Page 83 of Let Sleeping Vampires Lie

I realized again, with a small jolt, that I wanted it. I wanted it when we were at Shadow Thorn, and I still wanted it.

Not just survival. Not just another war survived, another scar added to the collection.

I wanted this. Him. Us. Tangled and complicated and infuriating and real.

I lifted our joined hands and pressed my lips to the back of his.

It was a small kiss. Barely a brush of my mouth against skin. But it lit his eyes in a way I wasn’t prepared for.

“Yes,” I said, voice low.

His throat worked. “Yes… what?”

“Yes to more than one night,” I said. “Yes to messy. Yes to you being here when I wake up. Yes to you driving me insane with overprotective nonsense. Yes to you not letting me die quietly.”

One corner of his mouth curled, relief and hunger and something very much like joy all fighting for space on his face.

“You’re sure,” he said.

“For once,” I answered.

The restraint in him snapped.

He moved closer in a slow, deliberate slide, giving me time to change my mind. When I didn’t, his free hand came up, fingers brushing along my jaw, thumb resting just beneath my lower lip.

“Last chance for more time to adjust,” he murmured.

I huffed a slight laugh. “I just said yes. Stop trying to talk me out of it.”

His eyes darkened. “Good.”

He kissed me.

It wasn’t careful. The first press of his mouth to mine was claiming, years of frustration and tension, pouring out in a rush that stole my breath.

I met him halfway.

My free hand fisted in the front of his shirt, dragging him closer. He shifted onto the bed fully, knee sliding between mine as he leaned in, bracing his weight on one arm so he didn’t crush me.

His lips moved against mine with a heat that had nothing to do with fever. He tasted like mint and something darker, something uniquely him that I’d wanted and denied myself for far too long.

The kiss deepened.

He softened it for a heartbeat, letting it slow, giving me time to adjust to the reality of him finally, truly close. Then I nipped at his lower lip, and whatever careful control he had left burned away.

His hand left my jaw and slid down my throat, pausing over the thrum of my pulse. His thumb traced that beat, as if memorizing it. As if reminding himself I was alive, here, beneath him.

“Cass,” he breathed against my mouth. “Tell me if⁠—”

“Stop talking,” I whispered. “Just… stay.”

He did.

We moved together in a way that felt both inevitable and entirely new. Clothes shifted, layers giving way under clumsy fingers and urgent touches. He was gentle when I needed it, rough when I pulled him down and demanded it, reading my body like he’d trained his whole life for it.

I didn’t ask for just one night this time.

I didn’t bargain with destiny or frame it as a farewell before some grand last stand.