Page 61 of Ophelia's Vampire

“Uh, yeah?”

Cas closes the fridge and crosses to where I’m standing. He stops right in front of me, towering over me in a way I suppose is meant to be intimidating or convey some kind of authority or something.

But now that I know the hungry, desperate sounds he makes when he’s drinking from me, and now that I know just how tender he can be when he’s soothing me to sleep, the big scary vampire thing doesn’t really work so well anymore.

“You should have been resting, not exerting yourself. Your body needs time to recover after losing that much blood.”

Well, damn. Maybe that’s why I’ve been dragging ass all day.

Cas rubs at his temple like he’s trying to soothe away an ache there, and my fingertips itch with the batshit urge to reach up and touch him.

Maybe I could soothe that ache for him.

We could head up to bed and he could nuzzle into me this time. He could lay his head on my chest and give me full access to that thick head of blond hair. I wouldn’t mind running my fingers through it, tangling them up in—

Jesus, Ophelia, get a damn grip.

“What?” I shoot back, unable to keep the defensive edge out of my voice. “Like I was supposed to know that? I mean, yeah, maybe it was a little stupid not to remember the whole blood loss thing, but it’s not like anyone’s ever given me a crash course on recovering from a vampire’s bite.”

That seems to strike some sort of nerve for Casimir. His scowl fades, his expression falls, and he bows his head forward.It brings him closer, close enough that our foreheads are almost touching.

“Forgive me, Ophelia.”

“For what?”

“I should have taken more time to ensure you were alright. I should have taken better care of you. I’m sorry.”

The words make me feel simultaneously indignant and oddly warm. A strange squirmy heat settles itself into the bottom of my stomach, and I don’t know whether to snap at him or take a step closer and tuck myself into his broad chest.

I don’t like it.

I don’t want it.

The disappointment on Cleo’s face this morning flashes through my mind as a stomach-twisting reminder of just how much I’ve already fucked all of this up. Getting this close to him, accepting his bite, all of it has already gone too far.

And that was before he told me he should havetaken care of me.

“I’m fine.”

He opens his mouth to argue again, but I cut him off before he can.

“Really, Casimir, it’s not a big deal. I’m fine.”

I grab my plate and take a step back, and the thread of whatever strange alchemy that’s always existed between us pulls taut in my chest.

I ignore it, just like I ignore the flash of guilt and disappointment on his face.

“Good night,” I make myself say, keeping my steps even and my head held high as I leave the room, despite everything in me wanting to run as far and as fast as I can.

In which direction—toward him or away—I’m not really sure.

And I’m not about to find out as I walk quickly across the entryway and slip out the front door.

20

Casimir

“Seriously, Cas, what the hell?” Serra’s disgruntled question cuts through the haze of my thoughts. “Did I piss you off somehow, or is someone else responsible for this delightful little mood of yours?”

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