Page 15 of Valentine's With A Vampire

She tilts her head. “Might cause more trouble. The bookstore is warded. Kicking in a door might set off enchantments.”

My shoulders sag. “Great.”

She steps closer, calm despite the predicament. The single candle flickers, reflecting in her eyes. “We might have to wait it out. Magically locked rooms eventually open, but it could be half an hour or hours.”

My chest tightens. “This is ridiculous.”

She places a hand on my arm. “Deep breaths. We’ll be fine.”

I swallow, trying to steady my pulse. The swirl of adrenaline from the scavenger hunt still courses through me, but there’s nowhere to channel it. The golden lantern that’s been haunting me all day floats in, bobbing near the ceiling.

She picks up a trio of stubby candles from a shelf, ignites them with a whispered word, and hands me one. I crouch and set it on an overturned crate. Warm light spreads over the space, revealing a cleared patch of floor with a couple of pillows, maybe left over from some reading circle. Musty but serviceable.

She lowers herself onto a pillow, folds her legs, and gestures for me to join. “We might as well get comfortable.”

My laugh comes out ragged. “Sure, why not?”

I sink onto the other pillow, the tension in my muscles refusing to leave. She offers a small, sympathetic smile, and that knot in my chest loosens a fraction. The door is locked, the festival roars on without us, and I’m stuck in a small, candlelit corner of a bookstore with a vampire. The thought should drive me crazy. Instead, it leaves me feeling oddly safe.

“It’s fine,” she says softly. “We’ll wait.”

I nod, swallowing. “All right. Let’s wait.”

A moment passes, thick with unspoken tension. She reaches for a spare blanket draped on a crate, spreads it over the dusty floor, and gestures for me to scoot in. My pulse flutters again. There’s nothing else to do but settle in.

Chapter 6—Vandria

I KNEEL ON THE BLANKET, adjusting the candle so its glow spreads across our little corner of the bookstore’s back room. My entire body still hums with the adrenaline from the scavenger hunt. Declan’s mood seems equally charged. He sits nearby, back pressed to a stack of crates, those broad shoulders looking too tense for comfort. The locked door behind us remains silent. No new attempts from Grizelda or the festival’s magic to barge in.

My pulse beats in my ears. The hush feels heavier than any illusions we encountered tonight. A swirl of leftover energy sparks between us whenever our eyes meet. He fiddles with the hem of his jacket, gaze shifting over me, the blanket, and the dim corners. A flicker of longing crosses his features, but he clamps it down, forging a stony look.

I adjust my braid, letting it drape over one shoulder as I move closer. He keeps one hand on his knee, the other trailing across the floor, as though he’s not sure where to put it. My ribs tighten.

“Maybe we should talk.” I set the candle on a wooden crate so the light falls softly on his face.

He draws in a measured breath. “About what?”

His voice is steady, though a subtle tremor runs beneath it. The tension in his jaw suggests he isn’t comfortable opening up. There’s a raw vulnerability swirling in the air.

I inch closer, resting on my knees. “About the military?” My fingertips hover near his arm, not quite touching. “Or maybe about how you ended up a florist?”

He huffs, gaze drifting to the stacked books behind me. “You must think it’s ridiculous.”

I settle back, letting the blanket cover my ankles. “No. People find peace in the strangest places.”

He takes a shaky breath, gaze darting to mine. “Peace. That’s funny. My old buddies used to laugh when they found out. They said men in our line of work do not become florists. Yet I stuck with it because... I don’t know. It felt calm. Grounded. I learned I liked experimenting with color palettes and blooms. My grandmother says I have the right touch.”

A warmth spreads in my chest. “You sound proud of it.”

He lifts a shoulder. “I guess I am. Didn’t expect to be proud, but yeah. I put together arrangements for weddings, births, and anniversaries. People rely on me to help them celebrate. It’s different from my old life of...not so celebratory things.”

I watch him carefully. A flicker of pride mingles with the torment in his eyes. “It’s a purpose. You’re good at what you do.”

He finally glances up, mouth curving at the corners. “Thanks. Maybe that’s what I needed. A new mission. A reason to keep going.”

I graze his forearm, a light brush that sends a spark through my veins. “That’s not silly at all.”

His gaze lingers on the candle’s flame, revealing a faint quake in his hand. “The problem is, I can’t switch off certain instincts. Sometimes I look around and see only threats. The day I arrived here, I checked for exit strategies every two minutes. That’s how I ended up tying a lantern to a fence.”

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