Rebecca shot Maggie a hurt look. Maggie raised her hands. “He paid double, and we have a wedding to pay for.”
She had a point, and there was no way Rebecca would move rooms, since it was the only suite in the house with a separate sitting area and a bathtub you could swim in. She was a sucker for long soaks in scented bubbles.
Rebecca’s mouth twisted, and something sharp and defensive hardened behind her eyes. “You don’t get to buy proximity and call it devotion,” she snapped. “I didn’t ask you to stay. I didn’t ask you to watch me. And I certainly didn’t ask you to care.”
Ezra didn’t move. Didn’t blink. Just watched her like prey he’d already decided to protect, even if it hated him for it.
“Don’t mistake physical needs for emotional connection,” she continued, words coming faster now, brittle around the edges. “I don’t want what you’re offering. I don’t want forever, or promises, or someone looking at me like I’m something that can be broken. I am not built for soft landings, Ezra. I ruin things. People.”
Goodness me. What happened to you?
His jaw tightened, but he didn’t interrupt.
“So if you’re waiting for me to wake up one morning and decide I’m suddenly the kind of woman who settles,” she said, lifting her chin, “you’re going to be waiting a very long time.”
Silence fell heavily between them.
“I have all the time in the world, Rebecca, and I’ll be right here at your door, waiting for you to realize you aren’t at risk of falling—you’ve already taken the leap, and I caught you. No, you don’t land with softness; you are a force of nature. It’s time you started embracing your power and stopped hiding from the fight. Your best friend is battling her own flesh and blood to save the world, and you are, what? Sitting around and making wedding favors? Grow up and get up, princess.”
That hit hard.
Rebecca spun on her heel and started for the stairs, silk whispering with every furious step. Halfway up, she paused, shoulders stiff. “I’m not afraid of you,” she said without looking back. “I’m afraid of being stupid enough to believe you.” Then she swept up the rest of the stairs, head high, dignity intact, spine as rigid as the belief she didn’t deserve love.
Ezra watched her go, something dark and feral shifting in his eyes. A slow grin spread across his face. “I’m going to marry that vampire,” he declared.
Maggie let out a small, strangled sound. Hudson snorted. Liz muttered something about men being idiots, and Harry came barreling through the hallway wall like he’d forgotten it was there, tie crooked, hair disheveled, eyes wide with panic. I broke away from Hudson to face my chaotic ghostly friend.
“Cora,” he said, hands gesturing in waves like he was washing windows. “We have a pineapple situation, and I don’t mean the romantic kind. It’s coming for us. Something’s?—”
“Calm down,” I whispered. We didn’t need to cause a spirit panic. I gestured to the stairs leading down to my office. He floated backward.
My foot caught on the edge of the rug, and I pitched forward. Instinct kicked in before thought, and I reached for the nearest anchor—Harry. My hands closed around his arms. What an idiotic thing to do. This was going to suck.
Pressure slammed into my mind, making me suck in a strangled breath. Heat surged up my spine, sharp and breathless, like plunging a hand into molten gold. Power roared through me, old and vast and answering something deeper than command.
Harry blew out a breath that swept across my cheeks. His hands wrapped around my waist, preventing me from tumbling. Real hands. Warm. Impossible.
The house groaned, and the spirits in the room recoiled.
Harry stared down at his hands, his eyes blown wide. “I—” He swallowed hard. “I can feel you.”
Silence swallowed the house whole.
My heart hammered, palms pressed against a body that very much should not exist.
I hadn’t brought him back—I had given him weight.
And death had noticed.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
Not all revelations are good revelations.
“Is he undead? Like a zombie?” Dayna wondered as she squeezed Harry’s biceps.
I glared at her. “Don’t be ridiculous. He’s not a zombie.” I leaned forward on the sofa. “You’re not a zombie, right?”
Harry blinked. “I don’t believe so. What constitutes a zombie?”
