Page 70 of Summertime Hexy
“Come here,” he says.
“Why?”
“Because I thought of a better way to shut you up than arguing.”
He holds out one hand, palm up.
Inviting me.
Challengingme.
I stare at it like it’s a viper.
But really, it’s Derek’s wrist, sprinkled with black hairs and scars andall him, and all I can think is that this is the hand that held me back from the Veil. The hand that gripped a sword and fought and bled and nearly broke, all forme.
All because ofme.
“You have a better way to shut me up?” I ask, because defiance is my default.
His lip curls. “Don’t I always?”
Damn if he’s not right. I usually shut up when he’s around because my words get tangled, or all that vampire broodiness muffles my thoughts.
But not this time.
This time is different.
Because he’s looking at me with those eyes, and we almostendedbecause of my magic, and I’m so tired of fighting and running and losing everything.
“Fine,” I say, and I stand, wobbling from being hunched in that chair forever, trying not to think about how thin his sheets are and how very shirtless he is, my heart thumping wild in my chest.
But when I take his hand, he doesn’t yank me forward.
No.
He tugs, yes, but carefully, gently, and in seconds, I’m sitting on the edge of the bed next to him.
Facing him.
He’s still got his hand in mine, our fingers laced, and he lifts his other to brush a strand of hair out of my face with a gentleness that churns my insides to molten lead.
“You’re the reason,” he says, and I blink, because those three words rock me to the core.
“For what?” I ask, even though I already know.
But I need to hear it.
Need to know it’s not some hyped-up, blood-loss hallucination or that I didn’t interpret it wrong in my sleep-deprived state.
“Forthis,” he says, his voice rough. “For me being here, alive, and not buried in some forgotten paupers' grave because I’d given up. Because I realized there was nothing worth fighting for anymore.”
I open my mouth.
But before I can say anything, Derek’s other hand—the one that isn’t holding mine—cups my neck and pulls me toward him, until our foreheads are touching, his breath mingling with mine.
“You areeverything,” he says, and it sounds like a vow.
“Derek, I?—”
