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“No, I can’t. Leave him alone, anyway. He’s a nice guy.” The edges of Bellamy’s voice soften, his posture relaxing. I’m almost too scared to open my big fat mouth in case I say something stupid and break our fragile truce.

I fail. “He’d make a nicer frog.”

“You’d better not be saying that because he’s French,” he scolds with a pout, nudging me with his cute toes. I want to bite them. In a sexy way, not in a cannibalistic way, obviously.

“Ugh. Don’t remind me. Poetic bastard,” I scoff, folding my arms over my chest. There’s something about Séverin that makes me want to hulk out. It might have something to do with a word that starts with J and ends with Y, but I can’t be sure.

My comment earns me a small smile and another soft huff of laughter. All I want to do is make him smile, make him laugh. The inch he’s giving me is nowhere near enough, but I take it greedily anyway. I’ll take anything he gives me, insults and all.

A strange silence settles between us as his soft giggle peters out. It’s an odd thing, like the years of separation exist in the physical space between us, holding us apart. I want to reach over and sweep that stray lock of blonde off his forehead, but I don’t.

It’s also strange how settled I feel here. It’s been, what? Half an hour? Maybe it’s just being around him, but that vise-like panic from earlier has receded, letting me relax in my skin again. Sure, my head is still in a tailspin, but at least I don’t feel like I want to flay myself alive.

“I can come by tomorrow after work. Sort out your sprite problem,” Bellamy offers, shrugging. The strap of his tank top slips off his shoulder, exposing his golden skin.

I nod. He did say these sprite things move stuff around. It doesn’t solve what I saw, though. Or the voice in my head. I’m still not convinced I wasn’t hallucinating. “Are you sure that’s all it is?”

His earlier hostility is gone, leaving something soft and pliant in its place. Much more like the boy I fell in love with, with his liquid-honey eyes and untamable blonde waves.

“I can check if you want, just in case. I just need to open your chakras and then⁠—”

“My what?” What the hell is a chakra? Do you have that with curry?

“Your chakras. They’re like…your energy centers,” he says, gold eyes glittering with excitement.

He stands, pulling one of the big cushions off the couch and throwing it on the floor. The one behind my back is whipped away from me too, then he’s grabbing my hand and pulling me to sit on the floor with him.

“Right,” I grumble, not really getting it.

“So we can meditate and⁠—”

“Absolutely the fuck not.”

Chapter Twenty-Five

Bellamy

And to think he was almost starting to redeem himself with those overgrown puppy eyes.

“You know any other witches who can help you?” I shoot back at him, giving him a dose of his own medicine. I cross my arms over my chest, throwing in a brow flick for good measure. It’s for his own good, after all.

I have noticed an unusual aura around him, which might be nothing. It could be the stick up his ass, but it could be something more. I won’t know for sure unless he lets me try.

Though the fact he hasn’t noticed Delphine skulking around shows he’s just as blind to spiritual messages as he’s always been. Even Lara has shuddered and mentioned feeling like she’s being watched a few times.

“Well?” I push. “It’s late, and I’d like to get some sleep at some point.”

His jaw tightens, but he relents, closing his eyes at my instruction. As soon as they shutter, he starts fidgeting. It starts with a slow roll of his neck from side to side, the chain at his throat clinking quietly. Then comes the drumming fingers, tapping patterns into his inked thighs.

I take the opportunity to get a closer look. Like his arms, his fingers are mostly blacked out, with tendrils of negative space curling artfully in all the right places. The ink spreads all the way down his legs, ending just shy of his ankles.

After more drumming, he starts breathing like a pig in labor, which isn’t really conducive to what I’m trying to achieve here.

“You need to breathe slower,” I tell him. “Copy me.” I walk him through some slow breathing exercises until he’s calmed down enough for me to probe him with my magic.

I forget this is Sunday I’m dealing with. After a moment, his mouth opens and spews something stupid.

“Do vampires exist?”