Page 69 of Heartless

When I’m left in my t-shirt and shorts I move to the bed, sitting on the side facing him with my legs curled up under me as I survey him with only the pre-dawn light to go by.

Cassian lookstired. Leaning over with his hands clasped, I can see him twiddling his thumbs together silently, though from what I can see, he isn’t looking at me.

“Virgil told me to shower,” he whispers finally without looking at me. “He said you might not enjoy the blood all over the house.” At last he lifts his head, and I can feel his gaze on me in the dark, even though I can’t see his eyes. “I didn’t shower, but I did rinse my hands and face.”

For a few moments, I don’t reply. I don’t know what to say. A low breath leaves me, and I get to my feet to take a step toward him, one hand out. “Cass…”

He catches my hand, surprising me when he stands up as well. “No,” he murmurs. “I like you on the bed. With me.” Without asking, he pushes me back down, crawling over me on the sheets until his knees are on either side of my hips and his hands are splayed by my face.

I swear I can smell the blood on him. I certainly feel it when I lift my hand up to trail my fingers through his dark-matted hair. It’s dry now, but sticks to his curls like gel.

“How’d you do it?” I ask softly, feeling as if it’s wrong to break the early morning silence.

“I tore him apart.” Cass leans down, his lips brushing my forehead.

“He let Reagan go on purpose.” That’s not a question. I’ve known since last night what he did.

And maybe, just maybe, I knew why Cass didn’t come to the hospital with me since long before the news anchor mentioned the detective’s murder.

“I know. That’s why I made it slow.” His hand grips my shirt, and he proceeds to gently tug it over my head before wrapping his long fingers around the base of my throat. “He thought she’d shoot me.”

“He was wrong.”

“I made sure he knew how wrong he was.” Leaning down, he kisses me. Sweetly at first, with his tongue begging for entrance in my mouth. When I do part my lips for him, I swear I can taste the blood, the iron on his lips.

On his tongue.

On his teeth.

When Cass pulls away, I’m panting. My fingers itch to remove his shirt, and I yank it over his head much less gently than he had for me.

“You’re a serial killer.”

He chuckles at the words, tilting his head. “I’m a serial killer,” he agrees.

“You didn’t have to kill Trudeau.” But there’s no malice, no real reproach in my words. I find I don’t care at all, quite honestly. And I certainly don’t pity the dead detective. Cassian chuckles darkly, his fingers once more tightening possessively on my neck.

“I’ll kill anyone for you. Do you love me?” The question surprises me, especially after our joking conversation last night.

I want to ask where the six steps went.

I want to ask what happens when I say no.

Instead I sit up, surprised when he lets me, and shove Cass until he’s on his back and I can stare down at him, finally able to see his gorgeous blue eyes in the dawn light.

He’s beautiful. Like a Renaissance painting come to life with his full lips and impossibly blue eyes. His hair, even sticky with blood, is nearly picture perfect and almost golden in the first rays of the sun.

“You should know the answer to that,” I say at last, and this time I’m the one who reaches down to press my fingers lightly to his throat. Cass arches back, giving me all the access to his vulnerable, flawless skin that I could want. I stroke along his neck, feeling him swallow under my touch.

“I don’t.” He sounds almost unsure of himself, and a little sheepish. “That’s the one thing I can’t quite read about you, Winnie.”

Taking a breath, I try to push away how my heart flutters nervously. How everything in me feels different when I’m around him.

How he feels likehome.

“I’ve always loved you.” I whisper the words, almost afraid to admit them for the world to hear. “You made sure I did. Ever since we were kids, I think—No.” I let out a sigh. “I’ve always known. How could I love anyone other than you?”

His chin jerks back down, eyes wide in surprise. “Really?” He sounds…bemused. But his hands come up, hovering over me, before he cups my face in his hands. “Always, always, or just since I came back?”

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