Page 81 of Let Sleeping Vampires Lie

“You don’t have to be good at this,” he said quietly.

“At what?” I asked.

“Letting someone worry. Letting someone stay.”

My throat tightened. “You make it sound so simple.”

“It isn’t,” he said. “But it’s worth learning.”

I turned my head to look at him.

His profile was cut in soft light from the lamp on my dresser. Strong jaw, dark hair falling a little loose over his brow, gold eyes watching me with a gentleness that would have terrified the woman I was a century ago.

It still terrified me now.

“Con,” I said, “I don’t know how to be any different than I am.”

His mouth curved, almost sad. “I’m not asking you to be different. I’m asking you to be… more. For yourself, not less.”

“That sounds vague and frustrating.”

“Welcome to relationships.”

A laugh slipped out before I could stop it, short and quiet, but real. The sound relaxed something inside him; his shoulders eased, the line of tension around his mouth softening.

He turned his hand, threading his fingers between mine instead of just holding my wrist.

“I meant what I said,” he went on. “I can’t watch you destroy yourself. Not with magic, not with guilt, not with this idea that you’re only valuable when you’re bleeding for someone else.”

I swallowed. “It’s hard to see myself any other way.”

“Then let me try,” he murmured. “Let me see you that way for both of us until you catch up.”

My chest hurt.

“I don’t want to be your project.”

“You’re not,” he said. “You’re my equal. That’s the problem. You keep acting like you aren’t.”

He shifted, turning on the bed so he faced me more fully, one knee on the mattress, the other foot braced on the floor. He was close enough that I could see the tiny scar at his temple, the shadows beneath his eyes.

His gaze dropped briefly to our joined hands, then rose to my face again.

“You scared me,” he said. “Really scared me. I know you’re tired of hearing that, but you did.”

“I know,” I whispered.

“And I realized something.”

I tried to make my voice light. “That you like drama?”

“That I am done pretending I can live with you like this,” he said.

That stole my breath.

“Like what?” I asked, careful.

“Halfway,” he replied. “Always halfway. Always almost. Always pulling back when it gets too close and then pretending you don’t care if I stay or go.”