Layla
I woke to what must have been deep night.
Outside, the lights that should have blazed were dark. The city had fallen asleep.
I sat in the passenger seat, Kayden's suit jacket draped over me. That expensive tailored Armani, now wrinkled beyond recognition, the collar stained with dark red blood—whether from when he'd beaten Lucas or from his own hands, I couldn't tell.
The car reeked of complicated scents.
Cedar. Jasmine. And that unmistakable, blush-inducing... pheromone.
Reminding me of everything that had just happened.
What the hell did you do in the backseat, Layla?
You bit him, kissed him, begged him...
My face ignited instantly, burning from my ears to my neck.
Diana yawned lazily, finally satisfied after craving our mate for so long. Something full and warm pulsed in my chest, steady and sure. I focused on the sensation, felt it gather from scattered threads into one thin, bright bond.
The bond trembled with my suddenly ragged breathing. I followed it like a timid snail peeking from its shell, exploring the other end—
Kayden. Our bond had restored itself completely.
Kayden sat in the driver's seat, one hand draped over the steering wheel, the other propped against his temple as he stared out the window. He'd changed too—into a black T-shirt from god knows where, simple and clean, but it couldn't hide the clear bite mark on his neck.
I'd done that.
I'd bitten down hard enough to break skin, drawing tiny beads of blood.
Goddess. I wanted to crawl into a hole and die.
The silence in the car hung thick as hardened syrup, suffocating. Neither of us spoke.
I didn't know what to say. He probably didn't either.
Another dramatic life experience, Layla. After telling him off, after swearing you'd never see him again, you star in a literal damsel-in-distress rescue, then you sleep with him, and now you're both sitting in the same car.
This was a hundred times more awkward than forgetting your speech mid-presentation.
I snuck a glance at him. Still watching the window, jaw tight, Adam's apple rolling slowly.
Was he awkward, too? Or regretting it? Regretting sleeping with me again...
I yanked my gaze back to my knees.
Say something. Break the silence.
Say what?
"Nice weather"?
Please. It's nighttime.
"Thanks for the jacket?"
That sounds like morning-after small talk.
