, counting the seconds between breaths, the slow shift of her shoulders as she drops deeper. She must not have slept in days, at least, not a restful sleep. So I watch and wait and protect.
When I’m sure she’s having good dreams, I reach out and touch the hollow of her throat, where the pulse beats steady.
I think about tonight.
The Night Hunt.
About the moment I will have to chase her down, drag her back, make her mine.
I wonder if she’ll hate me, or if she’ll understand.
Either way, it doesn’t matter.
I close my eyes and let the quiet fill me.
She wakes before I do. She’s sitting cross-legged at the foot of the bed. She’s reading through her notebooks, flipping pages slow, as if every word might be the last one she ever sees.
