Page 66 of Ophelia's Vampire

“Cas,” Serra says, breathless. “I’ve got it.”

“Got what?”

“The painting, idiot. It’s yours, if you’re willing to fork over an absolutely obscene amount of money for it.”

“How much?”

She names a price that makes my head spin, but after a few quick calculations and sketching a brief mental plan of how I might move some assets quickly around to free up the funds, I’ve decided.

“When?”

“Tonight. They’re looking to offload it as soon as possible.” She fires off a few more details—a location, how they want to receive payment, and a time.

“I’ll meet you there at nine,” I tell her, and after she agrees to that, I hang up.

Striding down the sidewalk and out of the Common with purpose is a welcome departure from the darkness cast by Philippe’s visit. The prospect of finally having this piece in hand is a beacon, a light shining through some of that darkness, the smallest thread to cling to.

I am not the creature I once was, and I will never be again.

The stains of my past may never fully be washed away, and my hands may never be clean, but that doesn’t mean I can’t salvage some small piece of good from it all.

Even if I’ve forgotten these last few weeks. Even if, for the first time in as long as I can remember, the weight of all that darkness has felt lighter, somehow. Brightened by the sweet, sharp, unexpected woman who’s somehow found her way back to me.

Enough, it’s enough.

For now.

21

Ophelia

A few days after my run-in with Cas in his kitchen, I’m creeping back through the front door and stealing inside to grab dinner. I try to tell myself that it’ll be the last time, and I wouldn’t have even bothered unless I knew the place was empty.

Cas isn’t here, which isn’t exactly unexpected given the unpredictable hours he keeps doing… well, whatever the hell it is he does for his day job.

Maybeday jobisn’t exactly the right word, but like so many other things, I haven’t felt like it’s my place to ask him. What he actually does for work is a mystery. I can’t imagine he’s on the Bureau’s payroll full-time, but I also couldn’t even begin to guess what kind of work he’s in.

Whatdoesa centuries-old vampire do with their time, anyway?

My mind spins up some wild theories while my dinner reheats. More takeout leftovers, despite Cas’s insistence that I eat better.

Whatever. It’s been a few days, and I’m feeling back to one hundred percent. Any blood loss-related sluggishness has completely cleared up, even if I’m not totally over the conversation me and Cas had about it.

I should have taken better care of you.

Days later, the echo of those soft, solemn words still makes a strange, uncomfortable sort of heat kick up in my belly.

Maybe it’s because the whole concept of someone taking care of me is completely alien, or becausecaring for meis absolutely outside the realm of anything that should be going on between me and Cas.

No biting. No orgasms. No aftercare.

We’re partners. Maybe friends, if I’m being generous, but that’s it.

That has to be it.

The microwave pings, and I grab my plate before heading back outside to the van. I’d rather eat in the house so I don’t have to go back and deal with the dishes later, but that would mean putting myself at risk of being here when Cas gets home, so the trade-off doesn’t really seem worth it.

Instead, I climb inside and tuck myself into my little nest of blankets, fully committed to the indulgent idea of dinner in bed. Laptop open to the latest season of Bridgerton, I curl up and get cozy, content enough to be hidden away out of sight.

---