Page 48 of Midnight Queen

I feel my face pull in a grimace even though I don’t mean to.When I die… thanks for the reminder, Lorcan.I love having the reminder that no matter what, Silas is going to outlive me thrown in my face. While I grow old, my hair graying and my boobs sagging to my fucking knees, Silas will remain completely the same. Forever untouched by the effects of time.

Reading my reaction wrong, Lorcan laughs, pointing at my face. “Ha! See, not so cute when it’s your panties he’s keeping down there!” His voice raises and my stomach drops, afraid Silas will hear him talking even if he’s still upstairs in his office. I still don’t understand just how advanced vampire hearing is, but I’m not risking it.

I shove at his arm and place a finger over my lips, gesturing for him to shush. “Shut the fuck up, Lor. He doesn’t keep undergarments in there and you know it.”

Silas is far more sentimental than that. He has things like Cecily’s dresses, wedding bands and empty perfume bottles. The items he kept the most of are the portraits he had commissioned over the years. In the end, him doing that is no different than me keeping old photos from my childhood in a photo album under my bed.

“Just stop talking about it. It’s none of our business.” I end the conversation with a flippant wave of my hand and at the same time, my phone beeps in my hoodie pocket. I’d found it on the counter where I’d left it the night of the attack. It was dead, but once it was charged, dozens of worried texts from Lucy came through.

There’s two from her I received while I was otherwise occupied by my sex coma, but they’re not the ones I’m focused on. It’s the one from the unknown number that has a wicked smile growing across my face.

I turn the phone around and show the Irish vampire. “Want to run an errand for me? I could use your help picking up a few things.”

When he understands the meaning of the text and who it’s from, a matching grin forms on his lips and his eyes switch from humorous to murderous in a flash. “This is going to be so fun.”

I’m standingin front of the same mirror I stood at the other day, but this time I don’t hesitate to look at myself. I stare at the woman reflected in the glass and all I feel is proud. I’m proud of what she’s survived.

She had to survive each of those things to become the woman she is now. Each fallen tear and each drop of blood spilled made her stronger.

My finger traces over the medical tape the doctor had placed over the X’s. He told me an hour ago while carefully removing the stitches that he was happy with how they are healing. The lines are still red and angry looking, but he’d assured me they wouldn’t always look that way and with time, they’ll smooth out.

It was reassuring to hear, but I’m no longer worried about having them or trying to hide them. Not after Silas kissed them and promised to love each scar on my body. I know he thought I was hiding them because I was ashamed of them myself, when really, I was worried what seeing them would do to him or make him feel. I can live with the reminder but was concerned he couldn’t. And now I know differently.

With one last look at the mirror, I walk past the closed door of his closet and into the bedroom. The ugly red painting Silas has yet to do anything about still hangs on the wall, taunting me.

“I hate you,” I sneer at it. Taking hold of the bench at the end of the bed, I drag it closer to the wall and use it to stand on so I can grab the framed canvas. “You’re ugly and you have to go,” I continue to talk to it like I somehow owe it an explanation.

I know he’s in the room before he even opens his mouth. His stare causes my scalp to prickle, and a shiver runs down my spine. Picture frame in hand, I turn on the bench and grin at him.

His dark brows raise. “Anything I can do to help,Mon Soleil?”

In a shockingly graceful movement for me, I jump down and carry the painting toward the door. I stop briefly in front of Silas and rise on my tippy-toes so I can press a chaste kiss on his frowning lips. “No, I think I’ve got it covered.”

His midnight eyes flick between the painting and me. “Do you know how much that painting cost?”

I shrug my shoulder, completely unmoved. “Not a clue, and I don’t care. Expensive things can still be ugly.” I hold the painting up so I can inspect it one last time before I hopefully never have to see it again. “I know this is your room, but I hate what this thing represents now.”

I’m happy to report the expression that’s been a permanent fixture on his face since I came back is now gone. Had I known slapping him would do the trick, I would have done it days ago. Hitting Silas isn’t a tactic I wouldeverrecommend anyone else use, even though it workedsplendidlyfor me.

There are fresh bruises on my skin from how he grabbed me, but I like these marks. They let everyone know that Silas has been here, and he’s left his literal mark.

While hitting him hadn’t been the plan, admitting I’d fallen in love with him hadn’t either. That’s not how I wanted to do it. It’d just popped out of my mouth during my angry tirade. We haven’t acknowledged the slipup yet and he hasn’t said it back, but I guess that’s okay since I technically haven’t said‘I love you’to him either. Those words hold a much bigger weight to me anyway compared to what I’ve said already.

Walking across the hallway, I leave the painting leaning against one of the shelves in his office. I have no idea where he’d pulled the thing out from, but he can return it to that spot himself.

Back in the bedroom, I find him standing right where I left him. “I meant what I said, Quincey. The only place you’re sleeping is with me—inthisbed.” He gestures at the tastefully made king-size mattress. “This room is as much mine as it is yours now. If you don’t like the painting or anything else for that matter, you’re more than welcome to change it.” I open my mouth, a smart-ass comment about bright-yellow walls and polka dot sheets on my lips, but he stops me by wisely adding, “Withinreason.”

“I don’t want to change anything else,” I assure him, wrapping my arms around his middle and resting my chin on his chest. He looks down at me and cups my face in his hands. It’s honestly so hard to remember a time that I didn’t crave his touch. “Everything about this room—this house—it’s all so…you. And I wouldn’t want to change that.”

He tucks a piece of hair that had fallen from my braid behind my ear. “I can appreciate that, but it’s not only about me now, is it? This isn’t only my house or my room. You live here as well. This isyourhome, Quincey. You have to be comfortable here too.”

“No, it’s not,” I correct him instantly, making his face pull in confusion. “This is just a house, Silas.You’remy home and I will be comfortable anywhere so long as I’m there with you.” Tucking my head into his chest, I add, “Except a tent. Try as I might, I cannot get on board with camping. It’s the bugs and peeing behind trees thing for me. I can’t do it.”

His chest shakes in a silent laugh, making me smile. Who else can say they’ve made Silas Laurent laugh? I think that’s a pretty special and unique skill. “Fair enough.” His hand smooths down my back. “Besides a discussion about decor, there’s another reason I came in here.”

“Oh yeah?” He’s been tucked away behind closed doors for hours. He hasn’t admitted what’s going on yet or what the phone calls are about, and I haven’t pushed him for answers. Yet. I will give him a few more days to freely offer the information. We are still figuring out this new balance in our relationship and I don’t want to demand answers from him. But I will if it comes to it.

“You said you wanted a rain check on our date, how does tonight sound to you?”

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