I leave her white daisies, hoping she’ll understand the old-fashioned message. But perhaps women in this century don’tcare for flowers. I need a more direct way to convey what I feel—one that doesnotinvolve talking.
Because when it comes to her… thoughts scatter, and the words that remain feel like ash in my mouth.
I sense her exit her building without looking, a pull so deep it feels like gravity, and my entire being already turns to follow.
I couldn’t stay away even if I tried.
Which I won’t. I feel no compulsion to live my life without her near—it would be a return to feeding in the dark, to the mechanical rhythm of centuries, each night indistinguishable from the last, the way one swallow of blood tastes the same as a thousand others.
I should send Stark a thank you gift, for assigning me this task. Otherwise I wouldn’t have found my blooming flower. Perhaps not a living creature, though. Boss still complains about Bruno sharing his condo. I don’t see the problem—the dog is perfectly sweet when she’s not actively fleeing my presence.
I watch my flower pass by Stark’s pizza shop, our blood bonding business headquarters, and she hesitates a second when she sees the windows all boarded up, the neon sign turned off.
The air around it is stale, heavy with the lingering metallic tang of spilled blood.
Except it’s not ghosts of the past haunting it, but monsters of the night.
She gives her head a quick shake, as if clearing her mind, and continues on her way to the bus stop.
My hands are itching to touch her hair, just to know what it feels like. And I want to press my face against her neck, which I’m aware sounds alarming, but the way she smells makes it hard to think straight. I want to be close enough to count her freckles, which is a strange thing to want, and I know that, and…
I run into a garbage can left in the middle of the sidewalk and nearly eat pavement, but twist around to catch myself. I quickly wedge my too-big body into a doorway alcove in an attempt to hide.
There’s no way she didn’t hear all that ruckus.
Sneaking a peek around the brick corner, I see the bus stopping in front of her, but her head is turned in my direction.
Her vibrant violet eyes widen for a fraction of a second when they land on me, and she crooks her finger in acome heremotion.
A part of me, the part still loyal to the Boss’ orders, considers using my speed to vanish. But my body has other plans. Before the thought can fully form, I’m moving, crossing the distance to stand beside her as if pulled by an invisible string.
She grabs my hand and pulls me onto the bus, scanning her pass twice on the reader to cover us both.
Her scent reaches me before she does—blood and petals, a combination that shouldn’t work and absolutely does. It pools low in my gut, stirring something I’d let go quiet over the centuries. Ancient. Absolute. Hers.
“You’re following me.” The sweet cadence of her voice pulls me out of my cotton dreams and I realize I’m now sitting beside her.
When did that happen?
Stark was right, I’m a terrible stalker.
I open my mouth to form a lie, some easy excuse, but the words feel like ash. All I can do is nod.
“Well, since I have you trapped for the next twenty minutes, I’m going to ask some questions. Try to keep up, okay, Stud Muffin?”
My head whips up at the silly nickname and she ensnares me in her sparkling amethyst gaze.
My mind forms a sentence, but my throat only manages a strangled noise, the connection between them severed.
There it is. The nickname she gave me.
Is it a sign of affection? Or is it simply sarcasm?
I cannot tell. Not that I’ve ever been great at understanding the nuances of modern expressions.
My cheeks heat the longer I stare into her eyes, and something loosens in my chest, spreading outward until even my fingertips feel warm. It’s only when I have her full attention that I remember what it felt like to be embarrassed.
I can’t remember the last time I felt this exposed. The memory of a heartbeat is a ghost in my chest, a rhythm I can recall but never feel. With her, I am an echo of the man I used to be.
