11. CONFESSION

11

CONFESSION

T he door to Charlotte's apartment flew open. Startled, Aiden jumped up from the loveseat, ready to fight whoever rushed into her home unannounced.

Slamming the door, Charlotte locked the deadbolt and doorknob with jerky movements. She checked and double-checked the locks, slamming her hands on the door and dropping her head forward between her shoulders. Her ragged breathing was loud in the quiet room.

He took a tentative step toward her. "Charlotte?"

Her shoulders tensed before easing, as if she hadn't recognized him at first. Turning and pressing her back to the door, she looked at him across the room.

He hadn't moved, afraid to frighten her more than she already looked.

Her purse fell from her shoulder when she pushed off the door and ran to him, crashing into his body. He wrapped his arms around her shaking form and stared down at the top of her head, surprised by the sudden physical contact.

He'd hugged her earlier, overwhelmed by the worry he felt after she revealed someone had been following her. He hadn't been able to stop himself.

"What happened? Did that guy do something to you?"

Taking a deep inhale, she stepped out of his embrace. Losing her body heat bothered him, but he didn't have time to question the realization.

Sparkling green eyes looked up at him. "No. Noah's fine." She looked back at the door and then around Aiden at the sliding glass door. Moving around him, she climbed onto the loveseat to check the lock on the sliding glass door. She slumped, exhaling as she pressed her forehead to the back of the loveseat.

"Charlotte."

Her head snapped up, and she spun on the loveseat. "I think someone followed me home."

"What?" He looked back at the door. "Hang on." He turned. He didn't know what he would do when he found the piece of trash who thought it was okay to follow a woman around, but he had a few ideas.

When the sharp sting of nails pinched his arm, he looked down. She held his forearm in a death grip, looking up at him with wide, pleading eyes.

"Don't go. I'm sure they're gone now."

He looked at the door and back again.

She added in a soft whisper that he almost missed, "Please stay."

A faint tremor wracked her hands as she held onto him tightly. Abandoning her in this state was out of the question for him. He could practically taste her fear saturating the air.

With a nod, he decided changing the subject and shifting her focus away from the scary encounter might be the best course of action. "Something came for you while you were at lunch." He glanced at the kitchen. "I signed for it. I hope that's alright."

She finally released her grip on his arm and stood, already calmer now that he agreed to stay. "A package? I wonder if it's from my moms."

"Nah. It was from a flower shop." He paused, watching the color drain from her face. "Uh… The delivery guy said normally he leaves them at your door, but since I was here, he had me sign." His stomach tensed as he took in the look on her face.

"Where is it?" Her voice sounded hoarse. She swallowed, and after clearing her throat, she spoke clearer. "Where are the roses?"

He didn't specify roses.

"On the kitchen counter next to your other vase of similar ones."

She pushed around him and raced to the kitchen, staring down at the bouquet of roses lying on the counter next to the vase of wilted ones.

He had wondered why she kept half-dead roses in a vase when he arrived earlier, but now he questioned the identical bouquet, and why she seemed almost frightened by it.

"What's going on?"

She turned her face up to the ceiling, closing her eyes and muttering something under her breath. When she opened her eyes and looked down again, she unceremoniously scooped the dying roses from the vase and tossed them in her garbage bin. She emptied the vase, and then filled it with fresh water, mixing in the packet of powder that came with the roses.

Plant food? He assumed it was plant food.

She pulled a pair of scissors from the drawer. Unraveling the wrapping around the new roses, she clipped each of the stems at an angle.

Since she wasn't answering him, he tried something else. "Why are you cutting them?"

"Makes them live longer."

"How so?"

"Well, it prevents blockages. Cutting at an angle makes more surface area for water to be absorbed." At his bewildered expression, she picked up a rose she hadn't cut and dropped it into the vase, then another that had been cut. "See how the uncut one sits flush on the bottom and the other one doesn't?"

