Something inside of me is so goddamn pleased she has these books in her home that I want to rip my heart out and hand the still beating organ to her.
I really must pull it together.
This human may be a novel experience for me, but surely this obsessive attitude won’t last.
I put the books back on the table, then proceed to the kitchen.
There’s an enormous pile of mail on the counter, all addressed to Aurora Hagan.
Aurora suits the goddess lurking within that enigma of a woman. The way my tongue rolls in on itself when I say her name makes my mouth water with desire.
Standing in her kitchen, I take a moment to survey the rest of her small, cozy house before walking down the hall that must lead to her bedroom.
Even though it’s been less than two hours since I curled around her body at the bar, my nerves tingle with excitement as I quietly open her door.
Her honeysuckle-and-sunshine scent fills my senses, making my head spin as I enter her private sanctuary. Except in here it’s softer, diluted by the warmth of rumpled linen and a trace of lavender.
Aurora’s living room is spotless, almost curated, like a museum of the self she’s willing to show the world.
Her bedroom tells a different story.
It’s messy and raw.
Tangled sheets. Scattered clothes. Books stacked like barricades.
It’s not just lived in—it’sfeltin.
The only decoration in the room is a photograph on the dresser—Aurora, a man I assume is her dad, and her mum.
Her father seems kind, but there’s a quiet intensity to him. The way he stands. The tattoos. The silver hair. It’s like he’s holding something back.
Hm.
Probably not worth lingering on.
Her mum, though … she has the same fire. The same otherness as Aurora.
Who the hell are these women?
And why the hell does Aurora’s blood hum like a song composed just for me?
Finally, I turn to the beauty in the bed. She’s shifted under the covers since I creepily peeked into her bedroom window.
I may be ancient and immortal, but even I know peering into a young woman’s bedroom window is the definition of creepy.
Shit, I suppose Eve had a point earlier this evening.
Kneeling beside her bed, I’m alarmed at how easily this strange little human has brought me to my knees without uttering a single fucking word.
Can other humans sense the power within her?
She fucking vibrates with it, even in her sleep.
I slide a strand of hair away from her face, still technically keeping my promise to Louie, at least enough to earn another shot at getting through the door without bloodshed.
It’s a small trespass.
And technically, I’m helping.
