Page 33 of The Blood Witch
He frees a deep exhale from his chest and gives a conceding nod. “Okay, Leni, I’ll run. I’ll save myself,” he teases. “But let me walk you home first,” he tells me.
I eye him suspiciously, which earns me another rich chuckle and him raising his hands in a gesture of innocence.
“Promise I won’t try a thing, I just don’t want you walking back in the dark alone.”
An incredulous snort sneaks out as I once again scan my guards. “You may not have noticed, but I have a lovely set of shadows that were gifted to me by the Order,” I point out, waving at where said shadows are seated all around me.
“Oh, I’m aware,” Saxon declares with a sly look on his face. “But one lycan is worth a whole team of witches, you can trust me on that.”
With a wink that I’m sure is laden with implication, Saxon rises to his feet and offers me his hand. I smile despite myself, allowing him to help me up and ignoring the hostile grumblings of my guards, who clearly don’t like the dig he just took. He tucks my arm in his as my shadows surround us, and then we’re on our way.
The sun is lost behind the high-rises all around me, but dusk kisses the sky goodnight as a chilling breeze winds its way between the buildings. A shiver climbs up my back, and I pick up my pace. Saxon doesn’t say anything as we go, he seems just as intent on watching everything around us as my guards are.
“Thank you for coming and trying to give me a break, it really was amazingly thoughtful of you,” I tell him, my arm still tucked in the crook of his.
“It was my pleasure,” he assures me. “I hope it helped you forget all the pressure on your shoulders, for a little while anyway.”
I smile and try to fight the blush creeping into my cheeks at his words. He really is so incredibly decent, and I berate myself all through the security checks to get into the building and the ride up in the elevator to my floor. How am I not getting all over that?
Stupid, stupid, stupid.
The elevator dings, opening its doors to the floor I’m staying on, and Saxon and I hang back as my guards check everything out. Nerves skitter in my stomach as we meander to a stop at the door to my suite, my guards making themselves scarce for a moment. I’m wrestling with my thoughts when Saxon surprises me and pulls me in for a hug.
“If things change, call me,” he offers casually, stepping back and giving me a stunning smile. “Until otherwise decreed, friends?” he asks.
I laugh. “Friends,” I agree, my own wide smile fixed on my face as he waves and moves to leave.
“Saxon?” I call out, and he pauses. “Can I kiss you?” I query, parroting what I asked him the first time we met. He surveys me curiously for a moment, and then in two strides he’s in front of me. I laugh, not able to help it as I tell myself that the world has it wrong, curiosity didn’t kill the cat, it killed the lycan.
Before I can talk myself out of it or let things like emotions get in the way, I press my lips to Saxon’s. Unlike the first time this happened, there’s not an ounce of hesitation on his end, and he absolutely took notes on what I showed him I liked. He wraps one hand around the back of my neck, and the other presses in on the small of my back. He pulls me into him, his mouth taking and giving in turn. I meet him nip for nip and stroke for stroke, trying to get lost in the feel of him.
He tastes like coffee and desire. Feels like a warm fire on a cold night, comforting, and safe. But the kiss is just a kiss, there’s no building, no inferno. As much as I want to dive into Saxon to escape Rogan, the oblivion I’m so desperately seeking isn’t there. Maybe it could be, someday, but someday is too far and filled with too many unknowns for me to bank on.
Our lips slow, the failed crescendo of our exchange all I can taste now, as Saxon’s hold on me loosens and he relinquishes me. I can see in his eyes that he feels what I feel, but there’s no frustration in his golden gaze, only understanding. His nostrils flare, and I chuckle at the odd response that makes him so much other than I’m used to. His smile grows wider, and he gives me a quick peck, whispering, “And now we’ve come full circle,” against my lips before stepping back.
I’m confused at first by his declaration, but as Saxon puts more distance between us, my stare lands on a pair of infuriated green eyes. Rogan stands in the hallway, stiff and radiating wrath.
“Call me whenever,” Saxon reminds me, moving around Rogan with a wave goodbye and pressing the call button for the elevator. I stare at Rogan, who looks enraged and like he’s actively working to control his breathing.
Part of me feels bad, but another part of me knows this needs to happen. That we need to sever as much of our emotions as we can until we can sever the bond and go our separate ways. I hear the elevator ding, but I don’t watch Saxon get on. The doors close, leaving me and Rogan tensely standing and staring at one another.
His eyes flash with heat, with questions, and sadly with resignation. I don’t know what I want him to say or do, but when he walks by me without a word, entering our quarters and shutting the door behind him, everything in me screamsthat’s not it.
I close my eyes against the onslaught of pain. I try to get the rational side of me to override the emotional, but I’m fighting a losing battle. I want to hate him. Ishouldhate him, and I don’t know what it says about me that I can’t.
10
Itrace the veins of texture on the ceiling with my eyes. I conjure shapes and images from the random lines and peaks, the shadows in my room adding depth and darkness to my jumbled thoughts. I reach for the phone again, waking the device to check the time. It’s 1:22 in the morning. Four minutes since the last time I checked it.
I groan in frustration and turn on my side, fluffing the pillow underneath my head punishingly. I close my eyes and try to convince my body to succumb to sleep, but I can’t turn my brain off. I can’t stop seeing Rogan’s angry eyes or, worse, remembering what it felt like to kiss him instead of Saxon. I keep replaying what happened tonight, picking things apart and attempting to rearrange them into a structure that makes sense. One where everything isn’t so confusing and I haven’t gotten in too deep with someone who I know won’t choose me in the end.
But try as I might to change the picture I’m looking at, as soon as I stop messing with it, everything snaps back to where it was, and I’m left overthinking and trying not to stare truth in the face. I flop onto my back again with a sigh and accept that it’s going to be a long night. I’m tempted to call Tad, but he’s bitchy when he’s tired, and I already know what he’ll say. That’s part of the problem. I know what I need to do, but I’m stalling.
I sit up and decide it’s time for a pep-talk. It’s time to stop kidding myself and just woman up. I shouldn’t be hiding away, acting like some timid weakling who can’t face the truth. I’m the motherfucking Bone Witch. I was made for this shit. With clenched fists, I hype myself up and get myself ready. Rogan and I need to sort some things out, and now is as good a time as any, well, for me anyway. He’s probably sleeping, but not for much longer. It’s time to pay the piper.
I push out of bed and pull in a massive fortifying breath as I stride to my bedroom door. I open it, intent on maintaining this kickass momentum all the way to Rogan’s room, but what I don’t expect is for someone to be standing right there. I let out a surprised squeal and aim a fist at whoever it is. A large hand catches mine, and a deep familiar voice tells me, “Not this time,” as he wraps a palm around my fist and backs me into my bedroom until I’m pressed firmly against a wall.
“Moon shits, you scared the crap out of me,” I whisper yell, one hand caught in Rogan’s grip while I press the other to my chest and try to talk my adrenaline down.