"Uh huh…"

"If it's against the glass, the stem doesn't soak up much water. The angle," she said, motioning to the cut rose in the water, "has the entire cut area exposed to water. If I left the rose in there like this, it would have the best chance of survival versus the other. Something Ma taught me." She plucked out the uncut rose, snipped the end, and dropped it back in the water.

He never gave consideration to flowers and their longevity before. His mother liked to have flowers in their family home, but he never messed with them. Though, he did know a lot about outdoor flowers from listening to her gardening shows while he did homework when he lived at home.

Still, he knew Charlotte was deflecting from something. No one looked that horrified by a flower delivery for no reason and then stuck them in a vase to display.

When she finished cutting the stems and arranging the roses, she disposed of the waste in the garbage. She turned around and looked up at him with an exasperated sigh. "What?"

He stood in front of her, arms crossed, feet spread. Riley liked to call it his intimidation stance, but he thought little of it. He simply wasn't backing down. "Tell me why you reacted like that."

"Like what?" She adjusted the vase and took a washcloth, wiping the counter to clean up the remaining debris from her flower arranging.

"Like instead of a flower delivery, someone delivered a bomb."

She looked over her shoulder, her mouth parting slightly. "A bomb?"

He shrugged. "Something that spooked you, I dunno."

"Yeah, well, it's fine." She rinsed the washcloth and wrung it out, draping it over the side of the sink to dry. "I don't know what you want me to say."

"How about what's really going on?"

"It won't make a difference," she said, her shoulders lowering with her exhalation.

He didn't like the idea of pushing her and making the genuine uneasiness she carried worse, but he needed to know. How could he fix it if he didn't know?

"It will. If anything, you'll feel better if you talk about it." He glanced toward the living room. "I'm piecing together things, but I'd rather hear it from you."

"What do you mean?"

"For starters, the loveseat blocking the only other door into the apartment." He lifted his chin toward the loveseat. "You said someone's following you. How long has that been going on?"

She wrapped her arms around her middle and stepped into the living room. "I don't know when it started. Not long after I started at UGA."

"What?"

"Someone's been following—"

"No, I heard you." His fingers twitched at his side as his agitation grew. "I'm just trying to figure out why in the hell didn't you tell someone before now. What were you thinking?" He'd never spoken to her like this. Never felt irritated with her. Judging by the incredulous look on her face, she did not like it.

In reality, he felt mostly irritated with the situation, but the lines blurred when he considered she didn't tell someone and left herself in danger.

"Seriously?" She crossed her arms and glared at him. "It's not my fault. I wasn't thinking. I wasn't even sure it was for real until the jerk started sending roses."

He opened his mouth to speak, but her glare made him snap it shut.

"And for your information, when he broke into my apartment when I was on the call with you, I went to the police the next day."

Good. At least she didn't ignore the seriousness of the situation and sought help. He felt a pang of remorse for getting upset with her, considering the effort she made to confess that her discomfort about staying here went beyond her major.

He blew out a long breath, recentering himself, and schooled his voice. "What did they say?"

Her shoulder hitched, and his eyes zeroed in on the redness on the bare skin along the thick straps of her tank top. He wondered if she got sunburn waiting for him when he texted.

"They took the report. Came and did a sweep of my apartment that lasted forever and said to keep in touch if anything else happened. Said they'd contact me if they discovered anything from the security footage. Nothing turned up when they looked into the flower delivery service."

"Nothing?" His brows rose in surprise.

"Nothing," she said flatly. "I called the lieutenant assigned to my case this morning to follow up, and he told me the flower shop security system had been on the fritz lately, and every two days they wipe the tapes to reuse."

He leaned against the kitchen counter and crossed his arms. "What about records of who made the orders?"

"That's the weirdest thing." She shook her head, putting her hands on her hips and pacing in front of him. "They have zero paperwork on anyone requesting anything delivered to this address." She spun and pointed at him. "And before you ask, I asked about reoccurring pink rose deliveries, because surely someone would remember large bouquets of pink roses every week for weeks, right?" When he nodded, she said, "Well, the lieutenant had the same idea. When he asked about it, no one working there had any clue what he was talking about." She threw up her hands. "No one! Not even the manager! How screwed is that?"

