Page 59 of The Royal Street Witch
“Sleep you shall have.”
So, I sleep. In Bastian’s warm vampire bed, by the glow of the corner fireplace. I sleep because I’m human and if we’re going to watch the sunrise in a couple of hours, I will need rest.
It’s not long before my alarm is going off, the room still cloaked in darkness, but sunrise looms. With blurred eyes and a deep breath, I rise, our eyes meeting, our bodies moving in silence. I pull on leggings and a sweatshirt and snatch my hair into a high ponytail. Bastian changed while I slept—into sweatpants and a hoodie—and he has this look on his face, a calm yet serendipitous look. He guides me, hand on my lower back, out the front door to the chirping of crickets and frogs croaking. Then grabbing my hand, he leads me down the steps toward the sound of waves. I still can’t see the ocean and could use magic, but I want to experience this with Bastian, so I blindly follow him, realizing I’m giving up control and it’s still alarming.
My feet hit the sand and it’s cold and smooth, different from the warm and moist sand of Louisiana. The chilly granules move under my feet and along the tops of my toes.
“Sit,” he says as we approach two green lounge chairs surrounding a fire pit. I slide into the seat and Bastian yanks his backpack off, pulling out a thermos of coffee and handing it to me.
“Oh, you’re good,” I say, cupping its warmth between my hands. A blanket is placed on my lap, and he even tucks the edges under my legs and feet.
“Like a baby burrito,” he says with a wink then sits in the chair next to me. “The first time I saw a sunrise in decades, I was making love to you.”
“Is that what you call what we did on my terrace?”
He scoffs, his hand finding mine. “You don’t keep company with many gentlemen, do you?”
“If you mean, men that say things like make love and bring me coffee and blankets while we watch the sunrise, then no, I don’t.”
I ignite a tiny fire in the fire pit and stare deeply into it to distract myself, and he stares at me and then into the flames.
“I’m new to love.” It comes out like a confession, like he’ll soon direct me to recite ten Hail Mary’s. “I feel vulnerable, being so cut open for someone that’s not me.” A chill runs through me as the fire licks the air and he sighs heavily, his thumb running along the top of my hand.
“I’ve only been in love once before.” His eyes are focused on a glow on the horizon, a deep orange in the distance. “It was during my human life, many years ago. A lifetime ago.”
“What happened to her?” A pang of envy rolls through me, realizing I want to be his only love, like he is mine.
After a sniff, and adjusting in his seat, he answers. “Have you readThe Great Gatsby?”
I nod.
“She was Daisy, she was just like Daisy. And I loved her very much. But she didn’t love me enough. And she was reckless and wild. I remember reading that book and thinking of her as my own little flower. I had hoped for a different outcome. And I was a mess too. A total mess. This life helped me escape that mess. She escaped our mess in a different way.”
“How?”
“Heroin. She left me for an older man and got caught up in worse things than I was caught up in. When I heard she died, I was still in love with her.”
“I’m sorry,” I say, facing the ocean, trying to imagine what his Daisy looked like.
I think he whispers a thanks, or it’s the ocean waves, crashing against the shore. The glow on the horizon morphs into a pinkish hue, and I swallow at the beauty in front of me. At the endless water meeting a cotton candy sky.
“You were a mess because of your brother? Luc’s death?”
His answer is a slow nod.
“So I don’t have a ton of experience with being in love, but I know what I feel for you, Aster. I know that this is love and that means taking care of each other. I have an innate desire to take care of you always.”
“You loved her and you love me, but I’m nothing like that. Reckless or wild. Don’t you find that strange?”
“No, not at all. She was toxic for me. Pure poison. You’re my savior.”
And I swallow again— hard. A sharp pain lunging into my chest.
“Oh God, Bastian. I’m no one’s savior. I’m a mess. There are so many things about me that are broken and lost. So many things I have to figure out.”
He leans forward in his chair, forcing me to meet his gaze. “Then we’ll figure it out together.”
My lips quiver, that sharp pain still shooting across my chest. “This is going to hurt one day, won’t it?” I feel that hitch in my breathing, that ache inside of me.
