Page 25 of Bite of Midnight
How are you?
Did you sleep?
Are you okay?
She answers, but only in short, polite replies that cut me open with how far away she feels.
I’ve sent roses, long-stemmed, deep red, the kind that carry meaning even mortals can feel.
I sent chocolates. Jewelry. Things that once made hearts flutter in other centuries.
None of it’s enough.
Every gift feels useless when what I really want is to hold her, to taste the pulse beneath her skin, to hear her whisper my name again.
I don’t know what else to do to bring her back to me. To remind her what she felt that night.
I rake a hand through my hair, pacing across the length of my study. The firelight flickers against the glass decanter on my desk. My reflection looks haunted, eyes too dark, face too still.
“Pathetic,” I mutter under my breath. “Centuries of control, undone by one woman.”
But it’s more than that.
It’sher.
She’s in my blood now, under my skin, threaded through every thought I have. I can’t shut her out, can’t silence the bond that hums constantly between us, pulling, whispering, demanding.
I’ve waited a thousand years to find her. And now that I have, I’m supposed to pretend patience?
I press my palms to the desk, bow my head, and let the quiet settle.
“Come back to me, Calla,” I whisper into the stillness. “Please.”
And though the room doesn’t answer, I swear I feel it, the faintest tremor through the bond, like somewhere out there, she hears me.
The storm hasn’t let up for hours.
Rain lashes against the windows, thunder rolling through the valley like the growl of something ancient and angry. Lightning flashes across the sky, lighting up the dark edges of my study. I should be used to nights like this, they’ve never bothered me before.
But tonight, I can’t sit still.
The bond hums through me, sharp and erratic, pulsing in my chest like a second heartbeat. Something’s wrong. I can feel it.
I don’t know where Calla is, but Ineedto. I need to know she’s safe.
I grab my coat, not bothering to button it, and head for the door. The house is quiet, the kind of stillness that feels like it’s holding its breath. I barely make it halfway down the hall before the sound of the storm shifts, rain pounding harder, wind howling through the old trees outside, then a knock, faint but real, rattles through the front door.
The bond surges. I cross the marble floor in a blur and pull the door open.
And there she is. My mate. Calla stands in the doorway, drenched and shivering, hair plastered to her cheeks, her yellow raincoat clinging to her like it’s fighting for its life. Her eyes find mine, wide, wild, full of something between relief and disbelief.
For a moment, I can’t move. Can’t speak. Every ounce of patience, every fragment of self-control I’ve held onto these last few days burns away in an instant.
“Calla,” I breathe.
Her lips tremble, a small, helpless sound leaving her throat. “I didn’t know where else to go.”
That’s all it takes. I step forward, closing the distance, and pull her into my arms. The rain seeps into my shirt, cold and relentless, but I don’t care. All that matters is the way she fits against me, shaking and real andhere.