The news raised every red flag in the back of Aiden's mind. The only time he knew of human businesses lacking a paper trail, coupled with no memories of events that undoubtedly happened, Vasirian were involved. Did one of his kin use compulsion to cover their tracks—or at least cover the stalker's tracks? It made little sense. Why would a Vasirian invest themselves in a random human to that degree? Maybe he was overthinking it, but usually his instincts didn't lead him astray.

He would need to be vigilant and keep an eye on her. She already had one Vasirian sniffing around her; she didn't need another. In truth, she didn't need any, but he disliked the idea of distancing himself from her.

Even if he couldn't reveal things to her, she meant something to Blaire and had worked her way into his and his friends' lives to where it felt wrong to not have her there. He wished he could include her more, but it would put her in danger, and they would lose her entirely when the Blackthorn Clan erased her memory for knowing of their existence.

She stomped over to the refrigerator and flung open the freezer door, sticking her head inside. "If this idiot doesn't drive me off, the broken air conditioning will." Her voice sounded muffled in the freezer.

He chuckled, watching her.

"What sucks even more?" She pulled her head out of the freezer and slammed the door shut. "I can't even get a protective order against the person because I have no idea who it is!" She slumped against the wall beside the refrigerator. "I don't know what to do."

He pushed off the counter and strode toward her. She craned her head back to look up at him. She was so small—so vulnerable. The closer they became to one another, the more he saw glimpses of the fiery disposition she kept pushed down. He saw it surface from time to time with Blaire. It seemed she needed to be comfortable with someone before she allowed herself to be open. He wondered what made her filter herself.

"Why not come home? I mean, back to Rosebrook Valley. I know you said you wanted to stick it out, but…"

"But what?" She straightened, moving off the wall, almost brushing her chest against his ribs. He stepped back to give her space.

"But this is bigger than uncertainty about your major."

She moved away from where they stood in front of the refrigerator to the door. Picking up the purse she dropped in her panic, she placed it on the counter. "I can't."

"Why not? Your moms would understand—especially if you tell them about all this."

Her head swung to stare at him, eyes widened in alarm. "Hard no. They can't know about any of this."

"Again, why? "

He didn't understand what her reservations were about leaving Athens, and even more so, what made her hesitant to share this with her parents when she went to the police already. Did she not want to leave because of that guy he met earlier, Noah? The idea set his teeth on edge, but he had no claim to her.

"I don't want to worry them." She stepped in front of the kitchen sink and began sorting the dishes drying in a plastic drainer. "I can handle this." She opened a cabinet overhead. "I'm an adult." She placed a clean glass in a neat line with several others on the shelf. "I can't run to Mom and Ma every time something goes wrong." She closed the cabinet. "They have enough on their plate without me adding to it when I'm the one who insisted on attending UGA."

She recited her reasons like rehearsed bullet points; he wondered if she reminded herself of these things often. It didn't have to be so black and white.

Unable to watch her spiral, he stepped up behind her and clamped his hands on her shoulders, startling her. Had she forgotten he was even there?

"It's okay. It's not important now," he murmured, lowering his head next to hers, trying to sound soothing to help ease the tension in her muscles under his hands. He didn't understand what was going on, but he didn't enjoy seeing her distressed. "Let's go pick up some groceries so you don't have to deal with that later, and then play some video games. Gaming was the plan, remember?"

Dropping the cloth in her hand, she nodded. "I think I'd like that," she said in a neutral voice, unlike her usual self.

The grocery shopping didn't take long. She had all the little extras already, like condiments and spices. They primarily stocked up on things like meat, produce, dairy, and snacks, grabbing a little extra for their game night.

He couldn't imagine how she brought everything home herself—on the bus, no less. He suspected she didn't get as much when she went alone, and she confirmed this when she told him she frequented the grocery store more than once a week.

