Page 46 of Wake the Dream

And she had no clue which desire scared her more.

Instead, she stood and stared at her feet, her body filled with energy that had no outlet. Then she sank back down into her chair.

“I’m sorry my question upset you,” Kieran murmured, grabbing a piece of chicken and bringing it to his lips. “You know I didn’t do it intentionally.”

“It’s old wounds, like you said. You’d think I’d be over it by now.”

“I think your sister’s disappearance shed light on a whole lot of issues you didn’t want to think about. Healing is a process. It’s not a snap-your-fingers-and-done kind of deal. Whatever is coming up now has been there for a long time and it will take a lot of dedication to deal with it so you can move forward.”

Spoken like someone who’d dealt with his own tragedies. “I know one good way to deal with it,” Illaria cooed, channeling her emotions into a familiar avenue. She slid her hand across the tabletop until it rested on top of Kieran’s, feeling his heat.

She felt no shock when he stood and hugged her close, her chest colliding with his hardness. Kieran bent his head down, inches away from claiming her lips. Yes, yes. This was good. This was what she needed.

Then he stopped.

“When I take you to bed—and make no mistake, we’re going to end up there—it will be because you want me. Not because you’re reacting.” He punctuated the statement with a rough kiss that seared her down to the marrow of her bones.

Sitting back down as though nothing had happened, Kieran returned his focus to the last few bites on his plate. “You can take my bed. I’ll sleep on the couch tonight.” With a steamy look at her from under his brows, he stood and took his plate to the sink, pausing on his way past her. “Good night.”

She forced herself to stay in the chair for a long minute, not trusting herself to look after Kieran.

Oh, she was in so much damn trouble.

**

Illaria didn’t sleepthat night. At all. Not that Kieran’s bed wasn’t comfortable. It was. The sheets, clean and crisp, still retained the scent of brightly floral laundry detergent.

Nevertheless, as a result of this lack of sleep, she rose in the morning in a piss-poor mood. She showered, lowering her head under the constant spray and letting the hot water drip along her skin.

Three days since she’d come home to find Yelena gone. In that time, her own life had changed inexplicably. She had abandonment issues, yes, just as Kieran pointed out. She recognized them, although she’d never wanted to confront them before. It made going on with her life much harder by acknowledging her flaws while alternately vowing to work on them.

Stepping out of the shower and with no other option except the stupid red dress she’d worn to the club, she put on the same clothes Kieran had loaned her the night before. The softness of the material slid across her skin and Illaria indulged her senses, burying her nose in the fabric and drawing in the scent.

An hour later, they sat in his car in front of the police station. Kieran had stopped by her house and given her enough time to pack a bag and change. She would stay with him until they found the vampire from the night before, he insisted, whether she liked the arrangement or not.

She had no argument with that. None that she voiced beyond a slight grumble of inconvenience, anyway. Not that she would ever let him know, but Illaria had actually enjoyed spending time with him.

Funny how things shifted.

She couldn’t forget his rebuff. The way he’d told her, while alternately making her heart race, that they would end up in bed. On his terms, not hers. The idea intrigued her. And Illaria had to admit the more time they spent together, the more she liked him. Liked him for his spunk and tenacity. The way he didn’t want to deal with her crap and instead faced her head on.

Had she been hasty in her initial opinion of him?

Illaria followed close behind him, dressed in her own clothes and ignoring the eyes of his fellow officers when they stepped into the room. She remembered that smell, the damn burned coffee smell. Did no one in the place know how to make a decent pot without boiling it to hell? Probably not, considering they operated like a bunch of toddlers hyped up on sugar.

Kieran gestured for her to bring a chair over to his desk and have a seat.

“We have most of the vampires in town registered through the last census,” he told her in low tones, making sure she was comfortable before he sat next to her. “I’ll add my notes about the vampire’s ability to smell Fae bloodlines as well. Honestly, the police department got lucky with the registry.”

“I bet you did.” Illaria curled her lip, ignoring the stares from the rest of the squad. “Especially with the slow influx of new members.”

Everyone knew how difficult it had become to create vamps. In recent years, with more and more tainted blood showing up in human populations due to the use of GMOs, vampire nests had tightened their ranks and put the kibosh on any new bloodlines.

Aside from the current two covens, the town hadn’t seen an influx of vampires for the last decade. As far as she knew, officials wanted to keep it that way, the low population numbers part of what kept the supernatural set safe from the public outcry in surrounding areas.

“Everyone is looking at me,” she grumbled, drawing her sweater tighter around her, noticing the hush in the room. She’d certainly captured their attention. Attention she’d rather do without. Oh God, would she have to deal with the bozo whose nose she’d broken the night before? Hopefully not.

“Yes, and they will continue to stare. Ignore them. If the vampire who talked to you last night is one of our own, we will have him on file.”

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