Page 54 of Demon's Heart
Harper had been a good distraction, but it had been hours since they’d gone to bed. Ollie’s skin crawled. He was cold under his blankets, and every time he closed his eyes, clawed fingers closed around his neck.
He was afraid of the dreams he’d have if he ever fell asleep. The sticky sweat on his skin might as well have been blood. Ollie swore he could smell it. He felt small and insignificant, and more than anything, he wanted to undo it all.
Ollie couldn’t rewind and get his old life back. His heart raced. He couldn’t do this forever. He didn’t want to.
He threw back the covers and got out of bed, pulling a hoodie over his T-shirt and sleep pants. The apartment wasstuffy. He shouldn’t need this many layers or have been cold at all. Was he sick? Wait, no. He couldn’t get sick anymore.
Did being immortal mean he’d never even get a cold? What about headaches?
He didn’t understand his own body. His own feelings. There was a pit inside him. Ollie had never felt this alone or helpless. How was he supposed to get over this and move on?
He grabbed his phone and went to the living room, settling on the couch and selecting a mindless game. Maybe if he played long enough, he’d pass out, but he kept fucking up and having to start over.
Frustration added to everything piled on top of him, and Ollie whined pitifully.
Harper’s door creaked open and Ollie whipped his head around. Had Harper heard that mortifying noise?
“Hey,” Harper said softly. “Can’t sleep?”
“Not really. Did I wake you up?”
Harper shook his head. “I’ve never slept well. I was awake already.”
Ollie’s brow furrowed. “Why don’t you sleep well?”
Harper sat on the opposite end of the couch. “I grew up in a pretty bad situation. My father drained my blood for the magic in it, to use for himself, and when I tried to resist, he’d hurt me. Tie me down. Do all sorts of shit. I couldn’t sleep living in the same house as him. Now my body doesn’t know what to do at night.” He shrugged.
“Fuck, Harper. That’s awful.” Ollie’s heart broke for him. “And here I am being traumatized after having my blood spilled once by a random attacker.”
“What happened to you was horrible, Ollie, no matter what happened to me or anyone else.”
The pit inside Ollie grew. He felt even more alone sittingnext to Harper than he had before. “Maybe I need another sleep potion. I’m afraid to close my eyes.”
“I can make one if you want, but as soon as you stop taking them, you’ll be back here, needing to process what happened.”
Harper was right. His days would get worse the longer he ignored his feelings at night. He’d rather panic or have flashbacks in his apartment than at work.
“Have you thought about calling Dante?” Harper asked.
“What?” More sweat prickled along Ollie’s skin. His heart swelled, filling some of the void inside him.
“He’s your mate,” Harper said gently. “He can help. I’ll always be here to talk to you, do whatever I can, but Dante can be here for you too. He can give you things I can’t.”
But why? Because of their bond? Ollie wanted to resist Dante. He could accept Harper’s help because he didn’t have conflicted feelings for Harper. Reaching out to Dante felt like opening himself up to a world of things he didn’t trust.
But that didn’t mean he didn’t want to call Dante. Imagining Dante with him in the dark living room settled Ollie in a way he hadn’t experienced all day.
“Okay, I’ll call him.” Ollie looked down at his phone and butterflies erupted in his chest, chasing away the darkness eating at him.
“Good. I really think it’ll help. He’ll be glad you called.” Harper stood and headed back to his room, squeezing Ollie’s shoulder as he went.
Ollie found Dante’s contact and pressed call. Normally, he’d never do anything except text. Calling was needy, and calling in the middle of the night was borderline alarming, but he couldn’t handle texting and sitting around waiting for a response.
He needed Dante, even if it scared him.
“Ollie?” Dante answered after a couple rings, sounding groggy. “Hi. Are you all right?”
A soft prickle washed over Ollie from head to toe. “I’m…” He was about to say fine, but he wasn’t fine. It was the whole reason he called. “I’m not feeling great. I can’t sleep. Sorry, are you busy?”