Once they packed everything away, they finished setting up for their evening of fun, only stopping to have an early dinner of chicken pineapple wraps Charlotte toasted on the portable indoor grill that fit on her kitchen counter.

The time flew as they lost themselves to the chaos of fending off monsters and collecting all the rewards in the different games they played.

Only when he got up and went to the bathroom did he notice the night sky through the crack in the curtains pulled closed over the sliding glass doors in her living room.

Pulling his phone from his jeans, he frowned at the display. He hadn't meant to still be in town this late.

"What's wrong?" she asked, glancing up at him from where she sat cross-legged on the floor in front of her TV with a controller in her hand. They had started gaming on their computers but switched to consoles around dinner time.

"It's ten o'clock."

"Already?" She grabbed her phone from where it lay face down on the floor. She hadn't touched it all night. "Crap. Aiden, that's too late for you to drive home."

"Not really. I'll probably get there around two in the morning."

"That's too late, especially passing Atlanta. You can stay here."

"I can't—"

"You can . You're gonna be so tired. "

As if summoned by her words, he yawned and she raised a brow at him as if to say "See, told you so." He groaned.

He had hardly slept, and the situation was deteriorating. He'd hate to fall asleep behind the wheel. Even if the likelihood of him being okay because of his rapid healing, he didn't want to ruin his mom's car.

She had told him to keep the car for a couple of days anyway since she didn't have classes to teach, and she wanted to do some deep cleaning of the house and wouldn't need to go anywhere.

"Fine. Sure. I'll take the couch."

"What?" She looked at the loveseat against the sliding glass doors and back at him. "Tell me you're joking."

"No? What's wrong?"

"What are you, like six three? Four?"

"Six two."

"Well, it feels like more since I only come up to your shoulders."

He wasn't as tall as Lukas and Kai, but he understood. Charlotte was as short as his little sister, and Riley always had something to say about his height.

"What about it?"

"It's a loveseat, Aiden. It's not a full-size couch. It's like the perfect length for me to lie down on, not you."

"I can make it work."

"And I would feel uncomfortable knowing I had a full bed to myself while you were subjected to that."

He scratched his jaw. "So should I go then?"

She set the controller down and stood. "No. You should take the bed and I'll take the loveseat."

"I'm not putting you out of your bed."

"No, you're accepting my gracious offer of a more comfortable place to sleep," she said matter-of-factly, as if that solved everything.

"I'm not letting you sleep on the loveseat in your own home."

Her hands went to her hips. "And I'm not letting you sleep on it, either."

They stared one another down and for the life of him, he couldn't understand what the big deal was. It's not like he hadn't slept on a couch before. He was trying to be a gentleman by not letting her sleep on living room furniture in her own place.

Seeing that he wouldn't get anywhere with the firm resolve written all over her face, he sighed. This has to be a redhead thing, or maybe a short girl thing, since Riley is just as stubborn.

"I'll sleep in the bed under one condition."

"Name it," she fired back, a triumphant look on her face.

"You sleep in the bed too."

Her arched brows raised as her mouth gaped. Maybe he shouldn't have proposed that solution, but he didn't want to put her out.

"You want us both to… to…" She rolled her hand in front of her as if encouraging him to finish the sentence she couldn't complete herself.

"Sleep together, yes."

"Right." Her laugh was breathy as she dropped her hand and turned away from him. "It's a logical solution," she said, her voice pitched higher.

"If you're not comfortable—"

She turned back to face him and waved a hand, trying to seem indifferent, but her body seemed wound tighter than a coil. "No, I'm fine. Fine. Really. I've just never slept in the same bed as a guy before. Kinda caught me off-guard there."

"Never?"

"Nope. "

"Well, we could put pillows between us if it makes you feel better."

Her gaze shifted to the floor, and she shook her head from side to side. "No, it's not that big of a deal. We're adults. We can share a bed without being weird about it. We're friends, right?"

"Right."

