He hops quickly out of the car once I have parked but does not stray far. When I climb out myself, Grant is deeply inhaling the brine-tinted night air, eyes closed, a small smile on his face.
My heart pangs. He should always look like this. For a second, he appears truly content in a way I do not think I have ever seen from him.
His eyes flutter open. He blushes when he catches me watching and ducks his head. “The bags.”
We get them, and I lead him to the hotel I managed to book us into this morning. If the receptionist is surprised to have people arriving so late, she does not show it. She hardly gives my ID a second glance and only Grant appears confused when she slides over one key card.
He says nothing until we step away from the desk. The young woman sits back down, quietly playing something on her phone.
“One room?” he murmurs.
“That is all that was left,” I reply.
The troubled frown does not leave his face, but he does not comment on it as we cross to the lift and get in. A couple followus inside, so we are silent up to the second floor, where I step out first, Grant on my heels.
It is when he steps into the room that his expression changes from mistrust to outright irritation.
“Vlad.”
“Yes?” I push the door shut and filter my blessing out, warding and soundproofing our room. The wards are not heavy enough that they should be felt outside this building, but they will give me ample warning should someone come into the room.
“There’s one bed.”
I frown. I am still standing by the door. The bathroom is to my right, and when I take another step inside, I can take in the rest of the room. It is not large—to be expected, considering the price—and, Grant is correct, there is one double bed, as well as a desk attached to the wall, a TV, one uncomfortable-looking stool, and a small fridge tucked under the desk as I requested.
“Ah.”
“Ah?” Grant turns to me, eyebrows almost at his hairline. “Ah?”
“There is little to be done about it,” I reply. “We need to be as central as possible. All the other hotels I might have been able to book into are on the outskirts of the city.”
“You know we can run, like, really fast, right?”
“Can you ward yourself while you run?”
A muscle in Grant’s jaw ticks. “No.”
“Then we need to be close. I will keep this room warded. The club is only a few streets from here.”
“So we’re supposed to… sleep in this bed. Together. All day.”
“Yes.” I am not certain I manage to keep the irritation out of my voice. I do not intend on us being here so long; if Jakob and his fae plan to sacrifice another vampire later this week, then we should be able to scupper their plans and find out the fae’s identity. Oncethatis done, I can send Grant back homeand reinforcements should arrive, in the form of Jeremiah and Paxton at the very least, and we can capture her and have her returned through the veil.
I open my mouth to say that, but Grant shakes his head, dropping his bag carelessly on the floor. “I just… I need a minute.”
He pushes past me and into the bathroom. The lock closes with a quiet snick. I sigh and make my way further into the room, beginning to unpack my things. There is a clothing rail too, though no drawers, so I hang up what I can and pile what I will need for the day next to the bed. I take the side closest to the door. Should the worst happen, at least they will have to get through me before they reach Grant.
That done, I ensure we will not be disturbed in the morning by putting the sign on our door, then move to sit on the edge of the bed. Grant is still in the bathroom, unmoving. If I really reach for our bond, I can feel his complex tangle of emotions, but I draw back quickly.
It is no way to get to know a person, a bond like that. I am no wolf. No fae. I could never imagine the sheer weight of responsibility that comes with knowing you are destined for another. Becoming a vampire was a choice, if a limited one. I could have said no. I could have fought. I like to think I gave Grant that same choice.
A bond is a cage. I know what I feel for Grant. I know why I feel that way. But I will not leverage whatever our bond means—whatever the Huntsman appears to think it means—to pressure him into feeling even a fraction of what I feel for him. How could I love him and do that?
I sigh and remove my shoes, then lie back on the duvet and rest my hands on my stomach. After fifteen years, I am not certain he will ever love me back at all.
I am not certain I would deserve it if he did.
Chapter Seven
