Page 65 of Sweet Nightmares
Aredheaded Ashelle Witch will become your heart.Wasshehis heart? Impossible. Jane slid her hand up from his chest, along his neck, and up to his face.
“If I destroy you, it won’t be because I wanted to.” She stood on her tiptoes—on pointe, and with her hand, she leaned his chin down so she could touch his lips to hers. She kissed him softly before pulling back. “I will be your heart for as long as you let me.”
His nostrils flared. “I don’t know how to forgive you.”
“I don’t know how to forgive you either.”
He lifted an eyebrow as if to ask,What for?
But she didn’t want to get into how he stole dance from her—the only thing that allowed her to process her rotten emotions—not right now. So, instead, she said, “I can’t take back what happened, and I am not sure that I want to.” She paused, and her lips twitched, and a well of feeling stirred in her. “Because I want to know you; as much of you as you’ll give and honestly as much as I can steal. But I know you don’t want anyone to know you, ever. So, I am torn between accepting that and challenging it.”
His throat bobbed.
“You own my body and my soul.” A couple of tears rolled down her face. “All I’m asking for is a little piece of you. Anything, Gavriil.”
He swallowed again, the muscle in his jaw bulging.
“Anything,” she breathed.
Her eyes searched his, but as usual, he was an unbreakable vault. A groan sounded from the ground behind one of the couches, and someone stirred to their left. The vampires were waking up. It was past time to leave. Nightmare must have thought so, too, because his arms circled her waist, and they disappeared into the travel void.
He was taking them home.
Chapter Twenty-One
Age 29.
From the travel void, Nightmare stepped out and into the grand entry hall of his gothic castle. His fingers slowly drifted off her waist, leaving an echo of his touch.
A rumble moved through his chest. He sniffed the air, and his knuckles hovered for a moment over her hair as if he wanted to touch her again, but he didn’t. He whirled around and walked deeper into his castle.
“Gavriil,” she hedged, unsure how to ask him for help. She never truly had before. He’d given her help without her realizing it, but she’d never really asked anything of him—save the time he stole her dancing away.
“Yes,” he said. Only one word, but at least he continued to speak to her. She was afraid he’d stop again. Swiveling on his heel, she saw a mixture of unreadable masks climbing onto his face. He was hiding from her again.
“I need your help.”
He stepped toward her quickly, eager to help, but seemed to rethink his eagerness because he froze midstep. “That much is clear.” He waved a hand. “Out with it, bride.”
Jane gulped, and moisture played at the edge of her eyes. Had he just called her bride again while being quite rude at the same time? “Bride?”
He closed the distance between them and ran one of his large hands through her hair, grabbing the thick strands at the back of her head into his fist possessively, forcing her face up to meet his. “You will always be my bride, even when I hate you.”
“Do you hate me?”
“Sometimes.” He sighed dramatically. “Now, what do you need?”
“Will you come with me?”
He released her hair as an answer, and she walked out of his hold, guiding him to her new rooms. The autopsy reports were strewn everywhere: on the bed, across the richly woven rug, and even one hanging off a hook.
“You wanted to show me that you are an abhorrent mess without my presence?” He let out a low chuckle. “I already knew that.”
“No, not that.” Jane placed her hands on her hips. “And I am not that messy.”
He raised an eyebrow, as if to say, “Have you met yourself?”
It was good that he was teasing her. He wasn’t really a teaser, so perhaps he was trying.
