“This isn’t—I didn’t know you were…” I gestured vaguely toward the general area of his nakedness. “Showering. Bathing. Whatever your century called it.”
He tilted his head slightly. “In my century, we called it privacy.”
“Right. Okay. Love that for you.” I nodded too many times. “Fantastic. Great talk.”
I spun to leave, and my slipper caught on the corner of the vanity.
I tripped forward with a squeak, bracing for impact, but he caught me before I hit the floor.
Every nerve in my body short-circuited. The bond stirred in quiet satisfaction, content in a way that made my pulse stumble.
“Careful,” he said softly. Tenderly, even.
I looked up. He was close enough that droplets from his hair brushed my forehead. My face felt hot, my heart absolutely feral.
“Fucking klutz,” I muttered.
His brow furrowed, the faintest crease of disapproval. He lifted one hand and brushed a strand of hair from my cheek with slow precision. “Do not speak that way about yourself.”
I blinked. “What?”
“You are not clumsy,” he said. “Your mind moves faster than your body allows. You see it as a flaw, but it is proof of brilliance.”
My throat went tight. No one had ever said something like that to me before—certainly not while naked and glistening.
He didn’t seem to notice the turmoil he’d just unleashed. He simply put his hands on my waist and set me back on my feet like I weighed nothing.
His palms lingered just long enough for my heart to start doing cartwheels in my chest.
“There,” he said quietly, steadying me. “Better?”
“Right. Yep. Standing. Great job, me.” I stepped back, tripped again from pure muscle memory, and stammered, “Sorry. My bad. Continue… existing.”
I fled, because staying there another second was dangerous. And that danger had nothing to do with vampires. I practically ran down the hall, slammed my bedroom door, and leaned against it like the house might collapse.
My face was on fire.
You did not just ogle your vampire roommate. You are a grown woman with degrees and student debt. Get it together.
Somewhere down the hall, I heard Cristian chuckling.
The tether pulsed, as if it too was amused.
I buried my head in my hands. “I need to see my therapist.”
I was multitasking in the least productive way possible: watchingRuPaul’s Drag Racereruns, eating chips out of the bag, and googlinghow to suppress attraction to undead men.
The results were not encouraging. The internet said my options were holy water or therapy. I’d already done therapy, and Amazon was out of holy water. Should’ve kept Lena’s stash.
Cristian sat on the other end of the couch, flipping through a magazine he’d found in the mail basket. He was muttering under his breath about “decadent nonsense” and “why does one need fifty-seven pages about moisturizers?”
“Because hydration is important,” I said without looking up.
He made a noncommittal sound.
My therapy notebook rested in my lap, open to a page of reminders I was trying to absorb.
Protect your energy, like you protect your students.
