Page 116 of Even Vampires Bleed
No.
It can only be her.
My Firefly.
61
Léandre
When the time to go to bed comes, Cassiopé is antsy. She’s been antsy ever since I got back from the forest, but she’s tried to hide it. But I’ve noticed her side glances and the fact that she keeps looking at the blanket that I know she hid in the living room dresser.
Closer to bedtime, it’s been even more obvious. She can’t stop fidgeting even now as she slips under the bedsheets.
It looks like she plans to sneak away during the night.
She might have tried that yesterday, but it obviously didn’t work since the smell of her on my skin was fresh when I woke up.
She’s silent, though. As if she was lost in her own thoughts and doesn’t know what to say.
It’s unsettling after days of her being at ease—at least with her speech—with me.
I watch her drop the long pillow in the middle of the bed, and I try not to smirk.
I’m not sure she would even notice, but I don’t want her to see I have plans tonight, too.
Quickly, I remove my shorts and my shirt, and she doesn’t even blink an eye before she lies on her side in the bed, her back to me.
Talk about anticlimactic behavior.
I slip under the bedsheets, too, but instead of turning my back to her, I very deliberately turn to look at her.
Still no reaction.
Well, it’s now or never.
I grab the pillow that wedged between the two of us and throw it away from the bed.
And I finally get a reaction.
“What are you doing?” she asks as she turns to face me. I can hear panic in her voice.
What is she so afraid of?
“I’m removing this stupid pillow,” I answer truthfully, as I move closer to her.
Tentatively, I brush my fingers on the top of her shoulder.
She’s wearing a tank top that is a bit too large on her frame, and I have the distinct suspicion that if I looked down now, I could see way more than what she’s willing to let me see.
For a second, Cassiopé closes her eyes, and a shiver shakes her entire body.
Then she opens them back, and it’s like a whole other person is facing me. I’m also not ready for her next words.
“You can’t do that.”
“Why?” I ask softly as I let my fingers trail against her arm. It’s innocent, and yet I crave the feeling of her skin under my fingers. I could spend hours just mapping her skin with my fingers and I would be content.
For Cassiopé, it seems different.
