Page 64 of Roses & Ruin

A tight, electric climb is starting to happen. I don’t know where it’s going, what I’m going to do when I get there. My hand finds his hair, and I pull hard. He groans, and I hear a crumbling noise, the sound of rocks crushing.

“Hayden,” I pant, my hips moving, sweat beading my forehead and neck despite the snow around us. I blink open my eyes, take in the darkening gray, the thickening fog shrinking our world to just the graveyard, just Hayden and me, our mouths and hands on each other.

“You know why no one’s touched you, Rose?” Hayden grates out. “It’s because they knew. They knew you were mine. And I’ll take care of you. I’ve got you. Now let go, Rose.”

Something inside me’s going to explode. My whining ratchets higher and higher.

“Hayden,” I plead, frightened from the pleasure, afraid it might end me. Hayden’s fangs drag against the bare skin of my flesh, and I scream, arching violently against him, just as his fingers slip inside me. “I love you,” I cry for the world to hear. “I love you,” I cry loud enough to wake the dead all around us.

“That’s it.” Hayden laughs raggedly against me, holding me close. “You’re perfect, Rose.” In a smooth, graceful shuffle, Hayden wraps my trembling body tightly in his leather jacket, cradling me against him.

“Wh-what about you?” I gasp, quivering with aftershocks of impossible pleasure. “I want you to feel good.” I feel newborn, like I’ve never used my limbs before. Hayden’s eyes are black and hungry. I’ve never seen his fangs so sharp, so large.

Nothing about him looks human right now.

“In all of my existence,” he rumbles, “I’ve never felt so good.” But I can still feel him, pressed against me. I wriggle against him, and his eyes get impossibly more black. “Don’t,” he says, warning. “It’s not safe. I’m afraid I’ll…lose control.” A tiny frisson of vulnerability colors the darkness in his eyes. “And I’m not losing you again, Rose. I’m not.” He pulls me in for a deep, rich kiss. I can taste his yearning. His agony. His fear.

And I think, without any question, graveyards are the most romantic places on earth.

Chapter 23

Hayden and I are kissing hungrily in my dorm room. He’s got me pressed up against the circle window, his mouth ravenous. It’s been days since our trip to Hemlock Cove, and ever since the graveyard, that cold, strained distance between us has evaporated. He’s clung close to me like a dangerous shadow, constantly touching and kissing me like he can’t get enough.

I pull back, gasping. “I really should go to class.”

“Like I said.” He kisses me, quick and deep. “In a minute. I’ll walk you.”

The door opens, and Delia makes a disgusted sound.

“Seriously? You two get worse every go-around. God. I’m gonna need to carry a hose with me.” Hayden pulls off my face with a wet pop, giving me a dark, dirty smile, making me shudder. Delia throws her bag to the ground and flops onto her bed.

“Sorry, Delia,” I say, straightening my shirt, pressing my palms to my cheeks. I touch the spot on my neck that makes me go crazy and catch Hayden watching me with heavy-lidded eyes.

“No, you’re not,” Delia says, giving me an arch smile. “Not even a little.” She rolls her eyes. “Whatever. You’ve died a billion times; I guess the least you deserve is a little dry humping.” I snort, but Hayden scowls.

“C’mon, Dee. That’s shitty.”

“It’s fine,” I say, rubbing his arm. Hayden shoves his hands in his pockets, unamused, but doesn’t say anything else. I gather my bag and coat, shooting Delia a pout.

“Are you really not gonna come to painting class today?” It’s my first class since ending things with Julian, and I’m dreading it fantastically. Delia crosses her legs and threads her fingers over her knee.

“I love you, Ro,” she begins, “but now that the cat’s out of the bag, I don’t have to pretend to be a college student anymore. I’m not going to listen to Julian ‘Shriveled Dick’ Hughes mansplain colors to me.”

“Don’t be so closed-minded,” I tease. “He might teach you something new—you never know!”

“Sweetheart?” she says. “I fucked Vincent van Gogh.”

“No, you didn’t,” Hayden drawls as he examines his fingernails.

“Okay, fine, I didn’t.” She leans back on her bed, her smile wry. “But I did live in Amsterdam for a minute, and I once bumped into him along one of the canals during one of his early-morning walks.”

“Did he say something to you?” I sit next to Delia.

“Yes. He said, ‘Pardon,’ then kept on walking.” Delia pats my head. “You’ll be fine, Ro. But I can walk you there.”

“I got it,” Hayden says, looking agitated. Delia laughs.

“Oh my god, you’re such a dork. What are you gonna do to stake your claim? Pee on her in front of Julian, Hay-Hay?” Delia teases. Hayden folds his arms, looking surly, but doesn’t say anything. I cross the room to him, cup his cheek.