Page 122 of Immortal Bastard

The sky was pitch black when they made their way upstairs, putting on a great show without the intrusion of city lights or vehicles. Stars glowed like planets and everything appeared bigger and closer.

“Did you see that?”

Christian approached the window. “What was it?

“A bird just whizzed by.”

“Bats.”

She smiled up at him. “Are you sure it wasn’t a shape-shifting vampire?”

He chuckled. “I told you, we don’t do that.”

Her gaze returned to the sky. “Are there other things out there that do?”

The starlit fields cocooned them in miles of privacy and the world felt a million miles away—a thought that equally comforted her and disturbed her. Her breath hitched as a comet arced overhead.

He loosened the tie and the curtain fell shut. “Myths always have a source. Time exaggerates the truth, but there’s usually some hidden at the root.”

“So, like, werewolves… are they real?”

He pulled back the quilt. “Come to bed.”

Things had changed since that morning, and the animosity between them faded. She willingly, without force or manipulation, climbed into bed.

Christian pulled her close and she let herself have this moment of comfort without guilt or pressure. But the longer she lay there, the more her mind stirred.

So much silence. No horns or sirens or music bumping. Just silence. It could have been peaceful if her mind wasn’t set on sabotaging the moment with ongoing inner turmoil.

The big client she landed right before meeting Christian would have come to collect the work she owed him by now. He was probably pissed and thinking she skipped town with his money. Technically she had, but not intentionally.

Christian’s arm draped over her waist. She closed her eyes, trying not to obsess over things outside of her control. She would get that guy his money. As soon as she got to a phone, she’d set up a meeting and return his deposit—minus her rent.

She winced. How was that going to work? She’d have no choice but to complete the art, since she’d already spent a large chunk of his deposit. And why wouldn’t she want that? Doing the work would make her more money.

Christian’s fingers moved slowly over her body, softly caressing her while slowing her heart rate and breathing. Truth be told, she liked having a man’s arms around her. The novel experience made her feel safe and protected. Of course, Christian was the one she needed protection from, so it wasn’t very sound logic, but it was still gratifying.

Would he let her stay long enough to finish the job when they visited her shop? Their agreement was a visit, but visits could be of various lengths. Maybe they could stay at her place for a while—she frowned—because what captive doesn’t want to play host to their captor?

Stressed, she closed her eyes and rolled to her back. Lacing her fingers in Christian’s, she lifted his hand to her lips without thinking and breathed in his familiar, calming scent.

Realizing what she was doing, her eyes opened. The duality of the situation wasn’t lost on her. She was developing feelings for him.

You have Stockholm’s.

The truth was there, an always present, intrusive thought that taunted her since the moment she accepted his negotiation terms that morning. The problem with Stockholm syndrome, she was coming to find out, was that she really didn’t care if she was developing feelings for him or not. He made her feel good when so many other circumstances felt bad. Of course, those circumstances were his doing, so she was pretty much losing her mind.

Christian was a comfort as much as he was a complication. Stockholm’s. She inwardly groaned. All right! Fine! So what? Neutrality was easier than being at each other’s throats constantly.

Their peaceful truce should have made it easier to sleep, but it severely complicated matters, and little worries like emotional attachment, desire, forgiveness, acceptance, and resentment kept her up. None of those worries were actually small, but thinking of them as such made her panic easier to manage.

Two weeks. She could return home in two weeks. In the coming days, she’d learn the ins and outs of this immortal stuff and then she could branch off on her own and get back to her life.

The thought should have motivated her, but it only made her anxious. What about Christian? She couldn’t explain the dread that overcame her at the mere thought of separating from him, possibly saying goodbye forever. Did it have to be forever?

Would they still see each other if she left? He could visit on occasion—like a booty call. No rules or strings. That way they could each have the life they wanted without sacrificing too much.

Yes, something casual and sporadic sounded perfect. Perfectly awful.

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