He hated the sliver of disappointment at her words. Of course they were friends. They couldn't be more than friends without him hurting her in the future, when he couldn't give her more than a fling.

"Right. So, you don't have extra clothes, do you?"

"No, but I can always wear this again tomorrow."

"Gross. No. It's way too hot, and after driving up here and being in this hot apartment, I'm sure you're sweaty." She motioned to the closed door on the wall that divided the space between her bedroom and the living room. "I can wash your stuff for tomorrow."

"What will I sleep in?"

Her lips twisted, and then her face flushed pink. "Um. Well." Her face flamed brighter. "You know what? Never mind. I can wash them tomorrow before you go. I can't do them while you shower, anyway. Yet another thing I need to discuss with maintenance tomorrow. Hot water dies too fast if I run a load while showering."

"What were you going to say?"

"Huh?"

"Before the stuff about the hot water."

"It's nothing. We have a solution."

"Still wanna know what you were going to say." He crossed his arms and tilted his head, studying her blush again. Her flustered expression increased his curiosity.

"Wasgonnaaskifyou'reaboxerorbriefguy," she rambled off so fast he didn't make it out clearly.

"Do what now? "

She huffed in exasperation. "I was going to ask if you were a boxer or brief guy. Happy?"

"Yes. And to answer you, it depends on the day and if I'm wearing my uniform, jeans, shorts… Sometimes boxers, sometimes boxer briefs, never briefs." He shrugged like it wasn't a big deal as he watched her freckles stand out against the growing blush on her pale skin. He tried to keep amusement from his voice and said in a casual tone, "Why did you want to know?"

"Figured if it wasn't… revealing… you could sleep in it. Like boxers are similar to shorts. Oh my god, just let it go."

He snorted a laugh. He couldn't help it. Her shyness felt refreshing and cute, and the way she tried to hide it emphasized the tough kitten act he felt from her before.

"I can't believe you're laughing at me."

"I'm not laughing at you. I'm laughing with—no, yeah, I guess I am laughing at you." He laughed again. "I'm sorry, but you remind me of a kitten. All adorable but temperamental."

"Kitten?" She stared at him. "I am nothing like a kitten."

"Whatever you say." He rolled his lips in and got himself under control while she moved around him to straighten up the kitchen from their dinner. "To answer, I've got boxers on today."

She looked over her shoulder at him and he didn't miss when her gaze flicked down to his jeans and back. The move aimed to be subtle. If he'd blinked, he'd have missed it—but he caught it.

She resumed towel drying the plates they used, returning them to the cabinet. "If you want to shower and sleep in them, it's fine. It's just shorts. I'll shower when you finish. It'll give me the chance to clean up and get the room ready. I need to get up early tomorrow to visit the office about the air and water."

The shower did little to cool him off once he stepped out and dried off. The air conditioning was on. He felt it in the bedroom when he moved in there to sit on the side of her bed while she took her shower.

When he came out, she was in the living room and didn't even look up at him. She said to leave his clothes at the laundry door, and she'd start it before coming to bed. He hoped he didn't make her uncomfortable by wearing only his underwear, but she was the one who suggested it.

The bathroom door clicked when he settled on the bed. The sounds of the shower filtered through the walls of the apartment.

He smelled like her now. At least partially. Not having his own bath products left him using hers, which didn't match the pineapple upside down cake scent she wore throughout the day. Possibly a perfume. Her body wash and shampoo smelled like coconut and vanilla. At least it complimented the perfume and didn't blend to a stomach-turning concoction some women wore.

He lay back on the bed and shut his eyes, listening to the sound of the water.

They'd had fun tonight, but the reality of what she faced with her unwanted admirer still weighed heavily on his mind. If she had a genuine stalker, he needed to convince her to return home, but he didn't know how. She had limited opportunities to continue her education down there at a physical school. He didn't know enough about her career path to know if she could do it online, but he assumed she'd considered that option already.

The water turned off, and he listened to her moving around in the bathroom before coming out and moving to the kitchen, running the tap, and then moving to the laundry.

