Page 45 of Summertime Hexy
I flinch.
She softens.
“Derek,” she says, stepping closer. “I didn’t want him. I wanted to see if you’d react.”
I blink. “Youwhat?”
Her grin is slow. Dangerous.Slightly unhinged.
“You heard me.”
And before I can answer, she walks away.
And this time?
She leavesmebreathless.
I’m backin the crypt.
Notthecrypt—the one beneath the Sanctum, where I laid Rowen to rest—but the small one Thorn built beneath Camp Lightring. A quiet space meant for reflection, not bodies. A place few ever come.
Which is why I’m here.
Because I need silence.
Because my thoughts are too loud.
I pace the stone floor, the only sound my boots echoing across the rune-scribed walls. Magic hums faintly here, low and steady, like the heartbeat of the camp itself.
And mine’s trying to match it.
She’s mine.
I said it.
To a Fae prince. In public. With every eye on us.
Like an animal. Like a man who forgot who he is. What he is.
I’m a vampire.
A creature bound by laws older than her family tree. I’ve buried lovers, comrades, and brothers under moons that no longer rise. I’ve killed without blinking. I’ve walked away from everything that ever dared make me feel like I was still a man.
And now—now this girl, thiswitch,this chaos-drenched, bright-burninghazard to my existence—has the nerve to make mehope.
Hope for mornings.
For laughter.
For the feel of her hand in mine without the threat of it turning to ash.
It’s terrifying.
Because if I love her—and I do, Ido—then what happens when time remembers what I am and rips her away?
Do I turn her?
No. Gods, no.
