“He doesn’t need money,” Jericho says. “He owns the largest vampire club in the area.”
I flip through a few more pages, only now realizing how much I missed his art. There is nothing quite like it. And this, too, is helping me feel grounded. It’s the first non-life-threatening moment Jericho and I have had. I want to soak it in. I’ve missed him. So damn much.
“These are incredible, Jer,” I say. “I mean, you were always good, but these are like, next-level good.”
“Thanks,” he says with a shy smile. “I… see things differently now, so I think that helps.”
“Yeah? With your freaky vampire eyes?”
He smirks. After a long beat, he says, “Talk to me, Ev. I need to know what you’re thinking.”
“About?”
He tips his chin to the door. “What they said. Foxx. Me. All of it.”
I set the sketchbook aside and sigh. “I’m terrified, to be honest. I mean, I want their help if it means protecting you, but can we trust them? They nearly killed you like a half hour ago.”
“I know.” He sighs. “But what if I don’t have achoice?”
I furrow my brows. “You think they won’t let us go?”
He points out the window, where Rowen and Grant are standing on the front porch, watching the van like two guard dogs.
I frown at the sight. “What are they going to do, run in front of us if we try to drive off?”
“I think they’re desperate for help,” he says. His tone suggests he is too. Hewantsto accept their help, because he’s tired of living his life on the run. But something is holding him back.
“What doyouthink?” I ask.
Jericho continues to roll the pencil between his fingers as he says, “I think they’re right. I think this might be my best chance at getting Foxx off my ass, so I need to take it.”
I nod. “Even if you don’t trust them?”
“I don’t, but… I don’t think they’ll hurt us so long as we’re on the same side. And as soon as it’s over, we can leave.”
I consider that, a burning need to protect my friend beginning to take hold of me again. “Then we stay,” I say, “but we stay together. Neither of us are alone with them. Ever.”
“Yeah, I’m not sleeping in their house,” he says.
I chuckle. “Then neither am I.”
He raises a brow in answer. After looking out the window again, he scrubs his face. “You know what, let’s talk about something else for a bit. I’m so tired of this shit.”
“Like what?”
“Anything. Everything. As long as it isn’t about Foxx or shifters or whatever the hell else I’ve pulled you into.”
“You didn’t pull me into anything.”
“The hell I did. You wouldn’t be here if I hadn’t driven by your house.”
“I might not even be alive if you hadn’t driven by my house,” I reply.
My words seem to hit a nerve, the image of me bleeding out undoubtedly tainting the memory. He mutters a curse under his breath. “Seriously. Let’s talk about something else. Pretend everything is back to normal and just talk. Like we used to.”
A slow grin spreads over my face. “I’d like that.”
Jericho stretches his legs out, crossing his feet at the ankles, and I mirror his movements. We settle for a moment, attempting to grasp some sense of normalcy.