He couldn't see her, and didn't know what all she was doing, but knew she was headed his way when the laundry door shut.

When he heard a sharp intake of air, he opened his eyes to find her standing a couple of feet away from the side of the bed, staring at his bare chest. He didn't make a sound to let her know he was awake, not wanting to embarrass her as her bright malachite eyes did a slow perusal of his bare chest to his abs.

He knew he had a nice physique. He wasn't cocky about it. He simply worked hard to achieve it because it made him feel good about himself. Lifted weights in his dorm. Ran around the perimeter of the campus frequently. Went to a local gym occasionally if time permitted, which in the last year, it hadn't.

When her eyes traveled from his stomach and down to his boxers, he needed to give her a sign he was awake before another part of him did the job for him. Her dilated pupils and change in breathing let him know she wasn't unaffected by his appearance, and that knowledge made his cock twitch. He needed to do something before they both ended up embarrassed.

He shifted, groaning, and reached up to run a hand over his face as if waking up. As if he'd fallen asleep while waiting.

She flinched, and he slowly sat up.

"Finished?"

Her face appeared redder than earlier, and she cleared her throat, toying with the hem of her sleep shorts. The same little striped pair she wore on FaceTime one night, only in white and lime green instead of baby blue. The green matching spaghetti strap tank top did little to hide her response to seeing him half naked. He turned his gaze away before she caught him staring at her breasts. He'd overheard her complaining to Riley about men doing that.

"Yeah, the clothes are in the dryer." She looked at the nightstand.

"Dryer? Didn't you need to wash them?" He leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees.

"I threw them in when I jumped in the shower. I had a shower this morning and washed my hair and all, so I only needed to wash the day off my body. The hot water would last for that." She shrugged. "I didn't want to wait up to move the clothes between the washer and dryer, and the cycle isn't long. Oh, and it shouldn't get too hot. I'm running the air-dry cycle. I think that puts out less heat? I dunno for sure."

"Fair enough. What side do you want?"

She twisted her toes on the area rug that took up most of the bedroom floor as she shrugged. "I can take the far side next to the window, since you're already on this one."

He stood as she stepped forward, which brought them almost flush with one another. She looked up at him, and he wondered if she could hear how hard his heart hammered at the proximity. Something about her got him twisted inside—it had been that way for months, becoming worse the more they got to know one another. And standing so close together with so little clothing threatened his normal composure.

He cleared his throat and stepped to the side, allowing her to pull back the covers and climb into bed, scooting to the far side.

She turned away from him, which was fortunate because they were teetering on a perilous edge, and he didn't want to jeopardize their friendship with a relationship that couldn't be serious.

He climbed back into bed and settled under the covers, reaching out to turn the lamp off and plunging the room into total darkness. She didn't even leave the stove light on to illuminate the space to get to the bathroom. It made the space cooler, but he wondered if it made her uncomfortable to sleep in blackness when someone knew where she lived.

"Goodnight, Charlotte."

"Night, Aiden," she mumbled, sounding half-asleep already.

He was in hell.

Aiden didn't even believe in hell, but if it existed, this was it. It was the only way to describe his predicament.

At some point in the night, Charlotte had kicked the covers off and buried him in them—which had him sweating and sticking to the sheets. Not how he wanted to wake up from yet another nightmare.

But that wasn't even the worst part.

She apparently became possessed in her sleep. Currently, he had five tiny toes with pastel purple nail polish in his face. She lay turned with her head at the foot of the bed, one arm on the bed above her head, the other hanging off the end. Her legs were spread eagle, with one across his chest placing her foot in his face, while the other foot rested on her pillow.

He attempted to shift away, but she kicked her foot out, jamming her toes into his nose. He had to bite the inside of his lip and grit his teeth to keep from yelling out and waking her.

He lifted his hand and gently gripped her foot to avoid another incident, moving it from his face so he could slide out of bed. Placing her foot on his pillow, he stretched, making his back pop.

