CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
I wake slowly,warm and tangled in something solid. For one horrible second, I think I imagined it. The balcony. The music. Him. My fingers twist in cotton, and a groan answers me.
Karson. He’s still here.
His chest rises under my palm, steady and real. My cheek is pressed against his shoulder, his arm still heavy around my waist as if we haven’t moved an inch. The room smells like rain, smoke and him. Lightning doesn’t crack this morning, the storm having passed sometime in the night. Everything feels quieter. Softer. Like the world exhaled.
Last night wasn't chaos. It wasn't adrenaline. It wasn't a spiral. It was a choice. I chose him. I’ve spent so long trying to outrun what I knew was inevitable. I chose to stay put, to give my tired legs the reprieve they’ve been begging for. And what’s more, he didn't slip away before sunrise. He stayed.
I swallow.
That might be scarier than anything else.
His fingers flex slightly against my hip, instinctive, tightening when I shift. Even asleep, he doesn't loosen his hold. I tilt my face just enough to look at him. His jaw is shadowed with stubble, lips slightly parted, lashes resting against skin that looks almost peaceful. It’s unfair how calm he looks when I know what he’s capable of. My fingers absentmindedly trace along the edge of his collarbone as I look at him. He doesn't wake, but his grip tightens again.
My bladder interrupts the moment, and I curse under my breath. Slowly, I slide my hand from his chest first, little by little, like I’m disarming a nuclear bomb. Carefully, I lift his arm gently from my waist, guiding it to create just enough space. His jaw tightens and I freeze. When his eyes don't open, I try again.
This time I manage to untangle my leg from his. The mattress dips as I put weight on my elbow, preparing to sit up. His hand snaps back around my middle. Not violent, not panicked, but firm. His eyes open, gray and sharp, even through sleep.
“Where,” he asks, voice rough and gravel-thick, “do you think you’re going?”
Heat floods my face. “Bathroom.”
His gaze drags over me slowly. Assessing. Checking. Then his hold tightens slightly again.
“You’re trying to sneak off to the bathroom?”
“I didn’t want to wake you.”
“I wasn’t asleep,” he tells me and I roll my eyes. Of course he wasn’t. At this rate, I’m starting to think the man is a vampire. Never sleeps, only comes out at night, devastating good looks?
Yeap, fits the bill.
His thumb traces the curve of my hip under the blankets. “You don't get to slip out of my arms without warning anymore,” he adds quietly. There’s no threat in it. Just facts.
I raise a brow. “Are you always this dramatic in the morning?”
A corner of his mouth lifts.
“Only when you try to escape.”
“I wasn’t.”
His eyes soften, but only slightly.
“Good.”
He releases me slowly, but not before his fingers drag across my waist, creating a wave of goosebumps across my flesh. Sliding off the mattress, I make my way into the bathroom, closing the door behind me.
Flushing the toilet, I step to the sink. Turning on the faucet, my eyes lift to my reflection in the mirror. My hair’s a mess of red waves, tangled from sleep. My lips are swollen. There’s a faint bruise blooming near my collarbone, half hidden by the neckline of his shirt.
I look…claimed.
My lips pull into a small smile. The word should scare me a little, but it doesn't. My fingers grip the edge of the counter as I really look at myself. My blue eyes are clear. Not hollow. Not shut down, but alive. For the first time in a long time, I feel alive.
After washing my hands, I cup them again under the stream and splash some cool water on my face, the droplets clinging to my lashes. When I straighten again, I tame my hair as best as I can with my fingers and pat my face dry with the towel thathangs neatly next to the sink. Squaring my shoulders, I take one steadying breath and open the door.
Karson stands near the window, phone in one hand, the other rubbing the back of his neck. He’s in low-slung gray sweats, now shirtless, ink crawling over every inch of muscle. His posture is loose, but there’s a hint of tension under it. His thumb scrolls once. Twice. His jaw tightens. I step into the room quietly, but his head lifts immediately.
