Page 52 of Fledgling & Archon

“Nothing necessary,” he answered, as always.

Oh well.She’d try again, soon. Simone nodded, freed her hands, and leaned far forward, searching for a coaster. Once more he anticipated, sliding a square pad of black leather across the glass coffee table, positioning it precisely so she could settle the mug.

With that done, she could draw her knees up and curl into his side. As usual, he accepted with alacrity, his arm over her shoulder like a solicitous boyfriend, resting his cheek against her hair as she waited for the shudders to die down.

Trauma stuck around in vamp nervous systems, just like mortal ones. The apartment building hummed to itself—basement to crown, elevators whooshing up and down, mortal lives lived in a layer-cake of concrete, steel, and glass. If Simone focused, she could hear the heartbeats of the occupants just below.

Unless the seals were active. How long before she asked him to put up invisible force-fields so she could hear herself think without the noise of human beings all around? Did he ever feel that way?

That was a conversation for another night. The shakes drained away; she didn’t have to think about the lab, the burning blistering straps, the caustic smoke, the sounds of tearing meat and snapped bone.

Or the terrible, brassy smell of death.

The urge to flat-out burrow into the warmth beside her was overwhelming. She rubbed her cheek on his shoulder, and his stillness was absolute attention, complete focus.

“You know,” Simone said, softly, “I don’t think we’ve christened the couch.”It’s the only time I don’t brood about horrible things. That, and when we’re out looking for history.

“Christened?” John sounded very interested in the concept.

Simone uncurled, tipped her face up, and did not have to wait for a kiss. She never did; and eventually she had to gaspdon’t tear this, it’s my favorite.

His reply was silent, but intense. And outside the penthouse windows, the night pursued its own eternal business.