She hated that fucking helmet.
Cecilia stood in the doorway of their bedroom, a bowl of cereal in hand. It was just about all she’d eaten since she woke up from her drugged stupor because it was basically all he had in his kitchen. Going grocery shopping was on the list of things she intended to do that day, no matter what he said about dangerous vampires.
There were lots of things on that list, actually. Right near the top was seeing him without that damn helmet on again.
She spooned a mouthful of Fruity Crunchums past her lips and tried to chew as quietly as possible. It was the first time she’d seen her phantom sleep and she didn’t want to wake him.
He lay sprawled across their mattress on his stomach, his powerful limbs spread. He’d worn an undershirt and briefs to bed, which she found a little strange after what they’d done, but she’d only slept with the guy twice, so what did she know?
Some tender place in her chest ached when she looked at him tangled in their sheets.
She’d only known him for a harrowing few days but she’d also known him for a year. He’d been her kidnapper but he’d alsobeen her devoted servant. He’d been the most terrifying being on the planet but he’d also been… Sloane.
She didn’t know what to do with all that. A storm of feeling churned inside her, never quite settling.
All she knew for certain was that he was hers.
Her spoon dipped back into the bowl. A part of her kept waiting for the calm that had come to her during their date to disappear, revealing her true feelings of uncertainty and flickering attraction. It didn’t. Sloane just made sense to her in a way she couldn’t explain.
She barely knew anything about him and he only knew what he’d observed of her, but it didn’t seem to matter. Their messed up puzzle pieces locked together seamlessly.
I could help him,she thought, already putting together a mental file of things and experiences she could introduce him to. Obviously, the man had been hideously mistreated and deprived of basic comforts in life. The thought of taking him to a carnival for the first time or watching him learn to find joy in little things everyone else took for granted filled her with a giddy sort of excitement.
He didn’t know how to function in the world the same way she did. If anyone was suited to the task of showing him the softer side of life, it was her.
She loved to teach and Sloane appeared more than eager to learn.
But it wasn’t all about helping him. That wasn’t the basis for a healthy relationship, and neither was his near-worship of her very existence. Beneath those things there had to be a connection that ran to the core of themselves — a foundational sort of belonging she couldn’t put a name to.
If she said yes, if she told him to take off his helmet and keep it off as she so desperately wanted to, there was no backing out. There would be no safe math teacher or corporate middlemanwho’d coach baseball on the weekends for her. She’d be locked in with Sloane — and every terrible, nightmarish bit of baggage he came with — for life.
Cecilia was far from stupid, and she liked to think she’d outgrown a lot of her impulsive decision-making that had gotten her in trouble during her youth. She was aware that if she signed up to be Sloane’s mate, it wouldn’t be an easy life. The man smashed people’s faces into brick walls and ripped off limbs without a thought. He was an elvish killing machine who appeared to act almost entirely without supervision.
He wouldn’t be an easy partner. He wouldn’t even be a run of the mill bad boy. He was a walking, talking disaster.
It didn’t scare her like it should’ve. The calm didn’t evaporate. The knowledge that she was dangerously close to rushing headlong into the most important decision of her life didn’t worry her.
It was simply… a tactical consideration, as she imagined Sloane would say.
Cecilia finished her cereal. Padding back into the kitchen, she quietly washed her bowl and spoon before she wandered toward the bedroom again. A ridiculous grin spread across her face when she passed the wall of windows, which now sported several tell-tale smudges.
Her muscles were definitely sore, but she couldn’t wait to get her hands on him again.
When she walked back into the dark, windowless bedroom, she found that he hadn’t moved. The shiny dome of his helmet, whichhadto be uncomfortable to sleep in, gleamed with the soft glow of the twinkle lights strung up on the door.
The ones he got for me,she remembered, horrifically smitten.
She crawled back into bed as delicately as she could. He seemed like a light sleeper, but he must’ve been completelytuckered out from their activities the previous day because he barely stirred when she cuddled close to him again. In fact, he didn’t wake up at all until she got bold enough to lift up his arm so she could tuck herself under it.
He jerked a little, the muscles spasming under her grip. A strained sort of grunt left him.
“Oh,” she gasped, rearing backward with alarm. “I’m sorry! Did I hurt you? I wasn’t trying to wake you up.”
Sloane rolled his shoulder a little before he snaked his arm around her middle to yank her into his side. “S’fine,” he muttered. “Just sore.”
Eyebrows raising, she asked, “Are you sore from yesterday?”
He threw one muscled thigh over her hip, effectively trapping her under his bulk. Instead of answering her question, he asked in that soft, sleepy voice, “What time is it?”