Her thrashing in her sleep had pulled aside the curtain on the bedroom window, allowing ambient moonlight to illuminate the bed.

The apartment felt cooler than it did earlier when they were awake. With the lights off, and the lack of activity, the air conditioning didn't have to work as hard to cool the space. Still, being buried under an entire comforter and the matching sheets next to another heat-generating person had his skin soaked. Sweat ran down his spine.

He crept on silent feet to the bathroom so as not to wake her and closed the door behind him before turning on the light, squinting as he adjusted to the sudden brightness.

After relieving himself of his full bladder, he moved to the sink. Splashing water on his face, he peered into the mirror, checking his nose for blood. The girl had one hell of a kick. He wondered if she played soccer back in high school.

Shaking the thoughts, he dried his face and took in his surroundings.

She kept her bathroom neat and tidy. The counter space didn't compare to what the larger ensuite bathrooms Blackthorn Academy gave their students. The space accommodated only a sparkly toothbrush holder, a wide-tooth comb, a few hair ties, and a small black bag adorned with silver stars and moons, which he assumed contained cosmetics. A purple hairdryer hooked over the towel rack had a strange round attachment on the end like a trumpet with teeth. He wondered what she used it for.

He folded the towel he used for his face and put it over the larger towel on the rack to keep her space neat. The black towels matched both the cosmetic bag and the shower curtain, which had the same silver celestial design. Even the toilet seat cover and floor mat were black.

When he helped her move in months ago, he noticed her penchant for celestial decorations. Even her comforter followed the same stylistic choice in black with white moons, planets, and constellations.

The entire apartment held her personal touch, and he hated that someone had violated her space even a little.

Tomorrow, he needed to revisit the conversation about returning home. It wasn't like she couldn't get a place in Rosebrook Valley and give it her personal touch. Hopefully tomorrow she would be in better spirits to have that conversation.

Either way, if he wasn't returning home straight away, he needed to find a local clinic with Vasirian on staff. He hadn't had blood since before the drive up to Athens yesterday morning. He'd never gone twenty-four hours without blood, and it would push his limits to wait, but she needed him.

He rubbed his tired eyes. He needed a decent night's sleep. It wasn't even her fault. If he hadn't had the nightmare, he wouldn't have stirred at all, even with her thrashing.

Turning off the light, he returned to bed.

Charlotte had moved from her position and now was at risk of rolling off his side of the bed.

Scooping her up bridal style, he put a knee on the bed and leaned down to place her gently on her side of the bed, brushing a few curls from her face as he released her.

He stood, looking down at her sleeping form.

She looked beautiful lying beneath the moonlight, her fair skin on display in her dainty sleepwear. He didn't think she wore it because of him, but more to stave off the heat.

His eyes trailed down across her hip and over the expanse of her legs, giving her his appreciative perusal like she'd given him earlier.

If he were more poetic, he could articulate how lovely she looked in that moment, but the best his sleep-deprived brain could conjure was how her skin looked smooth and decadent—like the filling of a Cadbury Creme Egg.

He immediately cringed at the thought. Not creepy and inaccurate at all. His stomach growled, and he rolled his eyes.

Riley had given him a Cadbury Egg from her candy stash before he made the drive north, and now his stomach hijacked his fatigued mind. Great.

Charlotte's skin was smooth, yes, but it looked nothing like yellowy goo .

Pushing aside the ridiculous thoughts, he fixed the twisted bedding and climbed beneath, gaze drifting around the moonlit bedroom.

As soon as his head hit the pillow, she shifted and threw her arm across his chest, hitching her leg over his hip.

At least she wasn't kicking him in the face anymore.

He looped his arm around her shoulder, soaking in the comfort it gave him to have someone by his side. Someone he enjoyed being around. Maybe it would help him sleep better. If not, at least he wasn't alone while he stared at a blank ceiling until morning.

Anything beat being trapped in a cycle of fear, knowing every time he fell asleep, he would die all over again.