Page 60 of Pretty When He Bleeds

I don’t say anything. I can’t. Instead, I grab him by the hoodie and pull him into me, burying my face in his neck as my arms wrap around his shoulders. I’m taller than him, so it’s awkward as hell, but fuck it if it doesn’t feel like home.

Roman doesn’t hesitate. His arms come around me immediately, holding me close, and I feel his hand slide up to the back of my head, his fingers threading through my hair. “You okay, babe?”

I shake my head against him, my throat too tight to form words. He pulls back just enough to look at me, his eyes scanning my face as he cups my cheeks in his hands. “You want me to stay?”

I nod, my chest heaving with a breath that feels like it’s suffocating me. “Alright,” he says simply.

He guides me back into the apartment, kicking the door shut behind him and locking it. I don’t let go of him, not even when he tries to take off his shoes, and he just chuckles softly, like he doesn’t mind.

“Alright, clingy,” he murmurs, his tone light and his touch gentle. “Let me at least get my shoes off.”

I force myself to loosen my grip, stepping back just enough to let him toe off his sneakers and shrug out of his hoodie and jeans, leaving him in a plain T-shirt that he removes as well. Then he leads me back to my bed where he climbs in first, holding the blanket up for me, and I follow, curling into his side like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

Roman wraps an arm around me, his hand resting on the back of my head as I press my face into his chest. He smells like soap and his shampoo and it’s enough to make my breathing start to even out.

He doesn’t ask me what’s wrong. He doesn’t press or prod or try to fix it. Instead, he just holds me, his fingers threading through my hair in slow, soothing motions.

“It’s okay,” he murmurs after a while, his voice soft and steady. “You don’t have to say anything. I’m here.”

I nod against him, my hands clutching the fabric of his shirt like it’s the only thing keeping me grounded.

“You’re safe, babe. I’ve got you.”

I close my eyes, the sound of his heartbeat steady under my ear. His hand moves gently, stroking my hair, and it’s enough to keep the shadows at bay.

Roman

Iwakeuptothe unfamiliar feeling of an arm draped over my waist and the warmth of someone pressed against my back. It takes me a second to piece together where I am, but the faint scent of Damon’s cologne and the soft hum of his breathing make it clear.

I’m in Damon’s bed.

His arm tightens around me slightly, and I glance down at the inked skin of his forearm, his tattoos dark against the pale light filtering through the window. His body is warm and solid, and for a second, I let myself sink into it while enjoying the rare calm.

But my mind doesn’t stay quiet for long.

I think back to last night, to the way Damon looked when he opened the door. He was… wrecked; eyes hollow and shoulders tense like he was barely holding himself together. The way he grabbed onto me still sits heavy in my chest.

What the fuck happened yesterday?

Damon doesn’t let people in—not easily, and definitely not without a fight. But last night, he clung to me like I was the only thing keeping him afloat, and it scared the shit out of me. He wouldn’t tell me what was wrong. But I didn’t push. I let it go.

Just like I let things go with Caleb.

The thought makes my stomach twist, and I take a shaky breath, staring at the window across the room. I can’t do that again. Not with Damon. Whatever’s going on in his head, I have to find a way to get through to him, to make him talk, because the idea of losing him to whatever demons he’s fighting is—

“Mornin’,” Damon’s voice rumbles against my neck, rough with sleep.

I shiver, his breath warm against my skin as he presses closer, his arm tightening around my waist. “Morning,” I manage, my voice coming out weaker than I’d like.

Damon hums against my skin, his hand sliding up to rest on my abs. “Hmm, you’re warm,” he mutters, nuzzling into my shoulder.

“You’re the one holding me,” I point out, my voice teasing despite the way my heart’s starting to race.

His teeth nip at my skin, not hard enough to hurt, but enough to send a bolt of heat straight through me. “Still got my mark,” he murmurs, his lips ghosting over the spot on my shoulder where he bit me.

“Yeah, thanks for that,” I breathe, my voice catching as he runs his tongue over the mark, soothing the sting.

Damon chuckles, his hand sliding lower until it rests just above the waistband of my boxers. “You’re welcome,” he says, his breath hot against my neck.

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